04 | A Sea Change

During the summer my brother experienced two more bouts of the swamp fever. The first one was light, and after two days he was over it and reasonably well again. But the second one confined him to bed for thrice as long, and it took him another ten days before he could commence with his work—and even then he had to take frequent rests.

Through the worst of the fever I had watched the dwindling supplies of Bitter Bark with trepidation; and once it could be safely replaced by willow bark there were but a few crumbs of the medicine left—and I still had found no means to replenish it.

"Mother said that you knew how to get a restock," I admonished my brother. "Why don't you get it, then?—or tell me where to find it?"

"I'm not that desperate yet," he stubbornly replied.

"Another fever like the last one and you may well be!" Exasperation made me raise my voice against him.

"What is it to you?" he said. "I'll soon be useless anyway."

"Stop saying this!" I shouted.

"You're simply refusing to see the obvious, little sister." His voice softened. "And it honours you... But even you must realise how I fail to regain my previous strength after every bout of the fever."

"I will not let you give up, brother," I said fiercely. "I won't allow it!" I stormed out of the room, angry and distressed in equal measure.

The healer had come to our house a few times during the last fever, but he could offer little relief apart from general advice on how to bring down a temperature.

"I have no experience with the swamp fever," he told me. "In general the best place to look for a remedy is in the place where the disease is most frequently encountered."

"The south?" I asked. "But I don't know anyone in the south!" It was hopeless.

Once we were back at work, we repeatedly came across the healer when we were out surveying on the upper slopes of the Gorge, and in time he became the closest to what I had in terms of a friend amongst the Miners.

He was a chatty man, especially for a Miner, if a little patronising. He liked to show me his finds he carried with him in his capacious collecting bags. Often he sought me out while I was kicking my heels, waiting until, in the distance, my brother was finished with fiddling with the dials of the diopter or with writing down and assessing his measurements. Surveying involved a lot of standing around in one place—on my part, at least.

Unlike my mother's, many of the healer's medicines were mineral rather than herbal.

"This here soothes the skin after a burn." He gave me a crumbly piece of light grey soil. "Rub it and notice the smell," he told me. It had a peculiar pungent scent I had never encountered before. "It looks just like clay, but you can always tell the real thing by its smell."

He told me how to dress a burn with it.

"Don't know if it also works on your Guardian skin, though," he cackled, and with a cheery wave of the hand he left. He was a peculiar man, but like the girl with the birds, he felt less like a stranger than the rest of the Miners.

For a start, he was who he was... unlike a certain Master of my acquaintance who at other times posed as a simple smith or a mercenary—and, as a person with an assumed persona myself, I very much wondered about his dark secret.

The Traveller—that was the term by which I had come to think about my erstwhile Guardian travel companion—was away on one of his mysterious missions again, and I was, in fact, starting to have my suspicions about him. With his intimate knowledge of the Town and the Miners, I wondered if he might actually be a spy for the City, and whether his scarcely successful trading business was just a clever ruse to allow him to go wherever he pleased.

My brother and I were working closer to home these days; with the first part of his work almost completed, we were surveying the slopes of the Gorge just above Town, right behind the Smith's foundry, and so it happened that we ran into the man rather more often than I cared for.

For a while he came to see us almost every day, sometimes accompanied by the engineer, but mostly he came alone. I would recognise him from afar by the way he climbed the slope—by his determined tread, stomping the ground as if he was daring it to rise in his way. Once he caught up with us, he would acknowledge me with a nod but then go join my brother. I would see them discussing at length, and sometimes their laughter floated to my ear across the distance.

With me the Smith was a lot more reserved. He sometimes inquired after my health and if there was anything I might need but was at a loss to procure in Town—to which I invariably answered 'Bitter Bark'—but otherwise he had very little conversation. He sometimes would keep standing next to me until our silence became awkward, and then he would clear his throat and excuse himself.

Why he sought me out in the first place, remained a mystery to me.

Eventually, my brother's first task was complete—or, rather, the part above ground was. All through the summer he had recorded the measurements we had gathered outdoors in a large-scale map, a much more accurate and detailed version than the one the Smith had supplied him with in the beginning. What was still missing from it were the tunnels.

The Masters provided my brother with existing maps of all the relevant tunnels and shafts, and he pencilled them in. Eventually the picture became clearer.

"Have a look, sister." He beckoned me to join him in his study one morning. "Do you remember the rock formation at the southern part of the escarpment? If we tunnel it and go deeper—start with a steeper downward gradient—we'll resurface here—" He pointed at the map. "—and we can circumnavigate the gully altogether. And then there's only..." He noticed the expression on my face. "You haven't got a clue what I'm talking about, have you?" he stated.

"I'm sorry, brother. I'd like to understand, really, but it goes way over my head."

"Well, never mind," he conceded. "Anyway, the point is... We'll have to survey this tunnel system here—" He indicated a place just east of Town. "—It's the only one that comes dangerously close to the new route."

He saw my stricken face.

"Don't worry," he said. "I've arranged for a team of Miners to help us with the task—"

Men have an altogether different notion of 'fun', I mused as I watched my brother's animation at the prospect of spending days underground in dank and narrow tunnels, and with an entire hill above us that might cave in at any moment. I had never been underground and, if given half a chance, would never have gone there on my own accord.

For the Miners, of course, it was all in a day's work.

They were three; the owner of the mine, one Miner to walk ahead with lamp and birdcage in hand, and another one who was to be our assistant, to help us carry our gear, light the way, and run back and forth with the measuring tape.

The Miners generally used ropes with knots at regular intervals, but my brother was afraid that, across a longer distance, the slight inaccuracies of their system might have added up. Therefore we would have to check the distances from the mouth of the tunnel all the way to the far-off branch that might—perhaps—get in the way of the new water conduit.

It was a long day, and it was followed by a couple of equally lengthy ones. Three days spent in a system of narrow tunnels, at times almost crawling on our bellies, at others abseiling onto different levels, brought my brother to the limits of his endurance—and beyond. By the time we were done his face was grey with exhaustion, and one of the Miners supported him on the way to our carriage, or else he might have fallen.

That night I was woken by his call. Lighting a candle I trudged across to his bedroom. He was lying flat on his back, and his face was contorted by pain.

"My leg's killing me," he said through clenched teeth.

I was about to fetch his medicine when he stopped me.

"Will you go into Town and ask the healer to come? I believe I may have hurt a joint."

"What about the one here in the Settlement?" I asked. "He could be here in an instant."

"I would call him—if I was a horse," he said wryly. "I'd rather you went to fetch the Miner. I'd like to retain what's left of the use of my legs."

I dressed quickly and affixed the dagger to my belt. Then I rushed out and towards the gate. I didn't stop to get the carriage; it would take just about as long to wake someone at the livery stable and make them harness the mare, than run into Town.

The gate was closed and locked for the night, and it took me a moment to find and rouse the guard who grumbled as he opened the small door within in the main gate for me. I sternly reminded him to stay alert for my return, although the smell of drink in his breath gave me little hope. Rules were lax this far from the City.

I cut across country until I reached the Eastern Road. It was deserted at this time of night and in the light of an almost full moon I made good progress. Soon I reached the outskirts of Town. Houses of simple miners and small workshops had spilled out beyond the walled town centre, and the gates had been torn down to widen the thoroughfare so that nothing stood in the way of commerce. The Town was flourishing, and yet it hoarded no riches. Marauding bands of Nomads would find little to whet their appetites here. Just iron ingots, semi-finished metal products, tools, and chains.

There were but a few lights on in the buildings that I passed. A tavern still seemed to be doing a brisk trade, telling by the chorus of voices that resounded into the street as the door opened and cast a beam of light across the cobblestones. Two drunks stumbled out and disappeared into the nearest side street without giving me as much as a glance. I quickly walked on.

I had almost reached the central square when a single dark silhouette stepped out from the deep shadows between the houses. I spun on my heels, hand on the hilt of my dagger.

"Halt! Who goes there?" a harsh voice called out. I recognised the voice; it was the Smith.

He raised a shuttered lamp. "Show me what's in your hand!" he commanded. "Slowly." In the light of it he must have seen the gleam of steel in my hand.

"It is news to me that the Masters are guarding the streets of Town at night," I said sarcastically, producing my dagger and holding it out in the flat of my hand. Yet I was careful to remain out of reach.

"Good craftsmanship," he casually remarked. I looked up sharply. He couldn't possibly have seen it properly in such poor light; so he knew the dagger—and he knew me! Knew what I was—

"What are you doing here so late at night, lady?" he asked, seemingly back to the polite tones he used to address me. And yet I felt mocked.

"I've come to find the healer," I said impatiently. "I have need of him."

"Are you ill?" Was there a hint of concern in his voice?

"No, but my brother is." I answered curtly. "And little wonder—after crawling through those tunnels for days on end."

"I am sorry to hear this. If there's anything I can do—"

"Just let me be on my way, if you please," I said, already turning to walk away.

"What is it with that Miner?" I asked in exasperation. My companion gave me a questioning look.

The Traveller was back, and we had met at the ditch north of the settlement. He taught me a trick or two with the sword, though I kept teasing him that he was fighting dirty—'fighting streetwise,' he corrected me with a grin—and afterwards we sat in the shade of the single spindly tree nearby and companionably shared the contents of the wineskin I had brought.

"Why does he get under my feet all the time?" I complained.

"Has it ever occurred to you that he might care about you?" He spoke softly, not looking at me.

"The Creator help me, no!" I exclaimed, scandalised. "A Miner casting an eye on a Guardian! Who has ever heard of such a thing?... And even if he did, he'd have a strange way of showing it."

"He's keeping your secret, though... You'd be in a bit of trouble with the Masters, otherwise. I guess they wouldn't take kindly to your dining at their table with a knife hidden up your sleeve."

"Strapped to my thigh—"

I compressed my lips. The wine after the exertion of weapons practice was going to my head, making me say silly things.

"Ohhh." He chuckled. The sound gave me a warm tingle in the pit of my stomach.

"And so you'll be back in the lion's den tonight?" It was only half a question; I had told him that my brother and I would attend a meeting of all the Masters that night, hosted by the Smith. "Remember not to wear purple..."

"... and keep my eyes demurely lowered?" I said. Amethyst gaze met amethyst gaze, and was holding on to each other for much longer than the question required. And yet, I couldn't look away... Yes, definitely the result of too much wine!

He reached out and slowly brushed a strand of my hair out of my face and behind my ear. The touch of his fingertips made me shiver, and my eyes half closed.

They snapped open again when he suddenly sprang to his feet, holding out a hand to help me up. "Time to get back," he said. His voice sounded overly cheery. "You wouldn't want to be late, now, would you?"

My gown was the pale bluish grey of early morning skies. In the City we preferred more cheerful colours, but I had to content myself with what the market in Town had to offer—and their merchants were, of course, catering for the tastes of their Miner customers. I had sewn it in the days of my brother's recovery—he had indeed badly twisted his knee and torn a muscle—and I was pleased with the result; sleeveless, long and flowing, it clung to me like liquid dawn. It dulled the colour of my eyes which, considering that the Miners hated all things amethyst, was an added benefit.

I wore my hair pinned up and decided to refrain from wearing jewellery, both in marked contrast with the previous time when I had made such a memorable impression at the Smith's home.

Anyway, it was my brother who would be the centre of attention that night. This evening his scheme had to find approval with the entire Council of Masters.

During the days he had been housebound with his sore leg, my brother had mapped out the final version of the route for the new water conduit; and he had already discussed it at length with the Smith and the engineer. Both men had become a near permanent feature at our house during this time, and on occasion had shared our meals.

Still unable to read him, and made even more wary of his intentions following the Traveller's words, I tried to avoid the Smith as best I could, and so I spent a lot of time aimlessly roaming the surroundings of the Settlement in those days. Well, not quite aimless, if I was honest with myself. I was looking for the Traveller—but I never met him on those occasions.

When I returned to the house, the Smith's presence would still linger although the man himself was gone. Inside our front room a faint trace of the bitter scent of charcoal, underlain by something else I was still at a loss to identify—liquorice, perhaps?—remained.

Candlelight did little for us Guardians—with our fair colouring it made us look washed out—but I had to admit it suited them. The array of golden eyes, the lustre of the strange metallic glimmer just beneath the surface of their skin, made for an impressive sight. And they looked really smart in black.

The Smith distinguished himself amongst his peers by his fine features—fine in Miner terms, that was. Despite his relative youth—he seemed younger than most of them—I found that he was treated with deference. Perhaps this was due to his status as the son of the Keeper of Secrets, I assumed at first, but as the evening wore on I came to understand that they respected him on his own merit.

I had attended many a banquet in my time in the City, but none where business made the order of the day, and so I wondered about protocol.

I had not to wonder for long...

I thought that there might be a little bit of decorum, perhaps a short speech of welcome, but preliminaries simply consisted in the Smith's mother, who as Master of Divination seemed to take precedence in a Council meeting—just like my uncle did in the City—, saying, "Surveyor, if you please—"

Miners certainly didn't waste their breath.

I helped unroll the map my brother had so painstakingly drawn all through summer and lay it out on the empty dining room table. The council flocked around us as my brother started to explain his plan.

They listened politely, but once he had finished they barraged him with questions. I wasn't surprised; it would have been highly unlikely for them to take the conclusions reached by a Guardian at face value.

That night my brother did me proud—or, rather, prouder than usual. He answered their questions calmly and competently, and in the end he had won over every single one of the Masters, even those who, in the beginning, had audibly muttered about the increased costs for additional tunnelling and greater distance.

When he ended, slightly flushed from all the talking, I flashed him a broad smile. He winked at me as he took the proffered drink and, after the Smith's toast, drained it.

While we all had our drinks, the servants—I didn't fail to notice that they were all Miners rather than Farmers—set the table and, once finished, our hosts asked us to take a seat. There were no seating arrangements—everyone just sat with the person they happened to be in conversation with at that point—and there was no Passing of the Cup. I wondered if it was reserved for strictly social gatherings or if, perhaps, the Spice situation had really become as serious as rumour had it.

My brother, whose opinion was still very much sought after, sat a good distance away from me. I had found my place at table between a Miner, whom I assumed to be the Bursar, and the Smith's mother.

Just my luck.

All through the meal I was pretty much ignored—which suited me fine. It gave me opportunity to watch the Council. We hadn't been formally introduced, and I amused myself with guessing their respective offices. I knew that most of them had become Masters because they ran an important business in Town. The burly man opposite me with hands the size of shovels could be nothing else but a blacksmith. Whereas others, like the nervy tall Miner, the only one equalling the Smith in height, were more difficult to place. A medium, perhaps, or a priest? Come to think of it, I wasn't entirely sure if the Miners did have priests...

The heavy meal, after the heat of the day, made me indolent... and time and again I found my thoughts drift off and my smile get vague. I hoped that we wouldn't be expected to stay on for long after the meal.

I was lucky inasmuch as, when the lengthy feast eventually came to an end, this seemed indeed to terminate the evening. I was congratulating myself that I had seen it through without causing any major offence, when—upon taking our leave—I found the Smith's mother once again watching me with her cold metallic eyes.

Shaking my hand in farewell—I would have bowed if she hadn't grabbed my hand—she came closer and said in a low voice, "I've encountered the likes of you before—so superior!" She sneered. "But you don't see what's right in front of you... and therefore you are dismissive when you should trust, and trust where caution would be prudent."

I shrank back from her, pulling away my hand. Why the insolence?

Turning away to leave with my brother, I couldn't help to cast one last glance back at her. I had come to understand that, unlike my uncle, she not only interpreted the Names—she was also the one who divined them. In this respect she was a lot more powerful than him.

She divined and she remembered... and what else did she see?—the future?

And what does she see in me that makes her disapprove of me so completely?

It had been an idle hope that the merchants, having arrived at the Settlement in the morning, would bring the medicine my brother so badly relied on. But still, for as long as no parcel came from the City to replenish our dwindling supply, I had to explore every possibility.

But not only didn't the traders bring any of the Bitter Bark, they had been robbed at sword point just outside Town.

"They stole all our Spice," the agitated trader exclaimed. "Not a crumb of it left... Not that we had much with us to begin with—it is getting dearer and dearer even in the City, and we couldn't afford to restock with as much as we'd wanted." He wrung his hands. "It's all gone now!—and I'm ruined."

"Were they Nomads?—and didn't you have protection?" I asked. It was a mystery why the Nomads, as purveyors of Spice, would rob it—and nothing but it—from a caravan.

"They were Miners, armed with swords and pickaxes." He gazed towards Town, scowling. "What could three mercenaries possibly do against twenty of them—"

It was another oppressive day at the end of summer, and tempers were short. For several days the muggy heat from the Valley had drifted into the Gorge, raising both a sweat and the Miners' ire. There had been a series of minor accidents—things that, in the normal course of events, might have been attributed to inattentiveness, but in the current heated climate they were invariably laid at the Guardians' door, for withholding Spice. The guard manning the gates and walls of the Settlement had been tripled and all able-bodied men and women had been put on alert.

Irrespective of this state of alert, my brother was staying with the Smith and spending his days with the engineer in front of a drawing board, discussing the structures required on the route from inflow to Town—the tunnels, aqueducts, walls, and ditches the Miners were to build. I hadn't seen him in a few days because, generally working late, he was also spending the nights at the Smith's home by the foundry.

All the concerned parties had considered it the most convenient solution. All but me, that was—I didn't like the arrangement one bit, and I was loathe to leave my brother alone and unprotected amongst Miners. But the Master of Divination had made it quite clear that I was not welcome to stay as their guest, and my brother had simply shrugged unconcernedly. As usual, when his thoughts were preoccupied with the task at hand, he was sparing no thought for his personal safety.

At least the stately house, half built into the side of the Gorge, would be cooler than our home in the Settlement. During the previous night I had been hardly able to sleep; no breeze had stirred, and the bed sheets had stuck to my sweaty skin.

It was too hot for any exertion—and, besides, the Traveller had been making himself scarce again these last few days. I had seen him only once, shortly, on the day after the meeting of the Council, and he had been strangely reticent. And now he was gone again, on another of his mysterious errands.

My thoughts were sluggish; I was tired and feeling dejected—and suddenly the image of the grove in the hidden valley came to me.

I hadn't been there in a while—and I had not seen the bird keeper since our initial meeting—but right then the thought of spending some time beneath the leafy canopy and listening to birdsong was like a balm.

Taking my hooded spear with me—if nothing else it made for a decent walking staff—I slowly made my way to the hidden valley amidst the sound of crickets, and when I arrived on the meadow and looked over to the copse, it was indeed deserted, except for the multitude of birds flitting to and fro.

I found a resting place in the shade, and for a while I tried to attract one of the birds by mimicking the chirping sound I remembered from the Miner girl, but none ever came close enough to land on my hand.

I must have fallen asleep eventually, and slept for some time because, when I awoke, the tiny valley lay in shadow. It wouldn't be long before dusk.

On an impulse I decided to pay a call at the Smith's house, to inquire after my brother. They couldn't possibly object to a courtesy call, could they? The spear was a problem, but I might be able to hide it in a shed before stepping out into the streets in the centre of Town.

As soon as I reached the periphery of Town, I felt that something was wrong. A sense of hushed expectancy clung to the air, and then—in the distance—I heard it; the trampling of many feet, the clamour of excited voices and, unmistakably, the clanking of weapons.

The rabble had risen.

In the gathering dusk I scurried along the streets, trying to make out where the rioters were, but the noise echoing from the steep sides of the Gorge made it hard to locate them. I gathered that they must be somewhere between my current position and the Settlement, so that, with any luck, I should be able to make it to the foundry unmolested.

I was about to step out into the thoroughfare when a hand grabbed my sleeve and pulled me into the shadow of a recess. It was the Traveller.

"You almost lost a hand just now," I hissed, relaxing the grip on my dagger.

"I've been looking for you... I had a hunch that you might come this way—"

I was about to reply that this was oddly prescient of him, when a band of rioters marched by on the thoroughfare. If he hadn't stopped me, I would have run into them.

They were almost past us when one of them turned and saw us.

"Hey! Look who's there!" the Miner jeered. "Two little Guardians—"

Swiftly pulling off the hood and dropping it, I lowered my spear to keep them at bay. At a rough count there were eight or nine of them, armed with the tools of their trade. Not swords, thankfully, but their long-handled hammers could cause plenty of damage. And they carried slings, probably filled with scrap metal.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw that the Traveller remained empty-handed. He had come unarmed.

I groaned inwardly.

"Take this," I said, swiftly drawing my dagger and thrusting it towards him.

With my spear I kept them at a distance in the narrow lane as we gradually retreated to the next crossroads. Lucky for us they could only follow us three abreast. Then they started to hurl things. I ducked just in time, but telling by his stifled grunt my companion had not been so lucky.

We were running out of options. They would either charge at us any moment now, or cut off our retreat.

I felt it then, the familiar impulse to strike, the moment their minds were made up...

Time slowed down. I saw every detail with preternatural clarity as the fizzing pellet landed in front of their feet, and then exploded into sparks.

"Run!" the Traveller exclaimed, and with a leaping start we shot into the side lane.

I ran like I had never run before, cutting corners, dodging beams, all the while our pursuers' steps thundered close behind us, never further than just a corner away. Eventually we dove behind a flimsy shelter, a stack of wooden crates. I held my breath to still my ragged panting. My heart hammered and my chest hurt.

We couldn't stay there; and as soon as the last of them had turned the corner we retraced our steps, ducked into a barn further along the lane and out the other side. On and on we hurried, stealthy now, always listening out for our pursuers, but for the moment we seemed to have given them the slip.

Darkness was rapidly falling which worked in our advantage.

As far as I could tell we were on the north-eastern side of Town, entirely in the wrong direction both with regard to the Guardian Settlement and the foundry where my brother was.

"We have to return," I gasped.

He shook his head. "We can't," he said and pressed on.

We kept moving, climbing steadily uphill.

He led me to a cabin high on the northern flank of the Gorge. How he knew about it I had no idea—it could be seen neither from the Settlement nor from Town—and how he could find his way in the rapidly falling darkness was a mystery. The western sky was a wild mass of angry thunderclouds.

"Shouldn't we help protect the Settlement?" I insisted, looking over my shoulder as we climbed the narrow footpath, trying to make out the movements of the rioters in the streets below us by the light of their torches.

"There's nothing we can do," he said. "Not with the rioters right between us and everyone else... But don't worry, the Settlement is well fortified—it wouldn't be the first time they're under pressure—and your brother's safe at the foundry. They'll protect him. Those hotheads don't have the support of the Town... and by tomorrow the Masters will deal with them."

"I still feel that I should be down there—"

"I know..." A flash of lightning, casting the barren slope in stark relief, cut him short. By the light of it I saw a rent and dark stain on his shirt, just below his left clavicle.

"You're hurt!"

Thunder rumbled.

"It's nothing," he said. "A mere graze... But we'd better reach the cabin before the storm breaks. With any luck it will put an early damper on the rioting."

We scaled the last steep incline beaten by gusts of wind that threw dust in our faces and made our eyes water. Then, finally, we arrived at our shelter.

The Traveller reached up to a shallow ledge above the lintel and, after a few moments, produced a key.

"How...?"

"Most people don't bother to hide their keys well," he said as he unlocked the door and ducked under the low doorway.

Another bolt of lightning conveniently illuminated the inside of the cabin. A hearth, a table and stools, and—in an alcove—a bed, was all I could make ou in that brief moment. I remained just inside the door as he pottered about in absolute darkness.

"There, a miner's lamp," he said at last. He struck a spark and lit it. Then, adjusting the wick, he closed the casing and returned the flint to the little compartment at the base.

"Is this wise?" I asked.

"Even if the light is seen—which I doubt—no-one will come up from Town to investigate tonight."

"What is this place?" In the light of the lamp I had a closer look. The cabin was small and sparsely furnished, and it didn't seem inhabited. There were ropes and a few tools, and a kettle on a small potbellied stove. But there were no personal items.

"It's a shelter for the Miners who come here to maintain the ventilation shafts. There's a few of them nearby."

I nodded, as usual marvelling at the wealth of information he had about the Miners. He must indeed be a spy.

A question had been niggling at the back of my mind ever since we escaped the mob. "What was it you threw at them?" I asked him.

"An igniter," he said. "We use it as a flare in the tunnels—" We?

At that moment the storm started in earnest. Thunder rolled. Heavy drops of rain battered the roof and walls of our cabin and would make any attempt of leaving this place during darkness extremely treacherous. We were stuck here for the time being.

"Let me dress your wound," I said eventually.

Leaning against the table he didn't reply, but he didn't stop me as I carefully peeled the shirt off his shoulder. Even in the dim light of the lamp I could see that he had been right; it was just a shallow laceration and had already stopped bleeding. I reached for the water flask at my belt and was about to rip a strip of cloth from the shirt I wore under my tunic—the only reasonably clean fabric I had on me—when he put his hand on mine to stop me.

"There's no need," he stated. Keeping hold of my hand he placed it upon his chest. My fingers uncurled. Under my palm I felt the warmth of his skin, the strong thud of his heart, and the ripple of his muscles as he reached out for me. Fingers splayed across the nape of my neck, our eyes locking, he drew me near.

"There's something I must tell you," he said. His voice was low but his gaze intense.

Perhaps, I should have been alarmed by his words, but for the present I felt strangely unconcerned... It was so rare a state of mind that I wanted to hold on to it, and so I whispered, "I don't want to know... not now." Outside a storm was raging, but in here there was only him and me.

"Very well," he murmured as his lips came ever so much closer. In hindsight his voice may have sounded troubled.

People say that sometimes, in the aftermath of danger, foolish things happen.

We lay entwined in the warm darkness of the alcove, our clothes strewn across the floor, and—our passion spent—his hand gently caressed my skin. Wandering up my side to my shoulder, he toyed with my mussed hair and then leisurely followed the length of my arm.

"Let me tell you a story, my love." He nuzzled my neck and blew a soft kiss on the skin below my ear.

"Mhm," was all I managed in reply.

He drew me into his body, his chest resting against my back.

"Once there was a man who spent the seasons longing for his ideal of female beauty," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "He met her one evening walking in the Hills, and he married her. On the night of the birth of their son, the man's dog whelped a single pup which, as it grew up, became more and more hostile to the lady of the house. She begged her husband to kill it, but he refused. At last, one day the dog attacked her so furiously that she lost courage, resumed vulpine shape, leapt over a fence, and fled.

"'You may be a fox,' the man called after her, 'but you are the mother of my son and I will always love you. Come back when you please; you will always be welcome.'"So, every evening she stole back and slept in his arms."

"She was a shape-shifter... This is so sad," I mumbled drowsily. Soothed by the reassuring warmth that enfolded me, I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer.

"A Changer. But, yes," he murmured. "Sleep now. I shall keep watch." His lips softly brushed my temple.

As I woke by the first light of dawn he was still there, cradling me in the crook of his body. And yet... something felt subtly different. Something I couldn't quite identify, but it was definitely there. I stiffened, straining my senses. Something was wrong. A faint scent of charcoal—and liquorice! I turned in alarm... and then I saw him. The man sleeping beside me was—the Smith!

I leapt from the bed like a scalded cat, crying out... Staring at him in disbelief.

He woke with a start, and when his eyes found my face he knew. Something in my expression must have made him realise what was the matter—that there was no danger from without. He didn't even look at his hands for confirmation... In spite of my shock I saw the pain in his hazel eyes as the lines of his face and body became blurry, and a moment later amethyst eyes stared up at me with the same desperation.

He looked achingly familiar, the man who had made love to me so tenderly the night before, and yet he was Another.

"You are a Changer!" I gasped, revolted. "How could you keep this from me?... From me?" My final words came out in a sob as I struggled into my clothes, and then I fled the cabin.

—