A charitable guard took Jacque off the street and gave him a home for a night. Many nights, actually. Jacque hung around the town for days, asking all the old gossips about the fountain. He was easy to spot. Tall, broad, thick, muscular, Jacque had bright blue eyes, a fringe of hair that sprayed out around his head and looked like a bear going bald on top. He had large hands with a root-work of bulging veins, carried a knife at his belt, and wore a battered, broad-brimmed slouch hat to protect his head from sunburn. His face was round, neck thick and no matter how he felt, he looked strong and cheerful.

He sat through hours of guesses, mounds of assumptions and endless nonsense as each of the underemployed told all they knew, thought, guessed or could make up about the fountain, the toad, the rescue and the stranger who had saved the town. Jacque was especially interested in the stranger, the stranger who had saved him. But Jacque's hero remained a stranger. No one knew who Calian was, where from or where bound.

Weeks passed this way, and weeks stacked into months. Jacque hung about the village, living with the guard, earning his keep by heavy labor. He became a common sight on the village's main street, questioning all travellers about the heroic stranger. The town gossips learned he would not answer questions about himself, and they left him alone. He called himself Jacque the Toad, and that was all they would get from him.

But Jacque did no better with the travellers. By spring he had resigned himself to living without the identity of his liberator. When the weather warmed, he thanked his friend and landlord and told the old guard that he was leaving.

"For where?" asked the guard, munching a bit of bread for breakfast. "Back to your own people?"

Jacque shook his shaggy head. The fringe of baby fine hair waved around his ears. "I'm afraid there are no people to return to," he said, telling the guard more about himself than anyone in the village knew. "No, I'm just going to wander. I'll never learn my liberator's name by waiting here for travellers. I will travel myself and ask about. Maybe do a few things to build up this new name of mine." The large man shouldered his pack, slapped his battered hat on his balding pate, and tossed a small bag on the kitchen table. "That's the last of my wages," he said. "Well, what's left after I bought this pack and supplies. It's not much, but it is all I have to repay your kindness to me."

The guard spluttered around his mouthful of bread. "Now, you know that's not right. You've been paying your way. You keep that. You'll need it on the road."

Jacque shook his fringe of hair again. "Not where I'm going."

"And where's that?"

"I've heard nice things about the Kittim," Jacque said, "and I've never met any. I think I'll start with them."