The Workshop

It had been a long journey home from Roble's Town, crammed in the Paperwing with Sabriel. Lirael had gotten used to the Paperwing after months of flying to and fro with Sabriel fixing the damage wrought in the West during Orannis' awakening. At first it had been nothing short of terrifying - the light aircraft was made of thousands of sheets of paper held together by powerful Charter spells - but Sabriel had quickly reassured her that there was nothing to fear. In fact, Lirael quite enjoyed the trips on the Paperwing now, although she wasn't sure how she'd cope alone. Lirael had always been somewhat of a loner during her years in the Clayr's Glacier but now she welcomed her half-sister's company. For one thing, she was one of the family she'd always missed, and for another thing, having read the Book of the Dead several times over wasn't quite enough to do the Abhorsen's work alone. She'd learnt so much from Sabriel during the past few months that she often wondered how Sam and her had managed so much in the dark days when Orannis was reawakening.

Lirael only realised as she walked down the steps to his workshop, that she had missed Sam sorely during her time away. Sabriel had said that they would only be away for a month or so, but this had quickly become six weeks, then two months, then three... Next thing they knew, they were finally climbing back into their craft after six months away from home. The letters to Sabriel from King Touchstone had gotten longer and longer. Lirael had caught Sabriel reading the last one a week earlier and she could have sworn there were two spots of red on her half-sister's cheeks. Sam had also written to Lirael, hasty scribblings invariably cut short because of his sister Ellimere's demands that he make himself useful. She had met Ellimere before they left and she was... How could one really describe Ellimere? Lirael had a clear memory of being physically winded by her niece's incessant chatter, but Ellimere was a good sort and had made her feel so welcome in the Palace that she could barely remember living anywhere else.

She knocked on the door and, when there was no reply, carefully pushed it open. The room was untidy as always, heaps of sawdust and metal shavings littering the floor and stacks of books teetering on the edges of several sturdy wooden tables. Someone was at the desk poring over a book but the shock of blond hair certainly wasn't Sam's. Then Lirael suddenly recognised him and couldn't do anything except stand transfixed in the doorway.

It was Sam's friend, Nicholas Sayre. Nicholas. Nick.

He was so engrossed in his reading that he hadn't heard her knock and didn't realise that she was standing feet away from him. He wasn't expecting company because he was leaning back in his chair half-turned away from her with his long legs resting on the table. She couldn't quite believe it was him. Before she'd left he'd still been recovering from the disastrous battle. He'd died, right there in front of her and when it was over, he'd just sat up again like barely anything had happened, with a Charter mark freshly emblazoned on his forehead. He didn't say how this had happened but the mark was unsullied and pure, powerful even, and Lirael was positive that the Disreputable Dog had something to do with it. She'd lost her hand in the fight and she had spent a long time in Abhorsen's house recovering from that and from the loss of her dear Dog. Sam had spent weeks making her a new hand from Charter marks she'd never seen before, and Nick - well, he didn't do much besides sleep. He'd regained some of his spirits when they travelled to Belisaere - Lirael thought it was probably the sea air - and they did talk more then, but duty soon called and she left with Sabriel a couple of weeks later.

The Nick back then had been a tall, skinny creature, still very pale, his hair matte and ragged, but now she could barely recognise him. He'd filled out, probably because of Ellimere's wheedling at dinnertime. His hair had grown long and thick, and there was the faintest hint of stubble on his jaw. His blue tunic didn't hang off him like a cape from a clothes hanger, and although she couldn't see his eyes, she was sure that it brought out their colour. His legs weren't gangly any more, and she could see what looked suspiciously like muscled calves under his leather boots before she tore her eyes away, blushing slightly. If she hadn't recognised the wire-rimmed spectacles perching on the tip of his nose, she probably would have thought that an intruder had broken into Sam's workshop...

Just then, he felt her eyes on him and she watched, her insides heaving with a strange mix of excitement and horror as he turned.

"Sam? Weren't you supposed... L-Lirael?"

He was staring, the book on Charter magic forgotten on his lap, his hand slipping off his glasses as he looked her up and down in way not unlike their first conversation on the reed boat. It took her some time to find her voice.

"Nick! Er... I... I was looking for Sam! I-I'm so sorry, I'll..." she stammered as she started to back out of the room.

"No!" he cried, jumping out of the chair at that, his outstretched left hand still holding his glasses. The book nearly fell off his lap. "Er, no, please stay. I thought you and Sabriel would never come back. The king's away too and we've driven poor Ellimere insane. Sam's out buying silver wire, by the way!" He was grinning now, which surprised Lirael to no end because she'd never seen him even smile before. It suited him.

She smiled back but didn't move. "You've changed."

He seemed pensive as he looked at her. "You haven't." Then, seeing her face fall at his tone, he hastily added, "But that's good, Lirael. You've always seemed so strong. I can't imagine you being any other way."

She almost laughed out loud at this. What would Nick have thought of the fourteen-year-old girl who paced up and down along the steep cliffs of the Clayr's Glacier, trying to muster the courage to throw herself off because she didn't have the Sight yet? She found herself wondering if only that was what Nicholas thought she was - strong. Maybe he thought she was cold and severe? Forbidding, perhaps? "I haven't always been strong," she admitted, "I don't think I am even now. Didn't I ever tell you about the Glacier?"

"You haven't told me many things, we didn't have the time... But maybe - maybe you'll talk to me now?" He was smiling again and Lirael was acutely aware of her dirty travelling cloak and frayed surcoat. Still, there was an air about him she'd never felt before. There was so much to talk about, her journeys, his recovery, their childhood... And how was he reading a book about Charter magic? He'd spent weeks trying to disprove the existence of the Charter sendings in the Abhorsen's House!

She'd seen so many frightening things the previous months, yet nothing scared her so much as this moment. At that time, she could feel the weight of the past and future filling the room. She'd never had the Sight, and never would, but there was something about the 'right now' that she knew would be important in years to come.

So what else could she do?

Lirael grinned back, shut the door behind her and drew back a chair next to Nicholas Sayre.

Disclaimer: None of the characters or places in this work of fiction of mine. They've been transplanted from Garth Nix's Abhorsen trilogy into my imagination, where they've taken root and given me all sorts of stories to imagine.

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