CHAPTER FIFTEEN - SHADED FROM VINEYARD CLOUDS BY A SMILING SWAN

Mahar Jovan rolled nearer.

Tanner wanted to write a letter to Eygi. Just to express some of the jitters going on inside her. But part of her wouldn't dare, thought that she'd be wasting all of her good ideas, her good thoughts. Wasting her conversation on the page - should be bottling it all up, like the engine down below. Ready to explode outwards in a tightly-funnelled pipeline, rotating the proverbial wheel of conversation. Go in with her head bursting with thoughts, and that should make things easier. Just open her mouth, let the thoughts flow, and before she knew it she'd be on her way north. And... gods, Algi. Algi was around. She wasn't sure what Fidelizhi gods were in style at the moment, according to the movement of the stars... the default roster, then. The Middle House, the gods that were always fashionable and fortuitous, albeit not quite as much as the Mobile Houses. Right, so... she rummaged in her bag, picking out the little signatures. Right now, she could probably manage to incarnate... no, she wanted to incarnate the Coral-Spinal-Judge, but she lacked the bowler hat. But she could incarnate... yes, she could invite Juniper-Valley-Dancer, that would work. Just had to... yep, had to slip a coin into both of her socks (uncomfortable, but she was used to it), lace her boots just so with laces the colour of sunset (specially purchased), then take a coin and let it dance between her fingers, flicking from one to the other to the other.

Dropped it a few times. But, she made up for the loss by practising the exhalations of the Juniper-Valley-Dancer - deep inhalation through the nose, hold for two seconds, then two sharp exhalations through the nose, followed by nose, two seconds, then mouth, three seconds. Not expected to keep that up forever, but it helped soothe the bad luck of getting part of the role wrong. She liked Juniper-Valley-Dancer, it didn't have as many costume requirements - no wonder Fidelizh had never really expanded beyond its little heartland, they had to bring a damn wardrobe wherever they went just to stay lucky. No wonder it'd taken so long to set up a proper colony somewhere, technology had only now gotten to the point where lots of people could reliably ship their whole damn dressing room to the middle of nowhere. She wasn't especially superstitious, didn't really believe in these things, or couldn't say that she did with any confidence, but... but anyway. Anyway. The ritual helped, the repetition helped, the way it focused her mind and kept her grounded. Right, she had her gloves, for cultivating luck. She had her glasses, to see the world in shades of gold. She had her god, riding on her back, hands digging into her shoulders... a solid weight, anchoring her to the ground, watching her perpetually. Reminding her of what was expected. And her cape... her fingers itched over it. Would it be crass to wear it? Would it be excessive? It'd make her feel better, make her feel qualified...

She elected not to. Just grab her ribbons, then use the numerous pearl buttons on her blouse as anchors, create a little multicoloured cobweb across her chest, just like when she was younger. Her clothes fit better, her mind was girdled with knowledge, her back was weighed down with a god, and... she still wanted to wear bright ribbons. Never grown out of that.

Never.

Some people couldn't quite change their stripes.

The hunters were lazing around - this wasn't a proper stop, there wasn't any eagerness for shore leave. What they wanted was to soldier on, move north, find the rushing vastness of the Tulavanta and head for war. Tanner had a day. Just a day to meet her mother, have some dinner, and then she had to be back on the boat before noon. That schedule was a lifeline - it gave her an out. A way of ducking out of things and heading off for the hills. If she scuttled onto this boat and hid in her cabin, no-one from her childhood could find her. Anyway. The plan was simple. Head into the city, meet her mother at the house, say hello to father, then head off for dinner. Sleep on the boat, be off shortly afterwards. She wasn't going out of her way to minimise contact, it was just... well, she'd get nervous if she was too far away from the boat, it wasn't bound to her, it'd sail whether or not she was around. That was her excuse. And she didn't... if she stayed for too long, the lodge would expect her to pay respects, to participate in a mystery play, and she didn't...

She didn't want to participate in one of those. Some of the most frightening memories of her early life were bound up in those plays. She was thankful for the lodge taking care of her, thankful for their money, thankful for how they protected her from witchcraft, but she... had spent eight years away from them, she could spend another eight. Or eighty. Eight hundred.

"Landing in under an hour."

Tanner squeaked slightly as a voice came from behind her. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. But... no, no, her room was tidy, her cot was made, and her bag was properly secured - her undergarments were completely disguised from sight, and that meant the world was still a sane, kind place. The captain grinned strangely at her, something akin to pity dancing in her eyes.

"Home?"

"Used to be."

"Parents?"

"Mother."

"Looking forward to it?"

"I'm... unsure. Happy to see her again. But it's been a while. A long while. Awkward, you understand."

The captain shrugged lightly, her heavy river-coat shuffling along with her, heavy and large enough to almost swallow her whole in the dark fabric.

"Well, cabin's open for you if you want it, no curfew. Family's tricky."

"...it is. It really is."

"Best of luck. Hear we might be picking up someone else, incidentally - you'll have some good conversation."

Tanner blinked.

"Really?"

The captain snorted.

"Don't act so surprised, lass, sometimes people like travelling with us. We go off the beaten track, places no-one else goes to regularly. Boat coming out of Fidelizh let me know this morning, said there was someone waiting on the docks, wanted passage north, willing to pay well. All I needed to know, really. We'll take them as far as they can go, then they're on their own. Might have a neighbour, hm?"

Tanner hummed idly. It was odd, but having a conversation partner, someone to really chat with... her arms still ached from where she'd been lugging things for the crew, and she'd come to rather enjoy it, just a little. Conversation tended to preclude lugging things around all day, and for once, she found herself somewhat disliking the notion. Liked the honesty of manual labour, liked the way her brain could just swim around in itself. Shade of the life she was, by all rights, meant to have led. If the accident hadn't happened, if that woman with the letter hadn't come by with money to go and study. Thankful for her new life, obviously. But this was like... taking a holiday in her own past. Luxuriating in a could-have-been without necessarily committing for a long period. The boat rumbled onwards, the captain departing to make the last few arrangements - they were just stopping to pick up some supplies, things that were cheaper in Mahar Jovan than in Fidelizh, mostly food and drink. Plus, a passenger, apparently. Tanner, after a while, poked her head above deck...

Home.

The domes of Mahar. The lodges of Jovan. The tapestry of bridgeworks in the middle, uniting the two. She hadn't expected to come back here, had rather given up on the concept a few years into her studies. But now... it all came rushing back. The smell, the sounds, the feeling. The boat passed under one of the bridges, and Tanner instinctively stepped to one side. A gargoyle was mounted up there, huge and ornate, claws clutching the side of the bridge so it could hang pendulously over new arrivals. Carved out of marble, stained slightly green by the passage of time, but with crystalline eyes that still flashed with light. Water trickled down from a spigot in its forehead, mounted like a third eye, spilling over its spread second pair of hands and pouring freely over all new entrants. Blessing them with luck. If she remembered correctly, the second pair of hands had palms gilded with gold, to really bless the water. The stream thwacked onto the deck, and a few crew members ducked back, hissing. Tanner had already predicted it - she'd seen it falling often enough, anyone from Mahar knew how to spot gargoyles, how to avoid the streams if you didn't feel like getting blessed that way. She had her glasses and her gloves - she needed nothing else.

The sound of voices came from the bank nearest - could hear her own accent reflected back at her, the first time in years. No more of the lilts of the Fidelizhi dialect. She glimpsed clothes - dull and sober, not dreary, just... restrained. There were no gods riding on backs here. She pulled her coat around herself, shivering. The thump-thump of the engine, that hellish heart of the bone-laden ship, slowly began to wind down... the smoke from the stacks declined... the steam that oozed through the boards came to a stop. The heat faded. She almost wanted it all to come back, wanted to hell to that little theurgist that he should plug in another barrel of oil, ask for more coal, just don't let it stop. Keep it going, push onwards, let her send a desperate letter later that day to her mother, explaining that the ship had to power on due to unforeseen circumstances... but the thump-thump became ever-more sluggish, like the heart was becoming more diseased, necrotic, slowing down, down, down...

Halt.

The docks were here.

Her home. The stink of fish was palpable, and she found herself wrinkling her nose for a moment, unused to it after so long. All around her were shades of home, of her old life. There was the dock where her father had taught her to gut a fish, and had killed a mutant in front of her. There was the spot where she mended nets if the fish gutting wasn't paying well. There was the... goodness, the spot where she knew there used to be a huge bucket of eels, and there was still a ring on the ground where the bucket had stained the stone permanently. There was the route she walked on her way to work, when she could get away from school. There was the schoolhouse, narrow, dark and mean, a factory fed with ignorance and which expelled education in standardised packets. And across the way... the darkness of Jovan, the clustering buildings, and somewhere inside, her lodge. She shivered. The captain gave her a sympathetic look as the gangplank extended slowly, hauled by a handful of hunters. The engine was cold. The city was here. She had a time limit, and it'd begun to tick down. She paused. Took a deep breath.

And set off into her carapace-cairn, and immersed herself once more in the mounds formed by her old selves.

* * *

The day was drizzly, and unseasonably warm. The worst sort of weather. She felt her clothes growing heavy with moisture, and felt her body warm up considerably, almost to the point of sweating - no, horses sweated, ladies simply glowed. Wish her sweat glands would get the message. Even so, she... soldiered on, golden glasses gleaming. Saw all sorts of faces she vaguely knew, even if she'd never learned their names or their occupations, maybe had never exchanged a single word. Every face had shades of something familiar, and that was enough, after years and years in a foreign city. Strange, to see... say, the whalebone corsets again. Not popular in Fidelizh. In Fidelizh, anyone with a whalebone corset stood out to her, she pegged them immediately as a potential countryman, but... here, she was bombarded with it. She was someone coming out of the desert to be summarily dumped in the ocean, overwhelmed by the omens she'd come to cherish in isolation, now flooding inwards unceasingly. People wore high collars embroidered with little quantities of gold, she even saw priests with jewels stitched into their throats, their voices reduced to low, rasping whispers as a consequence. She saw coins with the kings of the city depicted on either side. Things had changed, obviously. There were trains, now, rattling, ugly things that sped along in a haze of steam and smoke. The streets felt a little more worn, and some shops had vanished, while others had sprung up to replace them. Eight years - she was a stranger and a resident all at once, familiar with something, alien to another.

It didn't take long.

Home. Felt smaller than it should... felt neater than it had. As if, during her time away, her mother had sharpened up all the edges, cleaned out things which she didn't know could be cleaned. It felt like a brand new place, honestly. Was this just... what parents did once the brood scuttled away to make something of themselves? Did they just occupy themselves by tidying everything over and over and over again? Tanner hesitated before the door, trying to keep her breathing as quiet as possible - her lungs were like bellows, if she panted, it was very audible, and she didn't want her mother to know she was here yet. Better wipe her feet, mother always hated dirty shoes... she wiped, wiped a little more, decided to do a bit more just for good measure. Checked her shoes, her gloves, her glasses... paused, and tried to steady herself. She had a fine film of perspiration over her forehead, the sort of thing usually reserved for assorted amphibians. Get that under control... gods, she could imagine how pale she was, she looked like a newt, why couldn't today be a day of good colouration? Her hair was frizzy from the drizzle, damn, damn... she paused, and tensed her stomach slightly, watching carefully as it slimmed a little. Practised squaring her shoulders. Remember the stance she had as a judge, the confident one... should have her cape on. Really should. No point delaying. A huge fist raised... and she gave a single, faint rap on the wood, feeling it shake a little.

"Oh, Tanner, how are you, Tanner!"

The door flung open.

Gods, her mother had been waiting on the other side, probably heard her breathing and wiping her feet and... her mother looked older. More grey hairs. So much smaller. Didn't lunge for a hug, just smiled kindly and beckoned for her to enter. Tanner hesitantly returned the smile. The two stood in an awkward silence for a moment. Did she... go for a hug, or... her mother seemed to realise this at the same time, Tanner could see her jaw clenching as awkwardness grabbed the base of her spine with furious force. Slowly, she drew her into a hug. Patted her wide back a few times. Paused. Drew back with a cough.

"Ah, won't you come in?"

Tanner nodded slightly.

"Yes, mother."

She entered. The house felt smaller. Much smaller. New chairs, too. Mother was standing around like some sort of bird, tense and twitching, flickering from one stance to another while remaining basically still. There was a second of awful silence. Tanner just... what was she meant to say? Her conversational plans were gone, fled from her mind a moment after the door opened. Should she... right, right.

"How... are things? You didn't mention in your last letter, and-"

"Oh, well, fine. Just fine. Perfectly fine."

A second.

"There's not much that happens around here, really, you know, just the usual. Oh, the nice lady from upstairs sends her best, she's out visiting her grandchildren at present, but... sends her best, sends her best. How are you, though, how's... the judging? You mentioned some... briefs?"

Tanner struggled to speak.

"Oh. Well. Yes. Briefs. I've wrapped them all up by now, mostly just... small things. Heading further north tomorrow."

"Goodness, north. That sounds... audacious. Certain you'll be alright?"

"I'll certainly try."

There was silence. Slowly, they eased through a few more pleasantries, and Tanner was led to a small table, where tea things were laid out. Mother was... goodness, she'd... tried something. She was dressed in a prim green dress, well-made, fairly fashionable, but it was pinned up so tightly that she was forced to move like a shopfront mannequin, everything stiff and articulated. She had a pair of exquisite gloves that looked completely impractical, her face was slightly reddened by how tight her collar was, and the tea things... possibly borrowed, they were far too nice, and decorated with far too many flowers and woodland animals. Her mother moved like a stick insect, and Tanner moved like a... giant surrounded by delicate furniture and even-more-delicate china. Tanner smiled uncomfortably.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"You look well."

"Ah, and you... also look well, Tanner."

"So, I suppose we're... both well."

"Yes, that seems to be the case. Good, I think."

"You're well, and... I'm well. So, well, all's well."

She smiled weakly. Her mother smiled back, somehow even more weakly. Her mother coughed slightly behind her hand, before glancing at the immaculate glove and wincing slightly.

"Tea? Coffee?"

"Oh, whichever is most convenient, I don't mind, really, either works for me."

Her mother coughed again, her face reddened by the tightness of her embroidered collar. Had she borrowed it from someone? Maybe from the lodge?

"Coffee?"

"Well, yes, please, I wouldn't mind some coffee. Thank you, mother."

She'd rather wanted tea, but she desperately wanted to avoid a situation of awkwardness - for all she knew, her mother only had coffee, and had offered both out of politness, or the tea was ancient and vile, dragged out of a cabinet just for today after years languishing in the dark, or the.. anyway, anyway. Coffee was simple, and a small cup was poured out for her, the trickling of liquid deafeningly loud in the quiet of the home. Tanner glanced around uncomfortably. Where was father? Where... anyway. Anyway. Coffee. This presented a challenge. Her mother spoke softly.

"When did you arrive?"

"Oh. Uh. This morning. I think? Yes, it was, well, it was this morning. Just a few hours ago, so I suppose that makes it... morning."

"Ah. Wonderful. Good trip?"

Did she talk about the metal heart and the mutated hunters?

"Yes."

No, no she wouldn't, no nice way of talking about it. Her mother coughed again, like she'd contracted some form of illness since Tanner had entered. The coffee was interesting. Not in terms of quality, that was basically irrelevant, she'd have drunk it anyway. It was... challenging. Her fingers had to be just so around the cup to avoid cracking it, she had to lift it just so in order to avoid spilling it, and each sip... oh, gods, it was nauseatingly loud. Each sip, a little slurp, a parting of her lips, a grotesque movement of the tongue, and then the unpleasant gulp of it travelling down her throat... silence was awful for eating, it was terrifically easy to just feel every last unpleasant biological process, and her finger was aching from holding the cup in a deeply awkward fashion, and she placed it down again and winced at the rattle of china on china.

They'd already talked via letter.

They already knew what each other was up to.

Yet here they were.

"...is that business with that young man settled? I never heard-"

Oh, crumbs.

"Yes, settled. That's all fine. Nothing more to worry about. Sorry for making a thing of it."

"...it was very many years ago. I assumed that it was, ah, resolved, I just... well, I didn't know the specifics."

"No specifics, honestly, none at all. It was a silly thing, but I panicked at the time - Fidelizh doesn't like foreigners consorting with radicals. Anyway. Sorry. The coffee is lovely."

She reached out for a small cake, picking it up between two fingers... and gave it a quick nibble. Crumbs. No, that wasn't an exclamation, that was a statement of reality, crumbs. So many crumbs. Crumbs everywhere. Structural integrity compromised. The cake was dissolving. It would rain down on her and make a mess and her mother wouldn't even be able to crouch down with the excessively starched stuff she was wearing and just eat it eat it all eat it now gobble it up.

And now she felt like a greedy hog.

It shouldn't be this hard to talk to her mother.

They slipped into awkward phases of conversation. Sharing little things about their lives, about their work... mother was just working as a housekeeper, helping to keep an eye on some merchant houses while they were out of town. Enough money to live on, and without Tanner... well, she didn't say that, but without Tanner it was easier. The larder needed less food, everything was just simpler. Tanner kept glancing around, trying to locate her father... maybe he was in bed? Hard to bring up, really, once the conversation started, even if she desperately wanted to know. Tanner talked about her cases, but... she wasn't one of the judges who was in love with the sound of her own voice, and she was keenly aware when someone had lost interest in whatever she was talking about. Her mother didn't follow the legal business, already knew the rest from Tanner's letters, and that left them with... very, very little to speak of. People had died, people had been born... they'd lost touch. Piece by piece, they'd lost touch, lost that vital rapport. Chewing became a relief - if she was chewing, she didn't need to talk. And her mother was much the same.

She realised, as she'd realised some time ago, that her mother was very similar to her in one respect.

Neither were very good with people. And when alone with one another, they were just...

Anyway.

Her mother was a housekeeper. Tanner was a judge. She didn't feel arrogant, but she felt distant. If she mentioned her routines, she immediately thought about how decadent it all was. This house... none of the rooms were larger than her single room back in the labyrinth. How could she talk about automatic quills and glowing walls when... when her mother was living her with her paralytic father, tending to the houses of merchants? Wished she could talk properly. And her mother was clearly the same. Dressing well, laying out tea, tidying the house to point of sterility, speaking politely... it was all aligning together into something which felt painfully unnatural. Tanner didn't do this sort of social engagement - she wrote to Eygi, but that was something which allowed for drafts. She spoke with her colleagues, but that was polite, reserved, within certain, ritualised boundaries of etiquette and small-talk. She spoke with her clients, but that was purely professional, could be done automatically. Her mother suddenly sighed.

"I suppose things must seem dreadfully... dull around here. I mean, last year was identical to this year, this year will be identical to next year."

Tanner's eyes widened.

"No, not at all, I..."

She trailed off. It wasn't dull. But it was alien.

"I know. I'm glad you're doing well for yourself. I'm proud, and the lodge is proud."

Tanner immediately stiffened. Her mother noticed.

"...well, they did help us. Before that woman came with the letter, there wasn't much-"

"I know."

"And they've been very good since you left, they keep a candle for you, and-"

"I know. I don't... need it justified, I'm aware."

"And I understand things were deeply uncomfortable when you-"

"Mother."

Her mother twitched.

"I'm sorry. I... don't want you to despise me for bringing you there, though. I know it was uncomfortable. I truly don't want to... leave a rift between us."

Tanner's jaw clenched. Her coffee was set down. She wasn't going to talk about this. Out of the question. The lodge had helped them. The lodge did keep a candle for her. And for that she was thankful. But she didn't... it was one thing to say that to herself, it was another thing to have her mother talking about it. The mystery plays had been miserable. The rites. She still remembered... gods, it'd been a few months after her father's accident, and she'd been standing in nothing but a white shift in front of the lodge's leadership. Swearing her loyalty to them, being examined for hours and hours, poked and prodded and having oaths teased out of her word by painful word. Hands. Smoke. Voices going from whispers to yells as they performed the rites. Surrounded on all sides by staring eyes. Searching hands. Alone. Looking over to see her mother staring down at the ground, ashamed and unwilling to meet her eyes. Her skin began to prickle at the memory, she felt something like humiliation undulate up her spine like clambering kudzu, and-

"Where's father?"

"...he's upstairs."

"He shouldn't be in bed, shouldn't he? I mean, the... I remember the physicians saying that he should sit down, it's better for his circulation."

"I know, I know, but I thought..."

Thought that it would be a more civilised bit of tea if there wasn't a paralysed man sitting in the corner. House was too small for it. Tanner rose quietly, brushing down her skirt, and allowed her mother to lead her upstairs. The two were silent as they climbed up the rickety ladder, but Tanner could feel her mother twisting her fingers around one another, over and over and over. The bedroom was smaller than she remembered, the bed seemed more meagre... her father was there. Sitting propped up with a pile of pillows, breathing softly through his nose. A heavy hat covered his head, covered... covered his injury. For a second, she almost... no. No, not even for a second did she think that he was well. His eyes were too blank. He was too thin. Much too thin. His face was covered in a sparse, scraggly beard. Sometimes he blinked, but it was purely automatic. Sometimes a finger would twitch, but... it always did that. She approached quietly, wanting to sit down on the bed, lean closer to him, just make him aware that she was here, but... didn't want to risk straining the bed, it was old, possibly delicate. Been eight years since she tried to sit on it. And it was only being used to sustain an invalid - could see that her mother slept in a separate bed. Didn't blame her. She reached out, taking his hand, feeling how it instinctually curled around hers.

Squeezed.

It didn't squeeze back.

It shouldn't be difficult to talk to him. She talked to Eygi, and frequently received no response to certain points. Maybe she got a letter, but it wouldn't address anything. But... she kept looking at his lips. Dry, slightly scaly, sealed together by the lack of moisture. He hadn't opened them for a bit - only opened them when he was being fed. Her mother was twisting her hands over and over, cultivating luck... Tanner could feel a god riding on her back, massaging the shoulder. Giving her luck, giving her certain behaviours. A little spark of confidence, and... acceptance. Juniper-Valley-Dancer wasn't meant to make her more charismatic, this god just... took her in, knew her, and would be there to squeeze her shoulders when she left. Not a demanding god. Didn't give much, didn't expect much. That was what she'd needed this morning. Just a little invisible presence to be at her side. The house felt strange. Small. The bed looked delicate. Her father was just as he'd always been. Her mother started talking, mumbling about how he was doing well, the doctors were popping by every once in a while. He was better than they expected him to be, he'd lived a healthy life and that gave him a nice, long, healthy coma. She spoke softly, her mother falling silent behind her.

"I've made a friend. I think. They're sending me north, to take care of a settlement. I expect to meet with a few other people. A few months ago, there was an exhibition in Fidelizh - menagerie, a whole mound of captured or stuffed animals. Exotic, a lot of them. They even had a few of those enormous fleas from the east, the ones the size of a small dog. Awful. And there was a gigantic stuffed eel, it was so big they couldn't put it in a case, they just unwound it and hung it from wires overhead. It was taller than I was - much taller. Probably double, no, two and a half times taller than I was. Green and yellow and grey. Had a jaw that extended out from the face, it could propel it outwards a good few inches. Four eyes, two on each side of its head. Said it came from the south. You would've liked to look at it, I think."

She squeezed his hand again.

It didn't squeeze back, but she felt one finger twitching.

That was enough.

She stood quietly, turning to her mother. She wanted to go. Just... go back to the ship. Leave behind another frozen carapace of her past, let it stay here, part of the carapace-cairn. Something to shed and abandon. Not because she was... arrogant, or thought she was better, just... she'd done what she was meant to. Satisfied all the expectations presented before her, mostly. Did what she was meant to. Did what she was ordered. Done what a daughter should - found a vocation, lost herself in it, found routines, found something like happiness. When the time came she'd send more of her money home to keep her mother provided for, keep her father comfortable. Her palms itched under her gloves, and she felt the urge to remove them, to scratch fiercely... resisted. Let the god on her back soothe her thoughts. She had obligations to fulfil. If she abandoned one, she abandoned all of them - and that was something she didn't intend to ever do.

"I'm sorry. Let's... have some tea, I'm terribly thirsty. Have some time before I need to head for the ship."

Her mother smiled slightly. There was a wall between them, and Tanner knew it would never come down. But it was nice to peep over it and say hello. Time had built it, time and guilt and the lodge. Those awful months when they were still getting used to her father's condition, when both of them were making mistakes, when her mother cried herself to sleep at night and Tanner retreated into a little ball, untouchable and immobile. One in need of someone else, the other curling up like a hedgehog, both developing their own... problems. Either way. They retreated, and tried to enjoy themselves over a little tea. To exchange pleasantries. To act like... maybe not mother and daughter, but something close enough.

Close enough.

* * *

That evening, Tanner left her childhood home with a sense of low warmth in her chest. Her mother saw her off at the door, offering to walk her back... maybe not, the rain was intensifying, and Tanner didn't want to risk her mother's health. Still. She had an umbrella, now. A little, fine umbrella, with an elegant handle carved in the shape of a swan's head. It'd belonged to her grandfather, who died before she was born, and for as long as she'd lived had been a strange kind of relic, sealed away next to the door. Too sturdy and masculine for her mother to use in polite society, and too expensive and fine for her father to use before the accident. It'd slept there, and... now it was hers. Given over without any ceremony, pushed into her hands with no option for declining it. The look in her mother's eyes said this was a peace offering... expression of guilt, maybe. Embarrassment. Aware that the only reason Tanner wasn't still here, gutting fish for a living, hauling crates as a matter of necessity rather than preference, was that woman with the letter. Her mother had sent her to the lodge, and it'd wound up not sending her to anywhere good - only random chance had done that. Only the woman with the letter. Even now, that sting lingered - that the sacrifice hadn't been truly necessary, that Tanner had gone through initiation when she didn't need to.

The umbrella was appreciated regardless. A gift. Maybe. Tanner left behind a packet of banknotes under a teapot in the house, when her mother wasn't looking. Mother had never wanted her to send cash back home, and for seven of the last eight years, Tanner hadn't been making any cash. Now, though... she had a little bit. Saved up from her commissions, the little cream she was allowed to skim from her clients, when they could pay for it. Wouldn't need it in the north, not in the same way. And her mother would never accept it openly. Not dignified. There was too much between them, and Tanner wasn't going to try and unpick it... but it was right and proper to give over a little money. Decent thing to do.

Gave her father a small kiss on the forehead, squeezing his hand as tightly as she dared.

And that had been all. The visit had swallowed up her mind in the days leading to Mahar Jovan, but now that it was over..

She felt just how small it had all been.

She walked steadily through the gloaming streets, black umbrella braced over her head, soaking up the drops with noble aplomb. The swan's head glared austerely at her, comically inverted and seemed faintly confused by the entire process - frown twisted into something of a smile, quite out of keeping with how a swan ought to look. Anyway. There wasn't much else to tell of the tea the two of them had shared. It was pleasant. They spoke quietly and with frequent interruptions and silences, points where their thoughts and words trailed off. For hours afterwards, Tanner settled into a squashy couch and read from a little book while her mother knitted. That was all. They weren't going to melt into each other's arms, but this was better for both of them - quiet familiarity. Even brought father down, propped him up in his chair, fed him before dinner. She felt... warm. Very slightly warm. Ready to set off for the far north. She turned... her mother was still in the doorway, staring out with a half-smile on her face, hands behind her back. Stiff and prim and proper. Distant. Tanner smiled politely back. And that was all.

A click. The door closed.

Darkness.

The street was rain-slicked. Not long to the ship, her mother's house was near the docks, after all. Her mind was clicking with strange thoughts... wondering about medical care for her father, about sending more money home, about the future. Dim thoughts of returning home to a funeral - grim thoughts could occur to her from time to time, and when they did, they didn't leave easily. Anyway. She had work to do. She looked around, and as much as she didn't want to remain in Mahar Jovan, she still... well, she didn't find it quite as strange and frightening as it'd been when she came in. Remembered playing in that playground over there, a construction pit which had never been filled in. Remembered eating fish stew in there, from a perpetually-boiling pot. Remembered much. She strolled lazily, her shoes clicking, and the little coin in her shoe rubbing against her foot irritatingly. Not enough to remove, not enough to shuck off the god on her back. The stars above were concealed behind a great field of clouds the colour of mud and bruises, and the lamplighters had done their work during dinner, leaving a little string of twinkling lights heading out to the docks. Funny - in parts of Fidelizh, they had theurgists to keep the lamps going, flickering on when the time was right. But here, there were little anchors in the side of the posts, where lamplighters could clamber up with proper illuminators. She wondered... well, she had that experience which most returnees have, where they wonder how their home ranks. Was her home powerful? Respected? Did it have significance in the great game of politics? Or was it a backwater, confined to a long, shambolic march to nowhere? Were they admired, or were they the subject of jokes?

She didn't know. Didn't honestly care. Mahar Jovan was a place she was content to leave behind, with its memories, its little hints of her old life. The cairn of carapaces. But it was... not hellish. Not remotely hellish. The boat came closer, lights glowing dimly on the surface. She had her hand in her coat pocket, and kept her eyes on the ground, just like she'd done when she was younger, unwilling to meet the eyes of others. Unwilling to confront people. Accustomed to... that was it. That was why she didn't want to come back here, not even to retire. The lodge held a spell over her, and she knew what she'd been taught - always being watched by them, at some point or another. Mahar Jovan reminded her of being observed, of being controlled, of being... being a clumsy brute still figuring herself out. Fidelizh knew her as slightly clumsy. Mahar Jovan knew her as potentially dangerous.

Anyhow. Anyhow.

She hummed thoughtfully...

And came to a stop.

Someone was on the dock. Slumped against a lamppost, snoring gently. Seemed to have just collapsed there a moment ago. Tanner looked around. No-one was nearby. The dock was deserted at this time.

She crouched slightly.

A woman. Old enough to be her mother... no, very slightly younger. But her nose was the bright red of a seasoned alcoholic, and her cheeks were flushed. She looked tall, even slumped on the ground. Tall, graceful, and somehow rebelling against it all by reddening her nose and cheeks with liquor, tousling her hair into a bird's nest, wearing a dress that seemed rather avant-garde. She was utterly passed out, and at one side was a heavy leather suitcase, while on the other was... a container for milk bottles. The sort that she saw delivered outside certain houses in the morning, wooden, with a handle, and slots for six bottles. But she'd evidently decided that milk was passé, and had filled it with wine bottles, one of which was half-empty. Tanner looked around. Unwilling to leave a passed-out drunk woman sleep, abandoned, on a dock in the middle of the night. Unsure of what to do.

A snort.

The woman came to.

Blinked up at her with half-lidded eyes.

"You're tall."

Tanner's lip thinned in annoyance.

"...hold on, you're... are you on that... boat? The bone-laden one."

She vaguely pointed at the mutant-hunter's vessel, gangplank still extended.

"Yes, miss. I am."

"Oh, splendid, you can help me clamber up."

Tanner blinked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'll allow it this once. I came here, they said there was a giant on board, I went away to get my bags and some wine, got a little carried away... finest of the decade, this stuff, finest of the decade. And suddenly that gangplank looked a bit too narrow and rickety for me, so I thought I'd have a little sleep, sober up, then head for it. You see my logic?"

Tanner was silent.

"You see my logic, you gallant gargantua. What a clever creature. Now, help me up."

Her voice had a piercing, aristocratic quality to it - it drawled, it seemed incapable of moving beyond a drawl. Tanner was silent. Her chest was still warm from her tea with her mother, the quiet reading, the little dinner... she was in a good mood. And even if she wasn't, politeness made certain demands. She helped haul the woman up, wine bottles clinking and clunking heavily. Without saying a word, she started to haul the strange woman to the gangplank.

"Terribly good of you. I can tell virtuous people by smell, that's what woke me up. Some people have smelling salts, I have virtuous young women."

Tanner's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. Her mood was too good for this. Rather hard, balancing the woman on one side, feeling wine bottles and suitcase thwacking against her side, while she tied to keep her umbrella out of harm's way... had to furl it, and that meant her hair was immediately laced with ice-cold raindrops, creeping down the back of her neck with malicious speed. If she wasn't so utterly powerful, this might actually be completely miserable. As it was, it was annoying.

"Where are you heading, young lady?"

Her voice shot into Tanner's ear with vicious force - and her breath stank of exquisite wine.

"North."

"Wonderful, me too. Surrealist conference in a rambling hotel, barely finished picking the mutants out of the walls, darling thought, isn't it? Deliriously wonderful. Now, as a reward, I must provide you with wine, as is required. Please, ascend, ascend, your wine awaits... hm, your name?"

"Judge Tanner Magg."

"Judge! How fantastic."

Politeness pressed on her like a solid weight.

"May I ask your name, miss?"

The woman gurgled drunkenly as Tanner staggered up the rickety gangplank.

"Marana. Eldest daughter of the last governor of Krodaw. Lovely to make your acquaintance, Judge Tanner."

She leant closer, wine-scented breath fanning over her in a nauseating haze.

"Charmed."