When the dawn bell began to ring, they all jumped. Just as they were relaxing, they realized the bell was ringing triple strikes for each normal, single chime.

Lark and Rosethorn glanced at each other. "They're calling in the outlying farms and villages," Rosethorn said.

"Is that bad?" Tris wanted to know.

Rosethorn shook her head. "Not if there are pirates off Summersea." Seeing the question in the children's faces, she sighed. "The harbour has resisted a great many attacks. I suppose pirates always think they'll be the ones to break into it, but often they just bottle up the entrances, so no one can go for help, and so the fleet can't get out. What they usually do is land farther out, to go for the farms and villages outside the city walls and Winding Circle. We can't save the buildings, but we take in a great many people and animals."

"Here?" Tris wanted to know, dismayed. "At Discipline?"

"Relax," Lark told her. "The only time locals will stay here is if no young mages are living with us. They know youngsters aren't always in control of their power."

"Well, that's something, anyway," muttered Briar.

"My bird," said Tris, and ran upstairs.

"How do you feel?" Lark asked Sandry, examining her eyes and pressing her wrist to the girl's forehead. "I can't believe you were able to work magic this soon."

"I didn't work it very well," Sandry pointed out. "I needed Briar and Tris."

Rosethorn got to her feet. Gripping Briar's ear, she drew him along with her. "Come on, you," she ordered. "We'll set out breakfast."

"Rest your palms on mine," Lark told her student.

Sandry obeyed, and closed her eyes. She felt something draw along her inner self, as if Lark teased a thread from a clump of wool. That bit of her tried to follow Lark's call, stretching.

"You're much stronger today than I expected," Lark said at last.

"I felt awful, before we tried to see what was wrong with Daja," admitted Sandry. "All wobble-kneed. My bones felt like overcooked noodles."

"We did a powerful lot of work yesterday - nearly three hundred yards of linen, between us. You should be limp today." Lark tugged one of her own short curls, thinking for a long moment. In the kitchen half of the main room, Briar dropped a bucket on his foot, and cursed loudly. "You may have drawn strength from your spell-thread when you contacted Daja," Lark finally said. "It could be that, since the thread contains magic from all four of you, made stronger by the spin. I wish we had time to work with it, and see what it really is. I wish we had time to examine where you children are now. I have a feeling you've all grown in power - which is interesting."

Sandry gazed out the window, fiddling with the end of one honey-brown braid. "Does this mean I can work the same magic with you today? We could turn out more bandages."

"Just fruit, I think, and bread and honey," they heard Rosethorn say. "It's too hot for porridge."

"I'll say!" Briar agreed.

"Come into the workroom," Lark said, getting to her feet. "We'll set you up on a bandage-width loom for this morning. This afternoon, well, we'll see."

"I'm to learn real weaving?" Sandry asked, skipping as she followed Lark out.

Glancing back at her, Lark smiled. "At long last," she replied.

Rosethorn put out tableware as Briar carried the fresh jars of milk, cream and goat's milk in from the front step, where they had been placed by the Hub's kitchen staff. "I want you drinking milk today," she ordered.

"I only like it on porridge," he replied. "Elsewise, it's catlap."

"Then pretend you're a cat," she retorted. "It's good for you."

Briar stowed the jars in the cold-box. "You ever been hit by pirates?" he asked. "Not here, I guess, since they never get in, but before?"

Rosethorn began to cut up bread. "My people are what Daja calls mud-rollers, over in north Anderran," she said, naming the country just west of Emelan. "Too far inland for pirates. Our village was attacked by raiders, once." She looked away, full lips narrowing. "Curse their names. They raped my best friend, and left her like trash, because her face was scarred. They came for me, but my papa and brothers fought them off."

Briar growled. "To do you like they did your friend?"

Rosethorn smiled bitterly. "No. I was too valuable. They wanted me to do green magic for them, instead of Papa. They lost five of their own before they understood how determined he was to hang on to me."

"He musta loved you," suggested Briar, handing the butter to her. The word, "love" - it felt strange on his tongue.

"He did. He also loved the profit I made for the farm," Rosethorn said, placing the bread at the centre of the table. "He was the richest farmer in our district, because of me. I didn't see milk go into your cup."

She never misses anything, no matter how I distract her, Briar thought gloomily, and fetched the milk.

Tris came downstairs carefully, the covered nest in her hands. Its occupant was shrieking. "Is he sick?" she asked Rosethorn, holding out the nest with hands that shook. "Did I hurt him, is that why he's crying?"

Rosethorn took the nest. "He's hungry. Put some fresh goat's milk on to heat." Placing the straw-lined cup on the table, she lifted the handkerchief.