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crow attacked their party just after dawn, as they were heading toward the wood. They were fortunate enough to find places to hide before it could harm them, but two of the workers had nervous fits and had to be carried back. I would prefer that this not happen again.”
    “You want me to kill him?” asked Knife.
    “I would not ask you to take such a risk,” said the Queen. “He has killed one Hunter already; I do not wish to lose another. No, your task will be to escort the Gatherers whenever they go out. Their work is vital to our survival, and nothing must be permitted to hinder them.”
    Guard duty. Inwardly Knife groaned, but she kept her voice polite as she said, “For how long?”
    “As long as the threat remains. I trust you will still be able to carry out your own duties while you wait for the Gatherers to finish theirs?”
    “Yes, Your Majesty.”
    “Then you are dismissed.”
    Knife bowed and left the room with every appearance of calm, but her thoughts were in turmoil. The Gatherers had spotted Old Wormwood before she did—that was a serious blow. It was the Hunter’s task to watch for predators, and she had failed in that duty….
    “Did the Queen tell you?” said a timid voice at her elbow, and Knife turned to see Holly, the Chief Gatherer, standing there.
    “About Old Wormwood?” she said. “Yes.”
    “He’s huge.” Her eyes were haunted. “And fast—I’ve never seen a crow move that fast before. He pecked a hole straight through Linden’s basket.” She shuddered visibly before going on: “So will you be coming with us tomorrow? The others—we all want to know.”
    “I’m coming,” said Knife.
    “You’ll meet us right at sunrise? And you’ll stay with us all the way to the forest and back again?”
    “I’ll bring my bow,” Knife told her. “And I’ll keep close watch. I won’t let the crow get near you.”
    Color rushed back into Holly’s face, a pink wave of relief. She bobbed a curtsy and hurried back down the Spiral Stair.
    Knife followed in gloomy silence, fingers drumming on the sheathed blade at her side. There was no help for it: Her duty was clear. She must put her curiosity about the humans aside, and concentrate on the task the Queen had given her.The double load of work would be exhausting, and now it might be weeks before she found out what had happened to Paul.
    It would be so much easier if she could put the humans out of her mind, convince herself that they didn’t matter. But she couldn’t forget the woman’s stricken face, or the man’s voice cracking on the words very nice.
    Perhaps she was getting too attached to the humans.
     
    Over the next few days Knife carried out the Queen’s command, watching over the Gatherers as they worked. Once she had seen them safely across the open field, she busied herself with her own duties, hunting when they foraged and dressing her kills while they unloaded their baskets at the Oak. All the while she kept an eye out for Old Wormwood, but there was no sign of him.
    Sometime during that week—though when exactly, Knife never knew—Paul arrived at the House. Despite her weariness, Knife did everything she could to catch a glimpse of him, but he always seemed to be in his room with the curtains drawn, or the lights turned out, or both.
    “He doesn’t say a word to me all day,” Beatrice sobbed. “Never a single word. He looks through me like I’m not there.”
    “There’s no excuse for it,” her husband said, setting down his teacup with unnecessary force. “There’s nothingwrong with his tongue, or his brain. It’s just stubbornness, that’s all.”
    “George, don’t,” implored the woman. “Be patient with him. He’s been through so much—we don’t know what might be wrong.”
    And I don’t even know what he looks like , thought Knife in frustration. A blight on Old Wormwood , and the Queen , and all her precious Gatherers, too—this has been the longest week of my life.
     
    That week,