CHAPTER THIRTY - WORM IN AN INA CAGE

The city of Rekida was defined by light, monumentality, brightness, and inhuman abstraction. The colony, thus far nameless, was defined by darkness, humility, lowness, and familiarity. Where Rekida was tall and gleaming, the colony was dark, and the roofs clustered together like the wings of bats, shading the streets below from any kind of light. Only the light that was permitted by the lamps guided the meagre inhabitants about their way. Rekida was a place of uncertainties and foreigners, it was a country with a religion that had died with it, it was a place eaten up by the Great War, and now vultures clustered around its corpse to peck it clean. And the colony knew it. It almost seemed ashamed, Tanner thought, as she moved quietly and quickly through the rigorously planned streets to the place where Marana was lodging. Ashamed of its smallness, ashamed of its incompleteness, its newness. Silent as the grave roundabout now, when everyone was at work. It had... despite the fact that there were Rekidans here, locals, the entire place had the cloistered, closed air of a Fidelizhi suburb. All it needed was the endless haze of cheroot smoke and it might well be a Fidelizhi suburb. But... no. Just cold, sharp air, barely softened by a dim silver sun hidden behind layers of snow-laden clouds. Sometimes she came to a break in the roofs, and saw the sky above... thought it was glittering, just a little. Glittering with the ice suspended in it, ready to fall, just accumulating. Like watching an avalanche in slow motion.

Well, she'd never seen an avalanche, but she'd read about them. Presumably she would see one during her time here, she thought gloomily. It'd be her luck.

Regardless.

One of the few exceptions to how... Fidelizhi the whole place felt was in the inns. Yes, inns, not kaffs. Fidelizh had kaffs, little secluded backstage areas where you could drink, eat, isolate yourself from the world... let your hair down, so to speak. Give up on a thousand aspects of performance. One never went to a kaff in order to be seen, and anyone who did was considered... well, slightly prickish. Rekida, though, had inns. Tanner hesitated outside one of them, straining to peer through one of the cloudy windows... come on, she knew this was the right place, she knew Marana was staying here, she knew all of this, why was she trying to peer through the windows? Well, to make sure that... uh... well, there was always the chance she'd gotten it wrong, right? And what if the innkeeper was doing something private, or there was a private function happening, or it was closed, or... oh, for heaven's sake, Tanner. There, hand on the door. Now, push the door. Wince as it creaks. Wince harder as it scrapes over the uneven floor. Step inside. Shrink at the feeling of emptiness. Inns were... well, steaming, open places, with long tables that were heavy with food and drink during the evenings. Inns seemed to insist on displaying all of their casks of alcohol at once, hiding them away seemed downright anathema to them, and everywhere was the dull gleam of cast iron decorations - a cast iron chandelier, unlit, that during the evenings would hiss with gas. A cast iron plate embedded into one of the walls, straining the wood, showing a swirl of abstract designs that presumably held some meaning for Rekidans. Cast iron pots hung over unlit fires, still smelling faintly of the last stew they'd held. If it could be heavy and creaking and dark, then it was. Without people, inns were dark and strange. With people... the chandelier would flare, conversation would fill the room, the smells of different types of food would combine in a fine perfume...

Well, presumably. Marana said that happened, at least. Tanner really couldn't comment, she'd... found a Fidelizhi-style kaff to stay over for the last few days. The idea of going into an inn and having the whole place go silent, like what happened to all the adventurers in her theatrophone serials, sounded like something out of her more insidious nightmares.

It felt incomplete without a crowd, while a kaff could feel basically full with a single person in it. Tanner's steps echoed on the stone floor, and she shivered under... no gaze at all. Innkeeper wasn't here, no-one was attending the counter. It was the middle of the morning, no-one came here at this time, innkeeper might well still be asleep. Strange, how even with no-one present, she could feel invisible eyes pressing on her. She tugged her coat tighter around herself, the cold air of an unused inn making her breath steam up in little silver clouds. Couldn't see anyone. Felt presumptuous to sit down. Did she... yell? No, no, just go back home, come back in an hour. Or several hours. Maybe just walk around in circles like a lunatic and wait for things to happen for her to exploit. Or-

"Can I help you?"

Oh, wonderful, humans.

Oh, no, humans.

Not the innkeeper. Big man, though still shorter than herself. Dressed in navy blue from top to bottom. Navy coat draped over a chair, navy sweater, thick navy shirt, navy trousers, and heavy, fur-lined shoes that might've been black, and might've just been a very, very dark shade of navy blue. He had a stern haircut the colour of fresh peat, but with nothing but a few thin white hairs on his chin, like the thin petals of an artichoke. Large, bulldog-like jowls. A torso like a beer barrel, and arms like something fashioned by a naval architect. Skin that reminded her faintly of something amphibious, skin that was inclined to sweat, and seemed to remember every coat of sweat it'd received, like an old shoe being shone over and over until it resembled candle wax. He didn't look unfriendly, mostly just seemed utterly bored, perched on a small high chair by the counter, hidden from sight almost by a pair of hourglass-shaped barrels filled with something or other. Good at blending into the background.

Tanner flushed slightly.

"Sorry, terribly sorry, just looking for Marana? She's... living above here, I think."

"Hm. Right. Yeah, she'll be down shortly, don't expect her to get up at a reasonable time. Want to go up and wake her?"

Tanner had a sudden terrifying image of seeing Marana in her nightclothes. Seeing Marana with some unfortunate soul she'd dragged into her amorous clutches.

She sat down.

"I'll wait."

"Do what pleases you."

The man lounged back, his small chair straining alarmingly. Tanner had chosen a chair near one of the tables, rather than the counter, and even so she could maintain level eye-contact with the man at his elevated plinth. Could easily meet his dark, thoughtful eyes. She hunched slightly, just trying to lower herself further without looking like a crouched gargoyle. Not that this man would know what a gargoyle was, they were fairly specific to Mahar Jovan, but... but either way. Didn't want to gamble on him being poorly-travelled.

"New judge, then? Heard about you. Requiring refreshment?"

He smiled faintly. There was something odd about his voice, something drawling and lazy, in a way that reminded her of a cat sprawling in the sun. And his eyes... dark, yes, but shining, like the stones at the bottom of a shallow river, where the water was clear and cold, and the stones smoothed to a mirror sheen.

"Innkeeper's asleep, man works late, sleeps late. Don't think he'd mind if you had a small tipple, though. If your... whistle is in need of wetting."

His accent was very slightly unfamiliar, but she could detect little traces of the inflections she'd heard around the colony in the first few days. Local, then.

"Oh, it's... a bit early for me. Sorry. But thank you."

"As you like. Lyur, by the by. I'm the bouncer here."

"Bouncer?"

He patted a large stick at his waist that she'd failed to notice. Reminded her of her own, still stored in her trunk. Right at the top, where she could grab it easily.

"Bouncer. Door-guard. Regulator. Place gets too full, I tell people to kindly take their business to another establishment. Place gets too rowdy, I bloody a few coxcombs. Night's interesting. Morning's dull as sin, even today. Even the trappers and hunters won't come by until evening - spent months with each other out there, last thing they want is to sit in an inn with those same people and nobody else, nobody but a surly bouncer."

Tanner blinked. Lyur's smile widened incrementally.

"Ah, right. I'm from Fidelizh, too. Lived there for a time, in the shantytown. Rest of the time I was doing colonial work, but... I know your kaffs don't really have my sort of swine. Too polite, perhaps?"

Tanner coughed.

"I... well, I suppose kaffs are smaller. And... not really used at night."

"Well, inns are larger, and these places are... exclusively nocturnal. Sometimes a fellow needs cracking around the head with a big stick to get him to back down. Us uncivilised folk can't be satisfied with just a warning, hm? Need a thwack. That being said, and I say this with absolute politeness and refinement, please don't tell me you're a violent drunk. Not sure if I could thwack you hard enough to put you down, not in my mind."

Tanner flushed again.

"...oh, no, I'm... sure you could brutalise me quite adequately, sir."

Lie.

A moment of silence drew out.

"...do you have anything to complain about, incidentally?"

Lyur blinked slowly, languidly, and reached for a small (cast iron) cup filled with something golden and slightly gelatinous. Somewhere between a liqueur and a syrup, and after it entered his mouth, his voice became thicker, like he had a bad cold blocking up his throat.

"Hm."

"I mean, I'm... here mostly to... interview people. See what's affecting them. What's good, what's bad, what's standard, what's unusual."

"And there was me, thinking you were here mostly to judge, being a judge and all."

His voice had changed. Just a little. More wary. Why the sudden switch?

"Oh, I can judge too. But, uh, my order, they wanted me to come and... interview people. About the living conditions here. I mean, just to make sure we're not wandering around in the dark. You know?"

She finished weakly, trying to smile. Uncharted territory for her. And whenever Tanner lacked a map, she began to panic, convinced herself she was lost, she was loathsomely lost, she was definitely about to get eaten alive by cannibals and mutants and whatnot. And right now... right now she most certainly lacked a map.

"...well, a barber would be nice."

Tanner's fingers twitched unconsciously, reaching for a pen she wasn't holding. She smiled and nodded nonetheless... come on, think about her legal briefs, her clients. Think of the face she used with them. Vague smile, conciliatory but not enthusiastic, don't fidget, be an empty vessel for them to pour their information into. Her back straightened... wished she had a file in front of her, though. Always helped, a prop. Gave her something to rest her eyes on other than the other person... focus on his nose, it made it look like she was looking at his face, but without the pressure of eye contact.

"Barber?"

"Damn colony only has one right now, if you don't count the time-rich and cash-poor that do it during the evenings for a couple of coins. And I don't. On account of them being rotten at it. Wouldn't mind another barber, I think. Or a better one. I mean..."

He gestured at his severe haircut.

"...and those of the feminine persuasion are definitely slightly, ah, annoyed about the hair situation. Fidelizh wasn't exactly ideal, but out here, all she's got is a bearded fellow who stinks of tobacco and uses a pair of sheep shears. And he's all we've got - and we still have to wait weeks for an appointment."

"...I see."

Could she... no, think about it, unsatisfactory facilities when it came to certain luxuries. Issue should resolve itself once the colony was more developed, and there were enough people to sustain several barbers at once... bring it up to the governor, maybe. And if they lacked barbers, maybe they lacked other things, other 'luxuries' that were unpleasant to live without. Was this integral to the life of the settlement? No, no, most likely not. But she could see disputes over appointments coming up in future, if they were waiting weeks for a quick snip. Becoming well-respected as a judge meant... well, judging things, the more the better, especially tiny nuisances like this. Alright, alright, she had-

"Oh, Tanner, you judicious fish, how are you? Goodness, you're early. How was the meeting? How's the house? Really, you must tell me everything."

Yep.

That sounded about right.

Marana swept in, trotting gracefully down the narrow steps leading upstairs. Her voice was uncannily loud in the empty space, even the hungry silence of the inn failing to even dim it. Tanner brightened immediately, and Marana wrapped her up in a tight hug, leaning in to give her a quick peck on both cheeks. Oh, good heavens, she'd... were all aristocrats like this? Did they just kiss things and hug things relentlessly?

...not objecting to it, just curious.

The bouncer turned away, leaving them to their business, almost seeming to sink back into the background. Right, needed to do better with the next interview, make it more subtle, more... reasonable. Marana and Tanner exchanged pleasantries, and Marana summoned a pair of tiny cups filled with that oddly gelatinous stuff. Tanner sipped it uneasily, worried about drinking so early in the morning... shouldn't have worried. This thing barked far worse than it bit. Oh, there was a little wave of heat in her chest when she drank it, and she wrinkled her nose at the unrelentingly sharp taste, but... she didn't feel drunk. Not remotely. She was too large, and this cup was too small. Marana, though, immediately flushed slightly, tiny red dots appearing at the peaks of her cheeks, and her smile broadened - some internal spindle finally unwinding all its thread.

"Now, tell me your opinions on this particular beverage."

Tanner smacked her lips slightly, more in an attempt to get rid of the taste.

"...interesting."

"It is, isn't it? Rather strong, too. You remember those trees, those silly hourglass ones outside the city?"

Tanner did. Vividly. Roots like cages, and strange branches covered in explosions of green needles.

"Well, believe it or not, they make liquor out of it. Then again, I suppose people will try to make liquor out of anything. Ina, they call it. The trees, I mean. Slice those green needles off, bake them, break them down, shred them, ferment them, distil them... oh, and they add a worm to it."

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Tanner almost spat out her drink. The bouncer was silent - oh, lovely, he was being polite. Expected him to laugh.

"What?"

"Oh, yes. Worm. Same one the Rekidans used for their silk, back in the day. Apparently, if you keep the silk worms around here just right, they never mature, stay children forever, no moths, nothing. And after a while, they stop producing silk, but they do start emanating this... incredibly pungent substance. That's where the gold colouration comes from. Just drop the worm into the fermentation vats, and huzzah, the drink is improved. Miraculously. Isn't alcohol just darling?"

She seemed inordinately proud at knowing this. Tanner pushed her cup away.

"Oh."

"Oh yourself, don't be a prude. Everyone needs a little weevil in their diet from time to time. Plus, it's basically just worm-honey."

Tanner shot her a look. Honey was different, honey was made by lovely fuzzy bees that bumbled around in the summer. Worms were... well, if she wanted to associate with something wriggly and slithery, she'd just read more about eels. Worms were just, pardon her language, shit eels. Didn't even have the moxie to stay all slithery, they had to turn into moths which ate all her clothes. Bah. Stuff and nonsense. Eels... eels had dignity. Didn't see them growing wings and flying away like a bunch of show-boaters. Anyway. They caught up slightly, Tanner explained her situation, how she was the only judge here, how she... frankly, she needed help. Once things progressed, maybe she could... well, maybe she could assemble a small group of people, people who could keep notes for her, keep the house going... she didn't say that she was finding the prospect of living alone in that big, cold place to be deeply miserable. And she skirted around the ultimate question as much as she could, politeness demanding obfuscation, until Marana got the point.

"...so, I suppose, what I really need is just someone to handle a few things, maybe to make contacts while I get on with some of the grunt work, and I don't mean to bother you at all about this, but I know you're better at operating in certain circles than I am, so if it's not the slightest inconvenience, I'd be very appreciative, again, only if it's not an inconvenience, if you could maybe put the word out? Just whenever works for you, obviously, I can muddle by for a while, but if there's any children of merchants or whoever who might be interested in a little work, and have the right skills, then-"

"Tanner, if you keep talking this way, I'm actually going to start hurting you, viciously and often."

Tanner blinked, and looked down.

"...oh."

"Yes, I'll help you. Under one condition - you never talk to me like that again. It was nauseating. You remind me of people I don't want to be reminded of."

Tanner felt a small, petty urge rise up in her, and... well, the worm incident really sealed her decision, now didn't it?

"I'm much touched by your kindness, Marana, and I can only trust that by strict attention to duty I shall ensure a continuance of those favours which it shall ever be my study to receive, and in my professional capacities and capabilities I-"

"Tanner Magg."

Marana was giving her a look of terrible proportions.

"Sorry."

"No, you're not. I can tell you're not. I think."

She peered.

"...you know, it's impressive, you have quite a large face - no offence intended, just means there's more to appreciate - so I'd expect you to have a terrible game face. More matter to manipulate, you know. But... goodness, I think you're not sorry, but it's terribly difficult to tell. Impressive."

She smiled faintly.

"Remind me not to play cards with you, hm?"

Tanner sniffed.

"I'm a judge. We don't gamble. It's an addiction-forming habit which clouds the quality of our judgements. Judgements are certain, they don't rely on... random chance, and encouraging any reliance on-"

"Gods, stop. No cards. I understand. I suppose we'll just have to place more emphasis on drinking and whatnot."

"Hm."

A long silence. The bouncer, Lyur, was... goodness, he was being quiet. Just hunching over his own drink, staring into the dusty darkness behind the counter where the innkeeper ought to be. Tanner glimpsed a few drops of golden liquid... and thinking about the worm-flavoured liquor made her think about the silk those same worms spun, and that made her think about the mutant. The redhead one, in her blue silk dress. Rekidan make? Were they drinking liquor flavoured by the same worms which span that creature's dress, that even now clung to her in the snowy wilderness? Hadn't seen a scrap of silk since she arrived here. Probably still working on that. Idly, she realised how little she knew about the colony - what did it make, what did it trade, what was it going to trade once things were properly established? The work crews that streamed through the Breach into the city beyond... what were they getting up to? She'd never gotten around to asking, and she felt like if she held off for much longer she'd just never ask at all, too embarrassed.

Ought to get to work.

And the two of them rose to their feet, Marana heading off to grab her coat. And Tanner tried to think of how she'd ask the woman to come and live in her too-empty house.

* * *

Dear Eygi,

Goodness, been a while, hasn't it! I know I'll have to cut out all the pleasantries once this gets to the telegram office, but forgive me for being a little verbose here. If I think about the cost of each word, I start to just not want to write at all. So, here we go. Both a letter and disorganised notes. If this was actually being sent, I'd feel like I was being sloppy. The colony is... interesting. Dark, closed-off, secluded. Seems almost ashamed to exist next to the city, which feels fair. The city is rather splendid, even if it's dead as dead can be. Apparently they can't even keep animals inside the walls, there's too much lingering contamination in the air, the animals go berserk. Marana and I - I've told you about Marana, I think - are just trying to interview people. She's infuriatingly good at it. Just insisted we wander from place to place, stop briefly, ask questions, build contacts. She has a good eye for picking out people to talk to, while I pick out the places we need to visit. The work crews were out, so that meant we were touring around the fringes, chatting to people who maintain the coldrooms. The colony's buckling down for winter, no more growing. Usually, they fish, they rear these hairy boars on the hills, they've even started some limited horticulture. No major fields, the land can't support it, barely could do it before the war, now... no hope. Not for a long while. They import grain from other settlements clustered along the river, stockpile it, and rear as many pigs as they can. The pigs are fine, they can eat the Ina trees. Then, once the winter gets intense enough, they slaughter a huge amount, salt and pickle what they can, cure it if possible, then store it in their coldrooms. It's so cold out there, especially on the hills, that they can actually just... keep things there, for months. Practically until spring.

I know, talking about curing meat isn't the most thrilling thing in the world, but it's... well, I'm going to be living on salted fish and cured pork for months. Months, I tell you. Be a miracle if I remain sane - though naturally, I'm being understanding, I compliment everything I eat, I'm trying to be nice. Already missing those little cakes from the outer temple, though.

There's more Fidelizhi here than I realised. Far more, honestly. Feels like for every two Rekidans there's a Fidelizhi, and they're not merchants or anything, half the time they're colonials who were encouraged to come out here by the Golden Parliament. Which feels... odd, I mean, Fidelizh has quite mild winters, but this place gets snow in the middle of summer, sometimes. Apparently. Not sure if they were joking about that, honestly. And the Golden Parliament encourages Fidelizhi to come out here regardless, and it's not cheap to ship up, not cheap at all. Either way. The governor seems decent enough. Something funny, though - this evening, we were wandering around looking for an inn to have a drink inside (I wanted to go to bed, Marana insisted on staying out, talking to the work crews), and every single inn has a bouncer. A tough one, too! Big stick, big muscles, and they're not afraid to use either. I can't imagine most of the kaffs back home having any kind of security beyond a lock on the front door and the cash register, even most of the bars just have a stick under the counter for the bartender to use in an emergency. And, despite all of that, there's really not much violence - the inns aren't even particularly rowdy. The bouncers just keep moving people on, though, once the inn is even mostly full, but then they'll let random people through from time to time. Most of them are locals, but they all look... well, well-paid. I mean, this colony only has a single full-time barber, but it's able to keep a goodly number of full-time bouncers. And the violence never escalated throughout the night, no matter how drunk people got. Wondering if the bouncers have just beaten that out of them, or if having a judge around kept them on their toes.

The inns are completely fine, of course. In terms of food and drink. Got chatting to rather a few people - professional obligation. The work crews head out into the city in the morning, mostly just to clear rubble out of the streets, before scrubbing as much contamination as they can manage with the tools they've got. Short shifts, gas masks on at all times. They're trying to take it back, building by building - already managed to occupy some of the outer structures. No mutants, which surprised me. Contamination, yes, mutants, no. They cleared those out when they arrived, whole battalion of soldiers handled it, you can still see the soot where they painted the walls with fire. I suppose they just... abandoned it after the Great War ended, didn't try and take it back. Always unnerves me how prescient those things can be. The work crews alternate their time between clearing rubble, clearing contamination, reinforcing sagging structures, and then, once they reach some sort of limit, they head outside of the colony to go fur trapping in the hills. Seems to be one of the big industries around here, trapping. That and logging. Not sure what the city's going to do once it's cleared out, but... anyway. I've been drinking all night, still only feeling a little warm inside, but Marana's basically passed out. Feeling slightly smug, I must say. Very slightly. Not that I'll tell her about it, she might decide to buy me more drinks. And I have a reputation to consider!

The mood is odd, around here. Very odd. People keep to themselves, the soldiers enforce a very strict curfew, and there's just... an oddness. In the air. Hard to describe. The streets are clear, the inns are well-stocked, the coldhouses are absolutely stuffed with produce, the governor seems decent enough, everything's fine.... but sometimes I look around, and I see someone looking at me for a bit longer than is decent. The inns have these heavy cast iron decorations everywhere, absolutely everywhere, and the city is so... large, and bright, and austere. Not a trace of iron. Anyway. Should be seeing a few more people tomorrow. Supervisors, people rotating back into town after some time in the city work crews, that sort of thing. Thinking of interviewing a few soldiers. Honestly, ought to thank this one officer who welcomed me to this place - big fellow, moustachioed, very friendly. He was perfectly decent, and he gave me a hot meal after that nightmare in the snow, which means he's not in my good books, he's in my Best Tomes. Anyway. Common complaints thus far are just... well, dread for the winter and all the limited cuisine it implies, some business with the gas masks (too uncomfortable, seem to be a sub-par brand, and no-one likes wearing masks for too long), and mix-ups with alcohol shipments, too much of one thing, too little of another thing... barbers, again, everyone wants barbers. No complaints about the soldiers, the Erlize, the governor, the work. No complaints at all. When Marana probes (she's rude enough to lack subtlety on matters like this), people just... snap shut like mussels at low tide. The work is fine, they say. Just a job. Not a single grumble in earshot, beyond some minor details that don't seem especially important.

I think they're not talking to me about that out of... not fear, just uncertainty. Why share potentially seditious thoughts with some new arrival? Marana and I will try and wear them down a little, stick around when they're as drunk as possible, just try and ease out a bit more information. Not that I'm spying on them, I have no intention of giving most of this information to anyone but other judges. Maybe the governor, but as per our usual standards, all complaints are anonymous, all grievances presented neutrally. This letter is going to be locked up with all the others, too, the telegram you receive will have none of the sensitive information. Plus, probably a bit less discussion of sausages. I think. Unless you want to hear more about sausage techniques? They have some interesting business going on with adding bits of onion, and, oh, goodness, they're complete lunatics, they slice their sausages wrong. They slice diagonally. Not straight down like normal people, diagonally, like maniacs.

Truly, this is a foreign place...

Wait! I know! This place, I know what it reminds me of - Jovan. Back home. The same cloistered air, the same low-down structures, the same clustering roofs... not quite the same, though. I mean, in Jovan you wouldn't be able to get inside one of these inns without a password or someone to vouch for you, but here... yes, it's more open, much more open, but at the same time, I... anyway. I think I'm just being silly, associating anywhere slightly leery towards outsiders with Jovan. I just need to go to more places hostile to foreigners, really. Get some more comparisons. Jovan's become this kind of idealised form of 'place which is unfriendly', everywhere gets compared to it. Sometimes I even compared the inner court to one of Jovan's lodges, and that's about as absurd as its possible to get, the lodges are positively tribal. Anyway. Anyway.

I keep wondering where those mutants went. That redhead keeps appearing in my dreams. She ripped a wolf apart in front of me, then nibbled contamination from my hand like a dog.

But when I looked into her eyes, I just saw... it was flat and dead as glass.

Keeps appearing in my mind.

I think I'll... have some citrinitas. Soldiers popped by. They had the cases we left behind. Some of my clothes have been ruined by damp, but the citrinitas is still good. I'll have a little glass, keep working through the night, get going tomorrow morning. Marana sleeps late, always, I can sneak a quick nap in the morning before we set off.

I'm glad she's here. Nice to have an authority on colonial matters. She navigates the place smoothly, seems to know where things are before she even finds them. Not sure if that's a colonial thing, or a... socially competent thing. I wonder how you'd behave, if you were here.

Popped downstairs for a bit of food. Just to soak up a little booze. Funny, how living alone makes you feel so incomplete, but only in the kitchen. I mean, while I'm writing to you, I feel like you're here, smiling away. When I'm in my office, with Marana snoring on the sofa, I think things are fine. Then I go downstairs, and the air is cold, the cupboards are unfamiliar, everything is half-eaten. Half a loaf of broad, half a sausage, half a pint of milk. I think about recipes I used to make when I was a child, and I realise I can't use most of them. All the quantities become strange when you divide them down to a single person. Half an onion, half a carrot, half a fish... I either make too much and let it rot, or I accept having a hundred half-ends littering my cupboards. Then I imagine them rotting - impossible in this cold, I know - but I imagine the smell of must and decay building up and up and up, and then I imagine the cockroaches coming, the cockroaches and the beetles, laden with contamination, more and more... if I lean too far back in my chair, I hear it creak. If it snaps or breaks, would I go out and get another? Would I just stuff it into another room, grab one of the many other chairs... the embarrassment of breaking furniture, especially so soon after my arrival, it never quite stops stinging. Gods, I'm still such a petty person, still terrified of someone thinking I don't keep a good house... terrified of hiring someone to see my shame, and too busy to do it on my own.

I'm sorry, I'm just feeling paranoid. I'm the only judge here. Will be, until spring. If I disgrace myself, I disgrace all the others, the whole order. If I cock something up tomorrow, then until spring, I'll wear that on my back. Not sure if I'd manage to bear it.

Can't see the stars through the clouds. Wouldn't be able to chart which gods are most favoured at present. Thinking of just invoking Clambering-Amber-Debutante, like usual. Feels too extroverted, though, too simple. Considering... yes, I think I could manage to let Shuddering-Violet-Demimondaine. The inverse of the Debutante, less fashionable, but I could still manage it, just need to use the right ribbons in the right places, tie a pair over my sleeves... if I pop out early enough, I should be able to get a small amount of wine, which I can then heat over the fire and inhale. Then... what's the last part? Wine fumes, ribbon placement, what's the third? Is it the coin wedged into the back of my stockings? Or is it the ribbon worn as a garter? Maybe... yes, it's entrance rites, knocking on the frame of a door before entering, drumming my fingers on the frame when leaving, stamping my foot three times when leaving home, inhaling wine-fumes when I return. I remember.

Sorry, thinking by writing.

I do hope you're doing well, and the weather is tolerable in Yorone, I remember you saying that the cold wasn't so unbearable there during winter, nice and mild, plenty of servants to keep the fires burning. I still miss you. I hope the telegram I manage to whittle this monster down to is... pleasing, I suppose. Wrong word. Sorry, citrinitas is making me jittery, citrinitas and the cold. Need to stoke the stove, I think.

Miss you.

Write soon.

T.M.

* * *

Tanner padded down the stairs carefully. Should wear slippers, by all right she should, and her limbs felt like blocks of ice. Didn't, though. The grip wasn't perfect, and she didn't trust herself not to slip. She'd demolish the whole bloody house if she fell down the stairs, just rolling like a boulder and wiping out everything in her path. First real day of work. No bed, not yet. Not ready for those cold sheets and the way her thoughts whirled through her head in the silent dark. She let her legs lead her through the gloom, towards the stove. Stoke it. Boil some water. Pour some tea. Coffee? No, don't mix coffee and citrinitas, it makes the coffee taste like nauseating sludge. Tea was best. Warm herself up. Curl around it, and write out her notes fully. Before her memory faded. Heavy-eyed, she stumped blearily over, wincing at the cold flagstones of the kitchen. The house was... honestly, it was nice. It was a damn nice house. Ceilings low enough to be cosy, high enough to be comfortable. Floors free of splinters. She could see other houses through chasms in the curtain-cloaked windows, houses with small candles burning, the silhouettes of inhabitants barely visible. Her house was the largest on the street, designed for a whole team, not a single giantess. Empty houses were hungry houses, and all the others on the street seemed perfectly sated. Her fingers twitched occasionally. Been a while since she'd had citrinitas, and the little pulses of energy popping through her body were... well, took some getting used to.

She hunched over the heavy metal stove, blowing into the coals to warm them up a little, feeling the red light flare with each puff, fading a moment later. Only a tiny amount of the light endured through each cycle... but with each cycle, a little more lingered, a small surplus was added. Bit by bit. Her hands fumbled for little fire-lighters - she was tired, damn it, forgot to start with the little bundles of dry straw and solid fuel. Blowing at the coals like a dumb ox... She threw a handful on, grumbling as she did so...

A flare of red light, much brighter than it ought to be.

And she twitched.

Her eyes widened.

Something was here. She had an image of a redhead in a blue silk dress, face wet with gore, eyes unblinking. Her hand itched where the girl had gnawed at it. No, no, the air had no scent of contamination, she could process that much. She turned...

Spied a figure, running from the window. Her face was locked in place as she dashed for it, staring out into the dark...

A little pale scrap, turned silver by the moonlight. Running quickly away from the window, where it'd been looking in. The darkness swallowed it quickly, too quickly for her to even see the basest details. Could be a child, could be a teenager, could be a grown adult concealed by the gloom. Instinctively, she opened the back door, took a single step... no, no, the ice clawed at her stocking-clad feet, and she hissed in pain, retreating back indoors. Pointless. The figure was already fading, by the time she had shoes on she'd... anyway. She stared out, unblinking as a mutant, ears peeling backwards as she strained to listen for anything. Even the sound of footsteps in the snow.

Nothing. The snow swallowed sound, and flakes were falling to muffle anything which escaped it. The houses were cramped, plenty of places to run to, plenty of friends to shelter with.

One part of her tried to soothe her racing heart. Just a child, most likely. Curious about the new arrival.

Another part unfurled itself like a hungry spider, long, long legs creeping around the corners of her brain, chelicerae frothing with liquid paranoia. Maybe the person had come inside. Check the food. Had anything been gnawed, like by a rat?

She checked. Her incomplete loaf, sausage, everything. The sad evidence of a lonely existence. Nothing had been taken, she thought. Hard to tell, though - half a loaf looked very similar to a third of a loaf, especially in this light. And the longer she looked, it was harder to even remember what it had looked like after her little meal. No, nothing gnawed. Close the door, stop letting the cold out. No, the murmuring paranoia in her mind insisted. No, check the locks.

The locks were intact. Locked with a key, locked with a deadbolt, locked with a chain. Three layers of security. But...

...but she'd ripped the door open like it was nothing.

Had it been left open by accident? Had she opened it and forgot about in the haze of motion? Had the person opened it, crept inside, stole amidst her belongings... no, no, no, nothing had been stolen.

The house felt colder. But not emptier. If anything, it felt crowded. Every shadow had vermin living in it, every cupboard hid a burglar.

Her fists clenched, and Tanner knew she wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. Had to check every cupboard, every corner, every little nook and cranny. Everything that a person could hide inside. Check the locks, check them twice, check them as many times as her mind demanded. She wasn't usually this paranoid... no, no, she was. She could be nervous as all hell. And right now, she was very highly strung.

Would a judge act this way? Would a professional?

She shivered.

Judges would be more reasonable. No evidence of a crime, and she had to presume innocence. Nothing had happened. Just a kid looking through the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the freak. Simple enough. Probably scared to death by the sight of a giantess charging after them like a... an enormous brute.

Still.

She retreated upstairs, and in her way, surrendered the downstairs to the outside world. Go on, crawl around there. These are the terms of the truce - you, strange pale figure, can crawl around downstairs, but the upstairs, with the light and the soft sound of Marana's breathing, was hers, and hers alone. Don't go near it - and Tanner committed herself to that, positioning herself so she could easily look to the staircase.

Drummed her fingers on her chair.

The wind howled outside.

She kept drumming her fingers, trying to urge herself to get back to work. Go on. Work. There were notes to do. Marana was still asleep. Couldn't be wasting time on some adolescent panic attack. A judge would work. A judge would keep going, no matter what. And imagine the humiliation of being sleep-deprived because of a pale shape which was probably a child, and nothing more. With a grumble, she fitted her little circlet around her head, lowered the first few focusing lenses, magnifying the paper before her. Her automatic quill began to hum as it activated, and she started going through the motions. Writing in the most efficient manner possible. Interview outcomes. Notes on economy. Notes on follow-ups. Best to be thorough with these things, didn't want to forget some important detail later on.

A flicker caught her attention.

She looked up.

...nothing. The window in front of her, it... well, probably just a cloud passing in front of the moon, honestly. A momentary dimming of the light.

Just a second, and the moon was back. Not worth considering.

And this, at least, was easier to dismiss than the face.

Her back hunched. Her fingers tensed. She curled herself into the right positions...

And began to work.