The very noisy room turned out to be the kitchen, which was divided from the dining room by proper doors- the sliding kind and not a painting. It was, after all, a very messy business to bring food through a painting and all the worse if you accidentally spilled something. Peering in, Cindy looked and saw the Guardian himself, scrambling to arrange a salad of carrots, cherry tomatoes, lettuce, onions and cucumbers while the wild aromas of buttered bread and eggs and sausages and hash browns and mushrooms and baked beans made a delight of the atmosphere.

When she had begun tip-toeing in, he was still busy putting dressing over the salad in a presentable fashion. As he slowly moved the stream of thousand-island dressing in a light zig-zag across the surface of his arrangement, the girl snuck up behind him and...

Boo!

He jumped up with a "yelp" and became, suddenly, very stiff as he gave the bottle a rough shake and practically threw its contents every which way so that little bits of dressing went onto the fringe of his hair and on her hands and on her lips and on the table and the shelves. Mess aside, the frightful look on the Guardian's face was nothing short of ecstasy to young Cindy. All her life she had seen jump-scares done, and she had even had them done to her, but since no one could ever hear her, she made no bother of doing it herself. Making the Guardian crack then was what you might call, a dream come true and she did nothing to hide that fact. Her laugh, though silent to her, became, to him, far louder than her shout or the clanking and the sizzling and it went on even after she began to feel a very jolly aching in her sides and on her cheeks. Through his rose-tinted lenses, the Guardian looked upon the girl's wild posture and put aside his annoyance and considered her darling.

Good morning to you too.

Why thank you.

Are you well rested?

More than I ever remember being!

I am glad to hear it. Well why don't you take a seat at the table. I'm almost done.

Anything I could do to help?

Nonsense! You are my guest. Please, make yourself at home. (realising the contradiction)

The two were unnaturally amused by that happy, borderline punny accident but they kept their laughter brief so as to move breakfast along. Guardian eventually relented to receiving help and when they got to the table, being twelve-year-olds who had missed their dinner, they were far too busy gobbling their food to say much of anything to each other for a while afterwards. When breakfast was finished, the two laid back on their chairs and let out satisfied groans before speaking again at last; and calmly finishing their hot bowls of tea and their glasses of orange juice as they conversed.

By the pinky! Those eggs were inexcusably salty.

Oh... do you think so?

Yes and I adore them for it.

Ah yes. Me too.

Happy to meet another salt-tooth?

Most definitely. (after a pause) Is salt-tooth a term?

I'm not quite sure. I've heard my mother and her fellows mention sweet-tooths a lot on the matter of desserts.

It's sweet-teeth, I think.

I do believe I have never heard anyone use that term in my life.

But I thought "teeth" was the plural of tooth?

It is... but the way I see it, a "sweet-tooth" is a title; a description by itself rather than a description and a word. In this it is a totally different word, hence a different... plural... thing.

Ah yes. Plural things.

Shut up! I'm a lyricist not a linguist.

Tomayto, tomahto. In any case, you must admit, your language is terribly inconvenient.

You're just grumpy from sleeping on the carpet all night.

I'll have you know my carpets are perfectly comfortable and I am perfectly capable of being grumpy on my own, thank you very much!

She had no real reason to doubt him on that first point (she didn't pay much attention to the second one). Whenever she recalled the feel of them against her feet, even through her socks, she found that there was no question in her heart that she would rather sleep on them than on the mattress at Cornelia's house. Still, his bed was not like hers and she was more than a little confused about why he didn't join her for the night since it was clearly big enough for three grown-ups; and they were both only two-thirds the size of the average grown-up. When she asked him about it, he became, suddenly, very quizzical. Looking up ever so slightly for a moment, as if coming to a realisation, he let out a distinct "huh" before giving his reply.

Come to think of it, I don't really know. I've just been told it is a very ungentlemanly thing to do.

Sleeping in your bed?

Sharing a bed with a girl.

Ah... well, I suppose so. (after a pause) But since when did you care about being a gentleman?

I honestly have no idea.

Well, consider my permission given for tonight. We can put pillows or clothes between us in that course. Far be it from me to steal your bed, after all. After all, I have never, in my life, felt anything so cosy.

It is, isn't it?

And that room! This house! This tree! This island! The wisps were so sweet and warm. The droplets were a little grumpy but even they had their own shimmering beauty. To live in such a place everyday.... (sigh)

Yes, it is all very impressive isn't it...

Impressive? It is magnificent! Oh you must show me around!

As you wish.

And not just the house, mind you. I want to fly around the tree and under the island and far above even the highest leaf.

Fly?

Oh. Uh... can't... Overseers.... fly? I have heard from some people that they- you- did that... sort of... thing.

Some can. I... can't.

Well then, maybe one of your parents could take me?

I don't think... I suppose Sue could- (realising).

Who's she?

No one. I meant to say Petalwalker. Sue's just a mock-fate from an old mission of ours.

And he very nearly managed the scam too until Cindy's response...

So, can I call her Susan?

... sent him into an obvious, frightful panic at the prospect of being branded a heretic.

I don't think she'd like that very much. Best to call her Petalwalker. More polite. You will know that mock-fates are a very private matter.

Oh but I think it'd be funny to see her face when I call her Susan.

Of course, Cindy said these things with no intention of snitching and every intention of watching the Guardian squirm- it was common knowledge, after all, that the true fates of Overseers were meant to be closely guarded secrets.

Please don't.

I know. Don't worry. Besides, she couldn't hear me even if I did.

Why not?

It was then that Cindy herself took a pause as a question she had spent a long time trying not to consider finally came to the front.

Should I tell him?

He has just committed heresy by accident.

And what if the gossipee had no other fellows to spread the gossip to.

You see, until you, he had not a fellow in all the Realms.

Perhaps he simply doesn't think to keep secrets from you?

If we asked for his own fate, would he give it?

Not now that he's thinking about it.

Come to think about it, it is quite sad that he has no other fellows.

You're one to talk.

And after his behaviour on the Eve, are you really surprised?

It is a bit odd that his mother hasn't mentioned it to him yet.

She probably assumes he knows.

Or, perhaps, she knows how or why he can hear me.

Methinks it a little odd but certainly not impossible.

But wouldn't it be funny if he didn't know and his mother mentioned it?

Indeed...

In any case, one thing is for certain...

Since the Chainbreaker knows about me...

Since Sue and the Boyscout have already met me...

Since the Guardian is still in the dark...

And since he would not know and still be silent about it...

I will receive no voice from their bracers.

A few other things came to her mind but these were the main considerations. And all throughout her ponderings, the Guardian made no attempt to force her onwards.

I'm a mute.

If only.

Surely not.

Afraid so. Have been since birth. Mute, I mean. Not afraid.

But I can hear you.

And only you, it seems.

Not even mother?

Neither mine nor yours.

And you're not pulling my leg?

What would even be my punchline?

You wouldn't really need one would you? You could simply snicker to yourself while I looked the fool helping you translate.

I'm mute, not deaf.

I meant the other way.

I can write. I have a notepad.

That sounds really frustrating for everyone involved.

It can be.

He didn't require much persuasion. It seemed that the way she said it and the look she gave afterwards was more than enough for the Guardian to be convinced of honesty. He fully believed her by the end of the first minute but he did not treat the revelation so casually as his mother had done. There was an obvious attempt to be a good sport about it and not to make Cindy feel in any way freak-ish but his mind was just as obviously racing through the implications. In any case, she was relieved at having it out in the open. And though she didn't show it much, she was plenty happy at how one of the quickest implications he had taken for granted- practically as an "of course" -was that he would translate for her and help her be heard everywhere else.

So what do I sound like?

What do you mean?

My voice. You are the only one who's heard it.

Suddenly feeling very practical, the Guardian produced his ringer and began a recording. He kept silent from the moment he pressed the button and lightly gestured for Cindy to say something as he leaned back. The thing is, no matter how much of a chatterbox you are, it is always difficult to think of something to say when put on the spot for something fairly important. And, then and there, Cindy was given the chance to choose what could very well be the first words she would ever hear herself say. A few moments passed while she was frozen with indecision until finally (for some reason) she yelped out a "bippity-boo" and gave a little chuckle as a confused, and very amused, Guardian ended the recording. She then held her breath as her fellow went to play it back for her. And they were both very sad when no sound could be heard by either.

Curious...

It was a good idea though. Definitely worth the try.

Sorry.

It's not your fault.

Your voice... well... Sorry if I get this wrong. Do understand, I've never had to describe a voice before. But... yours is... You can hear other things right? You can hear me, my mother, the wind, autocars passing by...

Oh. Yes.

Have you ever met a Jellicle?

No. At least, I don't think so.

How about a Jian? Have you met one of those?

Actually, nevermind. I think I see where this is-

Hang on. I've got this just... give me a moment.

Honestly, it's okay. I wouldn't know how to describe your voice either.

Shush! I've got this. Your voice... is quite... deep but still unmistakably girl-ish. And t-though you are mute, you are actually rath- umm... fluent for your age. You speak quite quickly... but still very clearly. Your voice is.. swift enough for witty remarks and yet so melodious, I could swear it was designed for poetry. When my teachers first told me about Sirens, I considered the whole thing rubbish. I've never taken particular delight in music so the thought of a singer being so wonderful that you'd leave the safety of your ship just to hear them better always seemed silly to me. But... when I heard you sing that song for the first time, I found myself (and there really is no better word) enchanted. When I heard you again on Candle-Day, I could not help but change my opinion of the Siren's song. The stories, to me, began to feel very realistic. All this to say... I don't know what I am saying.

If Cindy had ever heard of a Siren, or if Guardian had paid more attention to his classes, then at least one of them might have second guessed the flattering tone with which that comparison was given. However, at the time, they were blissfully ignorant.

Thank you.

You're very welcome.