Gerren had begun mowing before Jon reached the field. His scythe made a soft, tearing sound through the clover, followed by the whisper of his feet. Purple flower heads fell into the swath. Beyond him the lower meadow shone silver with dew, and cattle stood against the alder shade with their tails moving.
Several weeks after the new families came, washing hung between their cottages and every chimney smoked. Beans grew beneath Merra's new window. Jon drew rein at the gate.
"Leave the horses here," Jon told Arthur. "I want to see how far they have cut."
Jon opened his coat as he walked. His shirt was damp from the recruits' short morning run; he had breakfasted on bread and ridden down while Hewyn took their drill. Commands reached the field on the changing wind.
At the end of his swath Gerren stopped to whet the blade. Dannel, one of the new tenants, stood beside him holding a rake. He was a narrow man with pale whiskers and enormous hands. His wife had brought the cow Mairi passed on the road.
"My lord." Both men took off their caps.
"Carry on, Gerren. Is the upper length ready?"
"Flowers opening all through it, my lord."
Jon parted the clover and bent a stem. Its lower leaves were green. Farther in, he checked beneath the growth before returning to the cut edge.
"Take this field today. Leave the meadow until we have these swaths spread."
Dannel looked towards the byre. "Gerren says your lordship means to keep it apart from the other hay."
"Until we know how much this ground has given us." Jon drew off his gloves. "Have you cut clover before?"
"Among the grass, my lord. Never a field sown with it." He hesitated before adding, "There is good barley land under this."
"There will be rye here after the clover has had its time. You saw the crop order when you took the holding."
"I did, my lord. I meant no complaint."
Jon watched Gerren begin another swath. "You brought a cow. How many did you leave behind?"
"Two. My brother kept one. The other we sold to the butcher."
"For want of fodder?"
"Aye."
"Then help me bring this in. We can keep beasts through the lean months if we have something to feed them."
Dannel bowed his head and returned to the cut swaths with his rake. Arthur set Jon's coat upon the gate, where it would stay clear of the cut grass.
Gerren's eldest brought Jon's scythe with its shortened handle, keeping its blade clear of his legs, then stayed to watch.
Jon's first sweep left a tuft. He shifted his foot and took the next cleanly, turning at the hips with the edge low. Hugin hunted insects along the cut, flashing three white feathers as he hopped clear. The smell brought back Jon's father's mower, grass packed under its raised deck. Here he heard Gerren's whetstone on the blade.
His shoulders began to tire well before Gerren's. Jon finished the length, stood the scythe against the cart and drank. He had the movement in his head; his body still made him pay for using it.
Arthur offered him the water again. "There is more field than there is of you."
"Gerren can have the rest." Jon pushed the white lock out of his eyes. "Send the men with forks across when they have finished carrying stone. I want this spread before dinner."
Six men from Third came with forks. Jon showed them how to loosen clover without beating off the leaves, then a practised mower took the next swath. By noon it lay pale in the sun. Wylla brought Jon broth while Merra and Hesta, Dannel's wife, served the men.
Gerren sat when Jon beckoned him, his cap upon his knee. His eldest showed them two cloths of rye seed upon a flat stone. He had wetted both the same morning and kept them together by the window; their own grain had sent out stout white roots, while much of the seed Dannel brought from home remained swollen and still.
Dannel crouched beside it. "It looked sound when we bagged it."
"Some seed dies in store." Jon put down his bowl. "Use ours for your first sowing. Keep these another few days, lad, and show him what comes up."
Gerren's son folded the cloth over the grain, careful of the roots. Dannel watched. On their way back to the field, he asked the boy how long Lord Jon had been having him try the seed that way.
* * *
They had four clear days for the hay. Jon rode down each morning before going to the works, stooped to twist a handful of stems and turned over the grass where it lay thickest. Gerren needed no lesson in judging dry hay. What caught him was how much longer the heavy clover stems held their moisture after the leaves felt ready.
"One more afternoon," Jon said. "Bring it in when the damp has gone from underneath."
Wagons came the following day. Hesta and Merra raked behind the loaders, their children gathering tufts from the tracks. Jon and Gerren's eldest watched the clover fill its separate dry bay in the barn, rising above the boy's head.
Gerren climbed the ladder to look along the top. He stayed there long enough for Merra to ask whether he meant to sleep in it.
"We have the meadow still," he said.
"Aye. I can see it from the door."
He came down slowly, smiling at Jon. "I should never have put seed upon that field for hay, my lord."
"Now you have seen it, show Dannel how you will feed it with the other fodder. I do not want hungry cattle turned straight into the standing clover."
Hesta nodded at that. Her father had lost a cow swollen upon rich grazing. She went with Gerren to look at the space left for meadow hay, asking how many beasts the byre could hold once Woods had finished its farther end.
The dry weather lasted. Dust rose behind the stone carts, and the masons covered fresh mortar against the sun. Jon helped Norren's men ram earth beneath the northern bank's cross-timbers, then joined Otho and Woods setting wallwalk bearers. Below them, the run showed bare stones where brown water had passed a fortnight before.
Dannel waited at the garden feeder with his hoe. Hesta's cabbages were wilting. Jon scraped beneath them: the older rows still held moisture, but the newly planted ground was dry. He opened the hatch a little to water those rows, keeping the bottom drain clear.
"All that digging to get the water out, and now we bring it back," Dannel said.
"Dig beside the plants before you open anything. The leaves droop in the heat even when the roots have water."
Dannel tried both patches. Jon sent him to Gerren to learn the feeder's fall; they would both have to keep it clear. When Hesta arrived with her youngest, Jon showed her which opening to close. She told Dannel, set the child well clear and fetched a hoe.
Jon sent the byre's rotted bedding to the sowing ground and left the fresh heap to rot. Beyond Hesta's garden, the lower meadow stayed unploughed for the oxen and the run's floods.
* * *
Two moons later, Arthur found Jon at the barley field with a sickle in his hand.
The tenants had begun at dawn. Sheaves stood in rows across the stubble, and the newly cut straw scratched through Jon's breeches whenever he knelt to bind one. Gerren's eldest worked beside him. His younger brother drove the cart along the headland, keeping the oxen at a pace that let the loaders follow.
"Ewan is looking for you," Arthur said.
"He has the drawing. I told him I would come after dinner." Jon twisted the straw band and tucked its end beneath itself. "Has something changed?"
"He wanted you to look at it again."
Across the river Fourth hauled squared timber to a carpenter on the wallwalk. The northern side had stood finished since haymaking; now its breastwork turned east towards the tower. Under the hammer shed's open roof, the frame waited for Ewan's gear.
"I shall see him after dinner. We shall finish this side while it is dry."
Arthur took off his cloak. He had helped with harvests as a boy in Dorne, though Gerren's eldest looked astonished when the knight asked for a sickle. Jon sent him to the next uncut strip and resumed his place.
By noon Jon's back ached, and he was glad of Merra's call. Children gleaned behind the cutters. Hesta caught her smallest pulling a bound sheaf apart for her basket.
They ate brown bread, cheese wrapped in dock leaves and boiled eggs in the cart's shade. Dannel cut his family's smoked pork and offered Jon a slice before taking his own. Jon accepted with thanks.
Merra had brought butter in a covered crock. She was taking another to Winter Town when the field work allowed it. The new alehouse bought from her, and two soldiers had asked for some to carry home on leave.
"You bought the cow, then," Jon said.
"Hesta found her for us, my lord. A good beast." Merra looked at her husband. "Gerren kept us there half the morning looking at her teeth."
Gerren swallowed his bread. "I wasn't buying her without a good look."
The women laughed. Dannel looked across the stubble.
"My brother wants to see your plough, my lord. I told him what ground we have opened. He thinks I am boasting."
"Bring him after the grain is in. You and Gerren can show him." Jon reached for the butter crock.
Drying and threshing still lay ahead. Seed and food for twelve families came before Jon's due; even then Abel would have to buy grain for the barracks. But the hay would keep more cattle alive, their dung feeding the fields in turn. His father would have asked about that before admiring the barley. Jon had heard the question often enough to ask it himself. Here winter might last years.
Jon washed at the bucket and mounted, straw clinging to his knee. As he and Arthur rode for the wheelhouse, Gerren called the workers back and the cart moved along the sheaves.
* * *
A few days later Perkin caught Jon before the afternoon's riding. Karhold, Highgarden and the Rock had accepted their clocks. Highgarden's twelve withheld dragons had come too, after Osric's drawing proved that the mason had cut the socket short. Merchant deliveries had gone to Oldtown, Barrowton and White Harbor; Gulltown and Lannisport were next.
Abel spread his account beneath Perkin's. Eighteen hundred and sixty dragons had come in since the last reckoning. Making and carrying the clocks had cost six hundred and twenty; the household and new sleeping bays had taken eight hundred. The remaining four hundred and forty joined the older coin.
"Two thousand one hundred and forty in the chest," Abel reported. "Apart from the earnest for clocks we still owe. Six hundred must stay for wages and the grain already ordered."
"Leave it there. William must tell Woods how much room he needs before I pay for more benches."
Abel unfolded Woods's price for the lodging row. "He can begin, my lord, but he will need the carpenters from the wheelhouse."
Jon read the sheet. "Leave them at the wheelhouse. We have the six lofts for a year; the row must wait."
"The lofts will not take them all," Abel said. "Some of the women in Mairi's sewing room are still paying the higher rents."
"Tell her the carpenters cannot leave the wheelhouse yet." Jon handed back the sheet.
Abel held back one letter. "Denys has found two cogs. The sellers are ending their partnership."
Jon read it. Denys had examined both hulls out of water and sailed with their masters. He wanted space for grain, wool and clock cases that his galley benches denied him.
"Buy them at the agreed price. Keep the masters and any crew willing to stay. And tell Denys I expect cargo on the return passage too."
Abel took the letter. House Black would carry island fish north and grain south, with its clocks raised clear of the damp holds.
William had been at the ordinary movements all morning. Jon and Arthur found him showing an apprentice why a clock that ran freely upon the bench caught after its case was closed. The boy reached for a heavier weight. William stopped his hand and made him open the door again.
"Look at the back of the shaft."
The apprentice found the bright mark where it had touched the timber. William waited while he corrected the clearance, then had the movement put back upon the proof frame.
"You remembered the Oldtown report," Jon said when the boy had gone.
"And Barrow Hall. The wall is not always as straight as the man who measures it says." William wiped the shaft and set it aside. "The next two should be ready to pack tomorrow."
At first Jon had checked every count and fitting with William. Then he checked only the finished movements; now William brought him the departures from established patterns. New designs still needed teaching. Common clocks no longer waited for Jon.
"Call Ewan and Woods," he said.
William looked at the clock he had just examined, then went to fetch them.
Jon took the large work-hall key from his ring. When the masters were beside the bench, he put it into William's hand.
"From tomorrow you command the clock rooms. Choose the work, pass the clocks and teach the next hands, whether I am here or away. Perkin keeps the buyers' letters and accounts; his receipts and charges go to Abel each sennight."
William turned the key over. "The new orders as well, my lord?"
"The common work, at the prices and terms we have agreed. Take only what your benches can finish. Bring a new great commission to me before you bind the house to it."
"And if a promised clock is not fit to send?"
"Keep it and put it right. Tell Perkin who must wait. You need not find me to stop bad work leaving the yard."
William went to one knee. "I will keep your trust, my lord."
"Rise, Master William."
Ewan offered his hand first, pulling William up before the younger apprentices could crowd round him. Woods took the other. One of the boys called him master twice, enjoying the sound until William sent him back to cover the open movement.
Arthur leaned nearer Jon. "You will have to ask where he keeps your tools now."
"I already do."
"Only when his lordship leaves them inside the cases," William said.
He reddened when Ewan laughed, but did not take the words back. Jon smiled and handed him the tool he had been holding.
His aunt arrived before the hall closed. Eda had brought candles and expected to find him at the bench. Instead an apprentice called him master, and she stopped with the basket against her hip.
William showed her the key. Eda looked from it to his face. "Master William? Is that what I must call you now?"
"Not you."
"What about Beth?"
"Especially not Beth."
Eda laughed and kissed his cheek. William glanced at the apprentices, but none dared smile until Ewan did.
"Beth wants you at supper tomorrow," Eda said. "She has a dry corner in the loft now and means to show you."
"After we close." William set her basket clear of the tools and opened a finished clock. He answered Eda's questions until he forgot the other benches.
* * *
Lady Stark summoned Jon next morning. He left Arthur with the horses and found her by her sitting-room window, a letter upon her lap. Luwin waited at the table with a fresh sheet.
"My father wishes to purchase one of your clocks," she said after Jon had bowed.
"For Riverrun, my lady?"
"For his hall. Lord Bracken has entertained guests beneath his, and Lord Blackwood apparently thought it necessary to tell my brother how well his own keeps the hour." Her mouth tightened. "Visitors have begun asking when Riverrun will have one."
Jon sat. Perkin had received the two keepers' reports within days of each other. Jon had wondered which neighbour would write next; a summons was new.
"William can send drawings of the cases. We shall need the height of the room and the place for the bell."
"A trout, naturally. My father leaves the arrangement to your judgement." She glanced at the letter. "He felt it would be better to settle this through me."
Luwin dipped his quill. "Have his steward's measures come with the letter, my lady?"
"He will send them." Catelyn smoothed the letter upon her knee. "There is also the price. My father would expect some consideration for a purchase within the family."
Within the family. Jon kept his eyes upon her. She had never offered him those words when there was nothing to be gained by them.
"What consideration does he ask?"
"The same size as Lord Bracken's, with a sixth allowed off the charge. The balance at the year's end, after his steward has seen how it serves. Riverrun would give your work a place before many important guests."
Luwin's quill paused above the paper. Jon could hear children in the courtyard below; someone was calling for a ball to be thrown back.
"The ordinary trial is seven days," Jon said. "If the keeper cannot manage it, our fitter stays until he can. Lord Bracken paid on those terms."
"My father is Lord Bracken's liege."
"Yes, my lady. I would be pleased to have my work in his hall." He let that stand before continuing. "But I cannot give him the same clock for less and leave the other man to learn it from his guests."
"You are being offered more than another customer."
Jon could have asked what else Hoster offered. He could imagine how little she would enjoy answering. A quarrel might cost the sale and hurt Robb.
"Then I ought to give him something suited to Riverrun," he said. "If he wishes to spend less, Woods can draw a shallower case with the trout carved upon it. The movement will keep the same hour. I can quote for both, and your father may choose."
Catelyn folded the letter sharply along its crease. "He does not wish for a lesser clock."
"Then I will send the price for the larger one. Half upon agreement, the rest when his keeper accepts it. The fitter and his instruction included."
"And when would it be ready?"
"William must give the season. I will not put another house back after taking its earnest."
For a moment Catelyn looked as though she would dismiss him. Then she turned to Luwin. "Set down both designs. My father may prefer the plainer carving."
Luwin read the terms back. Jon answered about carriage and rose at Catelyn's small nod. She did not mention family again.
Arthur was walking the horses when Jon came down. He listened as they rode through the gate.
Arthur gave a low whistle. "A sixth off. And your coin left in Riverrun until the end of the year."
"He asked through his daughter. He hoped I would find it harder to refuse."
"Did you?"
Jon glanced back towards the keep. "Politely, yes."
Arthur's expression eased. Jon meant to earn from the riverlords for years; Hoster could pay what they paid.
* * *
The answer from Castle Black arrived while William was showing a fitter how to open one of the new cases.
Perkin brought Mormont's thanks from Winterfell, written at Aemon's dictation and signed by the Lord Commander. Callum reported that the keeper had managed the clock for seven days and Garrick was packing the cradles for home. They had sheltered the movement in a lower room and shifted one rubbing cord; nothing had needed remaking.
Castle Black was setting reliefs by the bell. Men coming off the Wall no longer quarrelled over whose glass had been turned late. Mormont thanked him for the grain too, making sure the clock did not eclipse his hungry men.
Aemon heard the bell from his chamber. Callum had brought a small wheel for him to examine by touch. He hoped Jon would tell him more in person when the northern roads brought him there.
"Read that part," Jon told William, giving him the sheet.
William took it by its clean edges. His lips moved over Aemon's account before he looked up.
"He liked it, my lord?"
"He asked Callum to show him the escape wheel twice. I think so."
William read it again. Behind him the fitter waited with the open case, unwilling to interrupt.
Arthur arrived from the yard while Jon was reading Mormont's closing lines aloud. The Lord Commander's raven had begun calling for corn whenever the new bell sounded. Mormont wondered whether it would ever learn that the clock did not summon men to every meal.
"Benjen will blame you for the bird as well," Arthur said.
"He should blame whoever keeps feeding it."
Jon handed him Aemon's note. The knight read it quietly, one thumb held clear of the old man's words. When he returned it, Jon put it with the other letters rather than the delivery accounts.
Perkin settled the fitters' road purse and sent Abel the gift account, with nothing charged to the Watch. William asked to copy the passage about the keeper, then returned to his waiting fitter with the letter.