I walked along the street of a city I should not be in, wearing clothes which were not mine. A runaway wrapped in stolen goods. I had created trouble for my family, and was very likely inconveniencing a traveller. Hopefully not for very long. But temporary borrowing without permission was still theft, and contrary to the laws the clerics enforced according to the Great Maker. On the other hand, I was very likely to be dead if we were caught. It was clearly better to inconvenience some people than to die in exile, quarantined to keep the Pure safe from a magical corruption which was not even real.

Or so Skids said. Skids, the mage. Skids, the mage drone. Skids, who was neither man nor woman. It had been easy to think of our foes as something other than people, but after only a few interactions with drome, it was clear that dro was a person. But not one who fit into any known category. Facing such an unknown was unsettling. What should I expect? How should I react? How should I act?

When talking with women, I knew how they would be judging me. I was not always great at performing well and meeting their expectations, but I did have a decent working understanding of their expectations. I had some idea of how men judged me too, though I had less experience with that. There were consequences to being promised to a man I had never met, some good and some potentially otherwise. That could become a problem in the very near future. In the meantime, I was stuck with the problem of not really knowing how to relate to Skids. What does a young woman say to a drone? What does a drone expect of anyone? And outside of that, what did a mage expect of one of the Pure?

"Run this by me again. We're intentionally going to see this 'butcher', who is also the person you've been selected to live with permanently and produce offspring with exclusively?"

"That is correct," I said. I shivered a little at the cool easterly breeze that had come as night fell. My two layers of clothing were not enough to keep me from feeling a chill.

"And you've never met this... man?"

"No, but I have seen a picture of him."

"A drawing? A painting?"

"A photograph." I tried to suppress the shivers. I mostly succeeded.

"Really, you have photos?"

"Of course! You may have noticed that mirrors and lenses are very significant here. I'm more surprised that you would be familiar with photos, since you are cre— er, people of darkness."

Skids made a sound of disappointed disgust. "We live underground and usually avoid the sun — mostly to avoid meeting your kind — but that doesn't mean it's dark. We have magelights."

"A mockery of the Maker's true light," I said automatically. In the limited teachings on mages, that was a common phrase.

"If we weren't where we are, I'd show you right now. Later. Um... but if you can take photos, how do you scry them?"

"What?"

There was an awkward silence for several steps. "Never mind, that's way off topic. Your butcher. Why do you think jur will help us?"

"Jur?"

"He provides food, so falls into the conjurer role. Jur. Yes I know that you would say 'he' but you don't even have hexmages so that makes no sense."

"You need to get used to saying 'he' and 'him' if you don't want to get noticed," I said, quickly growing frustrated, and hoping we were walking the right way. I only had a general idea of where Mister Timothy Douglas's shop and home were located, and reading the names on buildings was growing difficult.

"Alright, alright, just tell me why you think it's a good idea for us to walk right up from the very person I'm trying to save you from?"

This again? "One, I do not need saving from marriage. Two, I do not think it is a 'good' idea, just the best chance we have of finding someone who might be sympathetic. Maybe I can talk him into doing something to help keep me alive."

"Why should ju — sorry, he — care? He doesn't get what he was promised, either way. Why would one of your people help you break the law and escape?"

"Maybe there is a way I can return to him some day?" I had to hold onto some hope that I would not be leaving my world forever. Otherwise, this was more frightening than merely moving cities. 'Merely', as if the thought of living two rail stops away from my family had not been weighing on my mind only one night previous.

"The medication's clearly still affecting your head, Charity. What makes you think they would ever allow you back? And why would you want to return to people who would throw you out and let you die for no good reason, just so they can force you to... to produce offspring for someone?"

I shook my head. Skids just did not understand. Perhaps dro could not understand. "Force? No, it is my duty. Each generation owes a debt to the previous, and pays it off to the next."

"You don't owe anyone anything," Skids said, with such force that I felt myself believing, for a moment.

"I owe you for the medication. Did I thank you for that yet?"

"You gave me directions yesterday, so now we're even. And you helped me find the bakery and I got you in this whole exile pitfall. If anyone owes anyone, I owe you, which is why I'm trying to help you right now. And I'm not so sure that letting you walk into this butcher's place would actually be helping. What's to stop him from immediately turning us in?"

"He would have to leave us to do that. And if it goes badly, you have your magic knockout glove."

"Aetheric discharge."

I shrugged. "Sure, that. But please do not threaten or incapacitate him right away. We are both hungry but I would prefer not having to steal food. We cannot return food."

"We could pay for it later. Actually, your clerics should pay for it, because they took all my coins."

"You destroyed a log wagon and bent the rails!"

"It isn't my fault the wagon didn't have working automatic brakes."

"The destruction of Nearton's Bend... Oh, we're here." I was relieved to have a reason to put an end to that argument. "Before we go in, I should warn you: he is missing a hand."

"A hand? As in, it was cut off?"

"I do not actually know the story about it, just that he has a hook in place of his left hand."

"He has a mean left hook, got it."

"I can't believe I'm asking this, but can you fix a missing hand with magic?"

"Not even a smile?" Skids said, sounding disappointed.

"Pardon?"

"Never mind. No, magic doesn't work like that. We can make a decent looking fake hand though, and use magic to move the fingers. Or just lock them in place, which is simpler and more common."

"Do drones lose limbs often?"

"Sometimes accidents happen when moving or operating heavy equipment and machinery. I think casters and conjurers get hurt more than us. Miners particularly. But the titans can make a fake limb that works as well as a real one. Feels the same too, I've heard. Only rumours though. No one likes actually dealing with the titans directly if they can help it."

"Why not?"

"I'll tell you another time. You're stalling."

"Oh." Skids was right. We had been standing before the residential doorway to 'Douglas Cuts' for over a minute. I stared at the foreboding entrance for a little longer. The door was ordinary varnished wood, with a brass handle. Nothing out of the ordinary. But once I knocked, I could not take it back. This was like jumping onto the train all over again, except this was less directly illegal and more socially complex. If I knocked, I would have to convince someone I did not know to give me shelter from the law instead of turning me in. If I did not knock...

"Well? It's only getting colder standing here."

I shivered uncontrollably, my left hand most of all.

I had to knock.

I knocked.

"No one's gonna hear that."

Using my uninjured right hand, I rapped the door with my knuckles as hard as I could manage. "Ow!" Perhaps too hard.

"Who is there?" a male voice called from above.

Realising that I had failed to prepare a response, I knocked again with less force. After a few empty seconds, heavy footsteps decended and drew nearer. The handle turned and the door cracked open a few centimetres. It was too dark to see inside.

"Who are you and why are you disturbing me after nightfall?" an audibly grumpy man asked. The door opened a little further. "Women? What is this?"

"Er, I, Charity Wilison. Me, I, um... that is me. And I need help. Your help. Well, someone's help. But I did not know anywhere else to turn."

"Well now, this is highly irregular. You should have gone to the clerics... no, I do not suppose that would be... Very well, you had better come on up."

The door opened fully, revealing the man I was promised to. A light pot hang from his hook, providing some illumination. He was tall and broad, but thinner than I had expected. His photograph had shown a light tan complexion, but either the lighting or circumstances made him look quite pale now. While I did not have a strong preference, I knew that paler people tended to sunburn more easily, mostly because Kim would not shut up about the subject. His sandy hair was just long enough to be attractively messy, and he had a button nose which I honestly found quite delightful. It made him look younger than the thirty years I knew him to be. Behind his confusion and annoyance, his eyes seemed sad. All those emotions were quite reasonable.

"Are you going to stand there gawking, or come in so I can close the door?" he asked, belatedly stepping aside so we could actually enter.

"Thank you, Mister Douglas. And I am sorry for bothering you like this. But we need..." I stopped talking, as the sound of our shoes on the stairs overpowered my voice as effectively as a steam engine.

"Please, sit. And you may call me Timothy."

"Thank you, Timothy," I said, failing to keep my voice from quivering. I was still cold. "I suppose you should call me Charity." I had a big favour to ask and being standoffish would not help.

Timothy set down the pot of mushrooms in the middle of a low table, and I took a seat in the ugly but surprisingly comfortable green couch. After spending hours on top of a railway carriage, I supposed anything cushioned would feel comfortable. Timothy sat in a brown leather armchair facing me, and Skids passed between us to sit on my right.

"Well then. Charity, I am somewhat familiar with you, having discussed you with your father. But as for your companion..." He turned a little to address Skids. "Would you kindly tell me who you are, where you are from, and what your business is with my intended?"

"I am known as Skids Dro, of Wonambi, City of Darkness, City of Magic, where the blind fish stares and the water spouts. I'm trying to make sure Charity doesn't die from the injury to her hand, because it's partly my fault that she lost her chance at being healed by your clerics. That was conditional on my involvement in an extremely unpleasant 'ceremony' though, so you can't really blame me for that. And I'm hoping to find us some food. Please."

I groaned rather audibly. "Skids! Why?"

Skids shrugged insolently. "Seemed best to be honest about it."

"The mage," Timothy said, looking back to me. "And she thinks her people are better able to help you than the clerics."

"Actually..." I began.

"That isn't important," Skids interrupted. "I'm sure your clerics are able to fix up Charity but they definitely aren't at all willing."

"And the mages are willing to provide healing to an outsider?" Timothy seemed remarkably unconcerned by the presence of a mage in his house. Remarkably unsurprised too.

"I figure I'll owe a few favours, but sure, I can make that happen," Skids said. I suspected it was not as simple as dro made it sound.

"Timothy, you seem..." I glanced at Skids, unsure of what exactly to ask.

"The news that Charity Wilison was missing and possibly in the presence of an escaped dark fiend calling itself 'Mary' was sent out over the heliograph," Timothy said.

That explained a few things, but not all. "But why did you let her in?" I would have said 'drome', but it would have only resulted in confusion and explanations, and Skids had said it didn't matter at the moment.

"You did not appear concerned about her presence, and given our status, I saw fit to trust you."

He trusted me. No one had ever told me that, not about anything serious. "I... thank you, Timothy." Given the circumstances, it felt very undeserved. "But... if I go with Skids, I do not know if I will ever be allowed to return. To you. Do you understand?"

"We do not need to set that junction until we reach it," Timothy said. "Worry not, if I can assist you in avoiding death, I shall do so. If and when you may return, that is the Great Maker's business. No mortal knows what circumstances may yet arise." The words made me feel a little warmer, and not so worried. However, I was still shivering.

"So you'll help us. Great," Skids said. "The sooner we can get Charity to Yiwarra, the better. That's close to Nearton's Bend. Er, Nearton's Gap."

We sat in sober silence for several seconds.

"I presume you came by train?" Timothy asked. When we nodded, he continued with, "Why not do that again tomorrow? Slipping away when the train stops to offload would be risky, but you should be able to find a way with your... magic."

Skids shook dro's head. "No, I'm worried she doesn't have that long. Do you have a cart we could use? And food, don't forget the food."

"A horse cart? To Nearton's Bend? Do you know how far it is from here?"

"Not from memory," Skids said. "I'd have to check my map to see precisely how far along we would need to set off on foot."

"Please do," Timothy said.

We waited while Skids rummaged through dro's backpack for the map. This turned out to be a grey box about the size of a small chopping board, and twice as thick. One side looked like dark glass, and it was decorated with orange trim. "Let's see," dro said, and pressed a bump on the side of the box.

Green lights appeared within the glassy surface. I jerked away.

Skids made a sound of exasperation. "Calm down, Charity. It's just a picture."

I leaned close again and examined the lights. They formed lines and symbols. Words. The script was strange, but understandable with some effort. "What is this?"

"Scryer," Skids said unhelpfully.

I considered what I was seeing and compared it to what I knew. "It is like an image projected on a wall, but without any lenses. How does it work?"

"Crystals," Skids said.

"Really?"

"Perhaps." Dro was busy adjusting a pair of levers, one which moved along the left side of the box, and the other along the front side. A small green circle was moving in concert with the levers. Dro pressed another bump, and the lights changed dramatically. Dro moved the levers again, adjusting the circle until it was within a rectangle containing the word 'maps'. Dro poked the bump again, and the lights changed even more dramatically. I recognised the resulting pattern as a map.

"How...?"

"Magic. And aether. Mostly aether? Um, it's communing through a mystic bond with the de... Stop asking questions and let me work." I shut up and let Skids work. After a few more rounds of operating the levers and the bump, dro looked up from the scryer. "About sixty-seven kilometres, looks like. "Then five-ish to the entrance."

"You can forget about arriving any sooner by horse," Timothy said. "Waiting for the train is your best option."

"Is there any chance we could take a train... sooner than scheduled? Tonight, for instance?" Skids asked.

My shiver returned with a vengeance. My left hand was practically spasming.

"Taking a night train? That would be suicide!" I heard Timothy say, loud, but distant.

"Would a magelight help?" Skids asked distantly.

The spasms grew worse. The room began to spin. Or was I spinning? "Stop spinning," I muttered.

Voices said some more things, and there was frantic movement. Some time flowed by.

"Try to relax, Charity." That was Skids, holding a cool, wet cloth to my head.

"'m cold," I mumbled.

"No, you have a fever."

"Tim'thy?"

"He's gone for help. Just relax, and drink some water." A wooden tumbler touched my lips and I sipped from it.

"Help here?"

"Nah, he said he knows a guy who might be able to fix our transport problem and owes him a favour. I think he might be up to something shady though. A lot of this just doesn't sit well with me."

"You don't sit well with me." That was a lot more honest than I'd meant to be, but my thoughts kept bubbling out into words.

"Heh. Fair enough. He said we could pack some food to take though. Then we're meant to meet him south of the railyard in an hour. Forty-five minutes now. He pointed it out on my scryer's map. Or we could try to make a run for it. But you're in pretty bad shape. Do you think it's worth the risk? We could try hiding out and waiting for tomorrow, but... I honestly don't like your chances."

Hiding out sounded miserable. I'd come this far. Might as well keep moving forward. I felt I could trust Timothy. I hoped I could trust Timothy.

"Alright, we'll do it," Skids said. I must have said some of that out loud. I wasn't sure what exactly. "I hope he has something edible."

After a couple more minutes, I felt cogent enough to help Skids ransack the pantry. I found a slightly stale loaf of bread, cheese which seemed fresh enough, and some sad tomatoes and lettuce. There was also some decent roast beef and some smoked meats, all of which Skids turned down. Dro sliced the bread and cut the other ingredients, and I assembled them into sandwiches.

"I thought you were hungry now," I said as I cleaned up.

"I found an apple while you were recovering from your... episode. And maybe some cinnamon rolls." Dro looked slightly guilty. "You really had me worried. I thought you were putting on a show at first, to convince your Timothy to help us, but... There's something badly wrong with you."

"Thanks," I said flatly. That was harsh.

"Hey, it's not your fault."

"Probably is," I said. "We should leave the clothes we 'borrowed'. One theft at a time."

"I don't think we're actually stealing the train, but if you insist. I'm keeping Gloria's dress though."

I had no energy to argue. Neatly folding the travelling dresses was enough to concentrate on. Once it was done to my satisfaction, I took a long look around. This could have been my home. Now it most likely would not. Either way, I wanted to see.

What I saw was not greatly inviting. The shelves were dusty, and there were many empty spaces. Clearly, many items had been either lost or packed away. The fishtank stood dark and empty. Newspapers and leaflets were stacked haphazardly on one end of the dining room table. This was clearly the house of a man who had lost a wife.

"Here, put this around you. So you don't get too cold outside." Skids handed a square of folded fabric. I shook it out and saw that it was a very thin silver blanket, wide enough to wrap around my shoulders and long enough to reach my knees while standing.

I was unsure of how a blanket so thin could help much. "Thanks?"

"It will keep the wind off you, and is meant to retain your body heat, I think. Oh, and it's fireproof!"

"Great," I said as unenthusiastically as I could muster. Fire was even more forbidden than magic.

"Let's go. No reason to stick around any longer. Do you have everything?"

I made sure my handbag was slung over my shoulder. "Yes. You?"

"The sandwiches are securely wrapped in the so-called butcher's paper, and are in the top of my pack. I even topped up my water bottle, just to be on the safe side."

There was nothing more to be said. I took one more look around the sad, quiet home. I prayed silently that the Great Maker would arrange for the right woman to bring some life back to it.

Skids helped me navigate down the noisy stairs, worried that I might lose my balance or go into spasms again. We made it down without incident.

The street was dark and foreboding. While the house had been a place which ought to have been lively, the street was unlit nothingness, with next to nothing to differentiate between the shades of emptiness, possible hidden danger, and imagined menace. None of the welcoming qualities of a place of daytime human transit persisted after nightfall.

Fortunately the sky was cloudless. The stars helped us see where the buildings were, and as our eyes adjusted to their minor illumination, we were a little more confident in our steps. That is, I felt a little more confident. I do not know what Skids felt, as dro said nothing and I could not see dro's face.

Skids silently led me to our destination without getting lost or needing to check dro's map. That was good, as the light of the scryer may have drawn the notice of citizens, which was something we were specifically working to avoid. The only sign that we had arrived was a faint glow coming up from the bottom of a ladder to the sublevel of the city. We very carefully clambered down to Timothy.

"Good, you made it, and Carlos is ready to go," he said quietly.

"Carlos?" I had missed a lot of details of this plan. Just about all the details, in fact.

"He is... a friend of a friend. A railway engineer. He is doing a special night run to the Gap, to test out a new... well I probably should not say. The important thing is, he was meant to do this next week, but to return a favour he has pulled some levers to get it moved up to tonight. All you need to do is get in the railcar, wait, and leave when he stops for you. No questions, no interaction with him, and you never mention any of this to anyone. Understand?"

"We see nothing, we know nothing, this never happened," Skids said, sounding like dro was rather enjoying this.

"Yes," I agreed. "Thank you, really."

"I... think it is for a good cause," Timothy said. I wasn't sure what he meant by that, but asking questions did not seem right. "I will ask the Great Maker that we may meet again, or if not, that you will be safe and blessed wherever you go."

"I will pray the same," I said, and meant it. Father had at least found and chosen a good man.

We followed Timothy for a minute's walk down the tunnel to where our ride waited. A simple boxcar was linked behind a steam engine. It was not the Low Energy Medium Load class of engine like was used for yard shunting, or a Medium Energy Medium Load class like the one that had facilitated our rather leisurely trip from Forrester's Crossing to Deepbloom. No, this was a High Energy Low Load class. A sprinter, for high priority personnel transport, or critical messages which could not be sent over heliograph. It would take us to our destination in a mere hour. Not our final destination though, as there would be some walking required.

Timothy held his lantern high, to help us see the rungs we would need to scale to enter the boxcar. Instead, I looked at his face in the greenish-yellow glow of the lantern fluid. With his button nose and sandy hair, he might have been the cutest man...

He opened the railcar door with his hook hand. "Off you go, before Carlos leaves without you. The steam will not last all night."

"Is his name actually Carlos?" I wondered aloud as I climbed inside.

"Maker bless," was all he said in reply.

"Maker bless," I returned as I moved out of Skids' way. We slid the door shut and made sure it was secure. After a short wait — presumably for Timothy to walk clear — the train began to creep forward. Although the train was not being stolen, I knew that it would not do to disturb the residents of Deepbloom with the sounds of a full speed train after dark.

"I'd bet 'Carlos' is testing some kind of eye-enhancing tonic that lets him see in the dark. Your people probably don't want us mages knowing about that," Skids said after a minute of sitting in darkness.

"Hmm," I said, not really caring. We were on our way to a place that promised to give me the healing I needed, and not a moment too soon. That was what really mattered.

"Lets see how those sandwiches turned out," Skids said, and started unpacking them. Dro first took out the wrapped package, then fished out the scryer, and then used light from the scryer to see well enough to unwrap our food.

We ate in relative silence. The sandwiches were decent enough, given the bad state of Timothy's pantry.

"There's nothing to do but wait," Skids said after we cleaned our hands with a few drops of water and tidied away the discarded paper. "I need a nap. Wake me if anything happens." Dro arranged the stolen sack and dress as a pillow, and was soon lightly snoring, leaving me alone with my thoughts.