Well everything went well with the website upgrade last night. I’m actually proud of what I’ve managed to accomplish under the circumstances. When I started the blog I never imagined it would go on for so long. Now it’s become a website instead of a blog. Okay, so building the glossary was tough because it forced me to relive many of my worst experiences here. But I’m still so, so grateful for the technology to log all this. It keeps my mind firmly grounded at home, and if I had to write all this down using pen and paper I doubt I’d ever manage it. Although, speaking of technology, when I’ve browsed through the Irish Time, BBC, or Sky News lately, I’ve found the news growing just that little bit distant day by day. It’s all bad news anyway—the economy, the Middle East, social disorder. Hell, I’m probably better off in here for now. At least I don’t know what’s going on around me most of the time.

Ignorance is bliss. Isn’t that what they say?

And speaking of writing things down. Maya came up with a novel idea of how to treat the reporter’s Anglo Celt article. She’s cut it out and pasted it into a scrapbook. She says she’s going to scour the newspapers for further articles, not just about this area, but about ‘weird’ events in general. She thinks it might help us some day. She’s right. And it’s one of those ideas I really wish I’d thought of a year ago. Who knows how many other gateways there are into this place? Ayers Rock is one that we know of. If there are others, and we can learn anything at all about them, that information might be invaluable at some point.

Can’t help thinking, though, that if word of this place gets out, there wouldn’t be a library in the world big enough to hold all the scrapbooks she’d need to fill to hold the articles.

Must sign off now. Kanar’s just told me we’ll be leaving soon so I better pack the last of my things. I’ve accepted now that there will be no easy way for me to return home. So this blog post marks the end of one phase of my journey and the beginning of another. I’ve been struggling to come up with something profound to say to mark this occasion. My mind has blanked, though. And now time has run out. So I’m gong to quote someone else’s timeless words instead. Churchill.

“Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”

These two-day hangovers are really getting to me. I’m beginning to wonder if the good times are worth it any more. Not that I get much sympathy. Everyone, at home and here, thinks it’s funny. In a way, I suppose it is—for them anyway. And now that it’s clearing up, I can take some solace in the fact that I’ve provided a minor distraction to take their minds off other things for a while. The only one who didn’t find the whole thing amusing (even Kanar was smiling at my misery) was Joesa. For the past two days she’s been bringing me food in bed and stopping for a while to chat. There was no offer of any painkillers, though. She just insisted I eat and rest.

Eating was hard. I was so sick at one point, I began to wonder if I’d been poisoned. Garigan scoffed at that idea, told me I’d poisoned myself with too much ale. Ha ha. So funny. After all, he was the real culprit because he was the one who’d encouraged us by paying for everything anyway.

But at least there was some light yesterday in the darkness of my misery. We’re leaving here sometime tomorrow afternoon. Garigan’s coming, too. And I don’t know if I’m happier for Armbranch and myself, or for him. I know he wanted to hunt Gerridian with us. I also suspect he was pissed at being left behind. He’s never said much about it. Occasionally, though, like the other night in the inn, he lets things slip like how he worried about us and how Sara shouldn’t have split up the team that time.

The team? Well, if that’s how he views our relationship, I don’t mind. I’m more than happy to have Garigan on our side any time.

Today, once I’ve fully woken up, I’m going to add the finishing touches to my new look website and maybe go live with it tonight. I’d been hoping to get it done a few days ago, but . . . Anyway, I’m just happy I’ll get it done before we leave here. When we get to the Cadavat training house it might harder to find the time. I’ve still no idea what we’ll be doing there, but I suspect they’ll keep us busy. Though it seems to take forever to get anything done in this place, everyone always seems to be busy.

I’d love to know what they’re doing half the time.

Still no sight or sound of the reporter back home. And it’s making the others nervous. O’Heir hasn’t said much about it, but I can imagine what the atmosphere is like in the cottage. It’s almost as if the reporter is playing a waiting game now. He’s made his biggest move to date and now he’s waiting for us to respond. He’ll be waiting. O’Heir’s a tough old bird. If the reporter is trying to trap us into revealing something, I’m sure O’Heir got his own trap ready and waiting.

At least I hope he has.

Sick. Hung over. Sick. After moaning at Garigan yesterday, he took us out drinking last night. Poor Garigan. I guess it was the only way he knew of to shut me up. Either that or he was playing clever by thinking ahead and how quiet I’d be today with a hangover. Well, I am quiet. And I have to stay quiet. Apart from a queasy stomach, I’ve got the most dreadful headache. I drove Armbranch from my room earlier when he bustled in all chat and smiles. Now the headache is getting progressively worse. Even the rattle of the keys on the keyboard as I write is like the rattle of a machine gun in my head.

Time to stop now. Time to crawl back to bed.

Well, the reporter has finally upped the stakes back home. He didn’t come to Singleton or annoy O’Heir by phone. No. He was subtler than that. He wrote an article in The Anglo Celt that hinted at some really strange goings on in a parish not far from our home. The article was written light-heartedly, interviews with locals who claimed to have seen ghosts and fairies about the place recently. The reporter claimed he was simply trying to revive the old ‘word of mouth’ storytelling that was so common in the old days.

Between the lines, though, it was easy to understand that that article was aimed at us. He didn’t mention Singleton or us. But he did remark that he was more than interested in hearing from anyone in the area who might have an odd story to tell. He even mentioned a ‘Police Sergeant’ he knew who might be of help. And just to make sure we saw his article, he had a copy of the paper delivered to Singleton Cottage.

O’Heir took all this quite coolly. He’s waiting for the reporter to call at any moment. I don’t know what he’s going to say to him, but I’m confident it’ll be the right thing. O’Heir’s good at that, saying the right thing. His biggest worry is that the vet might read the article and start getting interested again. Though I doubt he’s forgotten about us, he’s been quiet for a while and I was hoping it might stay that way for as long as possible. I guess I’ll just have to keep hoping.

I’m getting really, really restless here. It feels so odd that I’ve been in this city for so long, yet I haven’t seen much of it. My street knowledge includes the warehouse district, some residential areas, a few inns and drinking holes, but precious little else. It feels a bit like going sightseeing to London without ever leaving the departure lounge of Heathrow Airport. Okay, so Garigan can make a case that keeping us out of sight is for our benefit. It’s also frustrating. I want to get out. I want to see things. Truly, it appears to be all or nothing here. Either I’m exposed to the most terrible danger, or I’m exposed to the most mind numbing boredom. I know Armbranch thinks the same. He hasn’t said anything about it, but the restlessness flickers in his eyes whenever he takes to prowling around the house.

I only hope it changes when we start our new training. In fact, I think I’ll demand that it does. Otherwise, they might see a tiny crack breaking through that Contract Ball.

Surprise, surprise. Our departure to the Cadavat training house has been put off for a few days. We’re leaving now on Thursday or Friday. Supposedly. I can’t help wondering if it’s something to do with what happened the other night. When I asked the others, they claimed ignorance. This time I think they genuinely didn’t know. Instead of trying to fob me off, both Kanar and Garigan were happy enough to speculate and moan about this delay for a while. But at least Garigan isn’t as upset at our leaving as he was when we went after Gerridian. I’m taking that as a good sign. To be honest, though he hasn’t admitted it, I think he might be trying to come with us.

Anyway, I don’t mind too much about the delay. I’ve been doing a lot of work on my blog and I’m looking forward to making the changes on the live site. Like me, it’s steadily evolving into something else since I entered this world. Now it might be classed as the beginnings of a website instead of simply a blog. Frankly, it’s fun. And I’m really looking forward to what Maya and the others back home think about it.

She scolded me lightly last night for revealing my thoughts about the female Cadavat investigating team so openly. She also agreed that working with them might actually do me good. And she said in such a way that she’s not afraid I’ll go chasing after any of them. To be honest, nothing could be further from my mind. Maya knows this well. That’s why she could joke about it.

Besides, if something romantic did happen between me and someone else, I doubt an army of Wind Sentries or a hundred Envelops would stop Maya coming into the Parawerthan after me.

Didn’t sleep a wink last night. I finally stopped tossing and turning shortly after three, got up, and started creating some new images to use on the new look blog. Looking at the images now, I can’t decide if they’re really good or really crap. But at least the work carried my mind off to a different place for a while. Who knows, if I’d kept thinking about that hole, I might have dashed screaming from the room and dived straight into it.

Two Cadavat personnel arrived early this morning. Two attractive girls, as it happened. They interviewed Joesa first before going downstairs and examining the hole. They took blood, flesh, and soil samples before packing he klatotet’s badly singed carapace into the back of their wagon. They commented about the bullet holes, but they never asked me a single question the whole time they were here. I was happy about that, happy to just watch them work. I know Maya’ll probably want to kill me when she reads this, but, if the girls were qualified Cadavat investigators, then working with a group like that would be infinitely better than working with a bunch of wise old men which is what I imagined we’d be doing.

Once they’d gathered what they needed to gather, they released a small furry mammal into the hole. The thing was cat size and had the biggest, widest, greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. Those eyes took up almost half its face. And, just before they released it into the hole, one of the girls attached a basket to its belly, lit some kind of flare, and held it on front of the creature’s face for several seconds until the white flame burned out. Odder still was the way the creature’s eyes seemed to absorb the light and glow. Long after it dropped down into the hole we could still see that glow as it worked its way deeper into the klatotet’s tunnel.

It was called a Hemlight, Garigan told me. It was highly intelligent and used for all manner of underground exploration. It got its name from the luminosity of its eyes and how certain types of light stimulated that luminance and kept it lit for hours on end, thus allowing it to see perfectly in the dark. The Hemlight wasn’t gone for long. When it returned it carried six white eggs in the basket. A wave of relief swept through the others when they saw the eggs. The klatotet’s attack had been coincidental. There was no doubt about that.

The Cadavat team have filled in the hole. Now they’re cleaning the blood from the walls and floor. I’m half tempted to give them a hand and try and coax out some information about their job while I’m at it. I won’t. I’m really, really tired, and I’m going to stop writing for now and get some rest.

Fun and games here last night. I’ll call it that because I don’t really want to refer to what entered the house shortly after we went to bed as anything else. That way it might make it easier to forget. Some day.

At first, when I heard Joesa crying out, I thought I was having a nightmare. But when she screamed a second time I knew something was badly wrong. I shot out of bed and dashed into the recreation area. The first thing I saw was the hole in the floor. It was so close to my door, I almost fell into it. Then Joesa screamed again. Without the door to muffle the sound, it was like a siren in my head. She was sprawled on the floor halfway into the kitchen, with both arms wrapped around one of the metal pillars supporting the ceiling.

As to what was crawling all over her, well, it looked like an insect, a barrel sized insect, all scrabbling claws and pincers and with a black shiny carapace streaked with silver. The stink of earth and rottenness hit me like a slap and made me gag. It had her by the legs and was trying to drag her to the hole. When I smashed a chair over it, the wood shattered into pieces. Same thing happened when I belted it with a coal shovel.

I raced back into my room, snatched the Purdy from under the bed, and emptied both barrels into the creature’s back. That worked. It worked—briefly. The creature froze as the buckshot hammered two holes in its shell and sent a spray of red blood spattering up along the far wall. For one eternal moment there was total silence. Then a little cloud of brown gas hissed out of the creature’s wounds and made my eyes burn and blur.

Then it turned and stared at me.

Those eyes. God. Even through the blur, I’ll never forget them. Red and deep and simmering with unimaginable spite. It was like looking into a furnace whose energy had been shrunken to the size of a pea. That stare was so hypnotic I forgot all about reloading. I just watched as the creature turned back to Joesa and started dragging her closer to the hole. I’ll never forget that scene, that look of terror on Joesa’s face, and the aura of sheer invincibility that seemed to cling to the beast like Kevlar body armour. Nor will I ever forget the sense of sheer helplessness and how I just stood there while it dragged her to the hole.

I couldn’t even force a scream.

Then, as the things back claws were scrabbling for a grip at the edge of the hole, Armbranch shot from his room so fast it was like watching a surreal, cartoon blur. He raced straight to the creature, dug his hands into its back, and started tugging and tearing out handfuls of flesh. Kanar raced downstairs seconds later. But by then the creature had collapsed and the only movement was the steam and gas rising out through its shell. Steam rose from Armbranch’s bloody hands, too. He didn’t seem to mind. He even managed a smile before climbing off the thing and checking it was dead.

The beast was called a Klatotet, Garigan told me once we’d carried the thing outside and built a pyre to burn it on. And as the shell popped and hissed, and the flames gobbled up the creature, he explained that it was an underground predator, a thing that normally dwells in forests, feeds on underground creatures, and only rises to the surface to catch larger prey when it has a brood to feed.

A brood? Those words made me want to flee the house immediately. Even now I don’t feel safe here because they haven’t filled the hole in yet. Kanar’s waiting for someone from the Cadavat to show up and investigate things further. It’s not unknown for Klatotets to appear in populated areas. Happens maybe a dozen times a year in Crater City, he told me. But they needed to be sure it was simply coincidence it turned up in our house and not something else. Don’t know what he meant by that, but I presumed he was hinting the Klatotet had been somehow lured to our house. I didn’t ask. Right now I don’t want to know.

Kanar and Garigan took care of Joesa once the beast’s innards were ash and we removed its shell from the fire. She recovered quickly, although when I watched here making breakfast this morning, I’d swear I saw a mild tremor in her hands. I don’t blame her. Hell, if that had been me, I’d be sinking whiskey every day for a week.

The Cadavat specialist will arrive tomorrow. So we have to sleep here tonight. Great. With that hole outside my door, and thoughts of what might dwell far beneath it lurking in my head, I can’t see how I’ll sleep. Okay, so Kanar’s sealed up the hole with a spell he assured us is unbreakable.  Big deal. All I can hear when I close my eyes is Joesa’s scream echoing off through my head.

There’s no spell to take that sound away.

Sara sent word yesterday that we’d be moving to the Cadavat training house some time next Tuesday. Though I was happy to hear that, I also felt a twinge of anxiety. Not the kind of anxiety I sometimes felt when starting a new job or submitting quotes to a prospective client. No. This was a deeper anxiety, something that told me I was about to sell a part of myself to get another, more important part of myself back. I’m excited about becoming a Cadavat investigator. I know well that countless people back home would give anything for a chance like this. But I’m even more excited and relieved about the prospect of not having to make serious decisions for a while. Okay, I’m still stuck in this place. But it’ll be nice for someone else to lead the way for a while.

And what will l learn during my employment? Many wonderful things, Kanar told me; and many dangerous things, too. I can’t help suspecting the Cadavat might have some special things lined up for Armbranch and me. The normal route to becoming an investigator is to be ‘talent’ spotted from the military, the security services, or the various schools of magic. Even then, candidates need to pass a series of strict examinations and prove themselves in the field. Sounds like they’re fast tracking us. And that makes me uneasy.

I’m also growing concerned about their initiation ceremony. Instinct tells me it won’t simply be a case of ‘lay your hands on this book and recite after me’ kind of affair. Over the past few days I’ve pestered Kanar and Garigan about it. They’re staying quiet. Don’t blame them. I guess you don’t become a Cadavat employee without taking some kind of oath of silence. I’ve given up asking them. Now I’m going to focus on Joesa. I’ve scheduled a massage later, partly because I want a massage, but mainly because I want to quiz her, too. I doubt I’ll learn much. She doesn’t say much even when she’s smiling. I’ve nothing to lose by it, though.

Well, maybe I do. If I annoy her too much maybe she’ll dig those fingers of hers deep into my flesh and start strumming my ribcage to punish me

Just noticed that yesterday’s post replicated itself three times. Odd, but I must have been tired and hit the wrong button. Things got odd at home yesterday, too. A pipe burst and sent water shooting down through the ceiling into the hallway. It happened shortly after eleven last night, just as everyone was settling down for the night. From what I can gather, it scared the hell out of them. Not the water. The noise. The water made a terrible hissing sound as it sprayed from the ruptured pipe and down through the ceiling.

It’s kind of funny, though. They haven’t had a good fright like that since, well, since the Basilod’s shadow tried to flee back to the Parawerthan. It’s also something I can use when it comes to negotiating what they can and cannot do when they come through the gateway. (Providing Sara gets some temporary Circlewebs, that is.) If the sound of a hissing water pipe sets them off, then god only knows what some of the sounds in here (especially the night sounds) will do to them. Even O’Heir sounded jumpy when he told me what happened.

But at least both Justin and O’Heir managed to stop the water instead of calling someone in. Just as well, too, because if a plumber did have to be called out, who knows what kind of gossip might spring out of it when he sees them all living together in that house. The water’s off now at home. And it won’t go back on until Justin returns from town with a new pipe.

666. It’s just a number, isn’t it? Like H***!

Today marks my 666^th post since I started writing this blog. Even after all I’ve seen in this place, I’d still like to think I’m not superstitious. But just so as I don’t tempt fate, I’ve decided not to use the laptop anymore today. In fact I don’t think I’ll set one foot outside the door either. A calm, relaxed day is in order I think.

I suppose I could write up post 667 this afternoon, but maybe that might be tempting fate, too.

666. It’s just a number, isn’t it?

Today marks my 666^th post since I started writing this blog. Even after all I’ve seen in this place, I’d still like to think I’m not superstitious. But just so as I don’t tempt fate, I’ve decided not to use the laptop anymore today. In fact I don’t think I’ll set one foot outside the door either. A calm, relaxed day is in order I think.

I suppose I could write up post 667 this afternoon, but maybe that might be tempting fate, too.

666. It’s just a number, isn’t it?

Today marks my 666^th post since I started writing this blog. Even after all I’ve seen in this place, I’d still like to think I’m not superstitious. But just so as I don’t tempt fate, I’ve decided not to use the laptop anymore today. In fact I don’t think I’ll set one foot outside the door either. A calm, relaxed day is in order I think.

I suppose I could write up post 667 this afternoon, but maybe that might be tempting fate, too.

666. It’s just a number, isn’t it?

Spent a really enjoyable day yesterday working on the blog. Frustrating, too, at times. Technology is a great thing, but sometimes it’s a real bitch to figure it all out. Finally, after lots of humming and hawing, I’m making progress. My plans for the new look website include a FAQs page, a full glossary, and an ‘ask me’ section where people can question me directly.

I’d thought the glossary might be the easiest to create. I figured all I needed was to skim through the blog, pull out all the crazy things I’ve experienced here, and write a description of each. Turns out there are many, many more ‘crazy’ things than I realised. Add to that the supplemental material I need to add to explain some of these things and, well, we’re talking lots and lots of entries. Hundreds, in fact.

Armbranch and Kanar are a great help. Yet, even now, I find it hard to believe I’ve experienced some of these things. At times, reading the blog is like reading someone else’s story. Did I really do all that over the past fifteen or sixteen months? I guess so. Either that or I’ve gone insane and written down my day-to-day hallucinations. One thing’s for sure, I need to be careful when I’m drawing up the map. God only knows how I’ll react when I realise how far away I am from the Envelop Gateway. For now it’s probably best to finish the glossary and FAQs and then take a break before attempting anything else. Otherwise I might risk insanity trying to assimilate it all at the one time.

Maya is still pissed about the Circleweb thing. To make it worse, it sounds like Justin’s annoyed as well. He emailed me this morning with all sorts of questions about what they’ll need to bring when they come in here. That annoyed me. Talk about jumping the gun. I don’t even know yet if Sara can arrange any ‘temporary’ Circlewebs and they sound like they’ve already planned their own great adventure through the gateway.

I think we all need to talk. And soon.

Went to watch the Dacca birds again this morning. There were more of them this time, and a lot more people, too. But it was easy to ignore the noise and the jostling once the birds took off. At one point there were so many soaring through the air it seemed like it was their intention to block out the sun and bring back the night. There was also an unfortunate but unavoidable down side to this marvel of nature. The birds took their last feed at dusk. They also liked to ‘relieve’ themselves first thing at dawn. When the first grey, gooey drops spattered down on the crowd I thought it was just a dirty snow. Then Garigan got dumped on, and I understood. When he started to laugh, I couldn’t help laughing, too, at the sheer craziness of it all. And Armbranch wasn’t long in joining in.

The few in the crowd who noticed our merriment smiled and made odd signs to each other. I didn’t care. It was all part of the experience, I told myself. A free souvenir. And Joesa would be happy enough to clean our clothes. Besides, there was no smell from it. The birds were currently feeding off upper slope vegetation, Garigan told us. If they’d been feeding on fish not a single person in Crater City would be out on the streets.

There was one little black haired girl close to us that seemed more interested in Armbranch than the birds. She kept smiling and making faces at him. Armbranch didn’t seem to mind. He started pulling faces back at her until both of them were giggling. Then he pulled a finger sized brown nut from his pocket and started bouncing it between them. When it was time to leave he presented the nut to the girl and told her if she planted it and cared well for it while it grew, it would produce the most beautiful orange flowers for the next fifteen years.

Watching Armbranch like that was an added bonus to a fine morning. I’ve long suspected that he missed his childhood (or treehood or whatever it might be called) training with the Nescan. There’s a little kid locked up inside him that occasionally peeps out. I’d like to see more of that little kid. Maybe when we get back home I can find some things to draw it out again. I think it might be good for him.

Time for a massage now. If they’re going to bring us off to some military style training camp soon, I’m going to take full advantage of what we’ve got right now.

Ahh . . . how I’ll miss Joesa.

Spent the morning out with Garigan. He rudely awoke me shortly before dawn and, when I saw how excited he was, my first thought was that we were going on the move again. It was nothing of the sort. The first Dacca Birds of the season had arrived, he said. Crater City was on their northern migration route, and it was a sight well worth rising early to see.

Once we dragged Armbranch out of bed we set off towards the northern quarter. I was surprised to see so many people out and about. But word had obviously spread. As we neared the edge of the prohibited zone and worked our way through the warehouse district towards the base of Silent Rock, I was even more surprised by the amount of food stalls and hawkers who’d set up shop in these previously deserted streets.

A crowd of thousands had gathered in a timber warehouse yard that appeared to have been opened to the public for this occasion. It offered a clear view of the mountains. Many parents were there with children, and it reminded me of times when my own parents would wake me in the middle of the night to come see a comet or bring me on early morning field trips to see wildlife rising with the sun. The sense of excitement was infectious. As the first rays of dawn peeped over the horizon and bathed the tip of Silent Rock in a pale glow, I found myself wanting to push closer through the crowd and start working my way up the slopes.

I didn’t—and not just because I didn’t want to give a bad example to the children. This square was an authorised viewing point, Garigan told me. Guards were posted all along the base of the rock to stop anyone upsetting the birds.

Then, as the sunlight crept down along the mountain, a low-pitched whistling, humming sound rolled off the rock and echoed off through the streets like the most beautiful song. And when the first Dacca Bird rose off the mountain and spiralled upwards to greet the dawn, I almost bolted. The thing was huge, maybe a twenty or twenty five foot wingspan, with a body that seemed to stretch as it shot into the air. A second, then a third, a fourth, and a fifth, took off until the sky was black with wheeling, spinning birds. Even now, when I think back about it, I feel a sense of pure relaxation when I remember those graceful creatures. We spent two hours watching them, marvelling at how high they rose, and how they appeared at times to float through the air, and how their yellow wingtips turned to streaks of gold when they dove.

Magical, that’s what it was. Truly magical.

Once we got home, Armbranch and I lured Kanar into my room where I asked him straight out if he’d ever considered taking a trip into my world. A look of complete shock came over his face. But even an old magician like him couldn’t fully mask the look of desire that passed across his face. His eyes lit up. Briefly. It was enough to tell me I’d hit the right button. He said that, if the circumstances were right, he might think about coming with us when we returned to the Envelop Gateway. He kept stressing that if he did accompany us through the gateway, it would be for purely ‘protective’ reasons. If Sara wanted someone to keep an eye on us, he’d rather do it than leave it up to someone else, someone who didn’t know us.

It was a good reason. It was also bullshit. At a guess, I’d say he probably wants to see Singleton Cottage even more than I do. I’ll admit, though, I’ll be happy to have him along. Maybe we could talk him into doing a few ‘tricks’ to entertain the others.

We’re moving out of this house sometime soon. I still haven’t been given any full details, but Kanar joked that it was for our benefit. We’d be transferred to a Cadavat training house, and soon, before we grew soft and fat here. He said we needed to cast luxury aside and toughen ourselves up if we were to become Cadavat investigators. To be honest, I thought I was tough enough already after what I’ve been through. He laughed again when I told him that. So did Armbranch. And their laughter almost made me want to cry. What I’d been through was chickenfeed, Kanar told me. Once I was ‘investigating’, I’d be exposed to the real Parawerthan.

The old adage ‘you ain’t seen nothing yet’ immediately sprang to mind.  Now I’m really, really beginning to wonder what on earth I’ve signed on for.

Things are quiet enough back home. O’Heir’s fobbed off his superiors again, there’s been no sign of the reporter, and the others are happily making their wedding plans and helping Maya fix up the old mill house so she can start painting when things settle down. Maya’s decided that it’s probably best if we don’t buy Monty right now. Things might be quiet, but we all know it’s only a lull. It would be cruel to drag a puppy into this environment right now. I know she’d disappointed about that. Hell, so am I. But there’ll be other dogs. She’s asked the breeder to keep her updated on future litters so we’ll just wait and see.

She’s also disappointed about the deal I made with Sara. A temporary Circleweb is no good to her, she told me in a long email last night. She’s sick of waking alone every morning. She wants to be with me. Always. Even if Sara does get the temporary Circlewebs, a few hours in the Parawerthan will be little more than a few hours visiting me in prison. She wants a full Circleweb. She wants to live with me, laugh with me, cry with me, and experience this place by my side instead of at the end of a network cable. I don’t have the right to be alone, she said. And she’s right. I don’t.

But do I have the right to bring her in here?

That’s something I really don’t want to think about right now.

Dreamed last night that Armbranch’s head turned into a great contract ball while he was asleep. I even imagined hand marks all over it. Lots and lots of hand marks, each imprinting the words ‘I want to go home’ on the mud. It was cracking, too. I saw three small fractures running down the back of it, each ending at the base of his neck. Actually, the cracks were hard to miss. Raw, pink flesh was exposed within each of them and his pillow was streaked with blood. Odder still, when I checked the palm of my hand I saw the letter R glowing there in three different places.

I’ve had some pretty crazy dreams since I first set foot in this place. That was probably the craziest, though, because when I went into his room this morning he told me he was suffering his worst headache since I chopped his hands off on the island gateway. I didn’t mention my dream—not because he might think it was somehow connected to his headache, but because he might think I was going crazy. Maybe I am. Or maybe it’s just the lingering after effects of Sara’s wine. All day yesterday I had a terrible taste in my mouth. And when I exhaled slowly it was like a vapour seeped out of my mouth that stung my eyes and made the world shimmer.

I don’t think she intentionally tried to make us sick. I just think she gave us something a bit stronger than we were used to. If that’s how the Cadavat celebrate signing their contracts, I think I’ll stick to beer or water the next time. If they consider that insulting, well they can go and . . .

Well, Sara turned up last night as planned. And now Armbranch and I have agreed a deal with her. The Cadavat will employ us as ‘investigators’. We made our final decision after she agreed to transport us back to the Gateway and provide the means for me to pass through without risking anyone on the far side. I guess she meant I’d be sealed within that spell Kanar mentioned. But I was so excited to hear this news I forgot to ask her the details. She seemed a bit surprised when I mentioned our second demand, but she said she understood it and would look into maybe getting some temporary Circlewebs to allow my friends venture into the Parawerthan for an hour or two.

So we’ll become investigators. I’m not 100% clear on what this job will entail. After a period of training we’ll be sent out with qualified Cadavat investigators who are discreetly employed by the Borkon Council to look into all manner of shady goings on. When I asked her if this involved crimes like murder, she nodded and told us there much more interesting things than common murder or assassination to interest us, things like illegal use of Lavun, tracking rogue magicians, searching for underground markets, smugglers, and investigating the innumerate ‘mystical’ elements of the Parawerthan. We’d also get the chance at some point to investigate areas where Spirit Storms have touched down. When I asked her if this meant we might enter the City of Roses at any point, she dropped her eyes and shook her head.

We’d start small, she said, and allow our talents to grow over time. Armbranch’s talents are obvious. But when I asked her what she thought my talents were, she laughed and said that my greatest gift was my ability to look at things in this world from a fresh perspective. I had ‘otherworld’ eyes, she said, eyes that might see things others might miss. She didn’t cite any examples, but she assured me she’d noticed this time and time again when we were hunting Gerridian. My ‘magic box’ –as she likes to call the laptop—would be a great help to them, too.

The paranoid side of me took that to mean that they might use me to discover more about my world. I didn’t argue, though. I just made a mental promise not to let any of them near the laptop at any cost—at least not until I’d gotten something out of them first. And I’d never, ever let them know how to use it. Sara’s right about the magic of that box. But it’s my magic, and its secrets will stay firmly with me. In fact, when I thought about our deal later, my paranoia tried to convince me all they wanted me for was access to the laptop and the ‘fresh eyes’ excuse was simply a ruse.

Armbranch disagreed when I mentioned my fears. He tried to assure me that if the Cadavat had an interest in venturing into my world they’d do so easily. It was a genuine offer, he said. I’ll admit I felt a bit deflated when I heard that because I’d convinced myself the laptop was my Ace in the hole. Who knows, maybe it still is.

The most extraordinary thing that happened last night was actually signing up to the contract—although ‘signing’ is probably a tame word to use. I didn’t actually sign anything. I made my mark instead. Once we’d verbally agreed to the deal, Sara produced a tile-sized tablet of grey stone whose surface contained line upon line of unintelligible words etched into it. Armbranch analysed this writing before assuring me it was a legally binding contract that include pay rates, working hours, and terms and conditions. Secrecy was the utmost of these conditions. And it was so important, the terms dictated we had to take an oath of silence at a special Cadavat ceremony at some point in the near future. Sara then produced a small ‘tennis ball’ sized sphere of soft mud and a pot of orange coloured paint. She applied this paint to the palm of my hand, bade me press my palm upon the tile until the words were imprinted on my skin, and then got me to squeeze the contract ball (as she called it) hard enough to leave an imprint of the contract on it. Armbranch went next, followed by Sara.

Once we were done, she placed the ball in a specially designed box and told us it would be stored in a Cadavat Contract House where it would be checked daily. If any cracks appeared on its surface it meant that someone had broken the contract and appropriate action would be taken. I thought this a bit unfair considering I’d never know if the Cadavat broke the contract. She countered this by explaining this was just for the Cadavat records. If anyone broke the contract we’d all be alerted because a special mark would appear on the palms of our hands. That mark would be the first initial of the name of the one who digressed.

Once it was all done, Sara produced a bottle of a fine, sweet wine and we spent the next few hours toasting our new joint venture. Kanar and Cutter joined us after a while and brought more wine. I’d swear Sara was drunk, or at least merry, by the time she left because she kept giggling and giving me the oddest looks. I got drunk, too, along with Armbranch and the others. I’m suffering for it today. Yet, somehow, the hangover doesn’t feel too bad. I guess it’s got something to do with the fact that, after over a year of wandering half blind through this place, some of the mist is finally beginning to clear from on front of my eyes.

Sara sent word this morning that she intends to meet us tonight. I’m glad to hear it. I’m also glad she’s showing some measure of responsibility by keeping us updated. I hope it’s a sign of things to come. After all, if your employer doesn’t keep you in the loop with vital information like when they actually intend to meet with you, then it doesn’t bode well for our future working relationship. We’ll wait and see. It remains to be seen if this leopard (or leopardess) intends to change her spots. I don’t mind giving her a chance, though. And any change whatsoever will be most welcome.

Justin’s been annoying me about the wedding again. He’s got it in his head for a while now that a Parawerthan ceremony might be cool. He wasn’t the least bit dissuaded when I told him cameras didn’t work here so there’d be no wedding snaps. Okay, so I see his point. It might be a cool place to have a wedding. But it’s also lethally dangerous in here. The last time I saw the Gateway Envelop it was disintegrating fast. With Armbranch with us it might be still possible to move through it without serious harm. If it’s collapsed into a mush, though, god only knows what might have taken its place.

I guess my change of mood yesterday was infectious. Not only did Armbranch lighten up, it felt like a curtain had been drawn from over the house to let the sunshine in. It actually rained all day yesterday, but it still felt bright and airy and warm in here. Kanar joined us in the afternoon. He brought a small cask of beer with him and spent hours telling us a story about a friend of his that had once got lost in the eastern lands, stumbled into an Envelop, and saw through a gateway into a barren land where a great orange rock sat on a plain of red soil and green, stumpy vegetation.

I suspect that Kanar and his ‘friend’ were one and the same. I also suspect that he’d love to look into that place again, or even somehow go there. Armbranch supported this idea when we were alone. He also said that Kanar wasn’t telling us this ‘story’ simply for entertainment. He’s not the entertaining type. No. He told us this story for a reason. That reason, Armbranch surmised, was because he might want to take a look into my world again. I’ve suspected this for some time. I’ve seen it in his eyes, a longing every time I show him something new online. Up until now, though, I’d no idea how deep that longing was. I know he’ll never ask us for help in seeing this. He’s too proud for that. But maybe it mightn’t be a bad idea if we offered. I trust him fully. I don’t mind if he passes through the gateway and takes a look around. After all, just like letting Armbranch see our world, it might convince him it’s a world well worth protecting.

Garigan was gone the whole afternoon today. When he returned he told us that Sara would be here tomorrow evening for certain. He emphasised the ‘for certain’ part so strongly I knew he was feeling bad about her previous behaviour. Poor Garigan. At times I’d love to just tell him to go home to his family—if only for a few hours. As far as I know he hasn’t seen them since our return. And it shows. The lines on his face deepen every day and, at times, talking seems like an effort. His smile doesn’t change, though. It’s always there, always bright and positive. I’m grateful for it. Maybe he deserves a peek into our world, too.

Can’t help wondering if that gateway Kanar’s ‘friend’ saw through is far away from here. I also can’t help wondering how I’d ever get home from Ayer’s Rock if I ever passed through it. I haven’t any cash on me and I think my credit card expired a few months ago.

Got an email from Justin this morning telling me to get my ass back home quickly because I was holding up his wedding arrangements. Of course he was only joking, but it underlined the tension they’re all feeling back home about my situation. They’ve all got lives, too, and I can’t expect them to keep watch in Singleton forever. Something’s got to give.

I replied by telling him it mightn’t be a bad idea for them to go ahead and plan the wedding ceremony and reception at Singleton Cottage. A lakeside ceremony might be cool. And I’d make it my business to turn up. All he’d have to do was explain to the other guests why I was sealed up in inside some kind of bubble (I can’t think of any other way to describe what a spell that seals you from the outside world might look like) and who the creature with the branch limbs and big orange eyes was.

He admitted that a lakeside wedding might be cool—but not without me to pass him the rings.

It was a moment of light relief amid this cloud of uncertainty that hangs over me. For the first time in days I was able to laugh. This triggered Armbranch’s interest. When I told him about our wedding plans, he laughed, too. He said that maybe if he decorated himself with some flowers he could camouflage himself as a small tree and stand unnoticed in the garden while until the wedding ceremony was over. In the most bizarre way, I thought it was a great idea until he added that he didn’t know what his reaction might be if any insects tickled him or a bird came and crapped on his head or started building a nest. At that point we both cracked up laughing. But it was much more than laugher. No. It was a release, a joyous release of tension that had been bottled up inside both of us since Sara’s last visit. By the time we settled down, my stomach hurt and I was gasping for breath.

God, though, I enjoyed every moment of it. Even now, when I try imagining Armbranch pretending to be a flowering tree, I’m able to smile.

Maya also mentioned the wedding today. She’s going to take Ana to Dublin next week to look around a few shops and start getting ideas about what to wear. And even if Maya said they won’t set a date until they know when I’ll be back, I was still delighted to hear they’re making plans. It gets them out of Singleton, gives them a sense of purpose besides worrying about me. Go to Dublin, girls. Maybe bring Mrs Daidogan with you. Sounds like she could lighten up a bit. Who knows, there might be a double wedding on the cards judging by how she’s getting on with O’Heir.

A big storm hit Crater City last night. But there were no fun and games this time. I guess nobody here really feels like seeing the lighter side of things for now. With the mood I’m in, I don’t blame them. It was a pity, though. As the storm raged around the house I found myself thinking about the last storm and how the ‘Lights of the Storm’ danced so magically within their wooden frame. I hate to admit it, but I missed them. Yes. Just like I know I’d miss a lot of other things in here if I went home for good. That still doesn’t make me feel any better about being trapped in here. Yet, somewhere deep inside, I know I can’t just walk away from this. I’d miss it too much.

It would be nice to have options, though.

When the winds died down, Armbranch and I took a walk outside and watched the dawn punch its way through the remains of the storm. It was good to breathe the fresh, cool air. It was even better to talk among ourselves openly and without fear of being overheard or spied on. Armbranch still thinks we should go along with Sara’s plan. It’s odd that he doesn’t seem too bothered about what the Nescan will do if they catch him. No. He seems more interested in sticking with me. Protecting me, perhaps. I’m not complaining either. Sara and the others in the house have always shown him the utmost respect. They fear him. But they want him, too. And that can only be to my benefit.

One way or another, I’ll make sure Armbranch will get a look at our world soon. Not only does he deserve a visit, I think it’s important he sees how vibrant and valuable it is, and how important it is to keep it safe from any threat. Gerridian or his ilk can never be allowed to upset the balance there.

We’ve agreed on a few demands of our own when Sara makes her employment offer at the weekend. Firstly, we want transportation back to the Envelop Gateway. That’s non-negotiable. For me to see Maya in the flesh will be non-negotiable, too. Okay, if they wrap me in some protective spell I may not be able to caress her cheek or kiss her. But I want to see her. I need to—if only just to know she’s still real and waiting for me. Armbranch also suggested we should demand some Circlewebs from Sara to enable some of the others take a peek around the Parawerthan. It should be safe, he says. Whatever’s left of the Gateway Envelop will be sterile, and as long as I stay within the spell there’ll be no chance of the fever spreading.

I’ve a feeling most of our demands will be met. (Kanar already hinted that the Cadavat could be generous when they want something.) But asking for some Circlewebs, well, that might be hoping for a bit much.