Mouse had to keep in a sharp burst of laughter.
To her surprise, he was adept at pulling weeds, even without magic, and if Mouse was impressed, she knew Mr.Hobb must be doubly so.
However, the gardener merely shrugged and beckoned Mouse to the wheelbarrow, where a stack of slate-gray rocks was piled and waiting for their new home. Straining against the weight, Mouse carried the stones to the trench before laying them down next to one another like chessboard squares.
From his nest of weeds, Thornwood watched her work until she waved him over. He picked his first stone up delicately, rotating it in his hands.
“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” Mouse said as he put it in place.
“I know that it doesn’t,” he retorted, but he still straightened it twice before coming back for his next one. Half the wall was up by the time they were out of material, and the rain had slowed to a mist.
“If we can finish the rest of this wall in the afternoon, we can plant the rosebushes tomorrow morning and take advantage of this rain,” Mr.Hobb said.
“I’ll be out with some sandwiches later,” Mouse said. She caught the edge of a grimace, which Mr.Hobb quickly covered, but the damage was done. “Or I can bring something else. Mr.Thornwood’s manservant is a talented cook.”
“That would be much appreciated, Miss Mouse. Pardon my hesitancy, but a man can only eat so many eggs in a week.”
“That is probably my cue to learn more recipes,” Mouse said, blushing. Cooking took a back seat to Faerie bargains, it seemed. “I’ve become too reliant on chickens to do the work for me.”
“You have learned the most important skill in cooking and life, then, miss.”
“What is that?”
“Let your materials do most of the work.”
Mouse laughed.
“Very sound advice.” Thornwood coughed, and Mouse continued, “Speaking of advice, I was wondering if you could help us with a hypothetical situation.”
Mr.Hobb raised an eyebrow. “I would be happy to try.”
“In this situation, you have a wall completely overrun with weeds, so much so that the structure relies on them. You can’t tell where the roots are because everything is so tangled. In that situation, what would you do?”
“I would pull down the wall,” Mr.Hobb said instantly.
Mouse’s heart sank.
“If that was not an option,” Thornwood said, leaning forward, “what would you do?”
The gardener was silent for a long time. “I would focus on excavating a little bit of the plant at a time, reinforcing the wall as I went. That way, I could monitor everything throughout the process. But all in all, it’s too much work to save one little wall.”
“And how would you secure it, to make sure it did not collapse?” Thornwood pressed.
“With a brace, most likely,” Mr.Hobb said, as if it was obvious. He turned to Mouse. “What is this about?”
“It’s a thought exercise,” Thornwood interjected before Mouse could respond.
Mr.Hobb leaned back, eyeing them from beneath the rim of his hat. His eyes were sharp in a way that made Mouse’s skin prickle.
“We best get back to the Hall before we starve. I’ll make sure Mickelwaithe sends out lunch for you. I’ll be back this afternoon to help finish,” Mouse said in a rush.
“I should be able to finish it myself,” Mr.Hobb said. “There is notmuch left to do here, and I’ll need your help more tomorrow with the planting.”
Mouse nodded absently, feeling more like a pinned bug under Mr.Hobb’s gaze every second.
“It was a pleasure to work with you,” Thornwood said to Mr.Hobb with a bow.
“If you have a moment, Miss Mouse, I’d like to speak with you,” Mr.Hobb said as he narrowed his eyes at Thornwood. “Privately.”