Arya

           "There’sghosts,Iknowthereis."HotPiewaskneadingbread,hisarmsfloureduptohiselbows."Piasawsomethinginthebutterylastnight."

           Aryamadearudenoise.Piawasalwaysseeingthingsinthebuttery.Usuallytheyweremen."CanIhaveatart?"sheasked."Youbakedawholetray."

           "Ineedawholetray.SerAmoryispartialtothem."

           ShehatedSerAmory."Let’sspitonthem."

           HotPielookedaroundnervously.Thekitchenswerefullofshadowsandechoes,buttheothercooksandscullionswereallasleepinthecavernousloftsabovetheovens."He’llknow."

           "Hewillnot,"Aryasaid."Youcan’ttastespit."

           "Ifhedoes,it’smethey’llwhip."HotPiestoppedhiskneading."Youshouldn’tevenbehere.It’stheblackofnight."

           Itwas,butAryaneverminded.Evenintheblackofnight,thekitchenswereneverstill;therewasalwayssomeonerollingdoughforthemorningbread,stirringakettlewithalongwoodenspoon,orbutcheringahogforSerAmory’sbreakfastbacon.TonightitwasHotPie.

           "IfPinkeyewakesandfindsyougone"HotPiesaid.

           "Pinkeyeneverwakes."HistruenamewasMebble,buteveryonecalledhimPinkeyeforhisrunnyeyes."Notoncehe’spassedout."Eachmorninghebrokehisfastwithale.Eacheveninghefellintoadrunkensleepaftersupper,wine-coloredspitrunningdownhischin.

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