CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - THE INTERMINABLE PALE

A few more days after they'd seen the titan. The great black pillar of its ever-burning body slowly faded away as they travelled, going from a dominating monolith which swallowed the sun, to something which merely tainted the sun a dim silver, to something which was thin enough for her hand to cover... and then so small it was barely a hair on the horizon, easy to miss if she wasn't looking for it. And then, gone. Swallowed by the grey. The Tulavanta was, in some places, monstrously large, and perpetually shifting - the land was flat and wide, the river was eager to burst its banks and run freely downwards, hungry for the ocean, for the companionship of other waters. Again, the barrier the Tulavanta presented was one of chaotic change and sagging mud, a barrier which engulfed train tracks and bridges, flooded so constantly that nothing could be built for long, was filled with creatures that lacked any fear of humanity and its weapons, and often saw horses as nothing more than tonight's dinner - she'd seen only one gorgonopsid, and Tanner was convinced it could easily tear apart a horse, especially if the horse was mired in the swamp, swamped in the bog, bogged down in the mire. For an untold number of years, travel meant a combination of luck and good timing, moving in small numbers over the islands of stable land, like navigating a desert from oasis to oasis. Moving by boat worked, but... well, she could see weather balloons hovering around from time to time, pointed out to her by the captain. A whole chain of lonely watchers, keeping an eye on the waters, making sure that the boats wouldn't get stranded by an unexpected period of shallowness - hardly unheard of, especially in winter, when more of the water was locked up in the mountains as ice and snow.

The weather balloons relayed messages by flashes of intensely bright light, operated by their isolated residents. Helped them get through the mudlands and the better part of the river, avoiding the pitfalls that stranded other vessels. The captain loved sharing stories of ships which had been stuck here, ground deep into the mud. If the boat was light enough, you could shunt it along using barge poles, but it was long, hard work, and their boat was much too heavy for that sort of business. Airships were the only truly reliable way of getting to the north and back, and they were expensive as all hell. Still. The captain thought the mutant-hunting business would abandon boats entirely after a while, once the banks of the Tulavanta and its infinite estuaries and tributaries were cleared out and resettled. Then it'd be airships that sailed far north, weathering the cold and the snow, raining death on the mutant horde. Apparently they'd already started, but it was still spotty.

"One day, they'll have to demolish this boat. Can you believe it? One day, this'll all be over."

The captain's smile was always sad when she talked about things ending. Tanner found it tricky to agree. Could see where she was coming from, but... well, a mutant-free world was a good world, overall, even if it meant a few mutant-hunters lost their work. But it felt rude to say that to a woman who had nothing left but mutant-hunting. Running out the last years of her sanity doing the only work that had any meaning to it. Either way. They sailed north, and the weather began to chill. Tanner found herself wearing her heavier overcoats as she waited on the deck for things to change, and relished in being able to haul around oil for the heaters and lamps, huge tanks of the stuff, hard to lift even with her own muscles. Helped warm her up, though. Sometimes she was so warmed by the exercise that she could remove her overcoat and roll up her sleeves, steam rising from her bare arms as she laboured away in the gathering cold. But then, when the morning came round, she'd find herself curled up in her cabin, shivering like a leaf, clutching her blanket around her into a kind of cocoon. Treasuring any scrap of warmth, wrapping a scarf around her mouth to savour even the lingering heat of her breath. The snow began to fall a few days after the titan, and it never really stopped, falling constantly from a slate-grey sky, wind rushing over a too-flat landscape, nothing to stop it, nothing to break its passage. The ship started to hang heavy with little icicles in the morning, which dripped away tears of moisture as the day progressed.

Marana was practically an immobile bundle of coats and jumpers and shivering, huddling herself around any source of heat that presented itself. Perpetually sniffling, too. Seeing Marana suffer in the cold was... well, not nice, but it made Tanner feel more competent as a human being. Look at her, she had more mass, she could soak up the cold with ease! Woeful surrealist, what use is thine skill with drawing when thine hands shiver and shake?! Ignorant artist, what does it matter that thou'rt a creature of sophistication and social aptitude, capable of changing one's plans without being nervous for a split second, when... well.... well, Tanner was warm, so there! She was lifting things, heavy things, and that presumably meant something in the great cosmic ordering of the universe. Presumably.

Look, Tanner wasn't a petty person, but she was still struck by the fact that Marana could just... do things without pacing around nervously, planning out every single tiny detail of her choice to avoid catastrophe. Tanner was still the sort of person who'd just go hungry if other people weren't eating at that particular point in time, hated standing out in any way, hated looking lazy, hated giving the wrong impression. Marana was of a different species entirely - she ate when she was hungry, slept was when she was tired, and was bold and brash enough to just... talk to people. Didn't care if she cultivated the wrong impression, her personality didn't require others to validate it, if they thought less of her, they thought less of her, didn't alter the price of fish by a single coin. Tanner couldn't even watch people working without feeling the itch to join in - Marana just stood there, shivering, watching others haul things around, scrape ice from the railings, monitor the horizon for mutants... she had no allergy to looking lazy.

Feh.

Damn surrealists with their damn social skills. Feh, she said, feh. Well, she thought, Wouldn't say. That would be profoundly rude. And judges were not rude. It wasn't professional.

Days.

Days upon days of ice and snow, of building cold, of slow labour atop the boat. Tanner found herself slipping into routines, into perfect cycles of action and behaviour. Wake, breakfast with the hunters, then haul things for them, or look busy by monitoring the horizon and going over her legal principles. Lunch. More work. Dinner. No alcohol, not while they were in enemy territory. And then... well, sleep, curl up in her bed and hope she got to sleep before the cold seeped into her bones too much and inspired shiver upon shiver. Wake. And repeat it all over again. A little more chaotic than she liked, no guarantee that she'd be needed for any form of labour on a particular day, no idea of what lay ahead, but... well, it worked. She was reaching the point where she could create firm hierarchies of preference when it came to crates - which ones she liked, which she disliked, which had a good grip, which didn't, which had splinters... she was building a hierarchy of crates. If she told Marana this, she knew she'd be laughed at incessantly.

She knew this because she'd told her, in a moment of weakness, terrified of an extended, awkward silence, and the laughter hadn't stopped for a while.

Even now, Marana would smirk when she saw Tanner hauling something.

Feh.

And as soon as her routines began to seem permanent, reaching the point where she could time her mornings down to the second...

It was over.

A grim, grizzly settlement, glued to the side of a little branch of the Tulavanta, a stream that wound north along a shallow, rocky bed. The landscape here was... invisible, the snow consumed it all, and whenever it cleared, she could see nothing but dispiriting flatness, swathed in white powder. The mountains she'd heard about were just a dim haze, barely recognisable as anything at all. The boat came to a grinding stop at this settlement, an assemblage of primitive dwellings that clustered together around a long, solitary dock - a single finger of wood and metal protruding into the river, comically tiny against the hungry landscape. Hard to imagine people living here, but... well. It was eerie, everything just ending like this, with unpleasant suddenness. She had no expectations now, nothing whatsoever. The hunters were all wrapped up in heavy black coats, lined with fur - made it look like a crowd of mourners was seeing her off. She hefted her bag easily, the work on the boat having toughened her a little, given her muscles a real taste of labour. Marana was behind her, struggling with the weight of her own... a second, and Tanner relieved her of the effort, taking whatever she could under her powerful arms. The captain spat into the churning grey waters.

"Well. This is you."

Tanner hesitated.

"...thank you. For the... well, for the journey up here. I apologise if I caused any inconvenience, I understand this is a little out of your way, and I hope your hunting goes well."

The platitudes spilled from her lips hastily, and the captain snorted.

"Gods, stop apologising for everything. You were a help, if anything. Hope the judging business goes well. And... well, hope the artist isn't too much of a burden."

"I'm right here, you know."

"I'm aware. If she gets uppity, pack snow in her ears, gives people a headache like you wouldn't imagine."

"Again. Right here."

"Well, not like the judge is going to threaten you, too polite for that. But, well, if you feel she's too much - the option's on the table. She's had fair warning, you can do as you like now. Legally speaking. Right?"

Tanner blinked a few times.

"...not... really?"

"You mean being warned that you'll get shot in the stomach if you keep coming forwards doesn't.... what, absolve you of guilt when the person comes forward and you shoot them in the stomach?"

"Somewhat? There's context for things like that, and-"

The captain slapped her on the shoulder.

"Shush. Just saying, no-one will know. You've been a good passenger, damn good passenger, probably spoiled us on any future ones."

She rocked back and forth on her heels uncomfortably for a moment, clearly trying to think of something else to say...

"Well."

She paused. The crew shifted.

"...uh..."

Tanner felt her face heating up as the silence drew out... and a single question came to mind. One she might never get to ask again.

"Sorry, you never said your name? Sorry, I should've asked, but-"

"Oh, right. It's Kralana. Nice to... meet you? Anyway. Good luck, nice having you aboard."

Another pause. A crooked smile, revealing slightly too-sharp teeth.

"Piss off?"

Tanner, indeed, pissed off. Thumped her way down the ice-slicked gangplank, Marana trotting behind her, using the giantess to shield herself from the rushing, snow-laden winds. The crew yelled after them, a few last wishes of good luck, good health, good travel, and good wine. Goodbyes were awful. Goodbyes were terrible, they were impossible to do properly, and... well, there was the knowledge that if she left a bad impression with her goodbye, she wasn't going to be able to rectify it. Ever. Not unless she met the crew again, which she faintly doubted. Another question was boiling in her mind, she'd still never found out if they knew the vessel which had... injured her father, but the time had passed. She'd kept putting it off, and now... anyway. Anyway. The settlement beckoned. The ship withdrew the gangplank with a clatter of metal, and a few moments later, smoke was belching from the stacks, the crew was moving with practised ease, and the great dark shape of the ship slid away into the snowy mist... and a minute later, the sound was gone. Banished into the mutant-infested darkness.

Leaving Tanner and Marana alone on a long, lonely pier.

Marana coughed.

"Well. Let's be off, unless you feel like freezing to death."

Tanner nodded shakily. She kept checking her pockets for everything she needed, all her papers, her letters, everything, sealed in waterproofed packets of thick, treated brown paper. She felt... what did she feel? The boat was gone, there was no going back, no... it was crazy, but she had a little thought in her mind, that she could become a total coward, abandon her duty, beg the mutant-hunters to keep her around... stay on the boat forever. She'd be terrified, and would likely die, but... well, it was just a thought. Made for a nice little outlet of stress - push came to shove, she could always abandon everything and everyone and become a dockworker in an obscure settlement who didn't talk too much about her past. Cultivated an aura of mystery which intrigued and allured.

Then she remembered that she was Tanner, the person who had to give herself an encouraging internal speech every time she had to knock on an unfamiliar door, and decided that it would be best to just get on with being a judge.

"Right. Right."

Marana shot her a look as the two walked down the lonely jetty.

"Are you... well? You're shaking like a leaf."

"Oh? Am I?"

She appeared to be shaking like the aforementioned piece of vegetation.

"Yes. Yes, you are. It's quite alarming. Come on, you wanted to come out here, didn't you? Got on that boat for the express purpose of coming out here?"

"Yes, yes, I did. I did."

"So..."

"It's nothing. Let's just... get moving."

"You're nervous, aren't you?"

"A little."

Marana hesitated... then reached over and squeezed her hand slightly, the feeling of contact barely noticeable with the thick gloves they were wearing.

"Don't worry, I'll take the lead with a few things. I don't see a train station, so... I assume we're taking a coach?"

Tanner nodded rapidly, getting her breathing under control. Idiot. Idiot. She wasn't... gods, she was an adult, she was a judge, why was she feeling so nervous? There was a sick feeling in her stomach, a leaden weight pulling her down, this conviction that... that her options had collapsed, and now all she had was one road, leading directly ahead. Usually, that reassured her. Now, it was slightly unnerving. Just slightly. She rubbed her hands together for warmth, cultivating luck at the same time, while remembering the duty placed upon her as a judge. There was no path to take but the one laid out for her, there'd be other judges waiting in the settlement, she was fine. Stop worrying. Stop being such... such a little coward. This was expected of her, demanded of her, she had no options beyond obey or disobey, and she couldn't disobey. She was just coming away from weeks of gradually developing routines, that was all. Still. A part of her was terrified of one silly thing, and before she could think, she was saying it out loud.

"...it's ridiculous, but I'm... well, I haven't judged anything for weeks now. I've spent the last year with briefs and duties and everything, refining my routines... then I was on the boat, and made new routines, and a part of me thinks that I might've lost the knack for judging. Just... somehow gone astray. A little."

Marana blinked.

"It's been a few weeks. I doubt you've... lost the knack, Tanner, I doubt it sincerely."

"I know, I know. I know."

She did. She did know. But there was always the fear that once a habit was broken for even a tiny period, it could never be reasserted. Same reason she never took time off from being a judge, even when she was entitled to little vacations from time to time. Thought she'd just get lazy and soft, lose her skill. If she didn't keep moving, she might stop and never start up again. If she broke too many routines, why shouldn't she start to enjoy the freedom from them, the slothful pleasure of doing nothing at all? And if that settled into her soul like a parasite, then it might never be removed, this constant knowledge that she could be happy doing nothing, and that would start to poison everything else. Why clean her cape every week? Why sacrifice her evenings to brush up her skills in certain areas? Why get up so early? Why clean her room so thoroughly? Slothfulness was death by a thousand cuts, and once she let it seep in, she thought it might never stop.

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Had to keep moving. Couldn't grow moss on a rolling stone.

Just... keep going. Keep going.

The settlement here was a miserable little place that evidently closed down most of its activities come winter, content to huddle around fires and eat the food they'd stored up. It was clearly waiting for things to pick up, in terms of trade and whatnot. Little houses, where the curtains twitched to reveal thin, winter-shrivelled faces, looking out suspiciously for a second before retreating inwards to the warmth. The snow underfoot squeaked as they walked over it, and the crumpling of the white powder started to set Tanner's teeth on edge. There was a feeling of... not being unwelcome, but being unexpected. Taking a wrong turn and ending in somewhere where visitors didn't generally go. Just like back in Fidelizh, when she first arrived. Why was it that her arrivals in foreign climes were always accompanied by silence? Either way. The settlement had the practised anonymity of depots the world over, the kind of un-space where necessity drove it to exist, necessity and nothing besides. The dock was designed for many boats, the streets for many people, and the number of places with signs advertising rooms for rent was... well, uncountable. It was a vacant space eager to be filled by people who'd only stay for a day or two, before moving on to places unknown. And in this constant movement, settlement and abandonment, there was a sense of... being around someone who went through strings of torrid affairs. The same half-lidded boredom, the same cloistered sadness, the same leathery shrivel, the same feeling of being worn-out and weary, sparking to life only occasionally.

Being in a depot like this was like being in the bedroom of a serial philanderer, seeing the little traces of old lovers, and feeling keenly their absence.

The settlement was bare on the inside, but the exterior was clustered with thick, black trees, grown in orderly rows to give some shelter from the storm - the trees were almost bend double with the effort, their trunks hunched like the backs of old peasants. Their leaves were dead and soaked, hanging in clumps from the branches like the bodies of dead bats. The air was cold. The sky was starless. The moon had been eaten by a cloud. There was a thickness to the atmosphere, like she was moving in the accumulated breaths of every last visitor to this necessity-born settlement. Her bag thumped a steady rhythm as they searched for the coach station - after a few minutes, they found it, a tall building of grey stone, with a cheerful green roof studded with pools of snow, turned sharp by icicle-teeth - like the building was bearing its fangs at them. A lantern swung listlessly outside, a sign clacked against the stone over and over. Tanner and Marana looked at one another.

Just had to knock.

Just had to step forwards and knock on an unfamiliar door in the late evening.

Just had to-

Marana knocked smartly, and Tanner felt her spine slowly coil up in embarrassment. Dolt.

And as expected, the door swung open, a thin face greeted them, and they were ushered inside the interior without further ado. Simple as that. Nothing to be worried about. Nothing dreadful had been awakened by that knock. Tanner was glad for the cold - it turned the skin red, and hid the flush which clambered from her neck to her cheeks. The man who greeted them was old, his long, stringy beard the colour of ash, his eyes practically locked into a perpetual squint, and his left leg dragged slightly behind his right, stiffened by some old injury... or, well, age. He looked them up. He looked them down. And he brought them into his station without another word. The ceiling was stained by oil lamps, and the air stank of paraffin. The waiting room was dusty, and where passengers ought to sit, there were instead huge piles of... anything and everything. Tanner found herself stepping around a box filled with stationery, before swivelling to avoid crashing into a gigantic pile of shabby volumes. The old man grunted, revealing teeth stained brown with... coca? Maybe? She'd heard chewing the raw leaves was still popular out in some parts of the west, even if the middle-kingdoms had long-since moved to the refined product.

"Sorry about the mess, ladies. Not many visitors, not this time of year. Don't like seeing the waiting room all empty-like, feels right nasty to have a big old space with nothing in it."

Marana nodded airily, moving a careless eye over the myriad objects which crammed the space. Ink bottles, sheaves of paper, blank books ready to be written in, anonymous jars filled with something... the only thing which caught her attention for long were some dusty crates of strong liquor, ready for dilution somewhere else.

"Quite all right with us. Isn't it, Tanner?"

Tanner nodded hesitantly, before licking her lips and speaking.

"Oh. Yes. Quite all right. No problem."

The old man grunted again, and led them to the front desk - a ponderous thing of dark wood and leather surfaces, the legs shaped like the limbs of lions, claws digging into the wooden floor below. It stank of the man's dinner - some sort of salted fish thing - and was heavy with papers and ledgers, the latter with lavish ink patterns along the pages, the sort they painted to make it obvious if something had been removed. Swirls of near-luminous pigment that would've made a surrealist proud. Marana took precedence, Tanner instinctively slinking a little into the background, letting the two geto on with the ins-and-outs of getting from here to Rekida. No pleasantries, just... they stopped walking, the old man shuffled through his papers, ran a hand through his vague cloud of thinning hair, and grunted a few times.

"Rekida?"

Marana blinked.

"Oh? Were you expecting us?"

"Nowhere else to go but Rekida. Only road out of town goes up there, only good road. No trains, sorry to say. Not yet. Place used to be the arse-end of nowhere, real backwards types all around, no love for trains."

Marana smiled lightly, and Tanner mimicked her a moment later.

"So, I take it that coaches are the only option?"

"More or less. Just sent one out a few days ago, meant to deliver some post to the settlement, actually. Don't worry, still got some coaches here, ready to go. You're heading up there for good, then? Don't look much like normal labourers."

He squinted suspiciously, and Marana laughed.

"Oh, heavens, no. My lovely companion here is a judge, but I'm here for recreation and recreation alone. Holidaying, to revitalise the spirit a tad - must say, the landscape here is simply poetic with its vastness, eager to see if I can paint some of it a little, though I'm a little concerned as to how much white paint I might use. Still, could be pleasingly peculiar to paint it in another colour - something pleasingly surreal in a purple wasteland, though purple paint is much harder to acquire... anyhow, anyhow. So, coaches - could you illustrate how we might acquire one, my good fellow?"

The man blinked.

"...uh. Well. Our coaches are... well, we've got these big-uns, pulled by about four horses, local breed, good in the snow. Shouldn't be too harsh now, winter's just starting to nibble our ears, not ready for a proper kiss, if you'll pardon the expression."

This was... winter's foreplay? It was bloody freezing already, Tanner didn't want to see it getting worse.

"And these horses... they're uncontaminated?"

The man stiffened, his eyes flashing with something resembling indignation.

"Wouldn't survive out there if they weren't. Tested their blood just this morning, they're good. And there's gas masks in the coach if they need them."

"And the coachman?"

"Got a lad upstairs, sleeping off a hangover. Should be ready to head off tomorrow morning, right before dawn."

He paused, and hauled out a large map from below his desk, spreading it and weighing down the corners with a candle, a bottle of liquor, a chipped plate stained with stubborn crumbs, and his own fist. He traced out a route, marked in red ink, leading from this settlement - a little carbuncle on the river named 'Pad Dock' - towards a distant point, a much larger city. Rekida. Didn't look especially big by objective measurements, but compared to this place, it was a metropolis. The landscape looked smooth, not too many inclines in any direction, and no mention of big forests. Rekida looked to be nestled in a small valley, sheltered from the wind and snow, and little markings showed it to be surrounded by trees - like plant life couldn't grow in the plains, had to huddle down for warmth. The old man grunted.

"Right. So. You'll be heading out this way, following the road. Takes three days to reach Rekida from here. There's regular stations for the horses to warm up, and the carriages have heaters inside, proper ones, should keep you toasty. No beds at the stations. Just big stables, really. Got gas masks?"

Nods from both of them.

"Good. Not too necessary up here, but you never know. Goggles are good for the snow, last thing you want is to go snow-blind. Horses get blinkers for that. Coachman's got a gun if anything gets uppity. Round here, there's not too much in the way of mutants, not aggressive ones. Heard there's some hobbles around... here, just somewhere into the second day, but they steer clear of carriages."

Tanner blinked in confusion.

"Sorry, ah, hobbles?"

"Hm? Oh. Right. Mutants. Humans, used to be. Contamination got into their water, their food... made 'em stupid before it made 'em big. Still look mostly human. Refugee camp survivors, mostly, Great War and whatnot, contamination keeps them alive. Harmless unless you've got contamination on you for them to take, don't accept any of their food, don't get too close. They ain't intelligent, but they ain't cruel. Leave them be, they'll leave you be in return. Might watch from a distance. Nowt more."

Marana hummed.

"Interesting. I'd have thought they'd have been wiped out by now, hunters and whatnot."

"Eh. Give it time. Mutated enough to be stupid and durable, but human enough to stay away from us. Smaller than the other mutants, much smaller, so they just steer clear. Not going to find them in those big burning piles the hunters make. You find these things, just wave some fire in their face, they'll back off real fast. Fire a shot overhead if they stick around, that scares them off. Not too many left, but there's reports of a few near the road, is all. Don't want ye surprised and doing something stupid, now."

Well, that wasn't worrying at all. Not remotely. The man rambled a bit more about the route, how it wasn't too challenging, how everything was sorted out... it seemed like a professional operation, no corners cut, no standards slipped. The old man didn't seem especially nice, but he was honest. Didn't even charge them for a room, just said they could sleep in one of the guest quarters - no-one was coming by this time of year, the old man said, be damn rude to charge them for using a cold chamber for a couple of hours. And before Tanner knew what was happening, they were secluded away in their room, sitting uneasily on opposite beds, not comfortable with undressing in a strange house, when they might need to run for the carriage in a few hours. Tanner hummed. Marana hummed back. A little light flickered between them, held captive by the bulb of an oil lamp. The settlement beyond was dark as coal, the hunchback trees shivered and rattled, the land beyond spread outwards in infinite sameness. This wasn't a country for humans. Tanner kept remembering the captain's... Kralana's words on the topic, the smart mutants that lived out here, immune to the cold, waging a silent war against one another for the right to survive and evolve. How many were out there now? Watching? Waiting?

The old man came back with two small plates and a pair of cups - fried eggs on black rye bread, and tar-like coffee. He grumbled wordlessly when they tried to thank him, and a moment later, they were devouring the little meagre meal hungrily, eager for any kind of warmth before the ending. The eggs had solid yolks and slightly oozing whites, the bread was toasted unevenly, the coffee appeared to have scarcely touched the strainer before being served to them... yet to Tanner, it was wonderful. She spoke quietly around mouthfuls of eggs, covering her lips whenever she spoke, terrified of seeming uncouth and vulgar, showing egg-and-coffee-stained teeth. Like a barbarian.

"So."

Marana smiled faintly.

"So."

"...it's funny. Always feels like... well..."

She trailed off for a moment, uncertain, and Marana laughed delicately.

"Oh, you silly girl, just say what's on your mind, I shan't judge you for not speaking in flawless verse. Go on, speak."

She prodded her yolk-stained fork vaguely in Tanner's direction, like a conductor wielding a baton. Tanner gulped down some more coffee, waited for her mouth to stop smarting from the heat...

"Familiarity. I mean, the whole... comfort of being somewhere. It's funny how it works almost by layers, like you walk into a strange house wearing huge veils, huge coats, and bit by bit you remove them all. Like... I don't want to sleep, not now, not here. I don't like the idea of being asleep in a place I don't know. But after eating, I might want to take my boots off, my coat, undress slightly. But I wouldn't dare to bathe here. That would be a step too far."

Nor would she go to the toilet unless absolutely necessary. But that would be vulgar to admit. Marana hummed lightly.

"Hm. I think that might be you, honestly."

"Hm?"

"Hm. I mean, I'm happy to do whatever, but that's me. You're such a cloistered creature, it always feels... well, like you have to slither inside a gigantic shell before you do anything, and the moment you crawl out, you look as pale and vulnerable as a newborn lamb. No, don't blush, it's quite endearing, in a lonesome sort of way. I don't mind it at all, it doesn't annoy me in the slightest. That being said..."

She tilted her head to one side, and smiled when she saw Tanner tracking the movement.

"Just shaking my thoughts up like a sauce bottle. I wonder, really, if you've stumbled into the mindset people had untold centuries ago, back in the formless days of the world. I mean, for me, going this far north with little to my name but some clothes, some drawings, and wine... for me, it matters very little indeed. Yet, I imagine that you going to a new shop in Fidelizh is probably flavoured with a greater sense of adventure than I can muster from travelling across half the continent."

Tanner looked down at her coffee, straining against the nervous impulse to clasp it harder, work out some of her energy. Knew she'd just crack the thing, and then she'd have to run into the snow to just get her death over with nice and quick, let Marana apologise about the cup in the morning.

"Oh."

"No, no, it's... I imagine it's how people were in the old days. Before we knew about anything, when we were just scared little animals poking around the world, never sure if the next corner would provide safety or death. When wandering a few miles outside our home was fraught with more than a little risk - you know, it used to be virtually suicidal to walk around in parts of Mahar Jovan at night, just a few generations ago. Then, the rest of us became... safe. Little traditions wrapped around us, little assumptions, and suddenly we were able to get by without worrying about those corners. You know, in Krodaw..."

She trailed off for a second, the winter winds battering the window in the silence.

"In Krodaw, we were having dinner parties before the colony fell. We had merchants talking about the movement of property while the Sleepless carved at the outskirts of our territory. Sometimes I think Father saw how absurd it was, from time to time. Usually it happened when he was tying his cravat in place. There'd be a moment when he realised how mad it was, but... it was what we knew. It was what we did. And if we didn't, then we accepted that there were no rules out there, and all our precious assumptions about... the value of money, the value of life, the minds of other men, it all showed itself to be nonsense. And if we accepted that, then... what? What then? What did we accept?"

She smiled wanly.

"I think, Tanner, that you have the luxury of being under fewer of those concerns. You're aware of how precarious it all is. In Krodaw, we were still talking about little victories, how to gain what we could before it all came crashing down, we phrased things in terms of victories and setbacks. I think, Ms. Magg, that you understand how victory is impossible, and all one can do is lose as slowly as you can."

Tanner stared at her.

"...ah."

"Apologies for the uninvited psychoanalysis."

Tanner shrugged, still feeling a little core of... oddness in her stomach. A mixture between indignation and validation. Eerie to have someone summarise her like that. How did Marana figure it all out? And did her laying it out in the open make her weaknesses better or worse? If she had her personality painted out in front of her, was she the sort of person to step back with a whistle of interest, to run away in embarrassment, or to move forwards with a paintbrush in hand, eager to alter the mural into a shape she preferred a little more.

Not sure if she knew which.

But she wasn't sure if she liked even receiving the choice.

"No, it's... fine. Never thought about it that way. I think."

...no, she hadn't figured it all out. Missed the restraint. She wasn't quite terrified of all the horrors of the world, more... frightened of how she could affect it. Other people were basically functional, they did everything they were meant to, the sole rogue star in this cosmic play was herself, crashing around clumsily. Needed to find herself a quiet orbit to settle into, before she slammed into something which didn't appreciate being slammed into. Did that qualify as being scared of the world? Or just scared for the world?

She cracked a tiny smile, banishing the thought.

"Not... dissimilar to the world in Tenk the Ravager."

"Hm?"

"Tenk. Uh. The Ravager. It's a theatrophone play, you know, Annals of Tenk. Well, it's popular in Fidelizh. I quite like it. But it has that... sort of wild world, the kind of precarious one you're talking about. Everyone's wrapped up in caution and suspicion, everyone's growling all the time..."

"You think you like it because of that resonance? A world which obeys laws you understand?"

"...well, I like the action. And the voices. It's a good play. I'll miss it."

"Hm."

She didn't seem overly thrilled by the adventures of Tenk the Ravager. Too low-class, probably. Devoid of artistic virtue. Feh. There was something funny about talking to her like this, clearly Marana was trying to examine her mind like it was under one of Tanner's lenses, and Tanner... well, her world-view remained beyond Marana. It was like a secret she could hold onto, a warming little secret that was only for her. She didn't fear the world, she feared her own impact on it, and how she failed to do what everyone else did easily. There was nothing romantic in her predicament - nothing at all. Everyone else existed in the world with an ease and fluidity she couldn't manage, they simply existed in harmony with everything else. If they didn't, the world would be over by now. Tanner had to work to achieve what they did effortlessly - what Marana did effortlessly. Look at her, with her relaxation, her confidence, her way of simply being in the world. And look at Tanner, hunched, nervous, hesitant to even remove her boots in a foreign house, unwilling to sleep, because she was afraid of how it might come across, how she might embarrass herself, leave poisonous impressions to flower in her wake. Nothing glamorous. Once she reached her new home, she had every belief that she'd rebuild her routines. In a few weeks, she might have all her meals under control, her wardrobe organised, her days understood. In a few months, she might have her days timed down to the second. In years, she'd be a happy automaton, an attractive wasp suspended in a glittering web, fit to admire, fit to display, and completely immobile. Heavenly.

She sipped at her coffee, enjoying the rush of wakefulness it brought.

Marana had tried to sketch out her personality, but seeing the almost-correct conclusions... it helped throw herself into relief. Not that she'd share this.

"May I ask you a dreadfully impertinent question, Tanner?"

"Oh? Ah. Sure. Of course. Go ahead."

She sipped to cover the blush pricking her cheeks. Marana smiled slightly, and tilted her head to the other side, looking at Tanner from beneath half-lidded eyes.

"Why did you become a judge?"

Tanner paused.

"...it's an honourable career, provides enough money to live on, gives a good retirement. There's worse vocations."

"Did someone else feed you those lines?"

"Doesn't make them wrong."

"Did you, Tanner Magg, wake up one day and go 'I want to be a judge', or did the choice get made for you?"

"It's a vocation. I was called to it. My mother called me to it, at least."

"Told to become a judge, then."

"I suppose."

She didn't like this line of questioning. Didn't like having the notion of her vocation being challenged. The reliability of being a judge, the self-evident virtue of it, she liked that. She liked the certainty. Marana leant forwards, her smile spreading out slowly and subtly.

"Why?"

"It's an honourable-"

"Vocation, I know, I know. But why that? Why did your mother send you to do it, and not something else? You're large, you're not unintelligent, you could do a whole host of other things. Becoming a judge is expensive. It wasn't a light decision."

Tanner bit her lip.

"My... great-aunt was a judge. My mother's cousin's mother. So, that started it."

"Hm."

And it was easier to get Tanner out of the house. Becoming a judge meant going to another city for the rest of her life, it meant a constant supply of wealth back home, it meant purpose and control and refinement. It was stability which her mother couldn't provide. And the two of them had drifted. Maybe her mother thought Tanner would flourish without worrying about her injured father, maybe she just wanted Tanner to leave and make something of herself. Cut ties with the lodge. Maybe being sent to become a judge was her mother being kind, sending her to be free of everything Mahar Jovan meant for her. Or maybe it was her making a rational decision that benefited everyone to the highest possible degree.

It'd still stung when she was sent away. As much as she liked being a judge, there was... she was fifteen, and had been sent off to train in Fidelizh by her mother, no expectation of return. Hard for that not to sting.

But she wasn't going to say that.

"And what about the money?"

Tanner stiffened.

"That's... rather personal."

"I'm a surrealist, I break down barriers and whatnot. Politeness forms just one of the chains binding us in place, regulating society, etcetera etcetera, so on and so forth. Pardon the boldness. But I'm curious. Because, with all due respect, going to Fidelizh, studying for seven years, that takes wealth. Most judges are either from rich families, or they've received a scholarship. And I don't think they send glittering prodigies to the middle of nowhere."

Tanner could feel a little coal of anger light up somewhere around her diaphragm. Rude. Rude. Not meant to ask about money, it was rude. And implying she wasn't a glittering prodigy... yes, it was accurate, but she didn't have to say it. She was taking too many liberties, her surrealism didn't make her free from all social mores, there were limits. Didn't find Tanner asking her painful questions about Krodaw. And this, this was why Marana, nice as she was, wouldn't replace Eygi as a reservoir of true confidence. Because Eygi didn't ask about things like this.

Her letters were usually too short for that.

"If you must know-"

She paused, ameliorating her voice's tone a little.

"If you must know, it was an inheritance. My mother's cousin went on an expedition years and years ago. She didn't come back. Her parents were dead, she had no children, no siblings, and had apparently requested that all her pay be given to her cousin, my mother. By the time the expedition came back, she'd evidently accumulated quite a bit of back pay. Years of it. And... most of the expedition died, some of them without any living family or known friends. The expedition owner decided the decent thing to do would be to put their salaries to good use."

Marana blinked, her eyes suddenly becoming more aware.

"So... your mother's cousin, and..."

"And a few other people. I think it worked out to... three others, who died before they could claim their salary, and had no-one to give them to."

She sipped her coffee, mouth locked into a frown. Talking about money like this was impolite, and it made her feel like she was benefiting from... from nepotism. Made her feel grubby, like she had to justify all her successes, had to do everything in her power to stop them being tainted by the leg-up she'd been given. She had worked, and hard at that. But this tainted it. And as much as she liked to think she wasn't an egotistical person, having that little part of herself knocked at hurt.

"Hm."

Marana hummed to herself... and a small smile crept across her face.

"...who delivered this to you? Some sort of... intermediary?"

"No, it was the expedition leader."

Marana's smile was all-consuming now.

"Was she a woman... hm, very thin, almost rodent-like, large, dark, intense eyes, a diamond mark on her forehead, a foreign accent but a great facility with languages, and-"

Tanner interrupted, her own eyes widening.

"How do you know?"

Marana paused.

Blinked.

And roared with laughter, overwhelming even the winter gale outside. Tanner jumped slightly, a startled 'yip' leaving her lips as Marana unleashed peal upon peal of mirth, her eyes prickling with tears. Tanner stared, alarmed...

And Marana spluttered out a sentence.

"I offered that rat cocaine!"

Oh.

Goodness.

Small world, for the two of them to have met that woman with the letter.

A woman called Carza vo Anka.