Noddak continued along the dirt path for quite a while, as directed, and soon it became graveled roadway. A little farther and it joined what he supposed was the Ring Road. The tall, peaked rooftop of the inn rose above the treetops far to the west. Noddak oriented himself and trudged eastward. Soon, the Ring Road grew close to the sea.
Noddak was growing increasingly peckish—Maleena’s excellent breakfast seemed ages ago—which did nothing to improve his foul humor. It was nearing sunset as he arrived at a little cluster of houses. A half-dozen women, going about their evening chores, noted his passing, but didn’t approach or speak to him. A bit farther along the Ring Road, he came to a junction where a muddy cart path ran alongside a long, stony strip of land that was jutting out into the bay.
Was it Laughing Goose Spit? It must be—it certainly matched Gleesa’s description. Soon the cart path ended and a small footpath trailed out to the end of the spit. Blast it all! The nasty little wretch tricked me! Here’s the spit, all right, but where’s the house? And now it’s nearly dark!
He was retracing his steps toward the Ring Road when through the trees he noticed a small white house on the far side of the spit. Leaving the path, he struck out over the rough ground, stumbling and nearly falling several times, until at last he reached the fence surrounding the little house and its yard. The white paint and yellow trim were peeling in strips. The back porch was dilapidated and broken in spots. If not for the lights in the windows, he might have thought the house to be abandoned.
He mentally shifted into ‘stealth mode,’ then crept silently through the overgrown yard toward the back porch, inadvertently disturbing a flock of wild geese that had been roosting in the shrubbery. The geese flew off in a great flurry of wings. Noddak noted that their honking did, in fact, sound a bit like laughter, if one had sufficient imagination. I’d like to give them something to laugh about, Noddak thought. I could do with a nice roast goose for my supper.
When he felt certain that the noisy departure of the geese had not alarmed the inhabitants, he continued his approach to the house. It would take all of his spycraft to reach a good listening post. He needed to find out exactly who was inside without alarming anyone.
About halfway to the house, he spooked another gaggle of the laughing geese. This time, someone inside was alerted for sure, because one of the lights moved to a window and a face, framed by hands, peered out into the darkness.
Noddak froze and tried to make himself small behind a little bush. After a long, breathless moment, the face disappeared. Noddak waited for a count of fifty, then crept up to the porch. He crouched beneath the window, where he could hear the conversation inside.
There were two voices. He recognized one—it was the same nurse healer who had treated Luddor after Noddak had wounded him. What was her name? Sel… something? Seltie? Yes, that sounded right. The other voice was calling her “Tee” for short.
He didn’t recognize the second voice. He assumed—hoped—it was Mrs. Brackenpool. She was talking in an urgent tone of voice, but low, hard for Noddak to make out. Something about tea and toast, not interesting. Something about cramps… that figures: two women, same room, there must be cramps, right? No, wait—they’re not talking about cramps, they’re talking about contractions! One of them is having a baby! And it isn’t Seltie—I would have noticed if she were pregnant when I saw her earlier.
Noddak wasn’t a quick thinker. Eventually, his slow, plodding thoughts worked their way through the logic of the situation: Mrs. Brackenpool was about to have a baby!