Despite the tiredness and unease I returned to the hanging things this morning with Kanar. This time he had a notebook with him and wrote down everything I said. I returned to the mummy I’d touched yesterday. And the moment I laid my hands on it, it was like pressing the ‘continue’ button on the DVD player. I saw the creature hanging there. I saw the witch eventually take it down, lay it on the table, and open the casket containing the branch things. Soon after she started piercing the creature’s body, the animal filled out and started to struggle. She calmed it easily. Once she peeled the mud from its face I saw its eyes were wide and staring and filled with some kind of half-light.

I don’t know how she controlled it but it seemed completely under her thumb then. She stroked and whispered to it for a short while before pushing some paste into its mouth. Then she put it into a basket and carried it from the lair.

For a short while after that all I saw was a blackness. Then, just when I thought the vision was over, the images flickered back to life again. The witch was moving through the gloomy back streets of a city. Beggars and drunks littered the gutters. Rough looking women plastered with makeup peered out of doorways. Ragged, dirty children darted to and fro between the alleys playing some silly game.

Not a single person seemed to see her. Okay, so some of them looked her way as if sensing something was there. But none of them saw her. If they had, I doubt if they’d have stuck around long enough to take a second look. After a while the alleys changed to streets and then she was hurrying along a broad, tree-lined avenue. Great stone and marble clad building towered four or fives storeys on either side. She stopped outside one of the smaller buildings and released the animal. Thought the front entrance was guarded by two heavily armed men, they didn’t notice the creature climb the wall and enter the building through what looked like a tiny air vent.

More blackness came. The images flickered. Then the creature was in a bedroom and looking at a young man asleep on a luxurious bed. The creature leaped onto the bed and scraped the man’s face. When he bolted upright with fright, the beast spat the witch’s paste straight into his mouth.

The man was dead in seconds.

So, too, was my vision.

I’m still shaking from that experience. I suspect there’s a casket for each of those mummified creatures, a casket containing those branch things (or whatever the hell they are) to bring them back to life. I can’t help wondering what might happen if we find these caskets and start piercing the mummies. After all this time, would they come alive? Sounds impossible. Yet, though everything in that place seems so old, I have the impression that age is no more than dust in there. Brush it off and who knows how the years might roll back.

But is it right to awaken these creatures? I don’t think so. No. They deserve to burn hot and fast and find an eternal peace within the flames. I doubt if things will go as easily, though. There are to many secrets locked up in that place. To an organisation like the Cadavat it’s like finding a buried treasure. All they need is the key to understanding it.

I suspect I am that key—or part of it anyway.  And I’ll say one thing about going into that lair. It might be terrifying at times, but it’s also absolutely fascinating.

They want me to return there in two days to examine one more mummy—the monkey like thing. Then there’ll be no more visits until I return from home. Tomorrow I have a different task. Sara wants me to brief them on what to expect when we emerge on the far side of the Envelop gateway.

I don’t really know what to tell them. Should be fun, though.

Returned to the lair today. I sensed a change in there the moment I followed Kanar inside. There was something in the atmosphere, a heaviness I couldn’t explain that seemed to suck the energy from my muscles. It didn’t help my nerves when Kanar started sprinkling some kind of dust on the ground on front of us. He explained it was simply a little something he’d prepared to make the ground easier to walk on. Considering I’ve still never, ever seen his feet, I thought that ironic. It worked, though. It made the ground feel as soft as carpet.

God knows I needed some luxury in there. We went straight to the cluster of hanging things directly behind the hammock in the left corner of the living area. At first I saw little more than shadows. Then Kanar lit a small lantern he’d brought with him and the light fell over the hanging things and turned them into figures. Animals. That’s what they were. Unidentifiable, mummified animals. They ranged in size from mice to small dogs. Each one had its limbs tied and their heads caked with some kind of mud or plaster to hide their features.

Weirdest of all were the two dark spots on each head, dark spots that looked like they marked where eyes lay beneath.

I wanted to leave right then. I knew I couldn’t. Kanar hadn’t accompanied me just to keep me calm and have a look around. He told me the Cadavat suspected these animals were creatures Hammanga had captured and used to do some of her dirty work. When he asked me to lay both hands on one of the smaller mummies, I’ll admit I was almost swamped with a curiosity that easily overrode the fear. My ‘gift’ worked immediately. I saw the faceless witch entering the lair and taking a wiry, stoat like, creature from a sack. The beast bucked and twisted and spat in her hands before she managed to get its head into a leather pouch. It immediately fell limp. She spent the next while sticking what looked like branches into the creature’s flesh. And it was like she was draining someting from it because it shrank right in front of my eyes.

Time has no meaning when I use my ‘gift’, but I doubt no more than five or ten minutes passed before the beast was completely shrivelled as if its innards had been sucked out. Shortly after she removed the branches and laid them in a casket, she slipped off the pouch and plastered a greyish mud around the creature’s head. And it was still alive. Good god, even after everything she’d done to it, I saw its eyes move as it tried to breathe.

Moments later it was dangling from the ceiling and my ‘vision’ faded.

Kanar got really excited when I told him what I’d seen. He also agreed that I’d had enough for one day. I was so exhausted that I couldn’t even agree with him. I just let him lead me from the lair and take me to the canteen where cook filled me with a meaty soup.

I had my meeting with Sara shortly after that. And, to be truthful, I might have been wiser to postpone it until today. My mind was frozen numb from the experience in the lair and I hardly remember anything but the barest details of what she told me. She mentioned something about a Mayman balloon, a flight south, an air current we needed to catch, and a report that a storm had been spotted over the Shavlod Jungle recently. A Brown Storm, she said. They weren’t the worst, but we still needed to be careful. If it caught our scent it might decide to take a closer look to gauge our worth.

I just nodded throughout the meeting. It wasn’t long before she realised that I probably wasn’t taking much of it in because she called one of the doctors after a while and they both accompanied me back to my room. Armbranch got all excited and protective when the doctor asked me to swallow a small crystal like cube. I was suspicious, too. But I managed to settle Armbranch down after I saw the smile of genuine concern on Sara’s face. She said I needed a long rest and that the medicine would dilute the memories of the lair in my head. I believed her. Shortly after the crystal melted in my mouth, the world turned dim and shaky and I drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The last thing I saw was Armbranch standing over me.

He was still there this morning when I opened my eyes.

Didn’t find anything in the lair today. To be honest I thought it was pointless analysing the furniture again. I didn’t say anything, though, didn’t want Sara to add some more items to my ‘sniff ‘em out’ list. But I did sense something in there, something strong and deep. It was coming from those hanging things that crowd two corners of the room. I’m not sure what most of them are—bits of bones, pelts, or what might have been small warped and desiccated animals. Even the Cadavat haven’t been able to identify some of those things. In fact, it was so dark in there I wasn’t quite sure if some of them were real or simply carved figures.

Carved figures. Maybe a perfect souvenir gift for Maya?

Hell no.

Though Sara wants me to examine some of them tomorrow, the thought of touching them makes me want to puke. They don’t smell. No. But there’s an atmosphere about them, a thickness and deadness in the air that clogs in my throat when I get too close. Of course Sara sweetened up this request by adding she wanted to discuss my upcoming home visit tomorrow, too. Clever. She also added that Kanar would be accompanying me into the lair next time. Now that more than anything cheered me up. I haven’t seen him for a while and I’m looking forward to hearing his take on the whole thing.

Walked barefoot into the Hammanga’s lair this afternoon. It was all another big anti-climax really. Once again I saw or sensed absolutely nothing in the main chamber. And, though Sara had instructed me to stick to the living area, my confidence grew so much that I was sorely tempted to enter the two adjoining rooms. The only thing that stopped me was the candle in the centre of the room, a candle that looked more like a grey stone.

A rudd candle, I guessed. Though it burned without a single thread of smoke, it was a stark reminder of the dangers in there.

I guess Sara had it put there to give me a sense of security. It worked. In fact, as I circled the room, looking at books, and jars, and boxes, and the multitude of unrecognisable oddments hanging from the ceiling, it was easy to imagine Lailia’s spell hadn’t just sucked out the ‘image’ but all the embedded memories, too.

Some hope. A part of me sensed something in there after a while. Don’t know what. But it tightened my gut and made me break out in a sweat. By the time I got out of there my t-shirt was soaked with perspiration.

They want me to return tomorrow. This time they want me to try the furniture again.

More delays here. Sara didn’t give any reasons, but now they don’t want me to enter Hammanga’s lair until tomorrow.

I’m not arguing. Instead, I’ve been wondering what kind of a gift I should bring Maya. Though there are some incredibly beautiful and extraordinary plants here, I won’t bring any of them no matter how she’d love them. I can’t take the risk. If the slightest seed took root in our world, well, anything could happen. No. It’ll have to be something inanimate, some kind of rock art or shell. I’ve seen some unusual things for sale in the city markets. Perhaps Sara will give Armbranch and I some time off, and some money, to shop around before we leave.

She’ll have to make do with just looking at the plants when she comes through on this side. I haven’t worked those particular details out with Sara yet. I doubt if it’ll be too complicated. A temporary Circleweb will get her past the wind sentries and once she’s in the Envelop I’ll depend on Armbranch to look out for her. That’s if there’s anything left of the Envelop. Who knows, maybe the whole thing has rotted away. When I mentioned this to Armbranch he didn’t seem as concerned about it as he was about what the Nescan might have done to it. They know it’s failing. The ‘wind above the trees’ would have told them that. Armbranch’s greatest worry is that they might have posted guards, or worse, in case we return there.

That’s something else I’ll have to discuss with Sara. In fact I think we’ll soon have to sit down and talk about the whole thing. She mentioned yesterday that they want to test some type of  ‘protective bubble’ spell. It makes me think about a film I once about a poor kid who spent his short life living in a plastic bubble because his immune system had failed. Can’t imagine what that must be like. And I don’t think I’m going to experience something like that. No. Sara said I won’t even know the spell is there, not until I try to touch someone. Then it’ll feel like I’m wearing a second skin.

The excitement is building back home about my visit. Though nobody has mentioned anything specific, the anticipation sings off every message I get now. Maya’s trying so hard not to show excitement the paranoid side of me is trying to convince me she wants me to stay here. Nothing could be further from the truth, of course. She’s just trying too hard to keep things normal. Justin told me earlier that all she does is talk and plan our time together.

I guess she’s just worried that something might go wrong.

I’m worried, too, about lots of things—getting home, coming back here without Maya, re-entering the witch’s lair. Lailia replied last night. This time the message was in plain English and simply stated that if a rudd candle burned in the lair without producing any smoke the lair was safe. I’ve no idea what a rudd candle is. But they found one somewhere and tested the lair last night. The candle burned without smoke. Now they want me to go back in there tomorrow.

Great!

I did, however, get a look at the glass barrel of smoke yesterday. And I’d swear I saw something moving around inside it. I didn’t mention it to the others at the time. No point. Besides, I only think I saw something. It might as well have been a reflection or my imagination. The glass barrel is stored away now. There’s a storeroom deep beneath the apothek where only ‘special’ items are deposited for safekeeping. Sounds more like an underground dump to me. I suppose this is where Hammanga’s ‘image’ will rest for a long, long time.

I’m looking forward to many things as well—seeing the others, seeing my home, drinking a Guinness, showing Armbranch our world, and spending some quality time with my wife.

Can’t wait.

Laptop’s stable today. Earlier, I lost myself for a while surfing writing sites and magazines and wondering where to submit the short story I’ve been working on over the past few weeks. It’s inspired by this place, but I think it might also fit into a science fiction category, too. Or maybe horror. The more I see of this place, the wilder my stories get. To be honest, I don’t know who might publish them. Take the ‘image’ for example. I could probably write a good yarn about that. But would anyone want to read about it? I guess I won’t find out until I try.

Or maybe I should just post them up here.

As regards the ‘image’, it seems like the Cadavat have got rid of that particular problem. I’ll stress the words ‘seems like’ because nobody here is sure whether it’s gone or not. Lailia’s message instructed them to make some kind of powder and burn it in a tray inside the lair. When the smoke was extracted using a special vacuum tube, it was supposed to draw the image out with it. But nobody knows whether it worked or not. Everyone from scientists to investigators has examined the reinforced glass barrel the smoke was extracted into. Nobody managed to see anything within it. In fact, nobody’s even sure they’re supposed to see anything inside it anyway.

Sara asked me if I’d ask my ‘contact’ if there was a way of knowing if the image was gone. I agreed. And it wasn’t out of any softness towards the Cadavat or the fact that she sweetened up her request by telling me we’d be leaving here a week on Monday and our journey to the Envelop Gateway would take three days. No. My reasons for writing to Lailia earlier were purely selfish. The Cadavat want me to re-enter the lair. Soon. I’m sure as hell not going anywhere near it before I know it’s safe.

I’m sure Lailia will accept this as a good enough excuse for seeking more information from her.

Can’t stay on long. My old friend the laptop’s been playing up again today. Oddly enough, the screen started flickering when I was in a three way email conversation with Maya and Justin discussing what kind of replacement laptop would be best for me. If I was the paranoid type, I’d start wondering if the laptop’s become sentient.

Good job I’m not the paranoid type—especially in this place.

Cadavat have decoded Lailia’s instructions, but they seem hesitant on making the next move. Don’t know why. Garigan told me this. Sara didn’t come at all today.

Didn’t see much of Sara today. She appeared once, shortly after lunch, and told us that the code hadn’t been fully deciphered yet. I suspected what she really meant was that they needed more help. I’m not contacting the Golden Eyes again, though, at least not until the witch’s lair business is over. They’ve been good enough already and I’m going to leave it at that. Sara seemed to understand when I replied I was confident her people would succeed soon enough. And it was a relief. I don’t want any more arguments with them, not when my home visit is so close.

Went into the city last night. We were transported from this place in one of the battery carriages, but once we reached the perimeter of the prohibited zone we transferred into a horse drawn carriage with an open top. I’d seen these types of carriages before and it was a lot more relaxing to ride in it than the military vehicle. I appreciated the better suspension and padded seats, especially when we arrived at Pladinom Square in the heart of the lively Sharalaq District and my ass didn’t feel like raw leather.

The square was hemmed in on all sides by taverns and food halls. And the sound of music booming from so many windows seemed to thicken the atmosphere as we strolled through the food market in the centre of the square. I was glad Garigan alone accompanied us. Sara said we wouldn’t be followed. I believed her. Still, though, it was hard not to look around without imaging the Cadavat might have sent people to mingle in the crowd and keep an eye on us.

Our instructions were to go to a spice stall in the eastern corner of the market and wait for contact there. Finding the stall was easy enough. Apart from a fishmonger who sold nothing but a type of tiny orange fish, most of the stalls were fruit and veg with a smattering of butchers scattered through them. The hard part while we waited at the spice stall was putting up with the stallholder who harangued us constantly to buy something from the mounds of yellow, red, brown, and green spices piled up around her. Garigan eventually bought a few ounces of a red spice called, oddly enough, Blueworth. He said it was good to warm up winter stews, but too expensive for his wife to buy any more than once or twice a year for special occasions. He only bought it last night because her birthday is coming up. Mmm… I wonder who’ll benefit most from that present.

We lingered at the spice stall for twenty minutes before a grey bird landed on my shoulder and regurgitated a mouthful of those tiny orange fish all over my jacket. Within the mess was a small wooden phial. And within the phial was a message written in a numerical code.

At the time I was a bit pissed off at being used as simply a delivery boy. But when I thought about it later it made perfect sense. Of course we couldn’t know the contents of the message. The Cadavat have enemies. If those enemies sensed an opportunity to exploit a weakness, they’d probably strike hard and fast to find out more. A code without a key would be useless to them. Besides, the Cadavat couldn’t decipher the code either—at least not until Lailia sent me the key numerals to unlock it later. Sara’s people are trying to decipher it now.

Talk about being careful. I guess I don’t blame them for providing vital information through two different channels. Lailia never mentions the Cadavat much, but I’ve always got the impression she’s wary of them. Don’t blame her. I’m wary of them too and I’m sure they’d only be too happy to get a foothold into the world of the Golden Eyes.

Lailia didn’t send the messages to help them in any way. No. She sent them to help me.

The only thing I’m wondering about now (apart from what instructions were in the message of course) is how the bird knew I was the one to puke over. I suppose the fish were the giveaway, a not so subtle hint from the spy that he wasn’t far away.

Sara seemed a bit annoyed last night when I told her there may be an ‘image’ present in the witch’s lair. I still haven’t figured out if her reaction had to do with the Cadavat not suspecting this first (and they have heard of such things as images) or whether it was because I wouldn’t tell her the source of my information. I don’t care. She can like it or lump it, but I’m never going to tell her how I communicate with the Golden Eyes. That’s a secret to big to share.

She has agreed, though, that we should meet with Lailia’s contact. I’ve arranged to meet them tonight in a popular part of town known for its various alehouses and music halls. I’ll admit I’m excited about it. In a crazily childish way it’s easy to imagine I’m venturing into some part of East Berlin during the Cold War to retrieve some valuable information from a Soviet Spy. Yes it’s a crazy notion. But thinking like that makes it easier to go through with it because it reminds me so much of how things were once back home.

Though Armbranch is looking forward to this little adventure, too, he’s wary. He warned me earlier not to become too valuable to the Cadavat. Otherwise they might deliberately never find a cure for the fever.

This place has gone really, really quiet. Apart from Sara and Garigan who drop in occasionally to update us and bring us food, we haven’t seen a single soul. This morning I opened the door and stood looking down the corridor for at least half an hour but saw nobody. Heard nothing either. Sara says the place is in a kind of lockdown. They released something called a Janius last night. It’s some kind of creature that has the ability to sniff out rogue spells. They think one of these rogue spells might have been lingering in the witch’s lair and that’s what killed the archaeologist.

So far the Janius has found nothing.

I think I may have a possible solution, though. Lailia’s reply arrived less than twenty minutes ago. The Golden Eyes had heard of Hammanga. Apparently they’d had some sort of contact with her over a century ago and they’d considered her a threat ever since. Lailia hasn’t learned the specifics yet of what had happened back then. All she knew was that there was some kind of falling out over land. She doesn’t think that it’s a rogue spell or some booby trap the witch left behind that’s causing the trouble here. She believes it’s something called an ‘image’ that’s present in the lair. Though I’m still trying to understand her explanation, it sounds like the walls of that place soaked up scraps of the witch’s life force over the years. Hammanga probably wasn’t even aware this was happening. Now those scraps have formed some kind of aggressive entity.

Like I said, I don’t fully understand this. But I can’t help wondering if it was something I did that triggered this ‘image’ to become aggressive. Before I started using my ‘gift’ the archaeologists never had any trouble in there.

Hearing about ‘scraps’ of someone’s life force merging to form something else sounds so crazy. After what happened to Maya, though, I’m ready for anything. Lailia has a solution to get rid of this ‘image’. She wasn’t willing to give me the details in writing. Instead she’s offered to have one of her spies meet me in the city and pass over instructions on how to nullify the thing.

Sounds great to me. Armbranch is rearing to go, too. I only hope it sounds just as good to Sara and she’ll agree to let us out of here for a while.

Still under curfew. Boring. Boring. Boring. I’ve written to Lailia to ask if she ever heard of a witch called Hammanga. Perhaps the Golden Eyes know more about her than this lot do.

We’ve been confined to our rooms. Turns out that all the archaeologist found in the passage the other night was a fast track ticket to Heaven. They don’t know what killed him. Nor did they send anyone else in there to investigate. They’ve quarantined the area and are planning to send some kind of spell in there to look around.

But at least Sara looked more her usual self when she updated us this morning. Okay, so the dregs of unease remained in the corner of her eyes. I saw fight there, too; fight and pride and an iron will. She admitted that the archaeologist’s death hadn’t shaken her as much as the fact that he was killed within these walls. It’s never happened before. Archaeologists occasionally died in the field, but nobody ever died in a Cadavat apothek.

She admitted that they think something might be loose in the complex. Hence the curfew. They’re planning to release some high-level search spells later to sweep the entire place. So now all we can do is wait and hope things don’t get too wild.

Armbranch raised the subject of getting his own Facebook page earlier. I can’t remember, but apparently I promised to do this for him a while back. I suppose it can’t do any harm although right now might not be the best time to set it up.

I wonder what he’ll write about.

My trip to the lair was cancelled today. Turns out that one of the archaeologists found something in the passage last night. I think Sara was telling the truth when she said she didn’t know what had been found there. But I saw an odd look in her eyes today, a look that could have been unease. I didn’t like that look—especially not on her face. In all the months I’ve known her I’ve never seen her rattled by anything. And something did rattle her. I knew it the moment I asked her if she was okay. She replied too quickly, too clumsily. The words seemed to almost tumble out of her mouth when she spoke.

Armbranch noticed it, too. He told me later that he saw a slight tremble in her hands when she spoke about the lair. And that made Armbranch nervous. He’s still nervous. So am I. I guess we’ll stay that way until Sara returns. She promised to update us again later tonight or early in the morning.

Well today was certainly an anti-climax. I didn’t sense a single thing within the witch’s lair. Not even a shadow. And even now, five hours after leaving the place, I still don’t know whether I’m relived or disappointed. I supposed it’s a bit of both. At least I got a good look around inside the main section of the lair. Or should I say I got a good look around at the shadows within the lair. No matter how high I raised the wick on the oil lantern Sara gave me, the light barely penetrate the blanket of gloom that permeated every nook and cranny in the place. All I saw were hanging things—shelves, a table, a stool, and lots and lost of wooden chests all suspended from the ceiling by roots.

There was a hammock, too. But Sara didn’t class that as furniture and she’d already instructed me not to touch it. It’s odd, but once my time was up and Sara called me out, I felt strangely cheated. At first I thought my ‘gift’ had failed. But once I told the others what had happened Sara blamed it on the wooden shoes the senior archaeologist had insisted I wear. Though I went in there both times with bare feet, and the floor of the passage was okay to walk on, they didn’t want me touching any of the reed mats strewn about the living area floor. I was happy enough with that explanation. I was also happy enough to hear that they want me to return there tomorrow barefoot—to examine the mats this time.

The meeting with the reporter didn’t go well yesterday. We had agreed in advance that the reporter needed to know what’s going on in order to keep quiet. But we’d also agreed it should be done slowly. I guess the reporter must have smelled blood because he immediately demanded to know what was going on. O’Heir said he got quite cheeky about it. Maya, however, told me later that the ‘disagreement’ erupted into a shouting match mainly because of the reporter’s arrest. She calmed them down and suggested they meet again in a week.

With any luck the reporter will have reflected on things by then. His attitude will change once he learns the truth. That’s guaranteed. Until then, though, it might be an idea to have Maya present whenever he meets O’Heir. It upsets me to hear about O’Heir losing his cool. Hell. He’s enough on his plate right now without putting up with more. I don’t care how pissed the reporter is. He needs to start showing some respect.

I won’t let anything jeopardise my friends or my trip home. As far as I’m concerned, the reporter has already take his first step towards the wind sentry.

I’ll be returning to the witch’s lair tomorrow. This time we’re planning it carefully. I’ve been so exhausted the past few days after the first visit we all agree I shouldn’t stay in there so long the next time. A quick visit. In and out. That’s all.

Sara’s suggested I take a stimulant before I enter. Stimulant! The word sent a shiver down my spine when I heard it. Luckily, though, a stimulant here and a stimulant back home are different things. She was talking about treating my muscles, rubbing something into them that might counteract the fatigue when I left the lair. The ‘stimulant’ didn’t affect the brain, only the muscles. And it was administered through a massage. When she told me Joesa would only be too happy to give me such a massage, the thoughts of re-entering the lair became altogether more enticing. When I suggested it might be wise to get a second massage once my investigating was done, Sara agreed.

Why not? The best Turkish masseurs at home couldn’t possibly match Joesa and I might as well milk this for all I can get. Besides, despite her rough tough ways, I like Joesa. I’m looking forward to seeing her again.

Sara told me that they want me to analyse the scraps of furniture in the lair this time. I honestly don’t know why. Then again, I honestly didn’t know why they only wanted me to analyse the passage the last time. I guess they know things about that place they don’t want to share. Suspicions, perhaps. And I can see the logic in not telling me those suspicions. I need to look around in there without any pre-loaded ideas in my mind.

It’ll be busy at home tomorrow, too—at least for O’Heir and Maya. They’re driving into Cavan town to meet the reporter. That should be interesting.

I was unusually tired today. I suppose it was something to do with going into the witch’s lair yesterday. Somehow that place seemed to sap my energy in a way I haven’t experienced anywhere before. I was okay while in there, and for an hour or two after I emerged. But as the evening grew longer I felt my muscles sag and weaken as if they were recovering after being under some intense strain. It might only be a reconstruction, but there is more to that witch’s lair that meets the eye.

When I explained this to Garigan earlier, he told me that some of the archaeologists reported a similar sensation. They figure it has something to do with the energy of the spells that were practiced in that place so long ago. Either that or it’s some lingering element of a defensive spell the witch used to protect her home. They’re still deciphering much of the books they found in there, but at this stage they’re almost certain the lair belonged to a witch called Hammanga. In the hierarchy of known witches, she wasn’t a main player. She was, however, important enough to earn a place in the history books. And that makes her extremely interesting to the Cadavat.

Sara arrived a short while ago and told us that the archaeologists have discovered traces of an unidentified element in the walls of the passage. They believe the bark was once steeped in this element and it was used by the witch to cloak her in a semi-invisible coat every time she ventured outside her lair. They’re excited about this discovery. So am I. But, even though I led them to it, I doubt if I’ll ever hear the full truth about it. If they do discover what this element was and how it works, they’ll keep it to themselves.

Don’t blame them really. I’d do exactly the same.

Entered the reconstructed witch’s lair today. And what an experience that was. They’d rebuilt it in one of the smaller caverns running off the maze of tunnels, laboratories, storerooms, and caves deep beneath this place that makes up the area known as the Cadavat apothek. They’d even piled up mounds of earth and sods around the doorway to give those entering the lair the impression they were entering a lair dug out of a small hill. And it worked. Perfectly. When I stood right outside the doorway, it was so easy to forget about the artificial floor and rock walls of the apothek tunnels and believe I was standing outside a doorway leading into an earthen hill.

Sara, Garigan, Armbranch, and two other Cadavat members (one was a doctor) accompanied me down there. But I suspect many more were interested but preferred to keep their numbers low so as not to distract me. Sara’s instructions were explicit. All I needed to do today was to examine the walls in the passage and use my ‘gift’ to see if I could draw any kind of visions or flashbacks from them. I wasn’t to go into the main portion of the lair.

They’d reconstructed the place so realistically my heart was thumping hard in my chest even before I eased open the door (camouflaged as a rock) and pushed my way through the wall of desiccated roots that dangled from the ceiling like a dried out snakes. Everything about the place was so real—the earthen floor, the bark walls, the darkness and chill. The smell of dirt, animal pelts, spices, tallow, and a hundred other things swept into my lungs and made me want to cough.

Though they claimed the witch was long dead, it was so very easy to imagine she was still in there, lurking farther along the passage, just waiting for me. I was happy enough to take Sara’s advice. After taking no more than five or six steps along the passage, I stopped, laid both hands on the spongy wall, and closed my eyes.

My gift went to work immediately.

A figure appeared in my mind, a small figure dressed in a pale brown robe that bustled down along the passage from the depths of the lair. I was glad the robe covered her face. She stopped a few yards ahead of me and started to massage her back against the wall. And the more she massaged it, the more that brown robe darkened. At first I thought she was rubbing dirt on herself as camouflage. Then I noticed that small strips of the bark were peeling away and wrapping themselves around her. Within no time she was covered in some type of black web that made her almost invisible. The whole thing was so realistic I half expected to hear shouts of panic outside when she walked past me and disappeared out the door.

The vision stopped then. And I couldn’t get out of the place quick enough. When I told the others what I’d seen, Sara became quite excited and kept telling my what a good job I’d done. Coming from her, it was quite a compliment. She took us upstairs to the canteen where chef had prepared a fine meal of fish, some type of root vegetable, and a creamy dessert.

I still haven’t found out the significance of the vision. But I do know that a team of archaeologists were sent into the lair shortly after Sara reported our findings. They believe there’s something hidden in the walls, something possibly magical. Sara promised to tell me what it is once they know themselves. I believe her. I only hope it’s not going to take forever, just like everything else here seems to take forever.

She also wants me to return to the lair, but maybe not for a few days yet, not until the archaeologists are done. I’m okay with that. I will admit, though, that I’m sort of looking forward to seeing what’s deeper in the lair. Okay, every time I close my eyes, I still see the witch. But I also feel a sense of power and purpose I haven’t felt in a long time, not since the Golden Eyes wanted me to help them investigate Lord Gullivan’s crypt. It’s nice to see the proof that the Cadavat need me just as much as I need them.

The only problem is Armbranch. I think he feels slightly left right now. I must talk with Sara, ask if he can come with me next time.

Well, the laptop didn’t desert me. And, somehow, I always knew it wouldn’t. It’s still sick, though. At times, when I switch it on, I find myself caressing it like I was caring for a sick child. The flickering hasn’t completely stopped, but it’s certainly not as bad. I guess I did something right when I dismantled and reassembled it. Either that or somebody here is managing to play a very sick joke on me.

After all, they do have magic, don’t they? Why wouldn’t they mess with my head to make me vulnerable?

Deep down I know it’s only paranoia. Yet I’ve learned the hard way that anything is possible in this place. I mentioned this to Garigan when he turned up this morning. He was truly shocked. I think he thought I was joking at first. But when it sank in that I was serious, he denied the Cadavat would ever try such a thing. When I reminded him of those little ‘connection’ issues I had a few weeks back he hummed and hawed a bit before telling me that cutting a connection wasn’t a huge problem here. To cause the laptop to malfunction would take a lot more planning and he figured the Cadavat would play silly games like that.

We haven’t seen much of Garigan lately, and I was glad it was he who brought the news that the reconstruction was finished and Sara would like me to go in there on Thursday. Once the details were ironed out (and there weren’t many), Garigan brought me and Armbranch to the canteen where a cask of ale was tapped and waiting.

We drank a nice sup this afternoon. We laughed a lot, too.