In the Land of the Long White Cloud

husband when…” He extended his hand to her.
    Gwyneira nodded. “Mrs., not Lady, Warden,” she corrected him mechanically as she shook his hand. “But welcome. George mentioned something…but we can’t talk here. Wait a moment, please.”
    The young woman looked around, then located an older, dark-haired man among the shearers and exchanged a few words with him. Then she announced to the men in the warehouse that Andy McAran would be handling the overseeing for a while.
    “And I expect that you will all maintain our lead! Right now this warehouse is well ahead of one and three. Don’t let them take it from us. As you well know, the winners get a barrel of the best whiskey!” She waved cheerfully to the men, then turned to Steinbjörn. “Comewith me, please; we’ll go to the house. But first let’s find my father-in-law. He should also hear what you have to say.”
    Steinbjörn followed Gwyneira and her daughter out to the horses. There Gwyneira mounted a powerful brown mare, quickly and without help. The boy also now noticed the dogs that followed her everywhere.
    “Aren’t you needed elsewhere, Finn, Flora? Away with you, back in the warehouse. You come along, Cleo.” The young woman shooed two of the collies back to the sheep shearers; the third, an older dog who was gradually graying around the nose, joined the riders.
    Warehouse one, where Gerald was working as overseer, was located west of the main house about a mile away. Gwyneira rode in silence, and Steinbjörn did not say a word either. Fleur alone provided the general entertainment by reporting excitedly about school, where there had apparently been a fight.
    “Mr. O’Keefe was very angry at Ruben because he was at school and wasn’t helping with the sheep since the shearers are coming in a few days. Mr. O’Keefe still has sheep in the high pastures, and Ruben was supposed to fetch them, but Ruben is horribly bad when it comes to sheep. I told him: I’ll come help you tomorrow. I’ll take Finn and Flora along, then it’ll go quick as a flash.”
    Gwyneira sighed. “O’Keefe will not be particularly happy that there’s a Warden with a few Silkham collies herding his sheep while his son studies Latin…watch out that he doesn’t shoot at you!”
    Steinbjörn found the mother’s way of expressing herself as strange as that of her daughter, but Fleur seemed to understand.
    “He thinks Ruben has to want to do all that because he’s a boy,” Fleurette remarked.
    Gwyneira sighed again and halted her horse in front of a warehouse that looked just like the one they had come from. “He’s not the only one. Here…come along, if you please, Mr. Sigleifson. This is where my father-in-law is working. Or wait here if you prefer, and I’ll bring him right out. There’s as much of a rumpus in here as there was in mine.”
    Steinbjörn had already dismounted, so he followed her into the warehouse. It would not have been polite to greet the older man fromthe saddle. Besides, he hated when people treated him differently because of his limp.
    An active, noisy commotion filled warehouse one just as it had in Gwyneira’s division, but the atmosphere was different here—palpably more strained, not as chummy. The men seemed less motivated, more pressed or hounded. And the powerful older man moving among the shearers criticized rather than joked with them. A half-empty bottle of whiskey and a glass stood next to the board where he noted output. He was just taking another drink when Gwyneira entered and spoke to him.
    Steinbjörn saw a bloated face with bloodshot eyes; whiskey had clearly taken its toll on the man.
    “What are you doing here?” he snapped at Gwyneira. “Already done with the five thousand sheep in warehouse two?”
    Gwyneira shook her head. Steinbjörn noticed her simultaneously concerned and accusatory glance at the bottle.
    “No, Gerald, Andy is handling it. I was called away. And I think you should come too. Gerald, this is Mr. Sigleifson. He’s come to tell us about Lucas’s death.” She introduced Steinbjörn, but the old man’s face exhibited only disdain.
    “And you’re leaving the warehouse in the lurch for that? To hear what your cock-sucking husband’s catamite has to say?”
    Gwyneira looked shocked, but to her relief her young visitor looked on uncomprehending. His Nordic accent had already caught her attention—either he had not heard or he just didn’t understand what the words meant.
    “Gerald, this