"Then of course the sun kills everything again. That's the fourth week. And you know what it's like here the rest of the time."
"Yes, but the Fair—everyone comes to the Fair. The Hillfolk too, a few of them, although never anyone very special. Certainly never the king. And it's not all the bead purses that our sort has been making in despair. There are always some really lovely things, mostly that the Darians themselves have made. Even the servants aren't expected to do as much, you know, during the rains. After the first few weeks you're far too cross yourself to give many orders to anyone else."
"But mostly the best things come up from the south. It's only Way up here that the weather's so ridiculous, but the south knows about our Fair, and the merchants know that when we break out of winter prison we're so mad with our freedom that we're fit to buy anything, so they come up in force."
"There are Fairs, or celebrations of spring of one kind or another, all around here, but ours is the biggest."
"Well," said Beth, "we've the biggest in things to buy and so forth; and we're the only Homelander station up here. But there're quite a number of Darian villages around here, and they take spring very seriously. Lots of singing and dancing, and that kind of thing. And they tell the most beautiful stories, if you can find someone to translate into Homelander. Which isn't often."
"We have singing and dancing too," said Cassie.
"Yes, I know," said Beth slowly; "but it's not the same. Our dancing is just working it off, after being inside for so long. Theirs means something."
Harry looked at her curiously. "You mean asking the gods for a good year—that kind of thing?"
"I suppose so," said Beth. "I'm not quite sure."
"No one will talk about anything really Darian to Homelanders," said Cassie. "You must have noticed it."
"Yes—but I'm new here."
"You're always new here if you're a Homelander," said Cassie. "It's different in the south. But we're on the Border here, and everyone is very aware that Freemen live in those Hills you see out your windows every day. The Darians that do work for you, or with you, are very anxious to prove how Homelander they really are, and loyal to all things Homelander, so they won't talk; and the others won't for the opposite reasons."
"You're beginning to sound like Daddy," said Beth.
"We've heard him say it all often enough," Cassie responded.
"But the Hillfolk," said Harry.
"Yes. The one thing I suppose we all have in common is a joy in those three short weeks of spring. So a few Hillfolk come to our Fair."
"They don't act very happy, though," said Beth. "They come in those long robes they always wear—over their faces too, so you can't see if they're smiling or frowning; and some of them with those funny patched sashes around their waists. But they do come, and they stay several days—they have the grandest horses you've ever seen. They pitch camp outside the station, and they always set guards, quite openly, as if we weren't to be trusted—"
"Maybe we aren't," murmured Cassie.
"—but they never sell their horses. They bring the most gorgeous tapestries, though, and embroidered sashes—much nicer than the cut-up ones they wear themselves. These they sell. They stalk around the edge of the big central square, the old marketplace, carrying all this vivid stuff, while the rest of us are laughing and talking and running around. It's a bit eerie."
"No it's not," said Cassie. "You listen to the stories too much."
Beth blushed. After a pause she said, "Do you see anything at the Residency?"
"No," said Harry. "What stories?"
There was another pause while Cassie looked at Beth and Beth looked at her pony's mane. "My fault," said Cassie presently. "We're not supposed to talk about them. Daddy gets really annoyed if he catches us. The stories are mostly about magic. Corlath and his people are supposed to be rotten with it, even in this day and age, and Corlath himself is supposed to be more than a little mad."
"Magic?" said Harry, remembering what Dedham had said earlier. "Mad?" He hadn't said anything about madness. "How?"
They both shrugged. "We've never managed to find out," said Cassie.
"And we can usually wring what we want to know out of Daddy eventually," said Beth, "so it must be something pretty dreadful."
Cassie laughed. "You read too many novels, Beth. It's just as likely that Daddy won't talk about it because he refuses to admit it might be real—the magic, I mean. Jack Dedham believes it—he and Daddy argue about it sometimes, when they don't think anyone else is around. The madness, if that's what it is, is tied up somehow in the king's strength—in return for having power beyond mortal men or some such, he has to pay a price of some kind of mad fits."
"Who reads too many novels?" said Beth, and Cassie grinned. "It does rather catch the imagination," she said, and Beth nodded.
"No wonder you're so eager to set eyes on him," said Harry.
"Yes. I know it's silly of me, but I feel maybe it'll show somehow. He'll be eight feet tall and have a third eye in the middle of his forehead," said Beth.
"Heavens," said Harry.
"I hope not," said Cassie.
"Well, you know how the legends go," said Beth.
"No, not really," said her sister repressively. "Even when Daddy is willing to translate some, you can tell by the pauses that he's leaving a lot out."
"Yes, but even so," persisted Beth. "The old kings and queens were supposed to be taller than mortal—"
"The Darians are mostly shorter than we are, at least the ones we see," interrupted Cassie. "A king could look quite ordinary to us and be very tall for them."
"—and you can tell the royal blood by something about the eyes."
There was another pause. Harry said, "Something?"
Again they both shrugged. "Something," said Beth. "That's one of the things Daddy always leaves out. Like the madness."
"You're hoping he'll froth at the mouth," said Cassie.