The house is a prosperous one. In Gwaren, the salt air and cruel winds make homes decay fast, so the tidiness is all the more remarkable: there's not a single spot of paint curling, not a single shutter askew. Even though it's a rather large space, inside, there's not a single draft that comes through. It's well-made.

Attended by servants, too. Not a large staff, mind - the man who met them at the door clearly works as valet and footman and butler - but to be able to afford help in these times of scarcity speaks to the comfort that the Goodwins of Gwaren have managed to achieve. So, too, does the plush divan upon which the visitors are settled, and the family portrait on the wall: large and well-painted, it depicts two dark-eyed children, a young man with a receding hairline, and a beautiful woman with long eyelashes.

Byerly's eyes linger on that portrait. He's fished a coin from his pocket at some point, a copper, which he fiddles with endlessly, scratching at the metal with his fingertip so that he has something to do. He is, transparently, terrified.