Fool's Errand by Hobb Robin Page A

at all. Then, catching my eye, he observed heavily, “These are good piglets, but there were three more in the litter. One was bigger than these.”
    Then he paused, waiting. His eyes never left my face. Uncertain of what he expected, I replied, “Sounds like a nice, big litter.”
    “Aye. It was. Until the three disappeared.”
    “A shame,” I rejoined. When he kept his stare on me, I added, “Lost while ranging with the sow, were they?”
    He nodded. “One day there were ten. The next day, seven.”
    I shook my head. “A shame.”
    He took a step closer to me. “You and the boy. You wouldn’t have happened to see them? I know sometimes my sow ranges almost to your stream.”
    “I haven’t.” I turned to Hap. The boy had an apprehensive look on his face. I noticed that Jinna and her customer had fallen silent, their interest caught by Baylor’s intent tone. I hated to be the center of such attention. I felt the blood begin to rise in me, but I pleasantly asked my boy, “Hap, have you seen any sign of three of Baylor’s piglets?”
    “Not so much as a track or a pile of dung,” he replied gravely. He held himself very still when he spoke, as if a sudden movement could precipitate danger.
    I turned back to Baylor. “Sorry,” I said.
    “Well.” He observed heavily, “That’s strange, isn’t it? I know you and your boy and that dog of yours range all about those hills. I would have thought you’d have seen something.” His remark was oddly pointed. “And if you saw them, you’d know them for mine. You’d know they weren’t strays, free for the taking.” His eyes had never left my face.
    I shrugged, trying to keep my calm. But now other folk were pausing in their business, watching and listening. Baylor’s eyes suddenly ranged round the audience, and then came back to me.
    “So you’re sure you haven’t seen my pigs? Not found one stuck or hurt somewhere? Not found it dead and used it for dog meat?”
    It was my turn to glance about. Hap’s face had gone red. Jinna looked distinctly uncomfortable. My anger surged that this man would dare to accuse me of theft, no matter how indirect his words were. I took a breath and managed to hold my temper. In a low, gratingly civil voice, I replied, “I haven’t seen your pigs, Baylor.”
    “You’re sure?” He took a step closer to me, mistaking my courtesy for passivity. “Because it strikes me odd, three disappearing all at once. A wolf might take one, or one the sow might misplace, but not three. You haven’t seen them?”
    I had been leaning on the tail of the cart. I stood up straight, to my full height, my feet set solidly wide. Despite my effort at control, I could feel my chest and neck growing tight with anger.
    Once, long ago, I had been beaten badly, to the point of death. Men seem to react to that experience in one of two ways. Some become cowed by it, never to offer physical resistance again. For a time, I had known that abject fear. Life had forced me to recover from it: I had learned a new reaction. The man who becomes most efficiently vicious first is most likely to be the man left standing. I had learned to be that man. “I’m getting tired of that question,” I warned him in a low growl.
    In the busy market, a quiet circle surrounded us. Not only Jinna and her customer were silent, but across the way the cheese merchant stared at us, and a baker’s boy with a tray full of fresh wares stood silent and gawking. Hap was still, eyes wide, face gone to white and red. But most revealing was the change in Baylor’s face. If a snarling bear had suddenly towered over him, he could not have looked more cowed. He fell back a step, and looked aside at the dust. “Well. Of course, if you haven’t seen them, well, then—”
    “I haven’t seen them.” I spoke forcefully, cutting him off. The sounds of the market had retreated into a distant hum. I saw only Baylor. I stalked a step closer.
    “Well.” He backed another pace, and dodged