Eoforwic smelled of smoke, and soot covered every surface. A lot of people carried umbrellas against the fine rain of ash that was falling out of the sky. Greg shuddered. The city seemed dark, and somehow grim.

Deva, as capital of Loegrion and seat of the Valoisian occupation, was home to people from all over the world, and then there was the harbour, which brought in even more folks. Eoforwic on the other hand was a factory town, deep in the province, and thus had few citizens from outside of Loegrion. Which meant that Greg with his dark skin and curly hair stood out a lot more.

There was nothing he could do about that, though. He didn’t have time to waste. People on the streets were giving him strange looks, especially when he asked for the Lackland Railway Company, so he hurried along his way. He actually had to leave the city proper and cross a channel, to where a new industrial district was being raised out of what until recently had probably been sprawling pastures. The area didn’t even have walls yet, despite the fact that the Rot-infested swamps around the Savre were really close. All Greg could see were flat ditches surrounding the area, which would no doubt be filled with fire came nightfall.

There was a small crowd waiting outside the brand new building with the big relief showing King Lackland kill the Knucker, the terrifying water dragon that, in times long past, had terrorised Breachpoint and the surrounding coasts.

Greg couldn’t help but wonder how Duke George-Louis had gotten away with that. Using the name Lackland was sufficiently ambiguous that the Valoise would probably let it rest, but adorning his company’s headquarters with King Lackland’s most heroic feat? There was no way to sell that off as supporting the Roi Solei.

“Like it?”

Greg jumped a little when he realized that there was a man standing right next to him. He wore heavy, hobnailed boots, pants stained with dirt, and a grubby white shirt.

“It’s – impressive,” Greg said after a few seconds, since it didn’t seem like the man would go away without an answer.

That seemed to satisfy. The man nodded to himself, and asked: “Ye here to work?”

“I – yeah, sure,” Greg said, and eyed the stranger again. His tanned skin underneath the all-present grime made Greg guess that his family had at some point in time come from someplace more sunny than Loegrion, and he was quite tall but very skinny, with black hair, and beard, and a narrow nose. Greg had a hard time judging his age. Thirty, maybe? Or younger? The beard made it difficult. He certainly didn’t look like he had any say in who got to work on the railway, and who didn’t.

The stranger held out a hand. “Isaac,” he introduced himself.

“Greg,” Greg said, and shook the offered hand.

“Wanna meet the boss?” Isaac asked. “We’re forming a butty gang, and need some more people.”

“What’s a butty gang?”

Isaac gave him a funny look, but then just shrugged. “It’s the smart way to do this job. Ye form a group, ye see, with people ye can trust. Not just anyone, ye know? Mostly it’s my brothers and cousins, ye see, and uncle Eyal is gang leader. Mr. Levi to you. He does all the negotiations. We did a lot of work on the harbour line. We take on a subcontract for a stretch, and get paid once it’s completed. Even shares for everyone.”

“So you guys have experience in this? Why do you want me?”

Isaac barked a laugh. “Sharp one, are ye? See, this new company, they really want this job done fast, so they’re making the crews bigger. Only, they got no volunteers, especially not for the foresty bit in the middle. So they’re filling them up with prisoners. Give them a choice between the forests and the rope. Can’t work with men like that, can ye? Can’t turn ye back on them. So we’re trying to recruit more people ourselves.”

“From – from the volunteers showing up?” Greg asked. “How is that helping?”

Isaac fidgeted a little, but went on explaining: “Well, ye see, each butty gang gets assigned a stretch. So, if all the serious people are in our butty gang, we can at least get our part of the job done. Collect the premium, move on to the next part of the line. Everybody wins, ye see? Our people get paid, the company gets the work done. Everyone else gets the railway. Finally travelling safe through the forest, and all that.”

“And what about those people over there?” Greg asked with a look towards the crowd that was milling in front of the building.

“Half of them are part of the gang already,” Isaac said. “Other half is cowards and crazies. Or getting drafted by us.”

Greg tried to have a better look, find out what made so many of them “crazies”, but Isaac had already grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him over to a small group of people, watching on from the sidelines. In the middle stood a big man with arms and legs like tree trunks. He wore the same sturdy boots as Isaac, but his trousers were a little less worn and his shirt a little less grubby. Uncle Eyal, Greg guessed. At least Isaac and he looked like they had come to Loegrion from the same region.

“I think I found another one, boss,” Isaac said, pushing through to the big man. “This is Greg.”

A huge hand was offered to him, and Greg felt his bones grind against each other when they shook.

“Greg, huh? Not from around here, are you?”

“From Deva.”

“And before that?”

Greg rolled his eyes.

“I was born in Deva,” he replied. “As were my father and mother. And my father’s father. My ancestors came from Amhara, if you must know, before the Valoise set foot here.”

“And what brings you to the railway?” Eyal wanted to know.

Greg had expected this question, and it hadn’t been exactly hard to come up with a story. “There was a girl,” he said. “A Valoisian girl,” he added. “Her father wasn’t happy about it.”

Eyal nailed him with eyes as dark as coal, but then he just asked: “Was she happy about it?”

Greg had expected some insinuating remark about those ‘racy Valoisian ladies acting all prim and proper’ or something along those lines, so the question caught him off guard.

“What?” Greg said “There wasn’t – yeah, she was happy. We were barely even holding hands.”

It sounded really dumb, like he was some gormless wimp, but again, the comments he expected didn’t come.

Instead, Eyal eyed him again. “Fine,” he said eventually. “And you think you’re tough enough to make it out there?”

“I’ve been hunting werewolves with my father,” Greg gave back, before he could stop himself. “Yes, I think I can handle myself.”

It was a really stupid thing to say, and he regretted it at once, when everybody in the group turned to stare at him. But at least he could present his crossbow and the four silver-tipped bolts as proof. Now he just had to hope that news about the youngest son of Bram Feleke, werewolf hunter extraordinaire, getting bitten on his first hunt, hadn’t already travelled to Eoforwic.

Apparently not. Somebody behind him muttered: “We should take him along just for that.”

Greg craned his head to see who had been talking, but there was just a sea of faces around him. He turned back to Eyal. He still wasn’t quite sure if they were trying to win him over, or test him. In any case, their advertisement strategy left something to be desired.

When the big man didn’t say anything more, Greg asked: “Isaac said you want me for your – butty gang. What’s in it for me?”

“You won’t be working with a bunch of criminals, for once,” Eyal said.

That wasn’t particularly impressive, as far as Greg was concerned. Stealing bread to feed your starving children could be a hanging offence. Making fun of the Roi Solei would get you drawn and quartered, if a Valoisian official got wind of it. Be accused of blasphemy, heresy, unsanctioned magic, worshipping anyone other than Mithras, or whatever else the clergy considered immoral or indecent this month, and the Inquisition would start getting really creative in your death sentence. If the Lackland Railway Company really wanted their railway build, they had plenty of convicts to choose from, whose worst crime was something as horrifying as a woman dressing up in men's clothes.

Or simply being poor.

Eyal seemed to note his doubt, because he continued: “We did work on the harbour line, and we got ourselves a name for doing good work fast. The subcontractor is going to take that into account when we negotiate prices for our stretch. I know that for sure, cause it’s the same subcontractor we worked with before. So if you sign up with us, and work well, I can promise you better pay than you’ll get if you hire with one of the other crews.”

“And if I don’t work well?”

“Well, this isn’t a charity. We won’t wipe your arse for you.”

“Right,” Greg muttered.

“Also, we’re trying to get enough people on board that they don’t saddle us with convicts, too.”

“That’ll be more people to split the money with, though, right?”

Greg wasn’t quite sure why he was even asking the question. It wasn’t like he had come here for the money. Any crew would get him out of the city and into the wilderness.

Or would it?

On his way to Eoforwic, the coach had passed the building site for a line from Eoforwic to Deva, right into the rural heartlands of Loegrion. If this crew worked on a line through the more densely populated areas as well, his whole plan could fall apart.

“More people, yeah. But we’re looking for the right people, disciplined people. We’re not after the heartland contracts, those are cheap. We’re after the forest contract, up to the mines at Sheaf, where the big money is."

“And the Rot.”

Eyal frowned. “Thought you had guts. If you’re scared to go into the forest, just run along now, don’t waste my time.”

“I’m good,” Greg hurried to say. Sheaf should work just fine for his purpose? He should have brought a map. “Just curious. Why are you all going into the woods?”

“Don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“Right,” Greg muttered. “Fine. When does this job start?”

“Should have started yesterday,” Eyal said. “Nobody’s telling us what the holdup is about, but we should be moving out tomorrow or the day after at the latest.”

“So before new moon,” Greg muttered, more to himself than the rest of the crowd, but the boss still narrowed his eyes at him.

“Before new moon, yes. If we do get trouble with werewolves, think you can deal with that?”

“Werewolves, plural? Unlikely,” Greg said honestly. “If it’s just one, then yeah, there’s a chance that I can take care of it.”

“A chance, huh?”

“Forewarned is forearmed with werewolves,” Greg said, quoting his father. “If I see it coming, I can shoot it. If I don’t see it coming… If we find tracks, I can go after it before it comes for us, but out there in the forest, you often don’t see the tracks before the monster is standing right in front of you. Besides, I only got four silver bolts.”

Eyal was silent for a moment, and then nodded. “Fair enough.”

The big man held out his hand again. “So, you on board?”

Greg gripped the huge shovel of a hand that was offered to him. Again, his hand felt like it was getting crushed, but at least he managed not to wince.

“Isaac can show you a place where you can stay for the night,” Eyal said. “Don’t wander too far, we might be moving out anytime.”

“Right,” Greg muttered.

Isaac was already tugging at his sleeve.

“Got a decent pair of boots?” the slender man wanted to know. And before Greg could answer to that, he added: “Not to worry, I know a place where we can get ye kitted out. Got some money on ye?”

“I – yeah, I can pay for boots.”

“Oh,” Isaac said. “That’s – good.”

“Why are you sounding so surprised?” Greg asked.

“Well, if ye still got some cash on ye, why’re ye here in the first place? And where’d you get the money?”

“I earned it,” Greg said, a little defensively. “And I want to earn more. That’s why I’m here. Isn’t that why you guys are here?”

Isaac shrugged. “Yeah, sure. How’d ye earn the money?”

“I told you,” Greg sighed. “My father hunts werewolves. He took me out on a hunt. I was just a beater, but things didn’t go as planned, so I ended up killing one of the werewolves.”

“What’s a beater?”

So Greg explained the difference between a beater and a shooter, and what they did on a hunt. Isaac wanted to know all about his first hunt, and Greg found himself telling him a lot more than he had meant to. By the time they reached the inn Isaac was taking him to, he had even started talking about his family a little, but he did shut up when he saw the place where he was supposed to spend the night. It looked more like a poor house to Greg than an inn. There were dozens of simple straw mattresses, and a chest at the end of each, all in one long room which stank of dirt and unwashed clothing, no privacy at all, no windows, and just a few guttering lamps.

“Not the palace ye grew up in, huh? Just be glad the roof isn’t leaking,” Isaac griped.

For a second Greg wondered how Isaac knew that he had been born noble, but then he realized that the other man was just making fun of his unease.

“Oh, and there’s ye brother. How old are ye, anyway?”

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

“Eighteen,” Greg lied without even looking at him.

It took him a while to realize what Isaac was talking about. There was someone sitting on one of the cots, a young man with skin as dark as Greg’s and intricate braids in his hair. Only, when Greg looked at the “brother” again, he wasn’t even sure it really was a guy. It was hard to tell in the gloomy light of the room. The person wore workmen’s clothing, sure, the boots and the trousers, and cross dressing was a crime the Church of Mithras did not look kindly upon, but there was something about the face even in the deep shadows of the room that made Greg think he might be in fact a she.

“Hey, Thoko, this is Greg!” Isaac was already calling over.

When Thoko got up from “his” cot, in one graceful movement, and came sauntering over, Greg grinned. “Brother, huh?” he muttered. “Right.”

“Hello,” Thoko greeted him. She made no attempt to disguise the pitch of her voice, and Greg realized that Isaac had called her his brother not because he really thought she was a man, but to make sure Greg stuck to the story.

Thoko of course wanted to know what brought him to the railway, as well, and Greg gave her the same story as Eyal, and then had to make up a name for his “crush.” He really should have thought better about his story, because the first Valoisian name that came to his mind was deLande, so he ended up naming her Chantal deLande. There had been a Chantal in the house next door, and he had had a crush on her when he’d been about six, so at least he should be able to remember the name.

“What about you?” he asked Thoko. “Is that your real name, Thoko?”

“Thokozani,” Thoko said. “I’m from Manthimba, you’ve probably never heard of it.”

“Capital of Maravi and seat of the Kalonga, the king of the Chewa. The city was destroyed some fifty years ago, when the Yao came and forced large parts of the Chewa people north, to sell them as slaves to the Valoise. You don’t look like you’re fifty,” Greg added.

“Oh, thanks a lot,” Thoko said. “My father was a Banda. Know what that means, smart boy?”

“No,” Greg admitted.

“It means sage, but also healer and metallurgist. He stayed as long as possible even after, to take care of those of our people who remained.”

“Unsanctioned magic,” Greg muttered.

“We stayed even after the Mithrans had moved in,” Thoko went on, as if he hadn’t said anything. “But eventually, he was betrayed. I was just a kid when we escaped the Inquisition. Eventually ended up in Loegrion.”

Where it was not exactly safe, but a lot easier to go unnoticed. Because the Valoise considered Loegrion a cursed land, where their sacred sun didn’t shine hot enough to burn out the Rot during summer. So they took a much more laid back approach to enforcing their laws, and years could pass without even a single Inquisitional trial.

“We thought we were safe here,” Thoko continued, her voice bitter. “But just a few months ago, they came and took father, for the big witchcraft trial. Burned him at the stake.”

Greg had no idea what to say to that. There had been three mass trials last year, one for heresy, one for sinful practices, and the last one for witchcraft, right before the winter solstice. The wound had to still be fresh.

“So I’m here to make sure we can give him a proper burial.”

“A burial?” Greg looked at Thoko in confusion.

Thoko in turn looked at Isaac, a little alarmed, Greg thought.

“He isn’t like us,” Isaac said. “Family of werewolf hunters. They got no beef with the Inquisition, and money to boot. He’s just here to weather the storm.”

“And you’re here why?” Greg tried again.

“Duke George Louis promised land to everyone on the crew that completes the line up to Mannin. Land north of Mannin, where the Church doesn’t ever go. And his protection, in case that changes.”

“But Eyal said you’re doing a line towards Sheaf?"

“Because of the iron mines, yeah,” Isaac said. “Ye see, they first got to bring the steel to Eoforwic, otherwise they can’t build the line all the way to Mannin.”

“You’ll have to cross the Savre to get to Mannin,” Greg pointed out. “That’s, like, the worst Rot territory.”

“Yeah, well, ye see, that’s kind of the point. If we can get through that, then the line can go anywhere. All the way over the mountains, to the west coast, for example. Open up the High Plains, make all the wealth buried up there accessible. Beat back the Rot and make the land arable. Truly unify this country.”

“And make the duke king in the process.”

“What’s it to us? Or are ye standing with the Valoise?”

Greg scoffed, which was about all the answer that question deserved.

“Might be nice, actually,” he said after a moment, “to have a king of Loegrion to challenge the rule of the Roi Solei.”

There. Now they were all guilty of a crime the Valoise would kill for. Greg could see Thoko and Isaac relax. Of course, if they knew why he was really here, they would be running straight to the authorities, screaming all the way.

Greg sighed inwardly, and changed the topic. “You said something about boots, Isaac.”

“Right,” said the other man. “Right. Boots. And a shovel, and an axe and stuff. Torches. Some sturdy clothes. Got a coat?”

“I’ll see what’s on offer,” Greg replied. “Maybe there’s something better than what I have.”

“See what I mean?” Isaac asked Thoko. “Got money to spend, our young lord.”

“Very funny,” Greg muttered. “No point in carrying silver into the forest and freezing my arse off, is there?”

Isaac hesitated. “Probably not,” he admitted after a moment. “Normally, I’d say save some money for women and beer, but there won’t be neither out in the forest anyway.”

“What about food?” Greg asked.

“They’re supposed to send supplies after us, we’ll have to see how that works out. We’ll certainly be sure to bring lots of extra food. But ye can hunt, can’t you? Or is that only for werewolves?”

“I can hunt,” Greg said. “I should bring some more bolts, though.”

Thoko stayed behind in the gloom of the inn, out of sight, and Isaac led Greg to a shabby little shop around the corner of the big headquarters. It was inside the same building, in a little room in the basement, stuffed full of clothes that looked already used, and sometimes like they hadn’t even been washed.

“What happens if a worker can’t pay for his equipment?” Greg asked.

“Oh, that’s no problem at all,” Isaac said. “Shop’s run by the company, so ye can always get truck for wages.”

“Do all the workers have to shop here?” Greg asked with a look at the prices. He was pretty sure that he could get a better pair of boots – a new pair of boots at the very least – from any shoemaker in the city, and wouldn’t pay more. Less, possibly.

“Pretty much,” Isaac said. “It’s too late to go into the city now.”

“Of course it is,” Greg muttered.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if the company changed the move-out dates around on purpose, so the workers had to stay close by and buy the overpriced stuff the company sold. He could just about reckon how much money they either saved in wages that way, or got back from wages already paid. If he had known this beforehand, he would have shopped in the city.

Too late now, though, even if he hadn’t seen any papers yet, let alone something resembling a contract. The faster he got away from Eoforwic, the better.

Isaac watched him like a hawk while he found a pair of work boots that looked almost new, also a coat, and some tools. He was very hesitant to buy clothes as well, until Isaac told him that they wouldn’t actually have to carry everything they brought.

“Nah,” the other man said. “There’s a cart, ye see. Ye telling me that ye guys carry everything when ye go hunting?”

“Generally speaking, yes.” Greg moved over to another rack to inspect the work trousers on offer. “Depends on how big the werewolves’ territory is, and whether or not they’re staying put, how much you know about where they’re hiding, all that. Sometimes you follow the trail for weeks. If you bring too much stuff, it’s just going to slow your horse down. That’s a pretty good way to get killed, when you’re hunting werewolves. Or worse.”

He bought one additional pair of trousers, but no other clothes, and invested instead in a washboard and a bar of soap. The washboard could be attached to the knapsack he had brought, and the soap fitted easily inside with the rest of his clothes. The new coat and boots didn’t fit, but Greg had some hope that if he tied them to his pack, he would only lose the tools, once full moon came around. And the washboard might be really useful.

“Do you even know how to use that?” Isaac asked, when Greg picked it out.

“Of course not,” Greg gave back with the straightest face he could manage. “We always take a cook and a maid out hunting. But I’m sure you’ll be able to teach me.”

When Isaac stared at him, Greg rolled his eyes and stepped up to the counter. He was a little nervous about paying. There was no way he would let anyone here know that he actually had some gold left, and every time he got burnt it got a little harder to touch the silver without flinching.

Outside, Greg buried his tingling right hand in his pocket, and set off for the shabby inn at a brisk pace. Isaac had to hurry after him. Greg was a little surprised that he did.

“Are you babysitting all the new guys like this, or am I getting the special treatment?”

“Just going in the same direction,” Isaac replied.

Greg didn’t really believe him, but he let it slide. He wasn’t sure whether he liked Isaac and his snide remarks. Back at the inn, he dropped his new belongings in the chest at the foot of his cot, and let himself sink down onto the straw mattress. He really longed for a proper bath, some hot food, and a comfortable bed, and he really didn’t want to think about how long it might be until he got either again. If he ever did.

He raised an eyebrow at Isaac, who was standing next to his bed as if he was going to make another quip, but then the other man asked instead: “Ye not gonna go to sleep, are ye? What about dinner?”

“Not hungry,” Greg said.

Which was half the truth. He really wasn’t too hungry, and the smell in the large, yet stuffy room wasn’t exactly appetizing either. He was very relieved when Isaac finally walked away. Just when he was about to close his eyes to maybe doze a little, Thoko sat down on the ground next to him.

“You really don’t want to eat anything at all?” she asked.

“Do you think there’s going to be anything worth eating?” Greg gave back, and then cursed himself silently for setting himself up for more ribbing.

“I guess that depends on how hungry you are,” Thoko replied.

“Not very,” Greg sighed. “I ate when I got off the coach, in the city.”

“Might still be good to meet the rest of the gang,” Thoko pointed out.

Greg rubbed his face. “You have already met them, right? How?”

Thoko shrugged. “I first met them a few months ago, right after – after. We were all there when the duke first set up the company, right around new year, here in Eoforwic. Everyone else thought it was crazy, building a railway line all the way to Mannin. Most people left before the podium was over. I guess, the people who stayed were the people like I, who felt they had nothing to lose. And then, when it looked like it was over and the room was almost empty, the duke himself took the stage, to up the ante, I guess. That was when he made the land offer.”

Thoko shrugged. “Suddenly, there were Eyal and his sons. I overheard them when they were actually making plans right there, how to keep the Rot away, and things like that, to pitch to the duke and his company representative. They made it sound doable. Even sane. And then there is the land. I mean, where else can someone like me, my family, get their own piece of land, where we can live our way of life, without constantly having to fear the Inquisition?”

Yes, that all sounded very much like what he knew of the Duke of Mannin.

“The duke must have known that, no doubt,” Greg pointed out. “I bet it wasn’t coincidence that he waited until all the other people had left. He actually wants the people who are desperate, who have nowhere else to turn.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing,” Thoko scoffed. “He’s giving us a chance no one else would.”

“And he’s expecting you to do something which most people would say is tantamount to suicide”, Greg replied. “Seems to me like he’s getting the better end of the deal. And he’s holding all the cards to boot.”

“You think he’s going to screw us over?”

“I don’t know. But I wouldn’t be surprised if, if you actually do complete the line to Mannin, you’ll only get the land if you agree to work on his next lines as well. In which case you’d still get the land, and your family could still bury your father, but anyway – he holds all the cards, doesn’t he?”

Thoko thought about that for a moment. Finally she asked: “Why are you really here?”

“I told you -”

“Yeah yeah, a Valoisian girl. I’m not stupid, Greg. You’ve had an education, anyone can tell, you’ve got the money. Hell, your father is a werewolf hunter. You could have gone on a nice long hunt somewhere far away, or start over pretty much anywhere. But you came here, to the railway, to do a job that is in your own words, tantamount to suicide.”

“So?” Greg asked. “I’ve got some reasons of my own, just like Isaac and his family.”

“So you aren’t going to run out on us as soon as we’re out of the city?”

Greg swallowed hard. “Why would I do that?” he managed to reply. “If I wanted to do that, why would I even be here? I can walk away right now – or at least as soon as the sun comes up.”

Thoko tilted her head at him, frowning. “Fine,” she huffed after a moment. “Be that way. I still don’t trust you.”

That was fine with Greg. He wasn’t sure he trusted this butty gang either. And it wasn’t like he was here to make friends. He didn’t go to join the others at dinner.

Greg had just dozed off into an uneasy sleep, when it sounded as if downstairs, in the refectory, a battle had started. It probably shouldn’t have surprised him. Soon, most of the men would move out to do very dangerous work, and it wasn’t sure when and if they would come back. Of course there was a party tonight.

Greg stared into the gloom. For a moment, he contemplated joining in, but after the conversation he’d just had with Thoko he really wasn’t sure how he’d be welcomed. And anyway, he barely knew these people.

His mind wandered back home, to his brothers and parents. He was fairly certain that his mother at least would be worried about him. His brothers? He had no idea. They had never talked about the fact that some werewolves were basically normal people, except for full moon night.

But of course, his family didn’t know that he was one of them.

Greg pushed himself upright. For all his family knew, he might be a raging monster, running wild through the forest right now, a danger for anybody he happened across. He got up, and threw his pack onto his back, leaving only the stuff he had bought today in his chest.

It was almost completely dark when Greg stepped outside, with just a hint of pink visible above the forest. The streets, which had been full of people during the day, were deserted now, except for the guards with their silver helmets and their torches, who were responsible for keeping the fire pits burning.

“Hey, you!” Greg was hailed before he had taken ten steps, and two guards came towards him quickly. “What are you doing out here?”

“I need some paper,” Greg said.

“Paper,” repeated the one who had hailed him. “Are you drunk, man? It’s almost dark.”

“But it’s safe, isn’t it?” Greg asked. “Inside the fire pits?”

The guards exchanged a look, and the speaker grabbed Greg by the shoulders, turned him around. “Look over there, man. Behind the flames. See the movement? They can’t cross. Doesn’t mean they can’t get inside your head.”

Greg stared at the flickering flames of the fire pits. They weren’t nearly as high as he had expected, and he did see movement on the other side. There it was, the Rot. He had seen drawings, sure, and his father and brothers all had had close encounters. They had talked about huge, towering figures, but the first creature Greg saw was about the size of a dog. He blinked and looked closer, and realized that it was a dog. More precisely, the carcass of a dog, overgrown and animated by the Rot. Greg thought he could see some mushrooms and dead leaves sprouting out of its head.

He could feel his heart beating faster, and for a second his breath hitched. Behind him, the guards groaned.

“Here we go,” muttered the guard who had spoken, and made to grab his arms, as if to restrain him.

“No,” Greg said quickly, and took several steps backwards, away from the fire. “I’m – I’m okay.”

“Lucky bastard,” the guard said. “Now get back inside, before something bigger shows up and turns your mind inside out.”

“I – yeah, just – is there an office, or something? I really just need a sheet of paper and an envelope.”

The guards stared at him in disbelieve.

“Crazy, are ye,” said the one who hadn’t spoken yet. “Fine, Brian, take him back to the office, if this letter is so important to him, then check the eastern perimeter again.

“What could possibly be so important that you have to write a letter about it tonight?” Brian wanted to know, as soon as the other guard continued his rounds.

“There was an accident,” Greg sighed. “I think my family might think I’m dead, and I go out of the city tomorrow and don’t know when I’ll get a chance to send a letter again.”

“Okay,” said Brian. “I’m not sure how much sense there is in risking your life to let people know you’re alive, but okay. If you’d told me you forgot to tell your girl that you love her, or some blather, I’d have knocked you senseless and carried you back inside, no matter what the sergeant says.”

The little guards’ station was completely empty and smelled of tea and silver polish. Greg guessed that all available men were outside, checking perimeters and making sure the fires burnt steadily. The silver coating on their helmets protected the guards against the insidious aura the Rot creatures emitted, but if the fires burned down, they didn’t have a hope in hell to hold the line if the Rot really came. So Greg wasn’t surprised when Brian rummaged through a pile of papers, handed him a couple of crinkled sheets and an envelope, and escorted him back outside within a minute. He was obviously in a hurry to get Greg back to the inn.

When Greg returned to the large dorm room, it was still empty. The ruckus had died down though, and now he could hear singing and some instruments. The music was very different from what was played in Deva’s concert halls and theatres, and Greg was fairly certain that all the singing was done in a language that was neither Valoise nor Loegrian.

He tried to ignore the tunes wafting by, but he still got caught up in the slow, melancholy mood of the melody. It didn’t help him to find the words he was looking for.

“Dear Mother and Father,” was all he had so far.

“I hope this finds all of you in good health,” he went on, and felt a little stupid for using the tired old phrase. But then again, it was the truth.

“I am well, too,” he continued, which was mostly true. “I guess ibn Sina has already talked to you by now about what happened, so you know why I had to leave, and why I can’t tell you where I am. But I am okay.

I mean, I am still Greg, if you know what I mean. But I guess this letter tells you all that anyway.”

Greg sighed. He was babbling, but he had no idea what else to say.

“I hope Andrew’s arm is getting better,” he added, and then gave up.

“I’ll be leaving for the forests soon, and I don’t know when and if I will be able to write again. I wish you all well and I love you.

Good bye

Greg”

He read the whole thing again and decided there really wasn’t anything else to add, so he folded the paper, closed the envelope, and walked down to find somebody to give the letter to, and hope that for a little extra coin they would post it. All he found was a boy, maybe ten or eleven years old, who was leaning on a broom, clearly in the process of not swiping the floor.

“Hello,” Greg said. “Do you ever go into the old city?”

“Why?”

Greg smiled wryly. “I have a letter to post, and I won’t have time to do it myself.”

The boy gave it some thought. “Yeah, I can do that,” he decided eventually. “Dad sends me to the city anyway, to post our own mail. But what’s in it for me?”

“This letter is for Deva,” Greg explained. “Which should cost about half a silver. I’ll give you a full silver, and you can keep the change. How does that sound?”

“Half a silver,” the kid was clearly sceptical, “for putting a letter in the mail.”

“Yes,” Greg said, and pulled out the coin.

“Okay!” said the kid, and swiped the coin out of his hand. Then he actually held out a hand for the letter.

Greg had to fight the urge to rub warmth back into his throbbing fingers, and handed over the envelope.

“Pleasure to do business with you, good sir” said the kid with a mocking bow and an attempt on a posh accent. Then he ran off, leaving his broom behind.

Greg looked after the boy, and shook his head. He could only hope that the kid took this ‘business’ more serious than sweeping the floor.

He went back upstairs, and let himself drop onto his cot, kicked away his boots, and wrapped himself into the thin, musty smelling blanket.