The journey had been long and the task unpleasant. Lord Glove’s thoughts were now of dry clothes and home. There was nothing like kicking your feet up in front of the fire at the end of the day.

“Oh. Evening Your Lordship. Wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

Or so he had heard. It was Turnpike, Lord Glove’s youngest guard. Lord Glove explicitly remembered assigning Turnpike to guard Rebeka’s workshop, not the border.

“What are you doing here Turnpike? Where is Treant?”

Turnpike scratched the back of his head. His eyes darted to the left, “Well… Funny thing. I was going to ask you the same. Haven’t seen him since before I left for lunch. I was about to check the barracks to see if he left a note.”

Lord Glove had been walking all day and part of the previous night. He could deal with whatever trouble Turnpike had gotten himself into in the morning. He nodded stiffly to Turnpike, yawned, and began walking towards his manor. He was stopped by Turnpike’s spear. Lord Glove raised an eyebrow, “Yes?”

Turnpike blushed, “Uh, sorry My Lord. I changed my mind and wasn’t sure how to stop you. Heat of the moment sort of thing.”

Lord Glove nodded to the spear. The young guard’s face flushed even redder. He lowered his weapon. There was an awkward silence for several moments. Lord Glove let it grow. Turnpike fidgeted on the spot, bit his lip, and finally, spoke.

“Well… The thing is… It’s all a bit of a misunderstanding you understand. Quite understandable. If anything that’s an understatement.” He looked hopefully at Lord Glove. Lord Glove waited.

“Right. Well what happened was, I got back to the shack—lovely shack by the way, even if it needs a bit of work—and, well, we have some guests in the dom you see, a man and a maiden child, and she’s gone missing. The thing is, I found little foot prints leading into the shack. That’s why I was looking for Treant. Thought he might know what to do. You know… without getting you or Bidden involved.”

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“What?” Lord Glove felt himself shaking off his stupor, “You didn’t go after her? Why did you abandon your post?”

“I was taking my lunch break, and I… I was afraid,” Turnpike hung his head in shame, “It’s dark and damp down there, and there’s voices…”

Lord Glove slapped his own cheek, hard, to knock himself fully awake. He had to move, “You’re on double store duty until I say otherwise. Get Gar, post him at the workshop. Stay with him until I return.”

Lord Glove thought of the unknown maiden child as he ran. What had possessed her to go down those stairs? Most adults were too afraid to make the descent, let alone girls. He hoped she hadn’t fallen and broken her neck. He ran through the shack without slowing and leapt down the stairs, allowing himself only a split second’s judgement between each jump. Some steps he took two or three at a time. In his fifty years running up and down these stairs he’d never gone faster. He reached the bottom in less than ten minutes, and sprinted down the tunnel. Lord Glove slowed as he approached the door to Rebeka’s workshop. It was ajar. Through it he heard voices. One was familiar, the deep and slow breathing of Emet. The other was small and piping; that of a little maiden child.

“So why don’t you get someone else to do it?”

“Renewal comes from the creator... None other.”

Lord Glove entered the room as silent as Holda’s own army, not wanting to disturb their conversation. The maiden child was sitting on the floor in front of Emet, her face tilted upwards to stare at Emet’s own.

“Can you see things with those eyes?”

The girl waved her hand in front of the golem’s shadowed pits.

“That is a complicated question… to answer. I —” Emet cut off as Lord Glove approached.

The maiden child turned around, startled, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to touch the eye, I just wanted to play. I tried to bring it back, but I lost it, and then I was too tired, and Emet said we should talk and—”

It took Lord Glove a moment to realize what eye she was talking about. The one in Rebeka’s old house. The one she’d said could find a kineser. Lord Glove knelt in front of the girl and looked her in the eyes, “It’s okay. Don’t worry,” he brushed a dead beetle out of her hair, “My name is Lord Glove. Who are you?”

“I’m Î.”

Lord Glove smiled at her, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Î.”

She smiled, unsure.

“It was very brave of you to go down those stairs on your own. Were you scared?”

She nodded, “A little.”

Then she burst into tears.

Lord Glove stretched out his arms, “Come here,” he pulled her in close and stroked her hair, “It’s okay. You’re fine. Nobody’s mad at you.”

He glanced at Emet, “In fact, you may have solved a problem of mine.”