“So in the end,” said Hannah, “we didn’t find anything.” They stepped back into the main thoroughfare, the crowds having thinned. The lights had also dimmed somewhat, giving the impression of night falling.

“Nonsense,” said Dr. Wen, smiling wryly, “we found plenty. For instance, now we know who not to ask.”

She growled. “And that helps us how?”

“It narrows our search, certainly.”

“Yeah, three out of a million people. So narrow.”

“Look on the bright side,” he said, stopping at the agreed meeting place—a small bar with a purple facade and cheap drinks. “We met the legendary Winnie the—”

“No-one gives a shit about Winnie the Pooh!”

“Apologise to children everywhere.”

They took two seats at the bar, earning a poisonous glare from the barkeeper when they ordered water. It wasn’t their fault—they’d learned the hard way Pounds Sterling was no longer legal tender.

Sitting in bloated silence, Hannah sighed, staring down at her glass.. They’d spent the entire day searching for clues and found nothing. Slowly, every shred of hope she held of rescuing Jack disappeared, ripped away by cold reality. Still, she had to keep going. Once they all gathered, they could reconfigure and streamline their plan before trying again tomorrow.

They’d have to find somewhere to sleep, first. She wondered what Jack would do at a time like this.

Probably trick the barkeep into opening a tab, then run off before he’d paid it. The thought gave her a smile.

A scraping sound broke her reverie, and she looked up to see Lizzie pulling up a stool. Next to her was a man around four feet tall with matted brown hair and a beard to his feet, wearing a thick leather apron and metal bracelets and an honest-to-Dragula axe on his back.

“Look what I foond,” said Lizzie, nodding at the man.

Hannah raised an eyebrow, jaw slack. “Is that a dwarf?”

The man bristled. “Oi! Only we can say that word.”

“Oh, shut up!” she said. “Why don’t you clear off back to the right genre? There’s no Dark Lords or dragons here for that axe to slay, and no hobbits to give it to!”

“An axe, you say?” Dr. Wen cupped his chin. “Can you play Stairway to Heaven?”

“You can plainly see it’s not that kind of axe!” said Hannah, whirling around and glaring.

Sighing, Lizzie rubbed her forehead. “Ye’re both idiots.”

Hannah snapped back around. “Who’s the real idiot here, huh? We were meant to find help, not the author’s D&D character!”

“Naw,” said Lizzie, “this is the author’s D&D character.”

She reached to the side, pulling by the hips a lithe, green-skinned woman with pointed ears and a leather overcoat—she plucked at a lute, leaning into Lizzie’s grip with a smirk.

“How sensual.”

Kicking her away, Hannah seethed. “No-one cares! Tell me how this is supposed to help us find Jack!” Though she’d suffered setbacks herself, this was ridiculous. What had the others spent their precious time doing? Every second counted, as far as she was concerned. And where the hell was Lydia?

“Well,” said Lizzie, “this is Vorin Halfbeard, a runesmith. Course, he doesnae know shit aboot time travel, cause nae-one does, but it’s the best we’re gettin’.”

Tears streaming from her eyes, Hannah clasped Lizzie’s hand. Thank everything they’d actually brought someone competent. “I’m sorry I doubted you—I’ve been with an idiot all day and I guess it made me cynical.”

“I resent that,” said Dr. Wen, clearing his throat.

“Then bugger off and play with your HARDON,” she replied.

“Sounds naughty,” said Vorin, stroking his beard. “Can I join in?”

They all stared at him. “I can see how you’d think that…” said Hannah.

“But that’s no’ what it means,” finished Lizzie.

He scoffed. “Whatever. So, you going to show me these runes or not?”

“Yes,” said Dr. Wen, “well, we do still seem to be missing a member.”

Lizzie glanced around. “Och, where is she then? We said to meet here, noo; maybe she’s in trouble?”

“It’s Lydia,” said Hannah, sighing. “She normally is the trouble.”

“True enough.” Tapping a finger on the bar, Lizzie shook her head. “What’s the bettin’ it’s some kind of bullshit? Was she even listenin’ when we made the plan?”

“Well,” said Dr. Wen, “she did wander off.”

“Who wouldn’t want to wander away from you?” muttered Hannah.

“Anyway, should we begin a search party?”

Suddenly, the lights dimmed further, and everyone in the thoroughfare turned to face a holographic projection on the ceiling. A cube sprang into being, displaying a scrolling row of trading cards before settling on a logo.

“Tonight,” boomed an announcer’s voice, velvety and powerful, “witness the greatest spectacle the universe has to offer! Complete with state-of-the-art holographic projections, enjoy the tournament to end all tournaments—who will take home the title of Future Magic King?”

The display switched to a montage of people—most eccentrically-dressed—commanding monsters and fictional characters to do battle for them. One showed a dragon spewing flames from every orifice, and another a warrior beheading that same dragon.

Hannah stammered. “Wait…”

“That sounds rather fun, actually,” said Dr. Wen.

“Find your way to the game arena at eight to find out. Will we see any surprises? And most importantly…”

Again the hologram changed, now showing a full-body profile of a woman with chestnut red hair, a billowing cloak, and a horned domino mask.

“Will anyone be able to dethrone our champion?”

Her chin hitting the floor, Hannah’s heart did somersaults. “That’s not who I think it is, right?”

“I think it might be…” said Lizzie, rubbing her eyes.

How dare she? After all the agonising Hannah had done—the scratching and clawing to find any way to bring back her friend, to become the saviour, the hero she wanted to be—how could this woman decide to just swan off and play cards?

She was starting to see Jack’s point about her.

“I can’t believe it…” she said.

“Aye, it is pretty weird,” said Lizzie, nodding. “Hoo did she become champion in a day?”

Colour almost invaded Hannah’s grey cheeks as she clenched her jaw. “That’s not the issue!”

“I say,” said Dr. Wen, “that is certainly one way of playing your cards right.”

Hannah blinked. Then, she dumped her water over his head.

***

“It’s easy, you do it like this: NO!”

Just cause that was the end of last chapter doesn’t mean there’s not another passage in the middle, moron! Don’t confuse the readers like that.

“Oh, my mistake—shall we do a recap?”

No!

He had awoken clasped to Salia’s chest, in a bed bigger than his office. That was a bit creepy, he thought—it made him feel like some kind of pet. Still, she didn’t seem to look down on him—figuratively, anyway—so he decided to let it go. It was probably lonely atop the beanstalk.

After a breakfast of fruit—worm-free, this time—she invited him to tour the gardens with her. Gardens. She had a full-blown ecosystem out there and she called it a garden. More of his scale-based assumptions were wrong, too; what he called a castle, she considered a cottage.

Plus, each of her strides was worth ten of his. It must have felt like walking in slow motion, stopping every step to let him catch up. They played this out in the morning sun, notes of earth and flowers and spring touching his nostrils, birdsong washing over them.

He hadn’t noticed the day before, but a path wound through the meadows from the back of the building. It was wide—giant-sized—and cobbled. Wandering along this, Salia quivered with excitement as she pointed out blurring shapes among the greenery. Squirrels frolicking, apparently.

Watching her melted something inside. Rather than a thirty-foot giant, it was like he observed a four-inch kitten fresh from the womb, finding wonder in every corner. She strode through trees and brush, towering over it all, but still treating even the tiniest life with care and attention. Her steps were measured and precise. Everything she did, she did gently.

Much like the way she’d held him—as though she might break him any second. Which, he realised, she could. If she wanted, she could crush him into the dirt with minimal effort. He’d never felt more vulnerable.

“All the more reason for you to run like Hell, then.”

Why, though? He watched her beckon birds to perch on her finger, then coo over them. What’s she actually gonna do?

“All it takes is one fit of anger.” Razor threw an image of her crossing her arms at him. “When you could be climbing down and finding us a way home.”

Oi, weren’t you the one who told me to explore the past?

“Yes, but not like this!”

How, then?

She sputtered for a second before growing silent. Jack inclined his head, surveying Salia as she caroused among some deer. She turned to him, beaming.

“Jack!” she said, “don’t you want to come and play?”

Chuckling nervously, he eyed one of the creatures. A little taller than him with forked antlers and a piercing glare, the beast hadn’t taken its eyes from him. He stepped forward. The deer huffed.

“I think I’m alright,” said Jack, rubbing the back of his head.

Shrugging, Salia left the deer behind and beckoned him to follow. The place was bigger than he’d given it credit for, and their trek had taken most of the morning. As the sun peaked, she led him to a clearing, bright and green and mossy. Salia took up most of the space crouching. In the centre lay a pond, from which a fox drank lazily.

She pointed at the roots of a tree, a mighty oak almost as tall as her. There, a pair of slender foxes lay fussing over a ball of fluff, licking and grooming and nuzzling.

“They had a baby!” She giggled, her wide smile dimpling her cheeks. Jack felt his own grow hotter.

“Yeah,” he said, “cute.” And it was, kind of, but it was hard to feel fluffy when he figured the thing would probably die horribly, sooner or later. Hell, it could fall off. The woods around them were thick enough to dim the light, so how would one know?

“Salia,” he said, scratching his chin, “aren’t you ever worried about falling off the edge?”

She eyed him, pursing her lips. “Not really. I just stay away.”

That made sense. “Still,” he said, “don’t you ever, you know…” Pointing down, he nodded to the floor. “Head downstairs?”

“Why would I do that?” She gestured outward. “I have everything I need here.”

“Well, because…” Sighing, he racked his brain. He knew the answer, of course, but he struggled to put it into words. Why was uncertainty and suffering preferable, again? “Because there’s so much more. Beauty beyond imagination, things you couldn’t have seen in your wildest dreams…”

“And humans.” She clenched her jaw as she spoke, looking away.

“What did they do to you?”

The silence grew pregnant, threatening to suffocate him as she stared at her feet. Eventually, she said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

That was fair. They’d only known each other a day, and there were plenty of things he wouldn’t share with an almost-stranger.

That didn’t stop disappointment pricking him. More and more, he found himself wanting to understand the strange giant, to know exactly what made her who she was. But he couldn’t try rushing trust.

All he could do was give it time.