The day that just wouldn’t end, ended. It ended with me face down in a bowl of spring onion soup, to be more precise.

Okay, I’m exaggerating a bit. Not much, though.

What actually happened was I eventually caved and spent an exorbitant sum on some rubbish ingredients, which I handed over to Mirra without a word. I’m guessing the way home was as onerous as the one out to the market, but I honestly don’t remember. I walked in a trance, handed over my paltry groceries, and fell asleep in the one chair — Alicia must have migrated up to bed.

Mirra, bless her, managed to cobble together a watery, tasteless soup in the meantime. She woke me up to hand me a chipped bowl brimming with the stuff. This I scoffed down while it was still hot enough to peel the inside of my cheeks; sleep was not going to wait. Nor did it, because I was out again the second the bowl was done.

I woke up so late the next day that afternoon was saying hi to evening. Apart from a crick in my neck where I’d been slumping in the chair, I woke up feeling okay. This was all thanks to yet another act of purely saintliness from Mirra. My old nanny had scooped me up like I was a swaddled babe, and carried me all the way up to the master bedroom. I slept in style on a cosy bed, built for two, bundled in enough bedding to drown a lesser, amateur snoozer.

The first few minutes after opening my eyes were deeply uncomfortable. I had no idea where I was, what time it was, or why I’d bothered to wake up at all. I didn’t just have to piece together the mysterious teleportation from ground floor chair to third floor mattress, I had to painstakingly pick through the previous month to work out why my childhood bedroom looked so funny. Not a pleasant process, I must confess.

Waking up in Magalat I felt more abandoned than I ever had on the road. Maybe it was waking up alone for the first time, or maybe it was just because it only now felt real. Either way, I’m not ashamed to say I spent the first hour after waking just staring at the ceiling, feeling hollow, forgotten, and purposeless. I’d have stayed there a good deal longer if nature hadn’t called.

On my way downstairs I passed the second bedroom — the tiny one that was a poor size for a closet — and spotted Alicia’s pack in the corner. On a hunch, I opened the door next to it and found Mirra’s travel bed rolled out on the floor of the old workshop. She’d done an admirable job of clearing and sweeping the little space, but it still made my guts twist to think of the elderly lady forced to sleep on the floor while I spread myself from corner to corner of a bed fit for a small family.

I realised with shame that I knew nothing about how Mirra lived back in Braxus. I hoped my father paid her well, kept her accommodation nicely furnished, treated her well, but I really didn’t know. She had never felt like a servant to me, but, seeing how she chose to sacrifice her comfort for mine, I started to understand how she must see herself.

Well, Mirra wasn’t a servant to me, and I was going to make good and sure she knew that. Naïve of me to think I could change our relationship overnight? Maybe, but I was going to try. At any rate, she wouldn’t be sleeping on the floor another night. That was a pledge I could keep.

But first, bathroom.

After making use of the facilities, I confronted the pair over their unsolicited generosity. I found them in the kitchen, scouring the surfaces and plugging the holes the vermin were using to make themselves feel right at home.

“Okay, what the Glade gives?” I greeted my respected seniors.

“Good morning to you too,” Alicia said, blowing at a stalactite of hair that sweat would not allow to budge.

“You too have been far, far too nice, and I will not stand for it. Frankly, I’m offended.” I folded my arms.

“You needed rest,” Mirra said, relentlessly scouring a pan that the looters had thought too far gone to bother with.

“A lady your age should not be carrying full-grown, able-bodied women up two flights of stairs.”

Mirra laughed. “I’m good and healthy.”

“Mel! Where are your manners?” Alicia jumped in. “Don’t you know it’s rude to suggest a woman is anything other than a blossoming little bud?”

Mirra’s laugh croaked on. “Oh, shoosh, you.”

I’d never heard Mirra shoosh anyone, let alone a member of the family. It seemed the pair of them had done some bonding throughout the day; they hadn’t come across as all that close on the road.

“I concede, Mirra, that you are in excellent shape — clearly, as you can carry my butt upstairs — and that you look not a day older than me” — she snorted and shook her head — “but next time wake me!”

“I’ll do no such thing.” She waved away my objection.

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I couldn’t believe it. Defiance? From Mirra? The old girl was full of surprises.

“That’s another thing,” I said. “Why am I in the master bedroom? Mirra, you definitely deserve a bed after so long on the road, and Alicia? That room is literally your room!”

Alicia dusted the sawdust off her hands she’d been using to fill gaps and stood up. “It’s not my room anymore, Mel. Ah, don’t interrupt,” she pre-empted. “This place meant something to me when it was Iffan and I staying here. It was his dreamhouse, and it fulfilled all my dreams to see him so happy. That’s changed. Now this place means something else, and I need to make a fresh start here if I’m to keep my head.”

“And how does sleeping in a closet help?”

She put her hands on my shoulders. “Don’t be so dense, Mel. You’re a bright girl, and more understanding than you let on. You can imagine what I see when I look around this place.” She laughed humourlessly. “Anvil, it’s hard to even look at the cabbages, and you want me to stay in that room?”

“Fine.” I pointed an authoritative finger. “That just means we’ll have to make a new master bedroom. Even bigger and more mastery than before.”

She smiled warmly. “Ah, but Mel, you’re the master of the house now. Your dad sent you to settle Iffan’s affairs, not me. Mirra and I are just along for the ride.” She whispered behind her hand. “But maybe we’ll help out here and there.”

“I’m the master of the house?” Well, that was a new feeling. Back home I was barely even master of my own bedtime.

“And a fine one you’ll make; I have no doubt.” She started to turn, pausing halfway. “What’s that look for? You’ve not been sent to govern all Magalat! You just need to keep a roof above our heads for a few months, sell the place, and we’ll be back home.”

“That’s it?” It sounded easy when she said it.

“And why not? I’ll bet your father will start missing you in no time. Probably regretted sending you the moment you left, although the old goat is too proud to ever admit it. We just need to keep afloat for a time. Then we can go back, confidently report that you’ve managed to survive the big scary city, and this will all become a jolly little story to tell folks down the Rut. Believe in yourself a little, Mel. We do. I know Iffan would have.”

I hate it when people cite the dead to win an argument.

I didn’t share Alicia’s optimism when it came to the timeframe, but it did help to have things broken down like that. Maybe I was making more of this than I needed to. “Alright, fine. I take your point. We lay low, we look out for one another, and we’ll be back in Braxus in no time.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“But we’re getting you a bed,” I said to Mirra on my way out the door. “And you’re still sick!” I turned on Alicia. “No more cleaning until you’re better!”

With my back to the kitchen I was confronted by the depressing little cabbage patch. Whoever had planned to steal them obviously made no plans to tend to them. The leaves were growing out of control, flopping all over the place, and pests had gone at them so thoroughly they were more hole than cabbage. Still, I couldn’t help but think they would look right at home in Crannoc Market.

If we were doomed to eat crappy produce for as long as we were in Magalat, why not grow our own crappy produce? I’m not exactly a whizz farmer, but I can put spuds in the ground. Anvil knows, I’ve done it enough times. They wouldn’t be winning any prizes at the village fete but we would survive. Actually, maybe I’m selling myself short. Maybe I could go one better. If limp spring onions are the competition then maybe some properly cared for cabbages could fetch a decent price. Who better than me to try? I’ve been growing food my whole life. And, besides, I am a druid.

Woah now, Mel. Let’s nip that trail of thought in the bud. Down that road lies the noose.

Okay, so causing a stir by setting up a farm in the middle of the city might paint a bit of a target on my back. I could, however, grow enough food for the three of us. With some careful trading and a little work on the side, there’s no reason why I couldn’t earn enough coin to keep Hinny stabled and pay for our essentials as well. Perhaps Alicia was right. Maybe this isn’t as daunting as I originally thought.

I re-entered the shop through the ground floor nursery.

Okay, this was still pretty daunting.

Despite all Mirra’s incredible work, the ground floor nursery was still pure chaos. Fair enough, it was pretty low on the list of priorities.

“I guess this one’s on me,” I sighed. I mean, that was fair.

I started by sweeping the spilt soil out into the garden. The cabbages wouldn’t complain. Next, I picked up the fragments of pots, and righted any toppled shelves and fallen planters. It sounds easy when you break it down, but there was tons of debris and muck to contend with. This little room alone kept me occupied until darkness fell.

Once I had the room back in roughly the state Iffan had prepared it — although with the plants significantly deader — I started to reimagine the place.

Iffan already had a section for herbs, but I could do away with all the peculiar ones and make extra space for the cooking herbs. The light in here wasn’t amazing, which was why he grew fungus in the darkest section. I’d stick to that principle, but I’d have to root out all of those before I replanted; the last thing I wanted to do was inadvertently poison us all. Under the window sill I might be able to grow some courgettes and carrots if I kept the shutters open? Maybe there was a security risk there, come to think of it. It had never occurred to me before in my life, but a day in Magalat was already enough to see me thinking differently.

One thing was for certain, the enormous creeper would have to go. I had no idea what the vine was, but I highly doubted it grew anything I’d want to eat. A plant like that would no doubt sap the soil of nutrients as well. Perhaps Iffan planted it by mistake, or as an experiment that went out of control. At any rate, it had to go.

This being the only thing I was sure I wanted to do, I grabbed a trowel and got to work. It was too large and unwieldy to simply uproot, so I’d have to hack it back a bit before I dug it up.

I place my hand on a thick trunk of the vine and pressed the trowel into the flesh.

“What the Glade?”

I swear, before I even exerted pressure, the thing… wriggled.

Surely not. Must be my imagination.

I readied the trowel again.

The vine pulsed in my hand. It felt alive. Not like the vegetables back in Braxus had. This felt lively alive. This felt like a fish, or a cat trying to twist out of my grip.

I stepped back. I wasn’t feeling so good. I felt submerged, like I was drifting to sleep. My vision was clouding over. Yellow pollen. Every time I blinked, it was yellow pollen.

Then there was a knock on the door.