“No,” Magnus agreed. “Rioghan does that.”

“Rioghan!” I was surprised to hear a name I recognized. “I met him yesterday. At least, I think it must be the same man. A sad-looking person with a red cloak. I didn’t realize he lived here at the fortress.”

“He’s one of those who live in the house,” Magnus said.“I’ll introduce you to all of them at supper, when we generally gather. More live out in the woods, but you won’t see them so much.”

“Did you really mean that, about Rioghan walking up and down the gallery at night? I’m not sure I’d be very happy about that, even if it did make things safer.”

“Rioghan doesn’t sleep. He keeps watch. He may not be on the gallery—he prefers the garden—but he’ll be alert to anything unusual. As I said, it’s safe on Whistling Tor provided you belong.”

“I don’t belong, not yet.”

“If Anluan wants you here, you belong, Caitrin.”

“I still want a bolt for my door.”

“I’ll put it on my list of things to do.”

“Today, please, Magnus. I understand you are very busy, but this is a ... a requirement for me. Something I can’t do without. Perhaps I can return the favor in some way.” As soon as this was out I remembered the carter’s words: There’s other ways of paying. “For instance, I could chop vegetables or sweep floors,” I added.

“I’ll bear it in mind. Well, make yourself at home. There’s a privy out beyond the kitchen.When you’re ready, come down and I’ll show you the library. You’ll be wanting to make a start.”

Some time later, clad in the spare gown I had brought—a practical dark green—and with my hair brushed and replaited, I stood with Magnus on the threshold of the library and found myself lost for words.

I had always valued order. The skilled exercise of calligraphy depends in large measure on neatness, accuracy, uniformity. In our workroom at Market Cross, the tools had been meticulously maintained and the materials stored with careful attention to safety and efficiency. It had been a haven of discipline and control.