I try to think how the buildin’s put together. Bring up in my mind’s eye Bram’s drawin in the dirt, the plan of this place. What he told us about it. We must be movin along the fourth floor. Behind each of these doors there’s a window. The lake should be on my left. The Field of the Fallen Mountain to the right. Okay, I know where I am. That’s somethin, anyways.

Our feetsteps echo, the commander’s heels a brisk strike on the stone floor. I cain’t turn my head to look at Tommo behind me. As we approach other Tonton, they move aside an stand with their back pressed flat to the wall, until we pass.

Suddenly, the commander stops. I’ll take her on from here myself, he tells the two guards. He nods at Tommo. Yer with me, he says.

The Tonton give the clenched fist salute, turn snappy an march off in step, back the way we come. Now it’s jest me, Tommo, Nero an the commander.

He straightens his robes. Wants to impress the Pathfinder. Hand me in an take the credit.

You look good, I says.

Shut up! He yanks on my tied hands an hauls me behind him. The corridor goes on an on. We ain’t passed nobody fer a bit. Gotta take a chance. I shoot a glance back at Tommo. He nods. Do it now. Now!

I slam myself sideways into the commander. Knock him off balance. Nero attacks. Beak slashin, wings flappin. His hands fly up to pertect his face. Tommo charges at him, runnin him into the wall. The back of his head smacks aginst the stone. He crumples to the ground.

We pause fer a second. No runnin feet. No outcry. Untie me, I says to Tommo.

As he does, I glance around. A little ways ahead, there’s a shut door on the right. When I’m free, I run to it an shoot the bolt. It’s empty. The blueish light of early night shades the window.

Tommo’s already draggin the commander towards it, the rope dumped on top of him, Nero ridin on the rope. I take his feet. We lay him down. I feel his neck fer a pulse.

He’s alive, I says to Tommo.

We gag him with his own kercheef. Bind him with his own belt, ankles to wrists. We start to gather the rope in tidy loops. We’re both breathin hard. I check outta the window while we work. It’s a long way down to the Field of the Fallen Mountain below. A sheer, sick drop.

Now what? says Tommo.

We stick to our part of the plan, I says. Git this rope in place. Third floor, any lakeside window.

What if they cain’t find Emmi? he says.

We gotta trust each other, I says. We jest gotta do our bit of the plan. Right, let’s git outta here.

He shoulders the rope. I scoop up Nero. We bolt the door shut on the commander.

Sweet dreams, I says.

Back in the corridor, I only go five steps along when I notice. The heartstone’s warm aginst my skin. I touch it. Not a lot warm. But some. My flesh goosebumps. I stop. I turn my head to look behind me.

Nobody there. The room we jest left with its bolted door an the commander tied up. One gutterin wall candle. Then darkness beyond. I turn back. Tommo’s waitin fer me. He waves me to hurry. With every step that I take towards him, the heartstone starts to git cooler. By the time I reach him, it’s cold. I look back the way I jest come.

Jack. He’s somewheres nearby. The red hot tightens within me.

What’s the matter? whispers Tommo.

I look at him. You go on an git the rope fixed, I says. I’ll come find you. I got somethin I gotta do.

He frowns. What? No, we gotta stay together.

I won’t be long, I says.

I’ll come with you, he says.

No, this is somethin I gotta do alone, I says.

He’s about to say somethin else, so I kiss him. On the lips. Trust me, Tommo, I says. Here, take Nero with you.

I put him in his arms. Tommo hesitates, starin at me. Thoughts chasin over his face. Then, with a nod, not lookin happy, he goes off.

To kiss him like that. When I know how he feels, what he’ll think it means. Fergive me, Tommo. But needs must.

He’s got my bow with him. That’s okay. I slide the knife from my boot. I softpad back down the corridor. The heartstone starts to warm. No sound but my breath, my heartbeat.

One wall torch, almost out. Then darkness beyond. Darkness an silence. I take the torch from the wall. I hold it up to light my way. I don’t go far. The corridor ends after twenny paces. A stone staircase winds sharply upwards.

I’m at the bottom of a stone staircase. It’s steep, winds sharply upwards.

Saba. Saba.

The voice runs along the walls an up my spine. It settles in the dark places, deep inside of me. Like it belongs there.

Prickles run over my skin. Cold an hot at the same time. No. No voice. That was jest a dream. I feel the heartstone. It’s much warmer. I start to climb the stairs.

When I git to the top, there’s a wooden door. Old, scarred. The heartstone’s burnin hot. He’s on th’other side. I open the door. I step in the room. Near empty. Near dark. Rushlights. A candle. A high-backed chair. Turned to the fire in the hearth.

He gits up from the chair. He turns to face me.

I reach the top. There’s a wooden door. Old an scarred. That’s all there is. The stairs don’t lead nowhere but here. The torch goes out.

The heartstone’s hot on my skin. Jack’s inside. The red hot crackles an hisses.

Betrayer. Deceiver.

Of Maev an the Hawks an the Raiders. Of the forty dead at Darktrees. Of Emmi. Of me.

I clutch the knife tighter.

Slowly, slowly, I turn the handle. Slowly, slowly, I open the door.

I hold my breath. The door don’t make a sound. Not a sigh. Not a whisper. I inch it open, my knife ready at my side. A dim room. Rushlights. Rugs on the floor. A large table off to the left, covered with a cloth. One end of it set fer a meal with a chair, plate, cup, an lit candles.

The crackle of a fire. A solid, dark wood, carved settle chair, turned towards the fire in the hearth. Nobody in sight. A door to the right, slightly ajar. It’s another room. The light of a candle spills out. I can hear somebody movin around. Quiet sounds. One person.

Jack’s in there.

I slide inside. Ease the door to. I start to move towards the open door, my feet silent on the soft rug, knife clutched tight in my hand. My cold hand. I can feel the sweat on my upper lip. The heartstone sears me.

Where’s your escort?

DeMalo’s voice.

My heart leaps to my throat. I whirl around, the knife low at my side, outta sight.

DeMalo’s jest got up from the settle chair. There’s a book in his hand.

My escort, I says.

Two Tonton come through the main door, holdin trays with covered dishes. The smell of cooked food comes in with ’em.

Here they are, I says quickly. Right behind me.

Long life to the Pathfinder, they says, with a bow of their heads.

Put it on the table, brothers, he says. Set another place for my guest.

They rush to do his biddin.

My breath’s comin short an sharp. The blood’s roarin in my ears.

A woman comes outta the room with the open door. A servant woman who don’t raise her eyes as she scurries past me. Not Jack. The Tonton’s liftin the dish covers.

That’s fine, says DeMalo. We’ll serve ourselves. You can leave everything. He follows ’em to the door.

My mind’s workin cold. I drop the knife. Tuck it unner the edge of the rug with my foot.

Thank you, brothers, he says. I don’t wish to be disturbed. He closes the door behind ’em an locks it. He puts the key in his pocket. He looks at me.