And that was why Mort and his father walked down through the mountains into Sheepridge on Hogswatch Eve, with Mort’s rather sparse possessions in a sack on the back of a donkey. The town wasn’t much more than four sides to a cobbled square, lined with shops that provided all the service industry of the farming community.

After five minutes Mort came out of the tailor’s wearing a loose fitting brown garment of imprecise function, which had been understandably unclaimed by a previous owner and had plenty of room for him to grow, on the assumption that he would grow into a nineteen-legged elephant.

His father regarded him critically.

“Very nice,” he said, “for the money.”

“It itches,” said Mort. “I think there’s things in here with me.”

“There’s thousands of lads in the world’d be very thankful for a nice warm—” Lezek paused, and gave up—“garment like that, my lad.”

“I could share it with them?” Mort said hopefully.

“You’ve got to look smart,” said Lezek severely. “You’ve got to make an impression, stand out in the crowd.”

There was no doubt about it. He would. They set out among the throng crowding the square, each listening to his own thoughts. Usually Mort enjoyed visiting the town, with its cosmopolitan atmosphere and strange dialects from villages as far away as five, even ten miles, but this time he felt unpleasantly apprehensive, as if he could remember something that hadn’t happened yet.

The fair seemed to work like this: men looking for work stood in ragged lines in the center of the square. Many of them sported little symbols in their hats to tell the world the kind of work they were trained in—shepherds wore a wisp of wool, carters a hank of horsehair, interior decorators a strip of rather interesting hessian wallcovering, and so on.

The boys seeking apprenticeships were clustered on the Hub side of the square.

“You just go and stand there, and someone comes and offers you an apprenticeship,” said Lezek, his voice trimmed with uncertainty. “If they like the look of you, that is.”

“How do they do that?” said Mort.

“Well,” said Lezek, and paused. Hamesh hadn’t explained about this bit. He drew on his limited knowledge of the marketplace, which was restricted to livestock sales, and ventured, “I suppose they count your teeth and that. And make sure you don’t wheeze and your feet are all right. I shouldn’t let on about the reading, it unsettles people.”

“And then what?” said Mort.

“Then you go and learn a trade,” said Lezek.

“What trade in particular?”

“Well…carpentry is a good one,” Lezek hazarded. “Or thievery. Someone’s got to do it.”

Mort looked at his feet. He was a dutiful son, when he remembered, and if being an apprentice was what was expected of him then he was determined to be a good one. Carpentry didn’t sound very promising, though—wood had a stubborn life of its own, and a tendency to split. And official thieves were rare in the Ramtops, where people weren’t rich enough to afford them.

“All right,” he said eventually, “I’ll go and give it a try. But what happens if I don’t get prenticed?”

Lezek scratched his head.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I expect you just wait until the end of the fair. At midnight. I suppose.”