"Wake up!"

Someone shook Virdon's shoulder, hard, a short jerk that catapulted him out of a confused dream that he couldn't remember anymore as soon as he opened his eyes. It was still dark; the ape above him was only a blurred shadow against the purple light of very early morning.

But he recognized the voice: Galen, who was now stepping back from his cot, a clear prompt for Virdon to get up.

He slowly sat up and raked a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it down. "What's wrong?"

"Today is the day of the race."

"I know." His voice was rough from sleep, and he longed for something to drink.

Galen's shadow shifted nervously. "We need to go down to the stadium."

Virdon swung his legs out of bed and absently rubbed his hip. "Why so early? Sun isn't even up yet..."

"Because we need to get Peet."

Sleepiness was sliding down Virdon's neck and back together with the warmth that he had stored up under his blanket, and as his head slowly cleared, it dawned on him that Galen hadn't been able to make true to his word. "You're going to steal Pete from the tracks."

"I couldn't even get near Olman anymore." Galen's voice was gruff, his face concealed by the darkness in Virdon's room. "I had no chance to renegotiate, but... but of course I agree with Zana that Peet is not up for sale."

"Especially since you don't own him in the first place," Virdon pointed out.

Galen laughed, though it didn't sound amused. "I know you don't like to hear it, Alan, but for all intents and purposes, Zana and I do own both of you. It's just how the world works. No matter who you were in your own time, here you can't go anywhere by yourself. In no time, you'd be snatched off the streets by a guard, if you're lucky, or by a criminal, if you're unlucky, and nobody would care what happened to you afterwards.

"But enough of that. We don't want Peet to change hands, and that means we need to get him out of the stadium before the races begin. I'm afraid that once they are underway, Olman will have his men on every exit. He's the president of the racing commission, the biggest donor... he is the Race."

He moved towards the door. "I'm down in the guest room. Don't take too long." He closed the door after him without a sound, probably so that he wouldn't wake Zana.

Virdon stared at the dark outline of the door, his fingers digging into the bedframe. Galen had laid out the rules of his world without triumph or condescension, but that didn't make them in any way more palatable. The chimp had simply cited the facts: humans were no longer the master race. Apes were. And humans could be grateful that the new masters had granted them a place in the new order of things, even if it was on a lower rung of the hierarchy. Much lower.

I'm going to find a way home, or die trying. And when I find that way home, I'll make sure that none of this will ever happen.

But first, he had to get Pete out of that trap that disguised itself as a sports event. There was just no way in hell he'd go home and leave his friend behind on this cursed world.

His bladder had woken up in the meantime, too, reminding him that it had been some time since they had last visited the outhouse, and with a sigh, Virdon grabbed the bedpost and dragged himself up to his feet. He had no idea what Galen could need him for - it wasn't as if he could outrun an ape, and his whole appearance would only draw attention to the fact that "Faro" was somewhere in the vicinity...

Maybe he was meant to be the distraction. Or the bait.

In any event, it would be an interesting day.

When Zana opened her eyes, the sky was a clear, translucent blue, and a crisp wind was billowing the curtains of her window. It would be a sunny, yet cool day. A faint murmur was filtering up to her - people passing by the inn on their way to the stadium.

Today was the day of the big race - the Three Valleys Racing Competition. Zana could feel the visitors' excitement vibrating in her bones, like a tuning fork answering a high note from afar.

Or maybe it was dread that was trembling inside her, dread for Peet's fate. Galen still hadn't reported back to her on his promise to cancel the deal with Olman. In fact, she hadn't seen him at all since his confession. Zana turned her head to his side of the bed, but she already knew he wasn't there. His half of the bed was cold and smooth, the blanket untouched - she doubted that he had even come home. Perhaps he was sleeping behind the kennels at the racetrack now, like that drunkard Tovar.

With an angry huff, Zana sat up and swung her feet to the floor. She couldn't waste her time with moping over Galen. If he wasn't able to save Peet, she would have to find a way herself; she was even willing to admit that she wasn't married to "Faro" at all. If they just ran away with Peet, Olman would send the police after them anyway, it wasn't as if she had anything to lose anymore...

She froze when her gaze fell on the knife sitting on her nightstand. Alan had given it to her before he had retired for the night. "Pete would only give it up after I promised him that no one but you would touch it," he had said, and had handed it to her so reverently as if it was made of glass.

She didn't need a knife. It made her uneasy just to look at it. It reminded her of the last time she had held one in her hand, Galen's boot knife, long and sleek and heavy... heavy and warm, and slick with blood...

Zana blinked. Peet's knife still sat on her nightstand, tame and silent, tucked into a leather sheath that Alan had made for him. She slowly reached for it and, after a moment's hesitation, unsheathed it.

The blade was a dull silver, with a matte surface except for highly polished parts that formed symbols... maybe a human script:

A N S A

Alan had repeatedly impressed on her that she was to wear that knife on her body at all times, until they were out of the valley and she could give it back to Peet; but that was easier said than done. The blade was wider than Galen's boot knife, and the hilt thicker, and the whole thing, sheath and all, put uncomfortable pressure on her calf when she wedged it into her boot. She couldn't strap it to her belt like Peet did, either - apes didn't wear shirts and pants, they wore robes... granted, the craftsmen and their families didn't, but Zana wasn't ready to change her wardrobe just to accommodate her newly acquired weaponry.

In the end, she strapped it on her left arm and let the sleeve fall over it. It wasn't visible, but its weight was dragging at her arm, reminding her with every move that she was now armed. It made her feel as if she wasn't just going to visit Halda to make sure that last night's conclusion was nothing but a mad leap of speculation, born from lack of sleep and lack of real evidence.

It made her feel as if she was going into that tunnel again, into the darkness.

She tried to put the knife out of her mind as she pushed upstream against the current of visitors headed for the stadium. Children were racing ahead of their parents, squealing with excitement, holding streamers in their favorite kennels' colors high above their heads, but the crowd thinned out the closer she came to the shelter, and the noise ebbed away with it. Out here, the only sounds were the breeze in the trees, and the lonely chirp of a bird here and there.

It was such a peaceful morning.

The shelter was deserted - the humans were already in the workhouses, and the volunteers were either overseeing them there, or in the kitchen, where the humans that had kitchen duty were now busy cleaning up the canteen. As she walked down the short corridor, her boots loud on the wooden floorboards, Zana realized that she had hoped that the office would be deserted, too - she had no idea what she wanted to talk about with Halda, if she was there. She couldn't very well accuse her of forging the complaint against Levar, could she?

If in doubt, pretend to frame Olman with her - maybe she'll let something slip...

She held her breath at that thought; she was already treating Halda as if she had something to do with Felga's death. I promised myself that I wouldn't jump to conclusions anymore, like I did with poor... with Vilam. Right now, I just want to clear up this strange discrepancy in the charity's books, and nothing more.

She... hadn't made any promises to Rogan to stay away from crime scenes. Anyway, Halda's office didn't count as a crime scene, so she wouldn't even break her non-existing promise to him.

If this has nothing to do with Felga's death, and Levar is going to hang... then I'll have at least a clean conscience. I'll have done everything I can to get to the truth of this tragedy.

Her conscience didn't feel clean. She felt like a failure.

Zana knocked at the door, then pushed it open when no answer came. "Halda? It's me, Alta." She stuck her head in and realized with a start that nobody was in there.

There was her opportunity. Her heart was beating so hard that it hurt. She almost wished Halda had been there, and she'd have been forced to retreat with a lame excuse on her lips. She'd have had a clean conscience...

Oh, tell that to someone else!

She didn't have the faintest idea where to begin. Halda's desk was neat and orderly - an assortment of fresh pens in one box, alongside a pounce pot and an inkwell. Empty scrolls were stashed in the topmost drawer, but what Zana was looking for wasn't a scroll, but a book - one of those rare collections of flattened scrolls that were sewn together into a brick-like pile, and encased into a wood or leather shell. Only bookkeepers used them, as their name said, and apparently, humans of old had preferred them over scrolls, too - maybe that was the reason they had fallen out of fashion.

Zana closed the top drawer and reached for the one below it.

"What are you doing there?"

Zana silently congratulated herself for not flinching; but her heart stopped in her chest for a moment. With a fluid motion, she picked up a framed photograph. "Oh... oh... Halda!" The stutter wasn't faked. "I'm, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have poked around, but-" She turned the picture around to show it to Halda, who had closed the door with a hard click. "They are so lovely, I just couldn't resist... I just wanted to take a closer look..."

Halda rounded her desk and snatched the picture from her hand, and Zana prudently retreated from the desk, and behind the visitor's chair. "I'm so sorry, I'm not... entirely rational when it comes to children..."

That sounded way more dangerously insane than she had intended. "... since I lost my baby."

Whatever Halda had been about to say, that shut her up. She gaped at Zana, and Zana felt her fur bristle all over her body with embarrassment. Why did I blurt that out? It's not her business, it's nobody's business...

"Oh Alta, I'm so sorry," Halda said softly. "I had no idea."

Zana nodded and, to her horror, felt fresh tears prick her eyes. "And I'll never have another baby again," she added compulsively, her voice thick with tears. It felt strange, wrong, to tell an outsider. But a tiny, completely unmoved part of her pointed out that it was also the best way to disarm and distract Halda from what she had been doing at her desk.

The petite Chimp sunk into her chair, still at a loss for words, but with an answering shine to her eyes. Of course, a mother would understand this pain...

And then that dry, slyly amused voice had another idea. If she wanted a second chance at searching Halda's desk, she'd need a reason to return to the shelter. Maybe in a few hours, while Halda was busy with something else.

Zana dabbed the moisture from her eyes and cleared her throat. "It sounds so insane now, but I came here because today is the day of the big race..."

"I know," Halda said, her voice completely devoid of emotion all of a sudden. "You have one of your humans running."

"That... that was my husband's idea," Zana murmured. "But I was thinking... well... everyone is going to see the races, and your children must feel left out..."

"They know that the races are a despicable practice, abusive and exploitative of humans," Halda said sternly. "Felga and I were completely in accordance that we wouldn't desensitize them like that."

"Oh, oh, no, that's not what I meant!" Zana said hastily. "I wanted to ask you if I could take them to the tea house, and to the market - they're selling candied fruit and, and lemonade..."

"That's not necessary," Halda said dismissively. "Candy is bad for their teeth." She carefully set down the framed picture and reached for a pen and the inkwell.

Zana was dismissed. Halda had bought her story, and Zana had "dodged a bullet," as Peet would say.

But somehow, that mood had taken hold of her... that longing for something that she had never known, and never would: taking her children out for a day of candies and lemonade, sitting on a wall and dangling her legs while eating ice cream with them.

Oh yes, she would also buy them ice cream, dental health be damned. Suddenly, Zana was fiercely determined to have that day with Halda's children.

Just for a little bit - an atseht or two... besides, it'll give me time to think of a plan for saving Peet...

"Oh, alright," she said in a tiny voice, and turned halfway towards the door. "I just wanted to know what it'd be like to have children... just for one day..."

She had already pushed down the handle, when a deep sigh behind her stopped her movement.

"No candy," Halda's voice sounded behind her. "And no lemonade. Tea and biscuits, Alta. Promise me."

Zana turned towards her, unable to suppress the broad smile tugging at her face. "I promise, Halda. I'll bring them back in a few hours." And pray to the Mothers that Halda would be busy in one of the workhouses then...

Halda unfolded a pair of glasses, and didn't look up. "You can drop them off here," she muttered, her mind already focused on the scroll before her. "They are here somewhere right now, too, probably down at the kennels."

"Thank you, Halda - this means so much to me."

Zana quietly let herself out and went to find Iska and her little brother.

Ice cream first, then candies from the market. Maybe a hair bow for Iska.

It would be a terrific afternoon.