A Wrong Lane Above Coldwater
- A quick catch
- Quieter than the day
- Passage creeps up
At the crossroads above Coldwater, where carts have cut ruts through the heather, a Foundry runner named Joss Penrude came level with a Fishpond runner, Lisbet Corfe, both bound for the same gate. Neither would slow. Penrude asked where Fishpond was buying its oil, and Corfe pointed him up the wrong lane with a perfectly straight face. He took it. She took his spare wick-slip for her trouble, and they parted at a jog, each certain the other had been fooled.