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Frontino the warder hastily stuck a trashy historical romance into his desk drawer when Bembo came in. Then he pulled it out again, saying, "Oh, it's you. I thought it might be somebody important," as if the constable had never gone away. He got up and clasped Bembo's wrist.

"Nice to see some things haven't changed," Bembo said. "You're still a lazy good-for-nothing."

"And you're still an old windbag," Frontino retorted fondly.

Again, trading insults made Bembo feel at home. His wave encompassed the whole constabulary station, the whole town, the whole kingdom. "It's not the same as it was, is it?"

Frontino pondered that. Bembo wondered how the warder was supposed to judge, when he spent most of his time shut away in the gaol he ran. But he didn't take long to nod and say, "It's been better, sure enough." Bembo nodded, too. All at once, he looked forward to getting back to Gromheort.

***

A baby's thin, angry wail woke Skarnu in the middle of the night. Merkela stirred beside him in the narrow, crowded bed. "Hush," she told the baby in the cradle. "Just hush."

The baby wasn't inclined to listen. Skarnu hadn't thought he would be. He didn't suppose Merkela had thought so, either. With a weary sigh, she got out of bed and lifted their son from that cradle. "What does he want?" Skarnu asked. "Is he wet, or is he just hungry?"

"I'll find out," she answered, and then, a moment later, "He's wet. I hope I don't wake him up too much changing him." She laid the baby on the bed and found a fresh rag with which to wrap his middle. "Hush, Gedominu," she murmured again, but the baby didn't want to hush.

"He's hungry," Skarnu said.

Merkela sighed. "I know." She sat down beside the baby, picked him up, and gave him her breast. He nursed avidly- and noisily. Skarnu tried to go back to sleep, but couldn't. He listened to his son eat. The baby was named for Merkela's dead husband, whom the Algarvians had blazed. It wasn't the name Skarnu would have chosen, but Merkela hadn't given him much choice. He could live with it. Gedominu had been a brave man.

Little Gedominu's sucking slowed, then stopped. Merkela raised him to her shoulder and patted him till he gave forth with a surprisingly deep belch. She set him back in the cradle and lay down beside Skarnu again.

"Not too bad," she said, yawning.

"No, not too," Skarnu agreed. Little Gedominu was only a couple of weeks old. Already, Skarnu and Merkela had learned the difference between good nights and bad, fussy feedings and others. Skarnu went on, "One of him and two of us. He only outnumbers us by a little."

No matter how sleepy she was, Merkela noticed that. "Ha!" she said: not laughter but an exclamation. "That isn't funny."

"I didn't think it was," Skarnu replied. A new thought crossed his mind. "Powers above! How do you suppose people with twins or triplets manage?"

Merkela noticed that, too. "I don't know," she said. "They probably just go mad, wouldn't you think?" She yawned again. Skarnu started to answer, but checked himself when her breathing grew slow and regular. She had the knack for falling asleep at once- or maybe, taking care of Gedominu, she was too weary to do anything else.