[Fordim Hedgethistle]

A wedding? Snaveling groaned. Things were going from bad to worse. Yes, he was now properly breakfasted, and he had managed to fill out his wardrobe with the addition of a new cloak and tunic from the attic trunk Ruby had shown him, but the thought of confronting Aman on a wedding day drove his heart clear into his boots. He had not been to many handfastings, but those he had been forced to attend had all been weepy, sentimental affairs at which everyone, it seemed, became extraordinarily silly – particularly the women. He had seen many a female whom he thought more or less level-headed get wobbly in the presence of the nuptial couple, and while he had a good deal of faith in the stable and sensible Innkeeper of the Dragon, he feared that she might not be above the effect of this day.

Seeking some privacy, he wandered through the garden, his mind whirling with plans. For a time he thought seriously about slipping away into the wild once more, but that would not do. Cook and Ruby had seen him and were sure to mention it. He decided to hide in the stable for the rest of the day. Hurrying to carry out his plan, he almost ran by the large cart laden with flowers without noticing it, when a vaguely familiar shape appeared from the other side of it as though by magic. “Oh,” the woman said in partial recognition of him. “You’re back are you?”

Snaveling struggled to place the woman’s face and voice, but failed at first. “I have returned, madam, it is true,” he said, remaining non-committal. “But I am not sure how long I am staying…”

The woman’s eyes narrowed and she placed her hands on her hips. “You don’t remember me, do you?” Snaveling shook his head apologetically. “Perhaps this will remind you, then,” the woman said, and reaching into a pocket she pulled out a small pouch of pipeweed. Opening it and holding it out for him to smell, a gorgeous fragrance came to Snaveling that he had not smelled since…

“Jinniver!” he called out, delighted to have remembered his brief acquaintance from his last visit, and at the prospect of once again being able to enjoy her marvellous weed.

“Yes, Snaveling,” she said, adding hurriedly, “and if you want a bit of this weed, then by all means help yourself to it, and I won’t hear of any payment for it! I don’t quite know what came over me the last time I let you pass over your money, but I won’t hear of it again.”

Snaveling bowed with practised courtesy. “As you wish, mistress. But I am afraid that I am not in a position to insult you with any offer of payment this time, for I am – at present – rather short of money.”

“Really?” She could not quite suppress her surprise, for she had seen the size of his purse the last time Snaveling was here. “There must be a story behind that.”

Snaveling made a sour face. “There is, I’m afraid, and not one I want to remember.” He could see Jinniver preparing another question. To forestall it he said, “I see that there is a wedding today. Is there anything I could do to help?”