Chapter sixty-one

Ortia

 

‘Envoy Hardacre’ said Marthian, standing in front of the roaring fire in her office, ‘I am delighted to have you back in our City, but I can’t begin to imagine why you are here’

She gestured to one of the seats next to the fire. Hardacre sat down gratefully – he looked bedraggled and dirty. He waited for the proconsul to sit as well before he started talking.

‘I am on a tracking mission’ he explained, ‘I am on the trail of the powerful spell user who developed the magic that called forth those ray creatures from the Outer Void’

Marthian leant over to a small table set between the two seats and poured out two glasses of wine from a decanter. She indicated that Hardacre should drink and also pointed out a plate of bread and olives. She guessed that he hadn’t eaten any breakfast that morning.   

‘Who is this person?’ she asked, blog here

‘We are not certain but it seems most likely to be Baron von Eisen, grandmaster of the Knights of the Crimson Flame, or someone hiding in his army. I am charged with trying to find out who it is and then I will report to the council’

Marthian began to drink her wine, listening intently.  She was surprised to hear that the Baron was suspected of being a powerful witch; to Marthian he had seemed weak but undoubtedly loyal in his own strange way. Why would he, then, have provided powerful weapon to the Tlaxacans – the Empire’s archenemies?  

‘We have encountered those barbarians’ she said, in the middle of these thoughts, ‘as you have probably heard. We were only able to repel them through the power of the Lady, but with the loss of the High Priestess.’

 ‘Yes, I heard that. I am so sorry for your loss.’

Marthian felt tears pricking in her eyes. They had had their difficulties, but her cousin had been a role model for her for centuries.  Now she was gone quite suddenly and she felt more alone than she ever had before.

‘Yes, we feel her loss keenly…’

Hardacre could see the expression on Marthian’s face and decided not to continue with this tack. He picked up his wine glass and took the smallest sip possible.  

‘How has the Knights’ attack affected your military strength, proconsul?’

Marthian, too, was happy to move on.

‘We were weak before and now we scarcely have the archers to man the walls for a last ditch defence. Our two main weapons in past wars – the Lady and the walls – are now dormant or destroyed. We can only hope for the coming of the Emperor and that the barbarians do not choose to attack us again’

‘Where are the Knights now?’ asked Hardacre

‘They have retaken Monurbis from the Tlaxacans and have sent out a reconnaissance force out into Eddorre’

‘How do you know all of this?’

Marthian smiled – this was the only piece of positive news that she had to impart to the Hybitor envoy.

‘We are following their every move’

‘How are you doing that?’ asked Hardacre, looking concerned, ‘doesn’t that stretch your resources excessively?’

‘We have many citizens in the mountains now, Mr Hardacre’ replied Marthian, ‘and they have proven to be excellent spies’

Hardacre considered this. He knew very little about the mountain people, who called themselves the Orbiverdi, but his thoughts often turned to Rem, the plains dweller who had helped him so much. The Orbiverdi and the plains dwellers were both derived from the kinaam slaves of the Tlaxacans.  

‘I’m sure that they have, my lady, and I am pleased to hear that they are sending back information to you. Perhaps it might be possible to get intelligence from them concerning the whereabouts of the Baron’

Marthian filled up her glass again. She stared into the fire as if trying to look into the future.

‘He is in Monurbis, probably preparing to march on Huatalacan. Are you planning to go there?’

‘I’ll go wherever my tracking animal takes me, until I find out who had been manipulating the Outer Void’

 ‘Tracking creature?’ asked Marthian, putting down her wine, ‘what do you mean?’

‘I have a tree-shrew-like creature that can track down massive magical emanations’ said Hardacre, as evenly as he could.

Marthian looked at him and raised her eyebrows. For a moment Hardacre felt discomfited – perhaps the proconsul might think he had gone mad.

‘Really, Mr Hardacre?’ she said, ‘I’d definitely like to see that!’

Hardacre sighed to himself – everyone wanted to see her, which was understandable, but she was an unpredictable little thing, and he couldn’t follow her yet if she flew off.  He needed a few more hours’ decent rest.

‘Of course, my lady’ he said, giving no indication of his misgivings, ‘if you will just give me a few moments…’

 He got up and lifted his bag into the middle of the room. He whispered the opening words and then he slid his hand inside searching for the cage. This involved sliding his arm almost completely into the bag, a feat which appeared, on the face of it, to be physically impossible. However, Marthian had seen this sort of thing before and so wasn’t too concerned. What did concern her, though, was the small mammal with giant ears that wriggled past Hardacre’s arm and then jumped into the room. Instinctively she ran to grab it, stretching out her arms to scoop it up.    

‘Don’t scare her!’ shouted Hardacre, pulling his arm out of the bag.

Boo scampered into the middle of the room and froze, her back arched. Marthian and Hardacre stood completely motionless, with Hardacre fervently hoping that Boo wouldn’t open up her teleport wings and disappear. He began to approach the tupaia very slowly, making little reassuring clicking noises with his tongue. Boo calmed down just a little, he relaxed somewhat, and the little creature began to scurry towards him.

It was at that moment that Lily and Erik decided to climb out of the bag. Everything seemed to be quiet outside and the light levels suggested that they were indoors, so they made their way back into the real world. It wasn’t really their fault but they chose a very bad time to make their escape.

Their sudden appearance startled the three other mammals in the room in rather different ways.  Marthian was completely dumbfounded:  she had no idea who these young humans were or where they had come from. Hardacre, on the other hand, knew exactly who they were and how they had got there, but was equally astonished: what were they doing in his bag? As for Boo, she was scared witless and ran across the floor, up on to the windowsill next to the big double door that led out into the garden. Above the sill a window was open just a fraction of an inch and by pushing against it Boo was able to slip out into the garden.

Hardacre, Lily and Erik stared in horror as Boo got away. They hesitated for a moment and then they ran, in a single concerted movement, to the garden doors. Hardacre fiddled with the catch for a split moment and then the doors swung open. The pursuers spilled out into the cold, sunny, garden and ran off in different directions trying to find the tupaia before it blinked away.

 Marthian was left wondering what she had done to warrant all this unexpected fuss and chaos.  She slipped on her coat and walked out briskly into her garden.

Chapter sixty-two

Into Eddorre

 

Lord Balliwick rode out into the early morning sun, taking his knights as fast as he could down through the pass and away from the Orbiverdi. He hated them and they haunted his dreams.

Once they had ridden out into the plains of Eddorre the weather improved considerably. It became much warmer and the vegetation changed to lush sub-tropical savannah, completely unlike the dry grasslands around Ortia or the pastures and conifers on the plateaus and slopes surrounding Monurbis.  

The road here was wide and well kept – with mileposts which had until recently been occupied by the Tlaxacans. For a long time, however, they moved forward seeing only ruins of the military fortifications and a few slovenly camps within which, they guessed, the kinaam had been housed.  The signs of torture and mistreatment were everywhere:  dungeons, torture chambers and open flogging areas. For most of the knights this was a terrible shock, and many of them felt physically sick, but Balliwick seemed unconcerned. His only interest appeared to be in getting as far ahead as possible in as quick a time as they could.

They travelled on for three days, through thicker and thicker broadleaved forests and with the temperature climbing. Winding its way through this jungle, however, was a constant, very wide, road; broad enough to carry an army to Monurbis to the north and to Huatalacan to the south.  There was growing confidence among the knights that this road would allow them to get deep into enemy lands and make large territorial gains.

 This feeling of optimism, however, was eroded by the behaviour of their temporary leader. He watched his men at all times, examining them in alarming detail, inspecting the way that they rode and how they held themselves. He also asked detailed questions of many of his more senior officers relating to their formations and fighting tactics. He would often end such conversations with a cold smile. He seemed more like an assessor than a leader. The morale of the raiding party fell as they got further away from Monurbis, to the point where they all dreaded having to speak to Balliwick at all. 

On the morning of the fourth day, now within less than a day’s ride of Huatalacan, Balliwick summoned his captains. He told them that this was as far as he wanted them to go, but that he would ride on a little further to assess the city’s defences himself.   There was no dissent – everyone was very happy to see him go. He left orders for them to wait for him, apparently indefinitely, it seemed, if necessary, and then he rode off, alone, full of restless energy.

Once they had stopped they began to feel the strangeness of the place – three days ride into Tlaxaca and all alone. They had difficulty cutting through the tangled mass of vegetation either side of the road and eventually gave up on making a proper camp. Instead, they stayed on the road and built huge fires out of whatever they could savage from the surrounding forests. Then the monsoon rains came and everywhere the mud grew and enveloped them. They would have turned around and gone straight home, except that the rain was too torrential to ride through and that behind and in front of them were their two leaders, who both terrified them.

 

***

 

Balliwick rode into the more open area in front of Whitecloak’s city, through several more abandoned kinaam camps, but then into areas that still had signs of habitation. But he saw no-one; it was clear that most of the inhabitants of the area had defected, fled or died in battle.  Balliwick spurred his mount on to the outskirts of the city, where there were occasional groups of bedraggled humans in white robes wandering around aimlessly. They moved away from him as he rode near and in any case he ignored them.   

Huatalacan was a sprawling open city, full of white pyramidal temples and sprawling single-storey barracks. There was no sign of any functions in the city beyond worship and war. Seven wide roads led from the periphery and converged on Whitecloak’s great stepped pyramid temple.  Balliwick made his way along the westernmost of these roads until he reached the central area. Someone was waiting for him – a tall man dressed in a red robe. He was sitting on the bottom step of the temple, all alone. He stood up as Balliwick approached.

‘Lord Kratos, I am the Uchbenoi Redcloak’s envoy’ he said, bowing very low. His Ethian was good but his accent was very strong.  

Kratos leant forward, sneered and then slapped the envoy across the face.

‘I am no Lord; I am pure Power, I am total Will, I need no demesne. Do not address me so again’

‘Kratos, of course’ said the envoy, hastily, rubbing his face, ‘I intended no slight’

 ‘Next time I will annihilate you – I have no compunction about destroying lives’

‘Of course, mighty Kratos; that is how it should be. Destruction is often purifying’

Kratos shook his head and took a step backwards, almost as if he were planning to turn round and walk away.

‘I have no interest in hearing your pathetic justifications of catharsis, envoy; they neither interest nor concern me’

‘Of course’ said the envoy, apparently unmoved, ‘let us then get down to business’

‘I have brought the army for the ambush’ declared Kratos, ‘are you ready?’

The envoy considered this question and then answered slowly.

‘My lord still does not fully understand the nature of this ambush. You promised him mighty weapons from the air, weapons that will render us inviolable’

‘I can call creatures from the Outer Void, ones far more powerful, fell and durable than any that Skiophos has seen before; ones that cannot be defeated by wood and brute strength’

‘So you have said’ murmured the envoy, ‘but it is not clear why you have not given your gift already, so that we might be more ready for the struggle’

Kratos laughed and clapped his hand together like a little child about to see a pantomime.

‘Because I wish to present my benison at the most opportune moment, when it will act as a reminder of my endless power to destroy’ said Kratos, his wide eyes shining unnaturally brightly , ‘I wish their entrance to be a great coup, a moment to be remembered throughout the worlds’

The envoy sat back on the step. His eyes narrowed as he searched for suitable words in a language that he had not fully mastered.

‘I still do not fully understand you, great Kratos’ he said, quietly and uncertainly.

Kratos began to jump up and down slightly, a restless energy powering through him. He looked round wildly and the envoy was distracted by the movement.

‘Have you seen something that concerns you?’ asked the envoy, feeling suddenly very cold.

‘No, not all – I was looking for someone to slaughter…’ murmured Kratos, almost as aside,  ‘but, never mind, it can wait… what were you saying?’

 ‘I still do not understand the nature of the conflict…’ whispered the envoy.

 ‘The two flames will meet and clash and your flame will burn so much the stronger when my gift is given! The defeat of the worthless barbarians will be total and forever’

The envoy tried to piece together the meaning of this strange figurative language.

‘So, you will give us the Outer Void weapons’ he stumbled on, ‘during the ambush?’

Kratos folded his arms and his face broke into a gentler, more controlled, smile. He nodded, moved forward, and patted the envoy on the head.

‘Yes, that is absolutely right’ he said, ‘at last you have understood! I hope that you will be able to pass that message on to your master – he will be greatly pleased’

‘I am sure he will’ said the envoy, with a note of puzzlement

‘So,’ said Kratos, simply, ‘we will begin the destruction of northern humanity, as I have said’

The envoy hesitated, still unsure of exactly what Kratos meant.

‘But aren’t you human and from the north?’ he whispered, regretting his comment immediately.

Kratos laughed loudly and smiled in immense self-satisfaction.

‘A human, I?  Well, possibly not – many have wondered if I am becoming a god…’

‘Are you?’ asked the envoy, even more softly

‘Only in so far as I shall be immortal…’ declared Kratos, his voice rising in harshness and volume ‘and that, by my actions, I shall irrevocably change our reality…’

He switched suddenly to his native language, Rhylic, which he knew that the envoy did not understand. By now he was declaiming to the universe.

 ‘I shall be known as Kratos – the destroyer. And through the millennia all will remember that I, through my own strength alone, annihilated a world…’

The envoy bowed his head, too terrified to respond to these clanging incomprehensible words. For a moment he was certain that he would be killed.  

Kratos turned around as if to return to his horse, for him the conversation was over. Then something caught his eye. One of the acolytes of Whitecloak was hobbling along towards the pyramid staring up distractedly at his master’s temple.  He was dressed in dirty rags where once his spotless robes had been.

‘There’s one!’ said Kratos, brightly, reverting back to Ethian.

He pointed his finger at the acolyte and shouted ‘Sipia!’ The acolyte gave out a weak sound, like a combination of a sob and a cry. He fell to the ground. As he hit the floor his body began to wither progressively, like a corpse that had lain in the earth for weeks, then months and then years. When all that was left was splintering skull and bones a little whirlwind formed over the body. Kratos opened his mouth and breathed in deeply, sucking the wind into his lungs and savouring the essence of life.

‘That is good’ he roared, ‘it has been so long!’

He turned back to the envoy but the he had already started running, faster than he ever had before, round the edge of the pyramid.  Kratos laughed again, delighted to see how much he had terrified such a powerful messenger.

‘Seven days’ he yelled, ‘the barbarian will arrive in seven days, here in front of the western gates of the city…’

Kratos returned to his horse, patted it on the flanks and mounted it. He felt so renewed and he was fully prepared for the future. Power was everything and now nothing need stand in his way; and how delightful to be at the fulcrum of power – able to push fate one way or another according to his will. He rode off in the highest spirits.  

A vulture circled high above the stepped pyramid; she could smell death but she was puzzled by the shape she saw below – a dead body without flesh, skin or marrow.  She did not bother to dive to inspect the corpse, but stayed circling.  She sensed that it would be fine to wait – very soon there would be proper human meat to feed on.

Chapter sixty-three

Kinspit and Fanemouth

 

John received a strange mail. It was among his pile of letters on his desk in his study. Mail paper was not always very reliable – it was sent to an individual, but how it got there was rather idiosyncratic. A letter had once fluttered down onto his head while he’d been sitting on the loo.

The letter was in a rough hand that he didn’t recognise:

 

To John Ismay, Kinspit

I am Tom Bennick and I am a friend of Kathleen Mannings, who I think is a friend of yours too. She is ill and she isn’t making much sense but she did say that you might help and she also said that I could get a message to you using this paper. That seems unlikely, but I’ve discovered that Kathleen can do a number of impossible things, but also I think this may be a part of her illness and so I am humouring her. She is lying in one of the guest bedrooms now and she looks very fragile but I would do anything to get her better, even write mad letters on pretend magical paper.

Something has drained away all her strength and is affecting her brain and she is behaving like a child. She doesn’t seem to be getting any better although I have called the doctor and she said that it was a fit of some kind but I’m not sure that I believe her. I think she may be a witch and she claims that you are too but I don’t know. All I know is that I want to get her better as she is exceptionally dear to me. I have no idea why she won’t let me look after her as she is very clever but has no idea how to live her life sensibly and I am good at organising things, which she isn’t.

I’ve probably written enough now to fool her into thinking that I’ve written something sensible. She asked me to ask you to send Celia, if she’s still there. I’m going to sign this now, which is meant to make it disappear, but actually I will screw it up behind my back and pretend that it’s worked. I’m not sure what I’ll do then though to be honest.

Yours sincerely,

Tom Bennick

 

John took the letter to Celia straight away.  She was standing in the hall, having just come back from a trip to the greengrocers. She put her bags down and read it carefully twice.

‘I wish he’d known that the mail paper actually works…’ she said, smiling.

‘Yes, it’s rather unfortunate’ agreed John, ‘but quite sweet’

‘Poor old Katy’ said Celia, ‘this isn’t the first time this has happened, you know’

‘Kelemeia?’ asked John

Celia nodded.

‘As I said, she has a history of it, the silly girl’

‘I’ve never had it’ said John, almost guiltily.

‘Well, I’m not completely surprised…’   responded Celia, ‘it’s usually caused by overwork’

John took the letter from Celia and read it one more time.

‘Who is this Tom?’ he asked

Celia roiled her eyes and sighed.

‘Do you never pay any attention?’

John glared at her.

‘Well – who is he?’ he continued

‘Her chap – he wants to marry her’

‘I meant, what does he do?’

‘He’s a publican: he runs the Anchor. You must have been in it’

‘I don’t think so’ said John uncertainly, ‘I’m not a big beer person’

‘Again’ said Celia,’…I’m not surprised... Anyway, he’s a lovely man, perfect for Katy, if…’

She hesitated, looking wistful.

‘She weren’t a witch?’ ventured John

‘Exactly’ she said, ‘but now things have clearly come to a head’

‘Yes’ he agreed, ‘they came to a particularly conspicuous head at the point that this letter disappeared in a flash of brimstone, I’m guessing’

‘Absolutely...’ said Celia, smiling, ‘...I must go and help her straightaway’

She nodded at the shopping.

‘You’ll have to put that away. I hope you know where everything goes’

John nodded vaguely and picked up one of the bags.

‘Of course I do…’

Celia walked off, not wanting to see what would happen next. She went to tell Owen she was going and then teleported away. She had rested for several days and so this was reasonably straightforward.

 

***

She knocked on Kathleen’s door and then whispered the opening code: Kathleen had given it to her at the council meeting, just in case. She was almost as astonished at the state of the house as Tom had been: plants everywhere, general disorder, and no sign of Kathleen. She’d have to try the pub.

It was three in the afternoon so the pub wasn’t open.  As she knocked on the door, Celia wondered what she’d say to Tom: she was anticipating an embarrassing and difficult conversation.

A tall, broad, brown haired man opened the door no more than a crack. He stared out at her with some suspicion: she suddenly felt very out of place.

‘We’re not open until five, I’m afraid’ said Tom, rather gruffly, ‘you can come back then if you’re minded to’

 He shut the door in her face. Celia took a step back to avoid a collision between her face and the door. She sighed, waited a few seconds, and knocked again. There was a long delay and then the door opened even less far than it had before.

‘I’m Celia’

Tom looked very surprised and he frowned heavily.

‘What?’

Celia smiled broadly and attempted to wedge her foot in the door.

‘I’m Celia Franklyn, Miss Mannings’s friend’

Tom let go of the door and it swung open a little more open.

‘Really?’ he asked, his eyes were wide with astonishment.

‘Yes, really, Mr Bennick’ she insisted, ‘may I come in?’

Tom was in no state to stop her and so she pushed the door open and walked into the interior of the pub.  It had a low ceiling, a number of very comfortable arm chairs and paintings of sea scenes on the walls. She’d always liked it.

‘So you exist’ said Tom, ‘I thought that she was delirious’    

‘Actually I have been here before, Mr Bennick, but you probably don’t remember me’

Tom was too confused to think straight, but he did remember her, people always did.

‘No, I do remember’ he said, ‘you’re a friend of Katy’s’

Celia smiled gently.

‘As I said…’ 

She knew exactly why he would be able to remember her; it was because she was so tall and because this unusual tallness was exaggerated by the very obvious difference in height between Kathleen and her.  At least Tom was taller than she was. Celia was always pleased when people were taller than her – it always made her feel a bit less of an aberration.  

‘Is she here?’ asked Celia

Tom nodded and pointed upstairs.

‘She’s in one of the guest rooms : it was easier than looking after her over there’ he said, nodding towards Kathleen’s house next door.

 Celia managed to supress a knowing smile.

‘Can I see her?’ she asked, ‘is she awake?’

Tom looked uncertain. He folded his arms and seemed to be blocking her way, whether consciously or subconsciously, she had no idea.

‘She talks gibberish’ he said, ‘I’m just trying to get her to sleep’

‘Well’ said Celia, ‘I may be able to help with that’

Tom still looked very sceptical. Somehow, just by shifting his weight, he had managed to make himself look even bigger and even more of a barrier. Celia assumed her most determined expression.

‘She did ask for me specifically’ she pointed out, not really wanting to bring up the topic of the letter.

Tom wilted slightly.  He really didn’t want to talk about that damn letter, either.  He unfolded his arms and began to walk away.

‘Come on then’ he said, ‘you can have five minutes’

 

Tom led Celia up a rickety staircase to the guest bedrooms. Kathleen’s was the biggest and best decorated, which didn’t really surprise Celia. Her friend was lying on the bed, worn out but with her mind racing. She grinned broadly when she saw Celia. She attempted to struggle out of bed, but was still too weak to get up.

‘Celia!’ she said, ‘you came. You’re so lovely and so kind’

Celia approached the side of the bed cautiously. She knew that people with kelemeia tended to lose most of their inhibitions.

‘Hello Katy’ she said, ‘how are you?’

Kathleen looked at her with her head tilted, like a child judging the quality of an unknown adult.

‘You’re really not that tall, Celia, and you are… well… quite pleasant looking…’

 Celia sighed – this was clearly going to be a bit difficult. She waited.

‘I’m sure that Owen could learn to love you… you are a very nice person, after all…’

‘Thank you, my dear, but I think you may have got the wrong end of the stick about Owen and me. There’s nothing going…’

Kathleen giggled really loudly and looked up at Tom. She whispered to him conspiratorially but very loudly.

‘Celia would like to get hold of Owen’s stick, but I’m sure it’s not as nice as yours, my lovely boy…’

Celia flushed bright red and Tom retreated rapidly back down the stairs. .

‘I need to change the barrels… it’s nearly opening time…’ he grunted, ‘…I’ll leave you to it…’

Celia sat on the end of the bed and laughed.

‘What are we going to do with you, you naughty woman?’ she asked, ‘I think you need a long sleep’

Kathleen nodded but certainly didn’t seem to be very close to falling asleep.

‘Where did my Tom go?’ she asked, now seeming fearful about his absence.

‘He’s just gone down to do some pub stuff’ said Celia, reassuringly, ‘he’ll be back soon’

‘Oh – that’s all right then’

‘What were you doing with all those plants, Katy?’

Kathleen seemed bemused by this question.

‘I like to grow plants…?’ asked Kathleen vaguely.

‘No you don’t’ said Celia, ‘you have never shown any interest in them up to now’

Kathleen considered this very carefully.

‘Oh yes, that’s right’ she said, ‘it was the blue things…’

‘What blue things?’ asked Celia, hopefully.

‘I was making something to stop the blue things… I think’

‘And was that going well?’

‘Yes, I think that it was – I think that I’d nearly…. I’m not sure what I’d nearly done…but…’

Kathleen lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. Celia stroked her hair and shushed her. She put her hand in the shoulder bag that she was carrying and pulled out a small cloth sack.

‘You need a very long sleep…’ she said

She turned to the door and called down for Tom.  He made his way back up the stairs, but didn’t enter the room.

‘Tom, I want your permission for what I need to do’ said Celia

Tom looked startled, and was shaking his head.

‘Why me?’

‘Because I am designating you as Katy’s next of kin’

Tom laughed nervously.

‘That’s a foolish notion’ he said, half-heartedly.

Celia stared at him as if to say, ‘don’t try that with me’

‘Either way, I’d like you to agree to what I propose, if you can’

Tom shrugged.

‘Kathleen has a disease that only affects witches who use too much magical power in too short a time’

Celia noticed that he didn’t look the slightest bit surprised when she asserted that Kathleen was a witch. Oh well, she thought, too late to put the cat back in the bag now. In her mind’s eye a sleek black cat sat on the end of the bed grinning; she had to admit that it really didn’t look like a bad sort of cat at all.  

‘The only cure for this affliction’ she continued, ‘is sleep; and not just ordinary sleep, but three or four days of continuous, uninterrupted deep sleep’

‘So, what I have here’ said Celia, opening the bag, ‘is a narcotic substance designed to provide that necessary sleep’

Celia poured a very small amount of purple powder from the bag and then continued with her explanation.

‘The sleep must not been interrupted or the cure will not be complete and the process will have to be started again. Is that clear?’

Tom looked very grave but nodded his head. 

‘So, will you agree to help me give her the sleeping draught?’

Tom thought for a little while and then turned and began to make his way downstairs.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Celia, ‘is that all right by you?’

‘Yes’ said Tom simply, ‘but you’ll need a glass of water’

Kathleen opened her eyes again, just a crack.

‘When I grow up’ she said, groggily, ‘I’m going to marry him’

Celia smiled at her and held her hand.  

‘Let’s hope so, Katy’ she said, tenderly, ‘Let’s really hope so’