Palustric was counting on his fingers. “It's only the third Wednesday,” he muttered gloomily.
“Anyone can possess the golden fowl,” the old woman looked around the expectant faces.
“How?” Emily asked.
“You must follow these steps: first, you must get up an hour before cockcrow and before sunrise take enough flax to make a napkin; then, you must tease it, spin it and bleach it, weave it and having finished, place a piece of maize bread in it which you must eat as the sun rises. If you have done well—”
“What?”
“The rock will slowly crack open and dissolve away like chalk in the sea, leaving the golden birds—”
“Are they solid gold?” Palustric asked.
The hood nodded.
“It doesn’t sound easy,” Adam said slowly. “There must be a catch.”
“Pixies can work flax into linen, Master,” Lar said
