WHEN Michael woke up next morning, he was alone. He felt a great sense of calm and relief come over him. Sophie was—fun. But he had understood, before they even left the abandoned farm, that she didn’t want it to continue, and nor did he. They were both very young, and so different in so many ways—but they had one thing in common: they were both very practical-minded. He was sure Sophie would make out somehow, and that they would remain—good friends.

But Rachel! Whether he’d known before that it was inevitable that he and Rachel would marry, he was unsure. But he was sure now. It seemed to have been pre-ordained the moment David, Rosalind and Petra fled. Maybe even before, but that act had consolidated the feeling.

Meanwhile, there was work to do today. Michael had to go to his parents. How they would receive him he was not sure, but, compared to other Waknuk residents, they were fairly broad-minded. He hoped it would be all right. He also had to find out what had happened to Sally and Katherine: the two girls—not sisters—from neighbouring farms, who had been captured, tortured and possibly murdered. And, if possible, Mark, some distance away, who had simply ‘stopped’.

He went into the kitchen. Breakfast was set out, and Rachel and Sophie were already there, and both were grinning at him strangely. “There’s a surprise for you,” whispered Rachel in thought-shapes, just as Amelia walked in, leading a young man whom Michael thought he recognised. It took a moment to realise…

“Mark! Oh, Mark, you’re safe!” Michael choked back his tears.

“Speak in words please,” cut in Amelia, who appeared fully aware of the thought-exchanges. “Remember Sophie and me: we want to hear too.”

“Mark!” Michael continued in words. “What on earth happened to you? We all thought you were dead.”

“Well, I very nearly was,” replied Mark, matter-of-factly. “I was struck down by a fever. A very unpleasant fever: I was delirious for three days. I don’t remember much about that. I think my people thought I was dying. But on the third day the fever broke and the doctor said I would pull through. Some sort of brain-fever, I think he said it was. He wasn’t sure if it would permanently affect my mind. Of course, he meant one’s normal mind, not the sort of mind we possess…

“It didn’t. But one thing it did affect, though. I just couldn’t send thought-shapes any more. It was so frustrating. I could hear Rachel trying to sound me out—very faintly, much fainter than before: but I couldn’t get through to her. I sensed her communicating to you, Michael; I couldn’t make it all out, but she seemed to be saying I must have had an ‘accident’. I couldn’t hear your response.

“So I thought it was best to get to Rachel’s house as quickly as possible, to reassure her and the rest of you. It was a long time before I felt fit enough to travel, and of course my mother wanted me to stay in bed. But this morning, when I got up early, I felt I was fit enough, so I left a note for my mother (I hope she won’t be angry), sneaked out and borrowed one of the horses, and here I am!”

“Can you send thought-shapes now?” asked Michael. And in thought shapes, “Did you hear that?”

In response Mark sent a very faint “yes—just about”. His power was beginning to come back. But clearly he could not transmit over more than a few yards. “I’ll have to work on it,” he said ruefully, in words.

“First Sophie, and now Mark,” Michael muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Surely the good news isn’t going to last out.” And aloud: “I’m so delighted to see you Mark. But now I really must leave and get to my parents as soon as possible. And then there’s Sally and Katherine…”

“I’ve not heard anything more about them,” said Mark. Rachel nodded. “But don’t hold out too much hope.”

“Before you go,” said Amelia. “There’s something I ought to say. Sophie. You’re not safe, in this district, with that name. People have long memories. As I have. You might fall under suspicion. In fact, it’s certain people will suspect. Have you thought about this?”

Sophie had to admit, that she had not.

“Well, can we call you Stephanie? I used to have a younger sister called Stephanie: she died when she was only a little girl. It would be a comfort to me to have a Stephanie in the house, once more. If you’ll agree to stay with me for a while. Especially after Rachel gets married…” Michael gave a start. “Yes, Michael, Rachel’s told me. Yes, you’re both very young, but you’re both very sensible too. I’m delighted for you both..”

For Amelia to say that, remembering the trauma of her elder daughter Anne’s disastrous marriage to Alan less than a year earlier, must have taken some courage. Michael was impressed—but he understood.

Rachel said, without ceremony: “I’m coming with you, Michael. At least as far as your parents. But Sophie (not ‘Sophie’! ‘Stephanie’) should stay here though. It’s still not safe for her. And I’m not coming beyond there, to investigate Sally’s and Katherine’s places. It’s not safe for both of us to turn up. You can always pretend that you’re an old friend of one of them—boy-friend, even. For me it’s more difficult.

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“And besides, I have to go up and see Father first. He doesn’t even know we’re here yet. No, Michael, you stay here. I’m not going to tell him about you—or Stephanie. But I always go up to him, every day, to sit with him for about an hour. He’s barely responsive, but he knows I’m there—and he’ll know if I’m not. Will you wait that long?”

“Of course,” said Michael. And he sat down in the kitchen whilst Rachel disappeared towards her parents’ bedroom.

Amelia busied herself in the kitchen, but she had time to chat to Michael. He asked about Waknuk.

“Keep clear of there, Michael. There’s bad blood—and things are no better since Joseph went. Emily (that’s Joseph’s wife, you may remember)—Emily isn’t herself any more. Obviously distraught at losing two of her children, and then her husband who went off without a word—well, without a good word, that is. She’s not in her right mind any more. She has to be looked after, has panic attacks, that sort of thing. Her daughters Mary and Sarah are practically running the farm on their own.

“And I’ve heard that that neighbour of theirs, Angus Morton has put in an offer to buy the farm. Knowing his former hatred of Strorm, I expect he’ll be putting in the lowest possible price he can get away with! Mary and Sarah are resisting his offer for now, but how long can they last out. Morton isn’t to be trusted either—he’s been in a foul mood for quite a while. He thinks David kidnapped his daughter, not to mention stealing his precious great-horses—but from what you’ve told me, it seems to have been the other way around…”

Michael was suddenly reminded of the urgent question he’d meant to ask before. “Amelia, do you remember an old man who used to work on the farm? ‘Uncle Axel’ David used to call him?”

“Oh, him,” Amelia replied. “Yes I remember him. He’s not there any more. I believe he vanished on the very day after David, Petra and Rosalind ran off. Possibly to save his own life: there were rumours that Strorm suspected him of tipping off the children. Anyway, he stole a horse and he’s gone…”

Michael was shattered at this piece of news. He knew that if Rachel and he were ever to carry out their plan of escaping from Labrador altogether, they would need to cross the sea—and Uncle Axel was the one person he could think of who could give advice about sea-crossings. Now he was lost to them. “Have you any idea which way he might have gone?” he asked.

“No-one really knows, but my guess is he went back to his old haunts in Rigo. After all he’s a seafaring man, and he’ll have friends there. People who can shelter him—if Waknuk folk ever go searching for him. Though I think that’s most unlikely…”

Not entirely hopeless, thought Michael. They would almost certainly have to pass through Rigo themselves, and they could make enquiries for him there. But failing that, he realised, they ought to be able to sound out other seafarers…

While he was pondering this, Rachel returned. “Father’s just the same,” she whispered to Amelia. “Said ‘Hello Rachel’ very faintly, but then not a word…” And then to Michael, “Are you ready then? I thought we would go on foot: it’s not far and Mother can’t really spare two horses.”

Michael agreed. In a few minutes they had set out. They walked in silence for about half an hour. Then suddenly, Rachel said, in words:

“I think Mark’s got an eye on Sophie—Stephanie! I was watching them this morning. Do you think there’s anything in it?”

The memory of his all-too-recent night of passion with Sophie flashed through his mind, but Michael quickly dismissed it. Things had moved on. “I’m not sure,” he said.

“Nor am I. I think Stephanie shouldn’t settle on one man so quickly. I don’t think she cares for him anyway. I think she wants to find a ‘normal’ man—one without thought-shapes, that is—anyway.”

“We’ll have to wait and see.”

They lapsed into silence once more.

When they were within sight of Michael’s house, Rachel broke in, again in words:

“Michael, I don’t think I want to go to the Sealand country.”

“Zealand, you mean. I rather expected you to say that. I don’t know if I want to go, either. Of course, it’d be really sad not to see David, Rosalind, and Petra again. I promised I’d come after them, and I hate having to break a promise. Perhaps we can write to them? But that place! So many people, all thought-shaping each other—I’m scared of it, of what it can do to people…”

“Where do you think we should go? After we’re married, of course?”

“I haven’t really thought it through. Out of Labrador, at any rate. Which means taking ship somehow.” And he explained about Uncle Axel’s disappearance. Rachel had heard something about that, but she hadn’t known about his seafaring history.

“What other places might there be? Places that aren’t all Badlands, that is?”

“Well, we learnt a bit about the old countries at school. There was somewhere across the sea called ‘Europe’, and somewhere called ‘Africa’. Information was very sketchy. You have to go east or south-east to get to them. I’ve no idea whether they’re habitable, or whether anyone from Labrador has visited them. David told me that Uncle Axel had told him, no-one had. In fact, he didn’t believe there were such places.”

“We must find out, Michael! There must be somewhere there we can live. It can’t all be like Labrador!”

Buoyed up by Rachel’s optimism, they continued in silence to Michael’s house.