By daylight, the remains of the charcoal burner's croft looked even more pathetic. Katie didn't see how Hilda was going to manage long enough for her remaining stack to burn down to a salable load, even if she and Trina left most of their food and a blanket or two with her. What little Katie knew of such things suggested that the stack was a week or two from done yet. As the three of them munched their porridge, she said as much.

"Listen, Mother Hilda, why not come along with us? We mean tae join a pilgrim train in Clydesmuir and make our way tae Shanterburn and St. Unweigh's. Surely the Sisterhood would have some sort of work for you, if nothing better comes before then. And in the meantime, Trina and I could use a companion who kens what she's about on the road, as we do not."

Katie was already regretting not having taken any salt during her hasty raid of the kitchen yesterday. The porridge wanted it badly. Maybe Trina's right. Maybe we should hae called on our friends for more help and risked whatever the sorcerer could hae learned or done in the meantime. Maybe I wasnae so very quick-thinking and clever. Maybe I was just panicked and popping off like a startled grouse in the woods. Aloud, all she said was, "I mun beg your pardon, good Mother, for being so sharp and suspicious of you last night. I was tired, of course, and I'd been worrying about bandits and the like all day. Truly, we'd be glad tae have you with us. You mun ken more than we do of the way from here to Clydesmuir. Or if you willnae join us, we'll leave some of our supplies with you, tae make things easier."

Hilda laughed. It was a surprisingly warm, rich sound for such an old woman. "Oh, there's no need of that!" and her voice didn't quaver at all. Hilda stood up, and Katie blinked. And then blinked again at a hale, middle-aged woman, more queenly than her mother had ever been, dressed in a splendid cloak of silver-gray velvet with a collar of white fur – too long for rabbit fur, Katie noted distractedly, what was it then? – And where had Hilda gone?

"You have passed the test I set you and more, Princess, and Honorable Katherine. You were willing tae share what you had, you took a share in the work tae be done even though you were tired and used tae being waited on besides. You had enough respect for a poor old crofter tae give her a choice of how she wished to be helped. And you apologized for your own faults. Well done indeed!"

Katie realized her mouth was hanging open and nothing useful was coming out of it. She shut it and scrambled to her feet, managing a clumsy curtsey with muscles so sore from the day before and the cramped night's sleep that she could almost hear them creak and twang.

Trina, who had likewise scrambled to her feet, had not lost her silver tongue when she lost her beauty. She spoke, and it seemed she was starting to get the hang of enunciating around the harelip. "Truly, great lady, we are amazed that one such as yourself would think twa silly lasses like us tae bve worth teshting. So unready are we for the journey we have chosen that even the helpf of … of the woman we thought you were, would bve most welcome to us. I cannae say that I feel as though my shister and I have done so very well."

The woman chuckled gently. "Princess, I am called the Silver Fairy, and I serve as a Guardian of this realm, and of others. You may have heard some folk speak of a Fairy Godmother? I am she. Well do I ken the pair of you came in haste, and fleeing evil. Nor are you twa the first I have met who were doing so, nor the worst prepared. And so I say again, well done. And tae make the rest of your journey easier, though it still will not be easy, I have gifts for you."

The lady walked over to Katie and fastened a silver pin on her cloak. It was shaped like a many-pointed star, with a clear, smooth drop of glass – or maybe it was a stone – in the center. "This pin will warn you if you are dealing with someone who cannae be trusted," the Godmother explained. "If the person before you is simply a liar, a cheat, or a braggart, the silver will tarnish. If they actively mean you harm, the stone in the center will turn blood red. You earned this boon when you were willing to learn from an old beggar woman. Because you were willing to share your food," she went on, "that bag of nuts you carry with you will never run out, unless you try tae sell them instead of sharing them with whomever asks. And because you worked like servants and treated a beggar woman like an equal, you have earned these." The lady handed each sister a nut like a walnut, only nearly as large as a ripe plum. Katie looked at the wrinkles and creases in the shell of hers and thought she saw faces. "You will still need to work, and work hard," the lady admonished, "and that is all to the good. But the day may come that you've the need tae be fine ladies again for a time. When that day comes, open your nuts."

Katie and Trina thanked her humbly, tucking the nuts away in their petticoat pockets. "Now," the Silver Fairy announced, " 'Tis time tae be away. You twa have more than half a day yet tae Clydesmuir. I wish you well." And with that, there was a flash of light, as if the morning sun had caught a reflection on a glass window –though there were no windows here– and the Godmother vanished, leaving nothing behind her but a ruined cottage, a pair of walnut-sized bulges in their pockets, and the silver pin on Katie's cloak. There weren't even footprints on the ground where she had been standing.

"Well!" said Katie, "I never!"

Clydesmuir was long and narrow, wedged up between the mountains and the road through them. Every building was at least two stories tall, and they were all built tight against each other. Even the inns had their stables huddled underneath the same roof as the rest of the building, and almost no yard at all. This early in the Spring, it wasn't as full as it would be when the snow melted in the northern Chieftainships, but it was still busy and crowded, and smelled, if possible, even worse than Harbor Street in Brucemuir. There was no sea breeze to send the smell away, here. And no ocean to carry away night soil or other filth either. And caravanners smelled worse than sailors – at least, worse than the sailors who came to Castle Bruce. They told the same kind of jokes, though. Somehow, they weren't so funny when it was just Katie and Trina there, with no hulking guardsman about to loom over anyone who looked like wanting to do more than joke.

In some ways, Katie felt, she was having to manage this without her sister, too, even though Trina was right beside her, and still with all her wits intact, though more than a bit shaken by everything that had happened. But the sister beside her wasn't the Princess Katherine anymore.

Back in Brucemuir, when they were among people, usually it had been Trina who did all the talking. She was better at it, and she had more friends than Katie did, and usually it was easier just to stay by her side and listen. But Katie couldn't do that here. For one thing, if Trina spoke, people stared at her as if the words had come from one of their mules. And everyone who spoke to Katie seemed to be working on the assumption that Trina was daft, or deaf, or both, as if she had ceased to be a person at all when she ceased to be pretty. So now, Katie had to be the one to talk to strangers. And do it in a way that didn't get their backs up or put her and Trina in danger. 'Tisn't as though these are bad folk, she told herself sternly. Just talk to them.

But knowing how much was at stake made every conversation, even simple ones about where the kirk was, feel like trying to walk on a path that was half covered with loose pieces of shale. And Katie wondered if she was imagining the wariness she saw in people's eyes when they looked at her and her sister. Women, especially young ones, usually didn't travel the roads alone. And the ones who did were crofters. Even after two weary days on the road in their plainest clothes, nobody could mistake Katie or even the transformed Trina for a farm lass. On the other hand, Trina had told Katie more than once that if you acted wary, the person you were talking to would be wary about you. So maybe it was all Katie's fault. This whole journey is my fault. Well, mine and the sorcerer's. But definitely my responsibility. So I'll do what I mun. And Katie took a deep breath and rang the bell at the door to the kirk.

It seemed like a very long time before the door creaked open. But then, in a town the size of this one, the pastor would be busy with a thousand things between Prime and Vespers. There would be all his duties in town, and all the travelers that came through would keep the kirk itself busy. Both the pilgrims and the caravanners would want to beg the help of the local Saint: Ennis the Wanderer, who had carried his father on his back from the ruins of one city and (eventually) founded another. All those travelers left offerings behind, so the building was nearly the size of the kirk in Brucemuir – the big one, not the Family Chapel that was Pastor Scott's domain. Between the size of the kirk and the size of the parish, Katie wasn't surprised that it took a while for the Sexton to answer the door.

They heard him before they saw him, singing in a slightly cracked voice that set Katie's teeth on edge. He came around the corner of the kirk, a little bandy-legged fellow with mud-colored hair, jingling a huge bunch of keys in time to his song. Katie realized that she knew the tune, and it wasn't a hymn:

A-ah the last craw

Wasnae there at a'

Wasnae there at a'

Wasnae there at a-a-ah…

He trailed off as he saw them. "Please, Sexton," said Katie, "My sister and I are on a pilgrimage to St. Unweigh's, in Shanterburn. We would like to water our mules by your well, and light a candle to the holy ones here before we gang on. And if you ken of anyone else in town who is bound the same way, I would like to know of it. We may want tae travel together."

The sexton continued to peer at them, brows furrowed and panting slightly, not as if he were out of breath, just as if he had forgotten to breathe through his nose. " 'Tisn't Unweigh here," he said at last. " 'Tis Ennis. Ennis was a good man, he was. He was a king but he only had boats for a long time not land and his papa rode up on his shoulders."

Katie sighed inwardly. The sexton at Bruce Kirk had been a simpleton, too. In fact, Katie couldn't recall ever once hearing or reading of a sexton who was right in the head. Perhaps it was because most kirksmen were kind and charitable, and would hire lunatics or fools when no one else would. If the pastor treated this fellow kindly, it was a good sign. And the pastor, when he came in, would know about pilgrim trains. "Ennis, yes," she said aloud. "Can we water the mules at your well and then light a candle to St. Ennis?"

The sexton considered this. "She's ugly." He pointed at Trina.

"Yes," Trina answered softly, "I am."

The sexton nodded. "Me, too. I'm ugly."

"I'm sure you're a good man, all the same. Else you wouldnae bve at the kirk, helpfing St. Ennish."

"A good man. Like Ennis. But I cannae hae my papa ride on my back. He's too big." With that, the sexton opened the door wider, to let them in.

"Thank you, Sexton," said Katie, "and where shall we take our beasts?"

"I'll see to 'em."

Katie stole a glance at her cloak pin. Clearly, the man was no sage, and it probably wouldn't do to ask him about the road to Shanterburn, but the pin still shone as if it were new-minted, so he could probably be trusted to actually care for the mules and leave the contents of their packs alone. "Thank you, Sexton. We'll see the kirk, then, and light our candles." And they switched places at the doorway, the two sisters going into the kirk, and the sexton coming out to take the mules' leads.

The inside of the kirk was the most homelike place they'd been in two days. The smell was the same as the Brucemuir kirk, and the glass in the windows was Brucemuir glass, for all it was formed into pictures of St. Ennis instead of Simm the Fisher. Without having to think of anything much, Katie and Trina gave their habitual curtseys to the door saint, and dropped a half-copper apiece in the box to pay for their candles, and murmured the usual prayers to the Great Saints by the altar. As they had promised to do, they lit one to St. Ennis the Wanderer, too, asking him to bless their journey and also to watch over the sexton, who wandered in his wits if nowhere else.

By unspoken agreement, they settled on one of the listeners' benches afterward, taking in the peace and the colored light from the windows. Katie supposed they should go back out into the market and ask there about pilgrim trains, and then come back to the kirk at Vespers. But she really didn't want to, just yet, and Trina wasn't making any moves in that direction either. They were both weary from their unaccustomed journey, and there would be many more markets ahead of them, and miles too.

Katie wondered if the sorcerer who had cast that curse would be following them along those miles, or trying to. The Temple of Unweigh should be safe, but what about the road going there? There would be holy folk in a pilgrim train, surely. Was a pilgrim train like a kirk, as far as wicked magic was concerned? Would it keep the sorcerer from doing anything worse? But if someone truly meant Trina ill – and someone obviously did – they wouldn't necessarily need magic to do a mischief... "We should use different names while we're traveling," she said aloud. " 'Twill be safer that way. I could call you 'Kitten,' as I used tae, if you'd like, or Kit for short... there are plenty of Katherines about of all ranks, after all." Trina nodded, a bit absently. "I suppose I could be 'Kay' myself, even. After all, Grania has three brothers all named John because the same uncle stood Godfather tae all of them... no. Anyone who kens enough tae be looking for a dark sister and a fair one, both named Katherine, would ken tae listen for nicknames as well."

"You could ushe your middle name."

Katie stiffened. "I'll not be Martha. Not when mother may have... no."

"Em, then. You've twa M's in your name, so 'tisnae a lie, quite. It seems wrong, somehow, tae lie on a pfilgrimage."

Katie thought about it for a while. She didn't really feel like an Em. "Em" sounded retiring and closemouthed and gentle, and she was none of those things. Perhaps I'd best learn, though. The closemouthed part at least.

"All right," she said, We'll be Em and Kit Mc... Mcwhat? McKine, like Grania? McClaver?"

"Hapfney." Trina announced, decidedly.

"McHapney? Why McHapney? Who ever heard of anyone named McHapney?"

"Bvecause," Trina recited solomnly, "Everybvody kens, if you're in for a Ha'pfenny, you're in for a crown."

Katie found herself grinning. "So my own silly Kitten is still there, underneath that sad mask you've got stuck on you. I'm glad. McHapney it is, then, 'til we get tae St. Unweigh's and learn how tae break your curse."

"You know, Katie– I mean, Em," Trina murmured thoughtfully, "I'm shamed tae admit it, but 'tis a far worse curse than I thought it would bve, tae bve ugly like this. A week pfast I'd hae sworn I cared nothing for my bveauty, and given it all away to some dowerless lassie who needed it more than I. I'd even hae said it was a bvurden I dinna want, espfecially since it seemed to vex your mother so. I always tried tae do as Pastor Scott bid us, and think little on my face and much on how as I could do my duties well, and be loving and kind. Even now I can think of many things I wouldnae choose tae do, tae get my bvonny looks bvack again. Bvut I didnae ken how much easier it is tae bve kind and loving and dutiful when you are bvonny and rich tae gang with it. All those pfeople in the town who look pfast me, and bveing so tired from riding… and I was near to slapfing that pfoor coof of a sexton when he pfointed at me … and 'tis only half a day I've bveen among pfeople like this. Maybe I'm nae so good as I thought I was."

Katie barked a surprised laugh. "Oh, Kitten! Mun I put on Pastor Scott's voice and tell you that being good is no easy thing, and that if you're only good when 'tis easy, then you're as wicked as anyone? I was half asleep at Prime, most mornings, and even I could recite that one." And, to all the complaints that sweet Trina wasn't making, Katie added, " 'Twill get better, I promise. Just you stick by me. We'll see this through."

Trina said nothing to this; she only sniffled and pulled herself up against her sister for a hug. Katie stroked her hair, and said, "gang on and cry, love. We've time and plenty, and the Saints have all seen worse. Maybe I'll cry too, for anger at whoever did this. And we'll stay here 'til the sexton kicks us out, or until the pastor comes in and we can ask him for help. He might even have pen and paper, for us to send a letter to your father and tell him what's become of us. He'll send aid of some sort along, tae be sure. But we can rest before we do the next hard thing, and we'll do what we mun when the time comes." Katie wasn't sure which one of them she was trying to reassure. Her sister merely cried harder, but then, she had the right to.