“Haven’t seen her.” His neighbor shook his head. “Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. He sounded as if he never wanted to see Ealstan again. And when he slammed the door, Ealstan had to jump back in a hurry to keep from getting his nose flattened.

He stood in the hallway cursing softly, wondering whether even to bother knocking on the door across the hall from his. At last, with a sort of despairing shrug, he did. “Who is it?” came from inside: another woman’s voice.

“Ealstan, your neighbor from across the hall,” he answered, wondering if she’d open the door.

To his surprise, she did. She was somewhere in her late thirties-which, to Ealstan’s nineteen, made her seem almost grandmotherly, though little by little he realized she wasn’t reallybad looking. She eyed him with frank appraisal. “Well, hello, Ealstan from across the hall,” she said when she was through, and breathed brandy fumes into his face. “I’m Ebbe. What can I do for you, dear? Want to borrow a cup of olive oil? You should have knocked a long time ago.”

Did that mean what it sounded like? Ealstan had more urgent things to worry about. “I don’t mean to bother you-” he began, as he had to his other neighbor.

“Oh, you’re not bothering me at all,” Ebbe broke in. Aye, she’d been drinking brandy, all right.

Rather desperately, Ealstan plunged ahead: “Have you seen my wife today? She should have been waiting for me when I got home, but she isn’t. I’m worried-she’s expecting a baby.”

“No, darling, I haven’t seen a soul today-tillyou”Ebbe answered. “But why don’t you come on in anyway? If she’s not there, maybe I’ll do.”

Ealstan fled. Back inside his own flat, he barred the door as if all the Algarvians in Forthweg were after him. He wondered if Ebbe would come knocking in turn. To his vast relief, she didn’t.