\u201cYou do realise all this is complete nonsense, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n
Allandra smiled fondly at him. \u201cZak, you are such a cynic. The words are there, all I do is\u2026 select some of them that appear to make sense.\u201d<\/p>\n
From his chair beside the window, he grunted noncommittally. He enjoyed watching her dress \u2013 the closely-fitting bodice and trousers, then the long sharian<\/em> wrapped loosely around and tied at one hip, accentuating her still-slim body. Her hair was left loose to tumble down her back. Later, her maids would dress her more formally for her public appearances and add a little paint to her face, but for their morning fruit she wore the simplest of outfits, like a girl, the only jewellery the crystal cube on its chain about her neck.<\/p>\n \u201cThere. I am ready.\u201d<\/p>\n He rose and rapped on the door. Unseen hands opened both doors wide for them, and Allandra strode through, across the outer room and onto the wide balcony. He followed more slowly, admiring the slight sway of her hips. Three pregnancies had left her a little more rounded, but she was tall enough to carry it well.<\/p>\n As soon as they sat down at the table, servants appeared with platters of fruit, chilled from the cellar, cool drinks and rounds of bread. The balcony basked in early morning light, although the black stone of the Keeper\u2019s Tower made it seem almost as dark and gloomy as a cave. Beyond the balustrade, the golden walls and roofs of Mesanthia glowed in the sunshine, its thousands of windows shimmering like diamonds. Later it would be too hot even for the spitting lizards, but for now the air was pleasantly cool, the night chill not yet dissipated.<\/p>\n \u201cI wish you would reconsider these prophecies,\u201d Zak said.<\/p>\n She sighed, but he knew she was not displeased with him. Like all the Protectors, he shared a mental connection with her, but although she could always see into his mind, hers was closed to him unless she permitted it. However, there were certain advantages to being the Keeper\u2019s lover as well as her First Protector, and sharing her bed was not the only one. When she was alone with him, and mellow after a night of passion, she would allow him fully into her mind and her heart, almost as if they were one person. Allandra might be the ruler of a great city, but she was also a woman.<\/p>\n \u201cI have heard it all before,\u201d she said, shaking her head but smiling just the same, her mind a ripple of amusement. \u201cI know the arguments \u2013 the prophecies are a distraction, people say, they are nothing but superstition, they are meaningless.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat is all true,\u201d he said. \u201cThe worst part is the unpredictability of it. Do I have to remind you of the goats?\u201d<\/p>\n She laughed, not at all embarrassed. A prophecy involving goats\u2019 entrails had resulted in the slaughter of half the goats in the city, and a desperate shortage of milk and cheese. \u201cI know, I know. Sometimes the words are taken in unexpected ways, but working out the meaning keeps the population amused.\u201d<\/p>\n He shook his head. \u201cYou treat them lightly, but they could be a danger to us. What if the next one is taken to mean that Mesanthia should have a King instead of a Keeper? Or that we should declare war on Caxangur? Already there are factions trying to make use of them, twisting the words to their own purposes.\u201d<\/p>\n He saw the spike of fear in her mind, but she answered calmly. \u201cThe prophecies cannot be twisted.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAllandra, I fear for you if you continue on this path. The Empire\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWill not return in our lifetimes, Zak.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYet you have already prophesied it!\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cI was asked when the Empire would return, and how did the Spirit answer?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c\u2018<\/em>Mesanthia will again be the centre of a great empire when the sky burns, when dragons eat their young and when a man walks up the walls of the Academia.\u2019<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cExactly. Dragons eating their young? Walking up walls?\u201d She laughed. \u201cNot in our lifetimes, my love.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut it stirs up discontent,\u201d he muttered, although he already knew the argument was lost.<\/p>\n \u201cZak\u2026\u201d She reached across the table to take his hand, and now her mind was filled with affection. \u201cYou know the benefit of the prophecies as well as I do \u2013 they keep the Tre\u2019annatha occupied. Nothing else has kept them quiet, but every darkmoon they rush away and begin a new research program to interpret the Spirit\u2019s words. It\u2019s wonderful. I could no more give up the prophecies than I could give up you.\u201d<\/p>\n And she smiled at him with such love that he hadn\u2019t the heart to persist. He didn\u2019t like it, but she was the Keeper, after all, the absolute ruler of Mesanthia and all its dominions.<\/p>\n \u201cYou worry too much,\u201d she said. \u201cRelax, the prophecies are harmless entertainment.\u201d<\/p>\n ~~~~~<\/p>\n The audience chamber was full, of course. It always was, on prophecy day. Time was, no one came to the Keeper\u2019s Tower at darkmoon, for it was an inauspicious day for spiritual guidance. A day or two later would be a good time to seek a reading for a beginning \u2013 a new business venture, or a marriage. A day or two earlier, it might be advice on concluding a deal. But the darkest day of the month, with neither waxing nor waning moon visible, was believed to be risky for all enterprises.<\/p>\n Except for prophecies, apparently.<\/p>\n As the Keeper\u2019s procession entered from the ante-chamber, Zak followed two paces behind Allandra. He was the only Protector in attendance today, but then he liked to have her to himself. His gaze roved over the crowds as they bowed low. Merchants, academics, the wealthy, the idly curious \u2013 all those who could convince the stewards they had a legitimate interest, or could buy their way in. Mostly Akk\u2019ashara, with the same darkly burnished skin as the Keeper and Zak himself, mingling with a scattering of the former slaves, the Dresshtian, with their pale skin and hair of every colour.<\/p>\n And just a few Tre\u2019annatha, making the insolent half-bow they still preferred. They were tucked unobtrusively into corners, but still conspicuous by their softly curling brown hair and the shape of their eyes, so alike that Zak could rarely tell one from another. One he knew well, however, always recognisable from his clothes. He wore the same leather coat, boots and hat as every other of his race, but his were dyed a deep red, the colour of dried blood. Mikko was his public name, for the Tre\u2019annatha rarely revealed their real names to outsiders. Mikko the Executioner. Mikko the Assassin. Mikko the Murderer. So people called him, and for all Zak knew, it might even be true, for how the Tre\u2019annatha punished their own people was a matter for them. Whatever the truth of it, he was feared and disliked by Mesanthians of all races, and a man doesn\u2019t acquire such a reputation accidentally.<\/p>\n Allandra swept onto the dais at the far end of the chamber and took her seat, regal in her formally draped sharian<\/em> and artfully entwined silk headscarves, the Keeper\u2019s Box sparkling on its silver chain about her neck. Zak, in his mail, one hand on the hilt of his sword, took his position beside her chair. The guards, stewards and lawyers arranged themselves according to rank on the steps of the dais.<\/p>\n The Chief Steward banged his staff three times on the ground. \u201cPray silence for Her Reverence, the Keeper of the Spirit of Mesanthia,\u201d he intoned, although no one had dared to speak. \u201cWho petitions the Spirit this day?\u201d<\/p>\n A small man took a step forward from the crowd, an Akk\u2019ashara and also a craftsman, Zak judged from his garments. Behind him, a cluster of fellow craftspeople, all in their best attire, faces shining with anticipation. The craftsman licked his lips, watching the Keeper fearfully, his hat clutched in his hands.<\/p>\n The Chief Steward frowned, and waved the man forward.<\/p>\n Then Zak recognised him, and a frisson of concern flickered through him. This man and his friends were committed believers in the restoration of the Empire, as Zak himself had been, once. Now he saw the value of a Keeper instead of an Empress, but there were plenty of Akk\u2019ashara who yearned for the old days of glory, and had not yet given up hope of re-establishing the Akk\u2019asharan Empire.<\/p>\n Allandra smiled and leaned forward in the massive carved chair. \u201cPlease\u2026 come a little nearer.\u201d Someone gave the man a shove in the small of his back and he involuntarily took several steps nearer the dais. \u201cAnd a little more, so you won\u2019t have to shout.\u201d Another smile, and he visibly relaxed and inched nearer. \u201cWhat\u2019s your name?\u201d<\/p>\n Her easy use of the lower-class way of talking reassured him. \u201cDran.\u201d His voice was barely above a whisper. He tried again. \u201cI am Dran Bennashie, Gracious Lady.\u201d One of his friends hissed at him. \u201cUm, Most Revered One. Of the\u2026 of the Empress Shoimandria\u2019s Own Guild of Bakers, Pastry Makers and Dough Mixers. I\u2026 I seek\u2026 a reading from the Spirit.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know of your Guild, Master Bennashie,\u201d Allandra said gravely. \u201cAnd of your patroness, who was one of the greatest Empresses of the Expansion Era.\u201d<\/p>\n Dran\u2019s face lit up. \u201cShe was, Revered One, she was. A very great Empress, who was responsible for much of the early success of the Great and Glorious Empire of the All-Powerful Akk\u2019asharan People, may its wonders never be forgotten.\u201d<\/p>\n Zak watched Allandra out of the corner of his eye, but she gave no reaction to this inflammatory statement. Despite the widespread support for a return to the days of Empire, it was not politic to express it quite so openly. There was a rumble of surprise around the chamber, quashed by the thump of the Chief Steward\u2019s spear on the marble floor. The Tre\u2019annatha looked on impassively.<\/p>\n \u201cIs your petition a plea or a question, Master Dran?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA question. Um, Most Revered One.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cVery well. You may ask your question.\u201d<\/p>\n Dran licked his lips again, and shuffled his feet. Then he cleared his throat. No one spoke, but one or two in the audience shifted restlessly. He cleared his throat again.<\/p>\n \u201cMost Revered One,\u201d he began, hesitantly and then with more confidence, the carefully memorised words coming more easily to him. \u201cI am chosen by the Empress Shoimandria\u2019s Own Guild of Bakers, Pastry Makers and Dough Mixers to ask the Spirit of Mesanthia the following question: where may be found the man who walks up walls?\u201d<\/p>\n Zak sighed. Now they were asking questions about the previous prophecies, and always there was this interest in the Empire. It was worrying.<\/p>\n A buzz of excitement broke out in the chamber, as always at any mention of the Empire. The Akk\u2019ashara were elated, for if there were to be another Empire, they would be the rulers. The Dresshtians were apprehensive, for perhaps they would be returned to slavery.<\/p>\n And the Tre\u2019annatha? There was, as always, calculation in their faces. Some of them whispered together, but Mikko\u2019s eyes were fixed on Allandra. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, but Zak imagined the first objective would be to find a way to turn this to his people\u2019s advantage. Zak had always suspected that the Tre\u2019annatha ambition was to rule the whole world, but not the traditional way, by war and conquest and domination. Theirs were the stealthy, underhand methods, insinuating themselves into every country, every kingdom, every region, every city and eating away from the inside until it fell into their hands. A nasty, sneaking sort of people.<\/p>\n But all such thoughts were premature, for there was, as yet, no answer to the question. Perhaps the Spirit would say something sensible for once: \u2018No one can walk up walls.\u2019<\/em> Or even, \u2018Go away, and do something useful instead of bothering me with silly questions.\u2019 <\/em>More likely it would return an answer even sillier than the question: \u2018In the entrails of a giant moundrat caught in the stomach of a dragon.\u2019<\/em> Or perhaps Allandra would refuse it\u2026<\/p>\n \u201cI accept this petition,\u201d Allandra said crisply, her mind calm. \u201cI shall consult the Spirit for guidance in this matter.\u201d<\/p>\n She rose from her chair, as the assembled crowd dropped into their deep bows. All but the Tre\u2019annatha, their bows no more than a slight bending at the waist, the eyes not even lowered. So arrogant, so insolent to the supreme ruler of Mesanthia.<\/p>\n Allandra descended from the dais, Zak following two paces behind, and turned to the wall behind the dais, where the wooden doors to the Keeper\u2019s Room were opened for them by the doorkeepers. They swept through and the doors closed behind them with a snick. Silence fell. And not just silence. For the first time that day, Zak couldn\u2019t see into Allandra\u2019s mind. He was a separate person again, himself alone.<\/p>\n Visually, the Keeper\u2019s Room was unimpressive. It was a perfect circle, with white-painted walls, the floor and flat ceiling of polished, unadorned black marble. Two pairs of doors faced each other, one to the audience chamber and the public rooms beyond, the other the only access to the Keeper\u2019s private quarters. In the centre, a black marble pillar reached to chest height, with a small indentation in the flat plane of its top. Not an imposing space, on the surface.<\/p>\n But here in this small, plain room resided the power of the Keeper, and of Mesanthia. The Akk\u2019asharan Empire had risen because of it, and could rise again if ever the Keeper willed it. The weight of it pressed down on Zak, as it always did, as if he were beneath a great mountain, the rock crushing him so that he could barely breathe. Everywhere else in the Keeper\u2019s Tower felt ordinary, the rooms just rooms, the staircases nothing but a means of ascent or descent. But this room was heavy with ancient mysteries. With magic.<\/p>\n Yet Allandra seemed energised by it, lighter in spirit than anywhere else. A ripple of laughter escaped her, as she detached the box from its chain around her neck. Such a tiny thing, a crystal cube no wider than a thumbnail. She shook it, laughed again, and set the crystal into the indentation on the top of the pillar. The room darkened momentarily, then light flowed into every part of it. The white walls around them were filled with scraps of writing, all at odd angles, in a score of different scripts and who knew how many languages.<\/p>\n Zak never understood how Allandra could make anything of the muddle of words. He had tried to make sense of it sometimes \u2013 piecing together snippets from one place with another \u2013 but he had never found anything that had a sensible meaning. Yet she would flit from place to place, her head bent at odd angles sometimes to read the words, occasionally running her fingers over sections, and never seemed at a loss. Usually it wasn\u2019t long before she smiled, collected the crystal cube, and said, \u201cThat\u2019s it. I\u2019m ready.\u201d He had no idea how she did it. He was not much of a believer in gods or spirits or magical powers, but even his cynical mind could see something unusual at work here.<\/p>\n Today it seemed a long time before she was done, and the tiniest frown creased that otherwise perfect forehead.<\/p>\n \u201cA problem?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cNo, no. It\u2019s just \u2013 bizarre, that\u2019s all. Sometimes the Spirit is very difficult to understand.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt wouldn\u2019t be much of a spirit if its actions were transparent, would it?\u201d<\/p>\n She laughed at that, as she fastened the crystal back onto its chain. \u201cTrue enough. Right, let\u2019s go.\u201d<\/p>\n Zak rapped on the doors, which opened at once. A buzz of conversation in the audience chamber died away to expectant silence as Allandra resumed her place on the dais and sat again. Zak took his place beside her chair, quickly scanning the room with an expert eye, but all seemed to be just as they had left it. Allandra\u2019s mind was open to him again, and now he became aware of a strong current of confusion in her. That was not a good sign. Whatever had the Spirit said?<\/p>\n \u201cPlease step forward, Master Dran. I have put your question to the Spirit and the Spirit has answered. Will you hear the answer?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, yes please! Um, Most Revered One. I mean, Most Revered.\u201d<\/p>\n Amusement rippled through Allandra\u2019s mind. \u201cI answer to either title, Master.\u201d Then her mind shifted back to confusion. \u201cHear, then, the guidance of the Spirit of Mesanthia. A free man shapes wood with his hands; fire to live, fire to change, fire to die; a spear of great power is in the eye.\u201d<\/p>\n There was a long silence, as the audience considered the ominous words.<\/p>\n \u2018A spear of great power is in the eye?\u201d <\/em>Zak thought to Allandra.<\/p>\n Her eyes flicked towards him with just a twitch of the lips. She said nothing, but in her mind he detected the mental equivalent of a shrug.<\/p>\n The wharf was a mess of discarded crates, loops of frayed rope and escaped vegetables. A pair of goats bleated mournfully as they were led away by a barefoot child of no more than six or seven. Two sullen-looking men unloaded bales from a wagon, barely looking up from their work as the barge Blue Chimney<\/em> manoeuvred to its berth. In front of a line of huts which served as receiving posts for merchant houses and barge companies, a rotting sign bore the faded words \u2018Krandetha Yatta\u2019<\/em>.<\/p>\n \u201cOdd name. I wonder what it means,\u201d Findo said.<\/p>\n \u201cNo idea,\u201d Tinya said cheerfully. \u201cAll th\u2019strands round abouts have funny names, from th\u2019old days, \u2019spect.\u201d<\/p>\n She leapt nimbly ashore and began tying the barge to the cleats, deftly wrapping the ropes back and forth.<\/p>\n Kennet hoisted Findo\u2019s bag onto one shoulder and jumped ashore. Kicking aside a yellowed cabbage, he cleared a space to deposit the bag. He looked disdainfully around the tatty wharf. \u201cThis place don\u2019t look so great. Ye sure ye won\u2019t stay with us a bit longer, Fin?\u201d<\/p>\n Findo looked at the barger sorrowfully. \u201cFindo. Names are important.\u201d<\/p>\n Kennet just grinned at him. The two men were much of an age, but not much else about them was alike. Kennet owned his own barge and his own woman, his business on the canals was thriving, and in a year or two he\u2019d have enough saved for a second barge and a second woman, and perhaps a cottage for Tinya to start producing babies. Findo, on the other hand, had nothing but a few tools, a small bag of coins and some spare shirts. And a prophecy, he reminded himself. The Keeper had given him a prophecy of his own, along with a new set of clothes and one hundred silvers. For some reason Findo valued the prophecy more highly than the silvers.<\/p>\n Findo stepped onto the wharf, and picked up his bag. \u201cThank you for your hospitality,\u201d he said to Tinya.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, ye earned ye\u2019s keep and a bit more besides,\u201d she said. \u201cNo need to thank us fer that. Good luck, Findo. We come this way regular, like, back and for\u2019ard t\u2019Caxangur, so we\u2019ll see ye again, \u2019spect.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re here for a couple o\u2019 hours, if ye changes ye\u2019s mind \u2018bout stayin\u2019,\u201d Kennet added, with another grin.<\/p>\n Findo smiled at the man\u2019s persistence, but didn\u2019t answer. With a wave of farewell, he set off past the two unloaders, now lounging beside their empty wagon chewing some leaf. Everyone along the canals seemed to chew something, so they all had teeth stained green or red or black.<\/p>\n The landward side of the wharf was lined with solid wooden warehouses, in need of a coat of paint but otherwise in good shape. Beyond that lay a higgledy-piggledy array of cottages for the canal workers. Perhaps cottages was too grand a term for them, since they displayed a fine disregard for conventional building materials. One wall of brick or painted clay or just heaped earth was joined by two others made of whatever the builder had to hand \u2013 rough-cut logs, heaped stone, broken packing cases or lines of thin sticks woven into some semblance of a flat surface. The roof and final wall were skins. A few structures were perfectly round, made entirely of skins stretched over poles. Findo had seen worse, so he walked past them without interest, keeping to the paved road that connected the wharf to the town.<\/p>\n Beyond the crowded cottages he found himself in a broad square, although it wasn\u2019t quite regular enough to qualify for the term. A clump of dusty trees in the centre provided shade for groups of elders gossiping and playing noisy games with stones. Around the perimeter were stone-built offices for the strand council and several barge companies, a number of shops and, clustered on the far side, the usual set of facilities for the benefit of locals and travellers alike \u2013 inn, cook house, tavern, bath house and comfort house.<\/p>\n Findo walked around the edge of the square. Passers-by nodded to him politely and then moved on without interest. Strangers were not an unusual sight anywhere on the canal system. The inn was shuttered, but the door stood wide open, and a curtain of small bells on strings jangled as he pushed through it. The lobby was stiflingly hot, even at this hour of the morning.<\/p>\n He waited, his fingers running up and down the door-frame.<\/p>\n A small woman, round as a dumpling, emerged from some inner fastness, brushing flour from her hands. \u201cHelp ye?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019d like a room, please.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cQuarter for a night, in th\u2019hand.\u201d She was already reaching for the book and a writing stick lying on a shelf beside the door, not much interested. She was not yet forty, he estimated, but sour-faced, as if constantly disappointed with life.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll be staying for a moon.\u201d<\/p>\n She paused, then turned and looked at him fully. \u201cA moon?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAye.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFive coppers, then. In th\u2019hand.\u201d<\/p>\n He reached for the purse tucked for safety inside his trousers, counting five coppers into her hand. She bit them all, then grunted. \u201cFine. Name.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFindo Gask.\u201d<\/p>\n She laboriously wrote it in the book. \u201cWhere ye from?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMesanthia.\u201d<\/p>\n That earned him another long look before she turned back to the book and scratched away again. \u201cThere. Make ye\u2019s mark, just here.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI can write my name.\u201d He corrected her spelling, then signed beside his name.<\/p>\n \u201cYe\u2019s a long way from home.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot so far. Two days, maybe three. As the dragon flies.\u201d<\/p>\n She looked sideways at him, as if she thought he was teasing her, but perhaps decided not to contest the point. \u201cYe can have one o\u2019th\u2019top rooms, if ye\u2019s staying so long. Blue door. Number fourteen, if ye can read. Tavern\u2019s best avoided tomorrow and the next day. Barge train\u2019s in. Tell Willow at th\u2019cook house ye\u2019s here for th\u2019moon, she\u2019ll give ye a rate. If ye go to th\u2019comfort house, ask fer Lily. Very young. Pretty, too. She be m\u2019daughter. Tell her Oakleaf sent ye, she\u2019ll give ye a rate too.\u201d<\/p>\n Oakleaf. Willow. Lily. Curious names.<\/p>\n \u201cWelcome to Krandetha Yatta, Master Gask.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOdd name for a town. I daresay it has some local meaning.\u201d<\/p>\n She shrugged. \u201cWho knows? Not me. Mebbe the Stewards know. Ye gotta lock for ye\u2019s box?\u201d<\/p>\n He nodded, hoisted his bag to his shoulder and headed for the stairs. His fingers brushed the rail as he ascended each flight. Number fourteen was not large, and was hot and stuffy. He raised the shutter of the only window to admit a little air, but there was no breeze to freshen the room. At least it was clean, or cleaner than many inn rooms, anyway. A low pallet with a lumpy mattress was the only furniture. A shelf across one corner provided a seat, and there was a cracked bowl and ewer on another shelf for washing. He touched each shelf in turn, then the window frame and the pallet. Nothing interesting there.<\/p>\n The box looked solidly made, and was firmly screwed to the floor. The wood was foreign, perhaps from the western canals. Smooth, the lengths well-fitted, the handle on the lid polished with use. Contented, he decided. Even so, he checked it over thoroughly for hidden flaps or loose boards before he deposited his bag inside and padlocked it shut. He\u2019d learnt the hard way that not all innkeepers were honest.<\/p>\n Downstairs, he made his way next door to the cook house. The law in the eastern canals insisted that inns, eating and bath houses, taverns and brothels should be separate establishments, but they were often owned by the same family, and, as here, arranged in a small group around a courtyard for the convenience of patrons moving from one to another.<\/p>\n The cook house was deserted, for most workers took a parcel of food from home for their noon meal rather than pay good coin for it. A man chopping vegetables in the kitchen willingly brought him soup, however, and bread still warm from the oven. Findo took them outside, to sit at one of the many tables filling the courtyard. Local wood, he decided, stroking the top of it. The legs were rough, not well made. In a corner of the courtyard, three or four chairs were stacked, sporting missing or broken legs.<\/p>\n While he was eating, a woman emerged from the cook house of much his own age, her headscarf denoting her a married woman with children.<\/p>\n \u201cHello, stranger. I\u2019m Willow,\u201d she said, pulling up a stool to sit beside him.<\/p>\n \u201cFindo Gask at your service.\u201d<\/p>\n An eyebrow lifted. \u201cAt my service? How nice! Ye\u2019ve business in town, maybe?\u201d<\/p>\n She had the slurred vowels of the eastern canals, but with a more educated tone. At once he was wary, his senses attuned to the voices of authority. Probably she was someone important around here. Married to the owner of this little clutch of establishments, perhaps, or the owner herself, if such things were allowed here.<\/p>\n \u201cNo business.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cVisiting?\u201d He shook his head. \u201cStaying long?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA moon.\u201d<\/p>\n Both eyebrows lifted at that. Was it so odd for anyone to stay so long? \u201cExactly a moon? Or round about a moon?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cExactly a moon. I\u2019ll move on next darkmoon.\u201d<\/p>\n She watched him in silence as he drained the last drops from the soup bowl, and mopped out the bowl with bread. \u201cWell, Findo Gask, ye\u2019s welcome to Krandetha Yatta. If ye want all ye\u2019s meals here, come and see me this evening, and I\u2019ll fix ye a rate, if ye pay beforehand.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAye.\u201d She made to leave, so he said, \u201cI could look at those chairs while I\u2019m here. Might be able to mend them.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSurely.\u201d<\/p>\n He fetched his tools and set to work on one of the chairs that had a leg loose. It would have been the work of a moment to glue it back into place, but that was not his way. He carefully ran his hands over every part, feeling the wood, the joints, the way it was made. It had not come far, he decided. Not immediately local, but from only a few marks away, and made with skill but not much interest. An apprentice, perhaps. Definitely not the work of a master.<\/p>\n He tightened and smoothed and glued, then set that one aside and started on another. Gradually the afternoon wore away. Willow brought him a mug of something hot, which he sipped once or twice and then forgot about. Only when the last chair was fixed did he stop, stretch, look around him.<\/p>\n Several of the other tables were occupied now, a meaty aroma emanating from bowls and platters, a low buzz of conversation running around the courtyard. Beside him, Willow sat, a smile on her face.<\/p>\n \u201cYe plan to work all night?\u201d she said. \u201cThat\u2019s some fierce concentration on ye.\u201d<\/p>\n He shook his head. \u201cNo hour bells here. No idea of time.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHmm.\u201d She looked sideways at him. \u201cYe\u2019s accent is eastern. Ye from Graendar, maybe?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMesanthia.\u201d<\/p>\n Her face twisted. \u201cCity of fountains. The glorious heart of the Empire.\u201d She spat with force, the spittle fizzing on the hot ground.<\/p>\n \u201cNo Empire now,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cThey\u2019ve got their water back, though. Give them time, and they\u2019ll be all over us again.\u201d<\/p>\n He shook his head firmly. \u201cNew Keeper\u2019s different.\u201d<\/p>\n Willow\u2019s eyes narrowed. \u201cDifferent? How is she different from any of them? And why do you<\/em> stand up for her<\/em>? The Akk\u2019ashara have done nothing for your kind. You\u2019d still be slaves if they had their<\/em> way. There are<\/em> still slaves there, everyone knows that. You owe them nothing, you Dresshtians.\u201d<\/p>\n Dresshtian? He supposed he was, now. Akk\u2019ashara, Tre\u2019annatha, Dresshtian. Two ruling classes and\u2026 the rest, the motley collection of former slaves. But he couldn\u2019t allow any disparagement of the new Keeper.<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s different,\u201d he said again, but cautiously, aware that Willow\u2019s accent had lost the local patina and become far more educated. \u201cShe\u2019s freeing all the bonded servants.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBonded servants \u2013 pah! Slaves, that\u2019s all they are.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSome are. Keeper\u2019s freeing them.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo she says<\/em>. She\u2019ll do this, she\u2019ll do that, but it\u2019s all talk. She just wants to be Empress. She\u2019ll never free any slaves.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFreed me,\u201d he said quietly.<\/p>\n ~~~~~<\/p>\n The bath house was much like any other bath house in the northern plains. Separate pools for men and women, a private tub for anyone wanting to hide away, laundry tubs round the back. Findo always bathed in the open pool with everyone else. It was what he was used to, and the further he travelled from Mesanthia the less anyone recognised the slave tattoo on his ankle for what it was.<\/p>\n Not that it was called that openly, for no one in Mesanthia talked of slavery, naturally. Slavery had been abolished hundreds of years ago, so of course there were no slaves any more. There was only bonded servitude, with time limits and a multitude of legal protections, where servants were paid a bond fee by their bond-holder, and could buy back their freedom at any time. Entirely voluntary, with the exception of criminals, forced into it as punishment for crimes, and what was wrong with that? And if sometimes a bonded servant lost the money from the bond, or gave it to kin and couldn\u2019t pay for their freedom \u2013 well, that was unfortunate, but nothing could be done about it.<\/p>\n In practice, any number of traders brought captives to the city and sold them there in secret underground markets, keeping the bond money for themselves. How could such a captive ever earn the money to buy his freedom? It was impossible. Findo had resigned himself to a lifetime of slavery until the new Keeper had changed everything. No one, she decreed, should ever stay in bonded servitude for more than thirty years. Findo had served the full thirty years, so he was one of the first to be freed. Now he had a time-served tattoo above the slave tattoo. And a prophecy, the prophecy that kept him wandering.<\/p>\n After bathing, he went back to the cook house to eat, arranging his rate with Willow.<\/p>\n \u201cYe look better with the dust washed off ye,\u201d she said, eyeing him with clear interest. \u201cNever\u2019ve guessed ye\u2019s hair was so yellow. Don\u2019t see that colour often. So. If ye\u2019s staying, ye want more things to fix?\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019ve a door won\u2019t shut properly.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAye, I\u2019ll look at it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow much ye want for it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFor you, nothing. You gave me a rate. Anyone else, a copper or two. If that\u2019s allowed here.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSurely. A man doing a job of work can charge for his time and his skill. I\u2019ll tell folk ye\u2019ll fix broken chairs and such like for them. Ye can work here, if ye want. Maybe they\u2019ll want a meal while they wait for ye to work ye\u2019s magic, or maybe I\u2019ll find more chairs and doors for ye to mend for me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThanks.\u201d<\/p>\n His room at the top of the inn was still hot, but less stuffy now. He undressed in the dark, recited his growing collection of prayers and then lay down on the low pallet and waited for sleep. It was, as always, a long time coming. His mind wandered back over the day, his parting from Tinya and Kennet, his meetings with Oakleaf and Willow. Had he done everything he should have done? Had he said all the correct gratitudes and courtesies? He thought he had. He began making a mental list of everything he must do tomorrow. Day two was an important one, with much to be remembered, much to be\u2014<\/p>\n The slightest scrabbling noise alerted him. Something outside the window, by the sound of it. There it was again. A mouse, perhaps? Too loud for an insect, unless it was enormous.<\/p>\n Silently, he rolled out of bed and stood in one fluid movement, then moved towards the window. As he did so, a face appeared in it, not two paces from him. A mischievous face, a child, perhaps, its wide grin turning instantly to surprise when it saw Findo so close.<\/p>\n The face shot downwards, out of sight. Findo crossed the gap to the window in a heartbeat and peered out and down. Nothing visible, but then it was darkmoon and no lamps were lit nearby. The darkness below his window was impenetrable. He watched until his eyes lost focus, but saw nothing move, heard no sound.<\/p>\n He turned away, convinced he must have imagined it all. He was on the fourth floor, after all, the walls covered in vertical planks with no handholds and no trees or vines nearby. No child, however agile, could have climbed so high. It was just his mind playing tricks on him while he was in that peculiar state halfway between awake and asleep. No, it was impossible.<\/p>\n Even so, he closed the shutter before he went back to bed.<\/p>\n Within three days, Findo had fallen into a routine. Straight after his first prayers, he would go round to the cook house for his morning meal \u2013 fish, usually. The canal folk loved their fish. Then he would work at whatever broken things were brought to him. Sometimes he would be asked to go to a house to fix a door or window or shelf. At noon, a bowl of soup with bread, then he would walk about the town exploring, watching the townsfolk go about their business. Back to the bath house, then supper, then bed.<\/p>\n He\u2019d hoped to add to his list of prayers, but his enquiries regarding gods and religious practices bore little fruit. Canalside folk were not much given to belief in the supernatural, and apart from tossing a small coin or a piece of meat into the water for good luck, they thought little about the Greater Power guiding their lives.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019d like to go to a temple,\u201d he\u2019d said to Willow one evening when she brought his supper.<\/p>\n \u201cWe only have a couple, one down by the western wharf to the Sun God and a small one by the Yander bridge \u2013 not even sure what that\u2019s to. We\u2019re not much bothered about that sort of thing here. A few folk have shrines set up in the fields, or outside their houses, but it\u2019s not common. Which god do you follow then, Findo?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAll of them.\u201d<\/p>\n She laughed, but then said, \u201cOh, you\u2019re serious? So\u2026 let\u2019s see, you\u2019re from Mesanthia, so that\u2019s the One, right? And maybe the Goddess? What else?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSun and Moon Gods, all the sprites, the Three, the Four, the Seven, the Nine, the Demon King, the\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe Demon King! What\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFrom the desert people. I only know one prayer, though. The Fire Lord, the Ruler of Light and Darkness, the Secret God \u2013 I have some prayer beads for that one.\u201d He pulled a length of blue beads from under his shirt. \u201cThen there\u2019s the Dragon God or Wind God \u2013 reports differ \u2013 the Spirit of Mesanthia, and the Spirit of us all.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou can\u2019t believe in all those!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEvery one has many followers. Can\u2019t all be mistaken.\u201d He bent his head to his bowl. He\u2019d seen such incredulity many times now, and he\u2019d grown used to it. His last owner had listened to his arguments gravely, and debated the case with academic precision, but the ordinary people he met simply laughed at him.<\/p>\n Willow didn\u2019t laugh. She pondered the point thoughtfully. \u201cSome of them are contradictory,\u201d she said at last. \u201cThe Sun God and the Moon Gods \u2013 well, maybe they work in harmony. But the One and the Three \u2013 they can\u2019t both be right.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe names are irrelevant,\u201d Findo said seriously. \u201cHow people interpret their gods \u2013 that doesn\u2019t matter. All the petty rules \u2013 wear this, tattoo that, make offerings, go to temple daily \u2013 none of that matters. All the different gods are just manifestations of a Greater Power that we mortals are too simple to understand fully. But it\u2019s guiding our steps just the same. All we have to do is acknowledge the various facets, and pray to them, and one or other of them will be there to lead us in the right way when we need them.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s what you do \u2013 acknowledge them? Pray to them?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes. Wherever I go, I visit the temples and collect the local prayers.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd does it work?\u201d she said, but not in a jeering way. She seemed genuinely interested.<\/p>\n \u201cIt does,\u201d he said. \u201cThe Greater Power has guided my steps ever since I was set free in Mesanthia. It has brought me here, after all.\u201d<\/p>\n She looked around at the nondescript buildings and the shabby clothes that most of her customers wore, and smiled. \u201cYour Greater Power took you away from the wonders of Mesanthia and brought you here? But why?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t know yet.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut you believe there\u2019s some purpose to it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAlways a purpose. Everything is for a purpose.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, Findo, I don\u2019t know what Mesanthia is like \u2013 maybe the exalted folk there have some purpose to their lives \u2013 but here, it\u2019s about survival. Work hard, save something for the bad times, help anyone with less than you, don\u2019t get so drunk you fall into the canal. If you have the time and the energy, enjoy yourself a little bit. That\u2019s all there is.\u201d<\/p>\n He shook his head. \u201cAlways a purpose. Don\u2019t always know what it is, but there\u2019s always a purpose.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, good luck with that, Findo Gask. May the Greater Power guide your steps until you find your purpose.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt will.\u201d<\/p>\n ~~~~~<\/p>\n Every ten days there was a big market in the town. The night before the market, the barge train arrived, a long line of vessels tying up five deep at the town\u2019s three wharves, the bargers flooding to the bath houses, taverns and comfort houses. The morning after the market, they were gone at first light. For the whole of the day in between, a field on the outskirts of town became a thriving village of stalls and roving sellers. Findo missed the first one, being too new to pick up the talk amongst Willow\u2019s patrons, but when the next market came around, he\u2019d got his bearings and was there by mid-morning, as soon as his work for the day was finished.<\/p>\n He\u2019d been to enough markets in his year on the canals to be cautious. He took very little money with him, the purse tucked inside his trousers and tied round one leg tight enough that he\u2019d notice any thievery. He stowed a knife in one boot, just in case. Then he walked through the town to the field. He bought a pasty from the first tray that passed him by, then a mug of ale to wash it down. Thus fortified, he wandered around the stalls and carts and blankets on the ground that marked the pitches for the poorest sellers.<\/p>\n Findo wasn\u2019t very interested in the goods on offer. He\u2019d never owned much besides his tools and a few clothes, and wanted nothing more. The cheap trinkets and toys and badly-made candlesticks held no attraction for him. It was people who interested him, the myriad faces of humanity working, playing and making mischief. They fascinated him, the canal folk. For thirty years, his whole world had been peopled by Mesanthians in their pale silks and linens, with their languid movements and graceful gestures, their dignified way of life. And their cleanliness \u2013 from the highest to the lowest, Mesanthians bathed every day, and often twice a day or more. Here all was rush and bustle and confusion, and endless dirt. Canal folk seldom bathed, resenting even the small coin asked for the bath house. A man might only go there before visiting the comfort house, when a bath beforehand was compulsory and included in the price. A dip in the canal once or twice each moon was thought to be enough, and hot water was kept for the laundry. Findo was used to the constant smell by now, but he never ceased to notice it.<\/p>\n He stopped for a while to watch a puppet show. These were common everywhere, the performances a mixture of stirring stories from history and news from far-flung places. Whether it was the troubles in the Karningplain, floods in Caxangur, a new leader in Graendar or more earthquakes in the Sky Mountains, the little dolls would report it faithfully. Although sometimes Findo wondered just how accurate they were \u2013 dragons sighted off the coast near Drakk\u2019alona? His second owner had been certain that all the dragons were gone, quite extinct.<\/p>\n The puppet show ended with a funny scene that had the crowd roaring with laughter. As they began to disperse, Findo turned away, his mind still full of dragons, and nearly bumped into a boy turning towards him. The boy was almost as tall as he was, his expression dominated by a wide smile from the puppets\u2019 joking, a mischievous grin that was so familiar. The last time he had seen that face, it had been peering through his fourth-floor window. Their eyes met for a heartbeat\u2026 two\u2026 three. The grin slowly faded. Then his nocturnal visitor turned and ran.<\/p>\n Findo gave chase, but the boy disappeared so quickly that it was futile. Findo stopped, puzzled. How could anyone run so fast? One moment he was there, the next he just seemed to vanish into the distance. The rest of the day was spent prowling around the market, looking at every passing face, but he saw no further sign of the boy. He\u2019d disappeared without a trace.<\/p>\n ~~~~~<\/p>\n \u201cYe\u2019ll stay a bit longer, won\u2019t ye?\u201d Oakleaf asked Findo one day as he was leaving the inn. \u201cYe\u2019s making some money here, and ye\u2019s no trouble. Folk likes ye well enough. So ye\u2019ll stay?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo. Come darkmoon, I\u2019ll look for a barge to take me on. I can work for my passage.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhere will ye go?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWherever the barge takes me.\u201d<\/p>\n Oakleaf sighed. \u201cYe\u2019s an odd sort of man, Findo Gask. Don\u2019t ye want t\u2019settle down?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAye. In time. When the Greater Power deems it proper.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYe and ye\u2019s Greater Power. Ye could always make ye\u2019s own mind up. That\u2019s what normal folk does.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAye, so they do. And I leave it to the Greater Power. When it\u2019s time for me to settle, there\u2019ll be a sign.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd how will ye recognise the sign for what it is? I mean, are ye going to see a fallen leaf and say: there\u2019s my sign?\u201d<\/p>\n He smiled at that. \u201cI know what the sign will be. The Keeper told me.\u201d<\/p>\n She shrugged, and let him go. He was used to the incredulity. No one outside Mesanthia fully appreciated the Keeper\u2019s powers, or how the Spirit of Mesanthia directed her. Her prophecies seemed cryptic sometimes, but they were always meaningful. And his own prophecy was not cryptic at all, it was very clear. He would know the sign when it was presented to him.<\/p>\n And so he did.<\/p>\n Three days before darkmoon, when Findo had already begun watching the wharves to see what likely barges might be in, Willow brought him his noon soup, and then sat down beside him. That wasn\u2019t a surprise. She liked to talk to him, to prod his ideas, as she called it, finding out what he knew and how he thought. Today she looked conscious, her fingers pleating and releasing a corner of her apron, over and over.<\/p>\n When he\u2019d finished eating, she said, \u201cThe Stewards would like to talk to you.\u201d<\/p>\n That was a worrying development. The Stewards kept order in the town, locking up miscreants, vagrants and troublemakers. If he were to be locked away at darkmoon\u2014<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t look so anxious,\u201d she said, with a half smile. \u201cYou\u2019ve not done anything wrong. Just a talk, that\u2019s all.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll come whenever you want me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThis afternoon, then. If you can spare the time.\u201d A real smile that time. Everyone knew he spent his afternoons wandering about the town, doing nothing in particular. \u201cWhen Trellander gets in.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe blue and white one, I know it. I\u2019ll be there.\u201d He still found it odd that the town measured the hours by the ferries from neighbouring strands. In the morning, Low Whittle, Hash Corning, Brish, Yander. Noon was the big boat from Caxangur. Then Lissona, Timmeran, Trellander, Shallow End and Marshtop.<\/p>\n Findo had never been into the strand council building before. It occupied one entire side of the town\u2019s main square, a solid edifice of grey stone, squat and plain. On the ground floor, barge and merchant offices jostled with small shops selling meat-sticks, pastries and minty tennel, the favoured drink here, but wide stairs led up to the strand council\u2019s offices. It occupied the whole top floor without any division into rooms, and the glass windows stood wide open all round. Half a score of children pulled ropes to move fans in the ceiling and stir the sultry air a little.<\/p>\n Bored scribes looked up from their papers at his arrival, but he had no need to address them, for Willow was waiting to lead him to a far corner of the room, where a round table was surrounded by eight chairs.<\/p>\n \u201cSit,\u201d she said, sitting in one of the chairs and waving him to another. \u201cThe others will be here soon.\u201d<\/p>\n Findo sat, automatically running his hands over the wood of the table.<\/p>\n \u201cProfessional interest?\u201d she said. \u201cWhat do you make of it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe wood comes from the hills beyond Hurk Hranda,\u201d he said. \u201cThe stain and polish\u2026 not immediately local, but not too far away. North of here, I\u2019d say. Nicely made. The legs were made by a journeyman, but this top is the work of a master.\u201d<\/p>\n Her eyes widened a little, but she made no comment.<\/p>\n He couldn\u2019t explain the rest of it \u2013 the wood\u2019s resentment at the constant heat, the way it whimpered in pain, calling out to him for help. Plainer woods, those furnishing the inn and cook house, had long since drifted into a grumbling sort of somnolence through years of abuse, but this one was newer, still aware. \u201cDrying out too much, though,\u201d he said. \u201cNeeds a bowl of water nearby. Too nice a piece to be left in this hot atmosphere.\u201d<\/p>\n She tilted her head to one side, looking at him assessingly. \u201cThe canal and the autumn rains not enough, then?\u201d<\/p>\n He listened to the table again, his hands stroking the polished surface. \u201cAfternoon heat\u2019s the worst. Overnight, there\u2019s enough moisture in the air from the canal and the dewfall, but when it\u2019s this hot\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRight. Back in a moment.\u201d She went off down the room, and came back with a large jug of water. \u201cWhere\u2019s the best place for it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUnderneath.\u201d<\/p>\n He wasn\u2019t sure whether she accepted his word without question, or was merely humouring him, but whatever it was, the table almost purred with pleasure. \u201cThat\u2019s better,\u201d Findo said.<\/p>\n The other Stewards arrived in ones and twos, six more. He knew Oakleaf and the woman who ran the bath house, but the others were new to him. All women. That was a surprise. Mesanthia was ruled by a woman, but the Keeper was surrounded by the men of her Protectors and Guard, and the Middle and Lower Council were made up of men and women equally. So it was in many places, and some were ruled by men only, such as the warlike Hrandish. An all-female leadership was unusual, but he didn\u2019t ask why although he was curious to know. It wasn\u2019t his way to ask questions.<\/p>\n They were polite, even friendly. They wrote nothing down, simply tossing questions at him, first one Steward, then another, in a casual manner, as if they had just that moment thought of them. He was wary, though. He knew from their educated accents that they were no simple canalside folk.<\/p>\n The first questions they asked were easy ones \u2013 his name, his age, where he came from.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd your position in Mesanthia?\u201d one asked.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t understand the question.\u201d He guessed what they wanted, but he was not about to give them even the smallest drop of information unless they asked for it explicitly.<\/p>\n \u201cYour status. Rank.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFree citizen,\u201d he said with pride.<\/p>\n One or two smiled and nodded approvingly. \u201cFor how long?\u201d Willow said.<\/p>\n \u201cOne year and one moon. Before that I was a bonded servant.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou have the proof of that, I take it?\u201d someone said. \u201cPapers and so on.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTattoo on my ankle. I can show you if you want to see it.\u201d<\/p>\n They did, poring over the two marks and nodding knowledgeably, although he doubted they had ever seen such things before. Then they wanted to know every detail of his journey from Mesanthia. He told them, for they were in authority here and thirty years of slavery had made him incapable of refusing. He detailed every barge, every small strand, every settlement he had passed through. Again they nodded, recognising the names. Still they took no notes, but he guessed the details were not important.<\/p>\n \u201cNot Graendar? Not Caxangur?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd you truly were set free from Mesanthia? You aren\u2019t an escapee?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n They leaned back in their chairs, nodded, exchanging glances, as if he had passed some unseen test.<\/p>\n \u201cWe have to be sure, you see,\u201d Willow said. \u201cIf you had escaped\u2026 but even so, Mesanthia does not usually concern itself with such trivia. But Caxangur \u2013 that\u2019s a different matter. So much as sign your name with the wrong colour of ink, and they would pursue you to the ends of the earth. A very law-abiding people, and desperately persistent<\/em>, the Caxanguri. But it appears that you truly are a free man, Findo Gask. Therefore we have a proposition for you. We should like you to settle here, as a woodworker. As you have seen, we have need of someone of your skills. Should you like that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThank you, but no.\u201d<\/p>\n That brought frowns, and a quick exchange of glances. \u201cWhy ever not?\u201d Willow said.<\/p>\n \u201cI have to move on. That\u2019s my destiny. Every darkmoon, I must journey onwards.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe this<\/em> is your purpose, Findo,\u201d she said. \u201cMaybe the Greater Power brought you to Krandetha Yatta for just this purpose. We lose our only woodworker, and not a moon later, you turn up. Doesn\u2019t that seem like the hand of your Greater Power?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d he said, then, feeling that was too abrupt, added, \u201cI have to follow the prophecy I was given.\u201d<\/p>\n Willow made an impatient noise. \u201cProphecy! Such nonsense!\u201d<\/p>\n He was about to protest, but Oakleaf waved a placating hand. \u201cHe needs a sign, is all. Something t\u2019tell him it be time t\u2019settle.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA sign,\u201d Willow said, with a sigh. \u201cMost people would be happy to receive such an offer, but not you, apparently. What sign are you looking for?\u201d<\/p>\n He shrugged. Naturally he couldn\u2019t tell them that.<\/p>\n Willow clucked in annoyance. \u201cWell, here\u2019s a sign that it\u2019s time for you to settle, Findo. We\u2019re offering you a place to ply your trade, with our approval and plenty of customers. What better sign could there be?\u201d<\/p>\n He almost stopped breathing. \u201cA place,\u201d he said, his voice no more than a whisper. \u201cIf you mean a house\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou could call it that,\u201d she said. \u201cYes, a house for you, Findo, a workshop and everything you need. What do you say?\u201d<\/p>\n Findo smiled. \u201cYes. Yes, please.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Prologue: The Keeper’s Prophecy \u201cYou do realise all this is complete nonsense, don\u2019t you?\u201d Allandra smiled fondly at him. \u201cZak, you are such a cynic. The words are there, all I do is\u2026 select some of them that appear to make sense.\u201d From his chair beside the window, he grunted noncommittally. He enjoyed watching her dress \u2013 the closely-fitting bodice and trousers, then the long sharian wrapped loosely around and tied at one hip, accentuating her still-slim body. Her hair was left loose to tumble down her back. Later, her maids would dress her more formally for her public appearances and add a little paint to her face, but for their morning fruit she wore the simplest of outfits, like a girl, the only jewellery the crystal cube on its chain about her neck. \u201cThere. I am ready.\u201d He rose and rapped on the door. Unseen hands opened both doors […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[219],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3377"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3377"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3377\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3379,"href":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3377\/revisions\/3379"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3377"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3377"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paulinemross.co.uk\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3377"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}<\/a>1: Findo Gask<\/h1>\n
<\/a>2: A Sign<\/h1>\n