ALSOBYPATRICKROTHFUSSFROM

GOLLANCZ:

THENAMEOFTHEWIND

THEWISEMAN'SFEAR

AGollanczeBook

Textcopyright©PatrickRothfuss2014

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Contents

ALSO BYPATRICKROTHFUSS

TITLEPAGECOPYRIGHTDEDICATION

AUTHOR’SFOREWORD

THE FARBELOWBOTTOMOFTHINGS

WHATALOOKENTAILS

BEAUTIFULAND

BROKENA QUITE

UNCOMMONPLEASANTPLACE

HOLLOWTHE ANGRY

DARKASH AND

EMBER

ALL TO HERDESIRE

THEGRACEFULWAY TOMOVE

THE HIDDENHEART OFTHINGS

CODA

AUTHOR’SENDNOTE

ForVi,withoutwhomtheremightbenostory.

AndTunnelBob,withoutwhomtherewouldbeno

Auri.

AUTHOR’SFOREWORD

You might not want to buythisbook.

I know, that’s not thesort of thing an author issupposed to say. Themarketingpeoplearen’tgoingto like this. My editor is

going to have a fit. But I’drather be honest with yourightoutofthegate.

First, if you haven’tread my other books, youdon’twanttostarthere.

Myfirst twobooksareThe Name of the Wind andThe Wise Man’s Fear. Ifyou’re curious to try mywriting, start there. They’rethe best introduction to myworld. This book deals with

Auri, one of the charactersfrom that series.Without thecontext of those books,you’reprobablygoingtofeelprettylost.

Second, even if youhave read my other books, Ithink it’s only fair to warnyou that this is a bit of astrangestory.Idon’tgoinforspoilers, but suffice to saythat this one is . . . different.It doesn’t do a lot of the

things a classic story issupposedtodo.Andifyou’relooking for a continuation ofKvothe’sstoryline,you’renotgoingtofindithere.

On the other hand, ifyou’d like to learn moreaboutAuri,thisstoryhasalotto offer. If you love wordsand mysteries and secrets. Ifyou’re curious about theUnderthing and alchemy. Ifyouwanttoknowmoreabout

the hidden turnings of myworld....

Well, then this bookmightbeforyou.

THEFARBELOW

BOTTOMOF

THINGS

WHEN AURI WOKE, sheknewthatshehadsevendays.

Yes.Shewasquitesureofit.Hewouldcomeforavisit

ontheseventhday.A long time. Long for

waiting. But not so long foreverything that needed to bedone.Notifshewerecareful.Notifshewantedtobeready.

Opening her eyes, Aurisawawhisperofdimlight.Arare thing, as shewas tuckedtidily away in Mantle, herprivatest of places. It was awhite day, then.Adeep day.A finding day. She smiled,

excitement fizzing in herchest.

There was just enoughlight to see thepale shapeofher arm as her fingers foundthe dropper bottle on herbedshelf. She unscrewed itand let a single drip fall intoFoxen’sdish.Afteramomenthe slowly brightened into afaintgloamingblue.

Moving carefully, Auripushedbackherblanketsoitwouldn’t touchthefloor.Sheslipped out of bed, the stonefloor warm beneath her feet.Her basin rested on the tablenearherbed,next to a sliverofhersweetestsoap.Noneof

it had changed in the night.Thatwasgood.

Auri squeezed anotherdropdirectlyontoFoxen.Shehesitated,thengrinnedandleta third drop fall. No halfmeasures on a finding day.She gathered up her blanketthen, folding and folding itup, carefully tucking itunderher chin to keep it frombrushingagainstthefloor.

Foxen’slightcontinuedto

swell. First the merestflickering: a fleck, a distantstar.Thenmoreofhimbeganto iridesce, a firefly’s worth.Stillmorehisbrightnessgrewtill hewas all-over tremulantwith shine. Then he satproudly in his dish, lookinglike a blue-green emberslightlylargerthanacoin.

She smiled at him whilehe roused himself the rest ofthe way and he filled all of

Mantle with his truest,brightestblue-whitelight.

ThenAuri looked around.Shesawherperfectbed.Justhersize.Justso.Shecheckedher sitting chair. Her cedarbox.Hertinysilvercup.

The fireplace was empty.And above that was themantelpiece: her yellow leaf,her box of stone, her greyglass jar with sweet driedlavender inside.Nothingwas

nothing else. Nothing wasanythingitshouldn’tbe.

Therewerethreewaysoutof Mantle. There was ahallway, and a doorway, andadoor.The lastof thesewasnotforher.

Auri took the doorwayinto Port. Foxen was stillrestinginhisdish,sohislightwas dimmer here, but it wasstillbrightenoughtosee.Porthad not been very busy of

late, but even so, Aurichecked on everything inturn. In the wine rack restedhalf a broken plate ofporcelain,no thicker than thepetal of a flower.Below thatwas a leather octavo book, apair of corks, a tiny ball oftwine. Off to one side, hisfine white teacup waited forhim with a patience Aurienvied.

On the wall shelf sat a

blobofyellowresininadish.Ablackrock.Agreystone.Asmooth, flat piece of wood.Apartfromalltherest,atinybottle stood, its wire baleopenlikeahungrybird.

On the central table ahandfulofhollyberriesrestedon a clean white cloth. Aurieyedthemforamoment,thentookthemtothebookshelf,aperch they were more suitedto. She looked around the

room and nodded to herself.Allgood.

Back in Mantle, Auriwashed her face and handsand feet. She slipped out ofher nightshirt and folded itinto her cedar box. Shestretched happily, lifting upher arms and rolling highontohertoes.

Then she ducked into herfavorite dress, the one he’dgiven her. It was sweet

against her skin. Her namewasburninglikeafire insideher.Todaywasgoingtobeabusyday.

Auri gathered up Foxen,carrying him cupped in thepalm of her hand. She madeher way through Port,

slipping through a jaggedcrackinthewall.Itwasnotawide crack, but Auri was soslight she barely needed turnher shoulders to keep frombrushing up against thebrokenstones.Itwasnothinglikeatightfit.

Vanwas a tall roomwithstraight,whitewalls of fittedstone. It was an echo-emptyplace save for her standingmirror. But today there was

one other thing, the gentlestbreathofsunlight.Itsnuckinthroughthepeakofanarcheddoorway filled with rubble:broken timber, blocks offallenstone.But there, at theverytop,asmudgeoflight.

Auri stood in front of themirror and took the bristlebrush fromwhere it hung onthe mirror’s wooden frame.She brushed the sleep snarlfrom her hair until it hung

aboutherlikeacloud.She closed her hand over

Foxen, andwithout his blue-green shine the room wentdark as dark. Then her eyesstretchedwide and she couldseenothingbutthesoft,faintsmudgeofwarmlightspillingpast the rubble high behindher. Pale golden light caughtin her pale golden hair. Aurigrinned at herself in themirror. She looked like the

sun.Lifting her hand, she

uncoveredFoxenandskippedquicklyoffintothesprawlingmazeofRubric.Itwasbarelya minute’s work to find acopper pipe with the rightkind of cloth wrapping. Butfinding the perfect place,well, that was the trick,wasn’t it? She followed thepipe through the round red-bricktunnelsfornearlyhalfa

mile, carefulnot to let it slipaway from her among thecountlessothertwiningpipes.

Then, with no hint ofwarning,thepipekinkedhardand dove straight into thecurvingwall,abandoningher.Rude thing. There werecountless other pipes ofcourse, but the tiny tin oneshad no wrap at all. The icyones of burnished steel werefar too new. The iron pipes

weresoeagerastobealmostembarrassing, but theirwrappings were all cotton,and that was more troublethanshecared tobotherwithtoday.

So Auri followed a fatceramic pipe as it bumbledalong.Eventuallyitburroweddeep into the ground, butwhere it bent, its linen wraphung loose and ragged as anurchin’s shirt. Auri smiled

and unwound the strip ofcloth with gentle fingers,takinggreatcarenottotearit.

Eventually it came away.A perfect thing. A singlegauzypieceofgreying linen,long as Auri’s arm. It wastired but willing, and afterfolding it upon itself sheturned and pelted madly offthroughechoingUmbrel,thendown and down into TheTwelve.

The Twelve was one ofthe rare changing places ofthe Underthing. It was wiseenough to know itself, andbraveenoughtobeitself,andwild enough to change itselfwhile somehow stayingaltogether true. It was nearlyunique in this regard, andwhile it was not always safeor kind, Auri could not helpbutfeelafondnessforit.

Today the high arch of

space was just as she’dexpected, bright and lively.Sunlight speared downthrough theopengratings farabove,strikingdowninto thedeep, narrow valley of thechanging place. The lightfiltered past pipes, supportbeams, and the strong,straight line of an ancientwoodenwalkway.Thedistantnoise of the street drifteddowntothefarbelowbottom

ofthings.

Auri heard the sound ofhooves on cobblestones,sharpandroundasacrackingknuckle.Sheheardthedistantthunder of a passing wagonandthedimmingleofvoices.Threading through it all wasthehigh,angrycryofababewho clearly wanted tit andwasn’tgettingany.

At the bottom of TheYellow Twelve there was along deep pool with water

smoothasglass.Thesunlightfrom above was brightenoughthatAuricouldseeallthe way down to the secondsnarl of pipes beneath thesurface.

She already had strawhere,andthreebottleswaitedon a narrow ledge of stonealong one wall. But lookingatthem,Aurifrowned.Therewas a green one, a brownone, and a clear one. There

wasawidewirebalingtop,agrey twisting lid, and a corkfat as a fist. They were alldifferentshapesandsizes,butnone of them were quiteright.

Exasperated, Auri threwherhandsintotheair.

SosheranbacktoMantle,her bare feet slapping on thestone. Once there, she eyedthegreyglassbottlewith thelavenderinside.Shepickedit

up, looked it over carefully,then set it back down in itsproper place before shescamperedoutagain.

Aurihurried throughPort,heading out by way of theslanting doorway this time,rather than the crack in thewall. She twisted up throughWithy, Foxen throwing wildshadowsonthewalls.Assheran, her hair streamed outbehindherlikeabanner.

She took the spiralingstairs through Darkhouse,down and around, down andaround. When she finallyheard moving water and thetink of glass she knew she’dcrossed the threshold intoClinks. Soon Foxen’s lightreflected off the roiling poolofblackwaterthatswallowedthe bottom of the spiralingstairs.

There were two bottles

perched in a shallow nichethere. One blue and narrow.One green and squat. Auritiltedherheadandclosedoneeye,thenreachedouttotouchthe green one with twofingers.Shegrinned,snatchedit up, and ran back up thestairs.

Heading back, she wentthrough Vaults for a changeofair.Runningdownthehall,shesprangoverthefirstdeep

fissure in thebroken floor aslithely as a dancer. Thesecond crack she leapt aslightlyasabird.Thethirdshejumped as wildly as a prettygirlwholookedlikethesun.

ShecameintoTheYellowTwelve all puffed andpanting. As she caught herbreath, she tucked Foxen inthe green bottle, padded himcarefully with straw, andlockeddownthehaspagainst

the rubbergasket,sealing theliddowntight.Shehelditupto her face, then grinned andkissed the bottle beforesetting it carefully by theedgeofthepool.

Auri shucked off herfavorite dress and hung it ona bright brass pipe. Shegrinned and shivered a little,nervousfishswimminginherstomach. Then, standing inher altogether, she gathered

upherfloatinghairwithbothher hands. She brushed itback and bound it, windingand tying it behind her withthe strip of old grey linencloth.When shewas done itmade a long tail that hungdown to the small of herback.

Arms held close againsther chest,Auri took two tinystepstostandbesidethepool.She dipped a toe into the

water, then her whole foot.She grinned at the feel of it,chill and sweet aspeppermint. Then shelowered herself down, bothlegs dangling in the water.Auri balanced for amoment,holding her nekkid self upwith both hands, away fromthecoldstone lipat theedgeofthepool.

Buttherewasnoavoidingit. So Auri puckered up and

settled herself the rest of thewaydown.Therewasnothingpeppermint about the coldstone edge. It was a dull,blunt bite against her tenderaltogetherhindmostself.

She turned herself aroundthen, and began to lowerherself into the water. Shewent slowly, tickling aroundwith her feet until she foundthe little jut of stone. Shecurled her toes around it,

holding herself thigh-deep inthepool.Thenshedrewafewdeep breaths, screwed hereyesshut,andbaredherteethbeforelettinggowithhertoesand ducking her nethersunderneath the surface. Shesqueakedalittle,andthechillmade her whole self gogooseprickle.

Theworstover,sheclosedhereyesanddunkedherheadbeneath the water too.

Gasping and blinking, sherubbed the water out of hereyes.Shehadherbigall-overshiver then, one arm foldedacrossherbreasts.Butbythetime itwasdonehergrimacehadturnedtogrin.

Without her halo of hair,Auri felt small. Not thesmallness that she strove forevery day.Not the smallnessof a tree among trees. Of ashadow underground. And

not just small ofbodyeither.Sheknewtherewasnotmuchof her.When she thought tolook more closely at herstanding mirror, the girl shesaw was tiny as an urchinbeggingonthestreet.Thegirlshesawwasthinasthin.Hercheekboneshighanddelicate.Her collarbones pressed tightagainstherskin.

But no. With her hairpulledbackandwetteddown

besides.Shefelt...less.Shefelttampeddown.Dim.Morefaint. Feint. Feigned. Fain. Itwould have been pureunpleasantwithouttheperfectstrip of linen. If not for that,shewouldn’tmerelyfeel likea wick rolled down, shewould be downright guttery.It was worth it, doing thingstheproperway.

Finally the last of hertrembling stopped. The fish

were still turning in herstomach, but her grin waseager. The golden daylightfrom above struck down intothe pool, straight and brightandsteadyasaspear.

Auri drew a deep breath,then pushed it out,wrigglingher toes. She took anotherdeep breath and let it outmoreslowly.

Then a third breath. Aurigripped the neck of Foxen’s

bottle in one hand, let go ofthe stone edge of the pool,anddovebeneaththewater.

The angle of the light wasperfect,andAurisawthefirstpipetangle clear as anything.Minnow-quick, she turnedandglidedsmoothly through,

not lettinganyof themtouchher.

Belowthatwasthesecondsnarl.Shepushedanoldironpipe with her foot to keepherself moving downward,then tugged a valvewith herfree hand as she went past,changing speed and slidingthrough the narrow spacebetween two wrist-thickcopperpipes.

The spearlight faded as

she sank, leaving onlyFoxen’sblue-greenglow.Buthis light was muted here,filtered through straw andwater and the thick greenglass.AurimadehermouthaperfectOandpuffedout twoquick bursts of bubbles. Thepressure grew as she wentdeeper,shapesloomingdimlyby her in the dark. An oldwalkway, a tilting slab ofrock, an ancient, algae-

coveredwoodenbeam.Her outstretched fingers

foundthebottomsoonerthanher eyes, andAuri swept herhand across the half-seensurface of the smooth stonefloor. Back and forth. Backand forth. Quick but wary.Sometimes there were sharpthingshere.

Thenherfingersclosedonsomething long and smooth.A stick? She tucked it

underneath her arm and letherselfbegintofloatbackuptoward the distant light. Herfree hand found familiarpipes, pulling and steering,twisting through themaze ofhalf-seen shapes. Her lungsbegan to ache a bit, and shereleased a stream of bubblesassherose.

Herfacebrokethesurfacenear the edge, and in thegoldenlightshesawwhatshe

had found: a clean whitebone.Long,butnotaleg.Anarm.Theprimaaxial.Sheranherfingersdownthelengthofitandfeltatinyseamthatranall round it like a ring,showing it had broken andlong-healed. It was full ofpleasantshadows.

Smiling,Auri set it aside.Then she drew three slow,deep breaths, gripped Foxentight, and dove into the pool

again.This timeshegother foot

wedged tight between twopipes around the secondtangle.Badluck.Shescowledand tugged and after half amomentmanagedtopullfree.Sheblewhalfherlungfuloutand kicked hard, droppinglike a stone down into theblackbelow.

Despite the bad start, thiswas an easy catch. Her

fingers found a tangle ofsomething-or-other beforetheyeventouchedthebottom.She had no guess what itmight be. Something metal,something slick andsomething hard all jumbledup together. She gathered itclose toherchestandstartedupagain.

This time she couldn’ttuckherfindbeneathherarmforfearshe’dlosesomepiece

ofit.SoAurinestledFoxen’sbottleinthecrookofherarmandpulledherselfalongwithher left hand. It felt good,balanced, and she broke thesurface not even needing toblowtherestofherbubbles.

She spread the tangle outby the edge of the pool: anold belt with a silver buckleso tarnished it was black ascoal. A leafy branch with abewildered snail. And, lastly

but not least, looped on apiece of rotten string alltangledwith the branch,wasa slender key as long as herfirstfinger.

Auri kissed the snail andapologized before setting thebranch back in the waterwhere it belonged. Theleatherof thebeltwasturnedagainst itself, but at theslightest tug thebucklecameaway. Both of them were

betteroffthatway.Clingingtothestoneedge

of the pool, Auri shiverednow in tiny waves. Theymoved across her shouldersand her chest. Her lips hadgone from pink to pale pinktingedwithblue.

She picked up Foxen’sbottleandcheckedthebaletomake sure it was tight. Shelooked down into the water,the fish in her stomach

swimming excitedly. Thirdtimewastheluckyone.

Auri pulled a breath anddoveagain,herbodytwistingsmoothly, her right handfinding all the friendly grips.Downtothedark.Thestone.Thetimber.Thennothingbutdim Foxen’s light, coloringher outstretched hand a paleblue-green.It lookedthewayawaternixie’smust.

Her knuckles brushed the

bottom and she spun a bit toorientherself.Shekickedandswept her hand about,skimmingsmoothlyoutalongtheblackstonebottomof thepool.Thenshesawaglintoflight and her fingers bumpedsomething solid and cold, allhardlinesandsmooth.Itwasfull of love and answers, sofullshefelt themspillingoutatjustherbriefesttouch.

For the space of ten hard

heartbeats Auri thought itmustbefastenedtothestone.Then it slid and she realizedthe truth. It was a weightything. After a long, slipperymoment her tiny fingersfound a way to pry it up. Itwas solid metal, thick as abook. It was oddly shapedand heavy as a bar of rawiridium.

Auri brought it to herchest and felt its edges dig

into her skin. Then she bentherkneesandpushedoffhardagainst the bottomwith bothfeet, looking up toward thedistant shimmer of thesurface.

Shekickedandkicked,butbarely seemed to move. Themetal thing dragged, pullingher down. Her foot bumpedhardagainstathickironpipe,and Auri took the chance tobraceherselfandgiveanother

push. She felt a rush ofmotion up that slowed assoon as her foot left the ironbehind.

Her lungs were fightingwith her now. Half-full, thedumb things wanted air. Shepuffed out a mouthful ofbubbles, trying to trick them,knowing every bubble lostwould weigh her down,knowing she wasn’t evennearthebottomtangleyet.

Auri tried to shift themetal thing to the crook ofher arm so she could pullherself along. But when shetried, the smoothness of itslippeda little inher fingers.In the sudden panicafterward, she clutched,fumbled, and Foxen’s bottleknockedagainstsomeunseenshape.HeslidandjostledfreeofAuri’sgrip.

Auri snatched with her

free hand, but her knucklesonly batted Foxen farther offaway. And for a moment,Auri froze. To let the metaldrop would be unthinkable.ButFoxen.Hehadbeenwithherforever....

She watched as Foxen’sbottlewascaughtbyaneddyandswirledwelloutofreachbehind a trio of slantingcopperpipes.Her lungswereangrynow.She clenchedherteethandgrabbedanearbylipof stone with her now-freehand,pullingherselfup.

Her lungs were heavinghard inside her now, so sheslowly loosed her bubblesthough she hadn’t even

glimpsed the lowest tangleyet. It was dark withoutFoxen, but at least she wasmoving,pullingherselfup insudden awkward jerks, usingwhatever strange handholdsshe could find. She kicked,but there was little to begainedfromthat,burdenedasshewaswith theheavy lumpof sharp, hard love she heldsotightlytoherchest.Wasitthe answers that it held that

gaveitsomuchweight?Finally she dragged

herself into the lowernestofpipes, but her lungs wereempty now, and her bodyhung like lead.Normally shetwisted through the tanglelike a fish, her body neverbrushing the pipes. But shewas heavy and empty. One-handed she groped andbucked her way throughthem. She banged her knee

and frantically slid her backalong something sharp withrust. She stretched out anarm, but heavy as she was,her fingers didn’t even brushherusualhandhold.

She kicked, gainedanother inch or two, then,despite her careful binding,her hair snagged onsomething. It jerked her to asudden stop, snapping herhead back and spinning her

bodysidewaysinthewater.Almost immediately she

feltherselfbegintosink.Sheflailed out wildly. Her shinstruck a pipe, making herwhole self tingle with pain,but she quickly sought it outwith her other foot, braced,andshovedoffhard.Sheshotuplikeacork,fastenoughsothat her hair tore free fromwhatever rude thing hadcaught it. The sharp tug

snapped her head back hard,forcinghermouthopen.

She began to drown then.Mouth full of water, shechokedandgagged.Butevenas the water filled her noseand throat, Auri fearednothing so much as thethought her hand might slip,that she would lose her gripandlettheheavyjagofmetalslide away into the dark.Losing Foxen was bad. It

would leave her blind andlonely in the dark. Beingtrappedbeneaththepipesandchoking out her life wasawful too. But neither ofthose things were wrong.Letting the metal slide intothe dark simply could not bedone. It was unthinkable. Itwassounkilterthatitterrifiedher.

Her hair was unboundnow, and it swirled around

her in thewater like a cloudofsmoke.Herhandgrabbedacurve of pipe, comforting,familiar. She pulled herselfup, then grabbed again andfound another grip. Sheclenched her teeth, choked,pulled,andgrabbed.

She broke the surface,gasping and spluttering, thenslidunderthewateragain.

A second later she claw-clambered herway up again.

This time her free handcaught the stone edge of thepool.

Auri heaved the thing outofthewater,anditstruckthestone floorwith the soundofa bell. It was a bright brassgear,bigasaplatter.Thickerthanher thumbwith some tospare. It had a hole in themiddle, nine teeth, and ajaggedgapwhereatenthhadlongagobeentornaway.

Itwasfulloftrueanswersand love and hearthlight. Itwasbeautiful.

Aurismiledandheaveduphalfastomachfulofwateronthe stones. Then heaved

again, turning her head sothat it didn’t splash againstthe bright brass gear. Shecoughed then, took amouthfulofwater,andspatitback into thepool.Thebrassgear lay heavy as a heart onthecoldstonesofTheYellowTwelve. The light from upabovemade the surface of itshimmerant and gold. Itlooked like a piece of sunshe’d brought up from the

deep.Auri coughed again and

shivered. Then she reachedout and touched it with onefinger. She smiled to look atit. Her lips were blue. Shetrembled. Her heart was fullofjoy.

Aftershepulledherselfoutofthewater,AurilookedaroundthepoolatthebottomofTheTwelve. Though she knewbetter, she hoped to seeFoxen bobbing idly on thesurface.

Nothing.Herfacewassolemnthen.

She thought of going back.Butno.Threetimes.Thatwasthe way of things. But thethought of leaving Foxen in

thedarkwasenough toputafine, thin crack straightthrough her heart. To losehimafterallthistime....

Then Auri caught aglimpse of something deepbelowthesurface.Aglint.Aglow. She grinned. Foxenlookedforalltheworldlikeagreat bumbrous firefly as hebobbledandbumpedhisslowwayslowlyupthroughallthetangledpipes.

She waited five longminutes, watching Foxen’sbottle bob and drift until itfinally popped up to thesurfacelikeaduck.Thenshecaughtitupandkissedit.Sheheldittoherchest.Ohyes.Itwas well worth it, doingthingstheproperway.

First things first. Auri freedFoxenfromthebottleandsetit next to the others on thewall. Then she headed downtoClinksandrinsedherselfinthe roiling water there. Thenshewashed herself, using uptheslenderremnantofacakeofsoapthatsmelledofcinnasfruitandsummer.

After soaping andscrubbing and cleaning herhair, Auri dove into the

endlessblackwaterofClinkstorinseherselfonefinaltime.Under thesurface,somethingbrushed against her.Something slick and heavypressed its moving weightagainst her leg. It did notbother her. Whatever it was,itwas in itsproperplaceandsowas she.Thingswere justastheyshouldbe.

Dripping clean andwringing out her hair, Auri

headed off through Tenners.Not the quickest way, but itwould be unseemly to headthrough Dunnings in nothingbut her pinkness. But eventaking the longer way, itwasn’tlongbeforesheturnedthe corner into Bakers, wetfeet slapping on the stone.She rested Foxen on a pieceof juttingbricknearby, ashewasn’tfondoftoomuchheat.

Thethicksteelpipesalongthetunnel’swallweretoohotto stand near today, and thewalls and floor had beenbasking until they too wereall crickly with heat. Aurispun in a slowcircle tokeepany part of her tenderaltogether from gettingroasted by the silent red roarpouring off the pipes. It wasonly moments before theplace had dried her skin, set

her fine hair floating, andcooked the shivers from hericybones.

After that she fetched herfavorite dress from TheYellow Twelve. She slid itoverherhead,thencarriedallher treasures back to Portwhere she arranged them onthecentraltable.

The leather belt wasetched in odd curlingpatterns.Thegreatbrassgear

was bright straight through.The key was black as black.The buckle though, it wasblack with bright beneath. Itwasahiddenthing.

Might the buckle be forhim? That would be a goodbeginning to the day.A nicethingtohavesettledearlyon,hisgiftallreadywithhisvisitdaysaway.

Auri eyed the bucklesharply.Was it a proper gift

for him? He was a tangledsort. And he was muchhidden, too. Nodding, shereachedout to touch thecooldarkmetal.

Butno. It didn’t suit him.She should have known. Hewas not a one for fastening.For holding closed. Neitherwas he dark.Oh no.Hewasemberant. Incarnadine. Hewas bright with better brightbeneath, like copper-gilded

gold.The gear would need

consideration. It almost feltlike it couldbe forhim—butthat could wait. The keyneededurgenttending.Itwasforcertainthemostrestlessofthe lot. This wasn’t even aslim sliver of surprise. Keyswere hardly known for theircomplacency, and this onewas near howling for a lock.Auri picked it up and turned

itinherhands.Adoorkey.Itwasn’t shy about the fact atall.

Blackkey.Whiteday.Shecocked her head. The shapeof things was right. It was afindingday,andtherewasnodoubt the poor thing badlywanted tending. She noddedtoherselfandslippedthekeyintothepocketofherdress.

Even so, before she left,Auri helped everything to

finditsproperplace.Thebeltstayed on the central table,obviously.Thebucklemovedto rest beside the dish ofresin. The bone nestledalmostindecentlyclosetothehollyberry.

Thegearwastroublesomein this regard. She set it onthe bookshelf, thenmoved itto the table in the corner. Itleaned against the wall, thegap from its lost tooth

pointingup into the air.Aurifrowned. It wasn’t quite theproperplace.

Auri brought out the keyand held it in front of thegear. Black and brass. Bothfor turning. They had twelveteethbetweenthem....

She shook her head andsighed. She put the key backinto her pocket and left thegreat brass gear on thebookshelf. It wasn’t the

properplaceforit,butitwasthebest thatshecoulddofornow.

Boroughwasclosest,soAurihurried there, ducking herhead through the low stonedoorways until she came tothefirstofitsdoors.Standing

there, Auri cupped Foxen inherpalmandhuffed agentlebreath onto him, fanning hislight. The wooden door washuge and grey with age, itshinges hardly more thanflakingrust.

She drew the key out ofher pocket and held it out infront of her, between herselfand the great grey door. Shelooked back and forthbetween them, then turned

and padded away. Three leftturns and through a brokenwindow to the second door,also old and grey, but largerthanthefirst.Hereshebarelyneeded to glance at thembefore she knew the truth.This wasn’t right. Theseweren’t the proper doors.Where then? Tenners? BlackDoor?

She shivered. Not BlackDoor. Not on a white day.

Wainsinstead.ThenTenners.Even Throughbottom. ThiswasnotakeyforBlackDoor.No.

Auri hurried throughRubric,turninglefttwiceandright twice for balance,making sure to never followany of the pipes too far lestsheoffend.NextcameGreelywithits twistingwaysanditssulfurant smell. She got alittle lost there among the

crumbling walls, buteventually made her rightwaytoCrumbledon,anarrowdirt tunnel so steep it waslittle more than a hole. Auriscampered down on a longladder made of lashed-togethersticks.

The bottom of the ladderdroppedintoatiny,tidyroomof finished stone. It was nobigger than a closet, emptyexceptforanoldoakdoorall

bound in brass.Auri brushedoffherhands,swungthedooropen,andsteppedlightlyintoWains.

The hallway was wideenough to drive a wagonthrough. High-ceilinged andlong enough that Foxen’slight could barely reach thetangle of debris that blockedthe farend.Aboveher,blue-white light scattered off acrystalchandelier.

Dark wood panelinghugged the lower portion ofthewalls,butabove thatwasornate plasterwork. Therewere broad frescoesdecorating the ceiling.Women in gauze loungedabout, whispering andrubbing oil on each other.Men frolicked about in thewater, flapping aroundridiculously in their absolutealtogether.

Auri took a moment tolook at the pictures as shealways did, grinningwickedly. She shifted herweight from side to side, thepolished marble floor chillbeneathhertinyfeet.

Both ends ofWains wereblocked by fallen rock andearth,butinthemiddleitwasclean as a crucible.Everything dry and tight asyou please. No damp. No

mold. No drafts to bring indust.Altogethermenorno,itwas a seemly place, so Auriwas careful to comportherselfwithfulldecorum.

There were twelve oakdoorsliningthehall.Allfineand tightandbound inbrass.Over her long years in theUnderthing,Aurihadopenedthreeofthem.

Shewalkeddownthehall,Foxenglowingbrightlyinher

upheld hand. After a dozensteps, a glimmer on themarble floor caught her eye.Skipping close, she saw acrystal had fallen from thechandeliertolayunbrokenonthefloor.Itwasaluckything,and brave. She picked it upand put it in the pocket thatdidn’t have the key inside.Theywouldonly fuss if theywereputtogether.

Itwasn’tthethirddoor,or

theseventh.Auriwasalreadyplanning her route down toThroughbottom when shespied the ninth door. It waswaiting. Eager. The latchturned and the door easedsmoothly open on silenthinges.

Auristeppedinside,pulledthekey fromherpocket, andkissed it before she lay itcarefully on an empty tablejust inside thedoor.The tiny

tap as it touched the woodwarmedherheart.Shesmiledtoseeitsittingthere,allsnugandinitsproperplace.

Itwasasittingroom.Veryfine.AurisatFoxeninawallsconce and went to have acareful look around. A tallvelvet chair. A low woodentable. A plush couch on aplush carpet. In the cornerwas a tiny cart filled withglasses and bottles. They

wereverydignified.

There was somethingwrong with the room.Nothing looming. NothinglikeinSitTwiceorFaceling.

No.Thiswasagoodplace.Anearly perfect place.Everythingwasalmost.Ifthishadn’tbeenawhitedaywitheverythingdoneproperly,shemight not have been able totell something was amiss.Still,itwas,andshedid.

Auri stepped around theroom, hands clasped primlybehindherback.Sheeyedthecart, more than a dozenbottles, all colors. Some

stoppered and full, someholding littlemore thandust.Therewas a burnished silvergear watch on one of thetables, near the couch. Therewas a ring too, and ascatteringofcoins.Aurieyedthem curiously, touchingnothing.

She moved daintily. Onestep.Another.Thedarkplushof the carpet was sweetbeneath her feet, like moss,

and when she bent down torunher fingersover thehushof it, she glimpsed a tinywhiteness underneath thecouch.Shereacheddeep intothe shadows with a smallwhite hand, having to stretchabitbeforeherfingerscaughtit.Smoothandcool.

It was a tiny figurinecarved from a piece of pale,retiringstone.Asmallsoldierwith clever lines to showhis

hauberk and his shield. Buthis truest treasure was thesweetness of his face, kindenoughforkissing.

Itdidn’tbelonghere,butitwasn’t wrong. Or rather, itwasn’twhatwaswrongwiththeroom.Thepoorthingwassimply lost. Auri smiled andputthedollinherpocketwiththecrystal.

Itwas then she felt a tinybump beneath one foot. She

pulled up the edge of thecarpet, rolled it back, andfound a small bone buttonunderneath.Aurieyeditforalongmomentbeforegivingitan understanding smile. Thatwasn’t it either. The buttonwas just as it should be.Movingcarefully,shelaythecarpet back exactly as she’dfound it, patting it into placewithherhands.

She looked around the

room again. It was a goodplace, and almost entirely asit ought to be. There wasn’treally anything for her to dohere.Itwasstartlingreally,astheplacehadobviouslybeenaloneforageswithoutanyonetendingtoit.

Even so, there wassomethingwrong.Somelack.Sometinything,likeasinglecricket legging madly in thenight.

A second door sat on theother sideof the room, eagertobeopened.Sheworkedthelatch, walked through ahallway, only to come to thefoot of a set of stairs. Thereshelookedaroundwithsomesurprise. She’d thought thatshe was still in Wains. Butclearly not. This was adifferentplaceentirely.

Auri’s heart beat fasterthen. It had been ages since

she’d come on somewherewholly new. A place thatdaredtobeentirelyitself.

Still,carefully.InFoxen’ssteady light Auri lookedclosely at the walls andceiling. A few cracks, butnothingthickerthanathumb.A few small stones hadfallen,andtherewasdirtandmortar on the steps as well.The walls were bare andslightly condescending. No.

ShehadobviouslyleftWainsbehind.

She ran a hand over thestones of the steps. The firstfewweresolid,butthefourthwas loose.Aswere the sixthandseventh.Andthetenth.

There was a landinghalfway up where thestairway turned back uponitself.Therewasadoor,butitwas terribly bashful, so Auripolitely pretended not to see

it. Shemade her carefulwayup the second flight of stepsand found half of themwerealsolooseorpronetotipping.

Thenshewentbackdownthe stairs, making sure she’dfound all the shifting stones.She hadn’t. It was terriblyexciting.Theplacewastrickyas a drunken tinker and alittlesly.Ithada tempertoo.It would be hard to find aplacelesslikeagardenpath.

Some places had names.Someplaceschanged,ortheywere shy about their names.Someplaceshadnonamesatall, and thatwas always sad.Itwasonethingtobeprivate.But to have no name at all?Howhorrible.Howlonely.

Aurimadeherwayupthestairs a second time, testingeach one with her feet,avoiding the spots she knewwere bad. As she climbed,

she couldn’t tellwhat sort ofplacethiswas.Shyorsecret?Lost or lonely? A puzzlingplace.Itmadehergrinallthewider.

At the top of the stairs theceiling had collapsed, butthere was a gap made by a

broken wall. Auri steppedthrough and found herselfgrinning with the thrill of it.Another new place. Two inoneday.Herbarefeetshiftedback and forth on the grittystone floor, almost dancingwithexcitement.

Thisplacewasnotsocoyasthestairway.ItsnamewasTumbrel.Itwasscatteredandhalf-fallen and half-full.Therewassomuchtosee.

Halftheceilinghadfallenin and everything wascoveredindust.Butforallitsfallen stone, it was dry andtight.Nodamp, justdustandstiff air. More than half theroom was a solid mass offallen earth and stone andtimber. The remnants of afour-post bed lay crushedbeneath thewreckage. In theunfallenportionof the room,there was a triune mirror

vanity and a dark woodenwardrobe taller than a tallwomanstandingonhertoes.

Auripeeredshylythroughthe wardrobe’s half-opendoors. She glimpsed a dozendresses there, all velvet andembroidery.Shoes.Arobeofsilk. Some gauzy bits of thesort the women wore in thefrescoesdowninWains.

The vanity was a rakishthing: garrulous and

unashamed. The top wasscattered with pots ofpowders, small brushes,sticks of eyepaint. Braceletsandrings.Combsofhornandivory and wood. There werepins and pens and a dozenbottles, some substantial,somedelicateaspetals.

Itwasinstartlingdisarray.Everything resting atop thevanity was somehow askew:powderswere spilled, bottles

toppled, the dish of pins allhiggledy-piggledy.

Dishevel or no, Auricouldn’thelpbuttakealikingtothething,gruffandbawdyas it was. She sat primly onthe edge of the straight-backed chair. She ran herfingers through her floatinghairandsmiledtoseeherselfreflectedinatriptych.

There was a door too,opposite the broken wall. It

was half-buried by a brokenbeamandblocksofshatteredstone.Buthiddenasitwas,itwasn’tshy.

Auri went to work then,settingthingstorightsasbestshecould.

She shifted the woodenbeam that blocked the door.Lifting and straining, a fewinches at a time until shecould leverat itwithanotherpiece of fallen timber. Then

she cleared away the stones,pushing the ones she couldnot carry. Rolling the onesshecouldnotpush.

Shefoundthewreckageofa small table underneath thestones, and amid thesplintered wood she found alength of fine white tattedlace. She folded this upcarefully and put it in herpocket with the crystal andthesmallstonesoldier.

Once the way was clear,the door pulled open easily,its rusted hinges moaning.Inside was a small closet.Therewasanemptyporcelainchamberpot. There was awoodenbucket,abrushofthesort you would use to scrubthedeckofaship,andatightbirch broom.On the back ofthe door hung two emptylinen sacks. The smaller ofthesewasanxioustobeabout

its business, so Auri smiledand tucked it in a pocket byitself.

Thebroomwaseagerafterbeing trapped so long, soAuribroughtitoutandsettosweeping, brushing ancientdustandearthintoatidypile.Afterthatitwasstillrestless,so Auri went to sweep theunnamedstairaswell.

She brought Foxen with,of course. She would hardlytrust a place like that tobehaveinthedark.Butsinceaproperbirchingoftheplacerequiredtwohands,Auri tiedFoxen to a long lock of herhanginghair.Foxen’sdignitywas somewhat bruised bythis, and Auri kissed him insincere apology for theaffront. But they both knewhe took a certain secret joy

from swingling wildly allabout, making the shadowsspinandskirl.

Soforawhilehehungandswung.Auri took care not tonotice any undue exuberanceonhispartwhileshegavetheunnamed stairs a brisk once-over. Up and down then upagain, the tight birch broomflicked and tickled the stonestepsclearoffallenrocksandgrit and dust. They were

flattered by the attentionwhileremainingentirelycoy.

After returning the broomtothecloset,Auribroughtoutthechamberpotandsetitnearthe wardrobe. She spun itslightlysoitfacedtheproperway.

Charming as it was, thevanity was vexing, too. Itseemedallaskew,butnothingcalled out for tidying. Theonly exception was the

hairbrush, which she movedclosertoacunningrubyring.

Auricrossedherarmsandstaredatthevanityforalongminute.Then shewent downon hands and knees andlooked at its underside. Sheopened the drawers andmoved the handkerchiefsfrom the left-hand drawerinto the right, then frownedandmovedthembackagain.

Finally she pushed the

entire thing about twohandspan to the left andslightly closer to the wall,careful not to let anythingtumble to the floor. She slidthe vanity’s high-backedchair the same amount, so itstill faced the mirrors. Thenshe picked up the chair andexamined the bottoms of itsfeet before putting it back inplacewithatinyshrug.

Therewasaloosestonein

the floor next to thewardrobe. Auri prized it upwithher fingers, adjusted thesmall leather sack and pieceof wool padding underneath,then slid the stone back intoplace,tampingitdownfirmlywiththehandleofthebroom.She tested it with one footandsmiledwhenitnolongershiftedunderherweight.

Lastly, she opened thewardrobe. She moved the

dress of burgundy velvetaway from the gown of palebluesilk.Shereplacedthelidofatallhatboxthathadcomeajar. She opened the drawerat the bottom of thewardrobe.

Her breath caught in herchestthen.Foldedtidilyawayat the bottom of the drawerwere several perfect sheets,pale and smooth. Aurireached down to touch one

and was amazed at thetightness of the weave. Sofine her fingers couldn’t feelthe thread. It was cool andsweet to the touch, like alover come to kiss her, freshinfromthecold.

Auri brushed her handacross the surface. Howlovelymightitbetosleeponsuchasheet?Tolayonitandfeel the sweetness of it allalonghernakedskin?

She shivered, and herfingers curled around thefolded edges of the sheet.Hardlyrealizingwhatshedid,she drew it from its properplace and brought it to herchest. She brushed her lipsagainst itssmoothness.Therewere other sheets beneath it.A treasure trove. Surelyenough for a place likeTumbrel. Besides, she’d setso many other things to

rights.Surely...She looked down at the

sheetforalongmoment.Andwhile her eyes were allsoftnessandwant,hermouthgrew firm and furious. No.That was not the way ofthings. She knew better. Sheknew perfectly well wherethissheetbelonged.

Auri closed her eyes andput the sheet back in thedrawer,shameburninginher

chest.Shewasagreedythingsometimes. Wanting forherself.Twistingtheworldallout of proper shape. Pushingeverything about with theweightofherdesire.

Sheclosedthedrawerandcame to her feet. Lookingaround,shenoddedtoherself.She’dmadeagoodbeginninghere. The vanity wasobviously in need of someattention, but she couldn’t

tastethenatureofityet.Still,the place had a name andeverything obvious wastendedto.

Auri took Foxen andheaded down the unnamedstair, through Wains and

Crumbledon and all the wayback to Mantle. She fetchedfresh water. She washed herfaceandhandsandfeet.

After that she felt muchbetter.Shegrinned, andonawhim she sprinted off toDelving.Shehadn’tvisitedinages and missed the warmearth smell of it. Theclosenessofthewalls.

Running lightly on hertoes, Auri danced through

Rubric, ducking pipes. Sheskipped through Woods,reachingout to swingherselffrom time-worn beams thatheld the sagging roof at bay.Finallyshecametoaswollenwoodendoor.

Steppingthrough,sheheldFoxen high. She smelled theair. She grinned. She knewexactly where she was.Everything was just where itshouldbe.

WHATALOOK

ENTAILS

THE SECOND DAY, Auriwoketosilenceintheperfectdark.

Thatmeant a turningday.A doing day. Good. There

was much to do before hecame. She wasn’t nearlyready.

She roused Foxen andfoldedupherblanket,carefulto keep the corners off thefloor.Sheglancedaroundtheroom, her box and leaf andlavender were fine. Her bedwasfine.Everythingwasjustasitshouldbe.

Therewerethreewaysoutof Mantle. The hallway was

for later. The doorway wasfor now. The door was oak,bound in iron. Auri did notlookatit.

In Port the stone figurineand the length of lace hadmade themselves at home.Thebravecrystalwascontentin the wine rack. The armbone and linen sack were socomfortable you’d thinkthey’d been there for ahundredyears.Theoldblack

buckle was crowding theresin a bit, but that wasquicklymended. She nudgedit to one side to keep thingscivilized.

She looked around andsighed. Everything was fineexcept for the great brassgear.Itexasperatedher.

She picked the crystal upandsetitnexttothegear.Butthatdidn’thelpatallandjustupsetthecrystal.Itwasbrave

enough for ten, but it wasn’tforthecornertable.Shegaveit a quick kiss by way ofapologyandreturnedittothewinerack.

Auri picked up the heavygear with both hands andbroughtitintoMantle.Itwasunheardof,really,butbythispointshewasatsomethingofa loss. She set it on thenarrow ledge of stone on thewall opposite her bed. She

tippeditso theemptygapitsmissing tooth made wasstraightuptowardtheceiling.Asifitwerereachingupwardwith its too-short stubbyarms.

Steppingback,she lookedat it and sighed. Better. Buteven so, it wasn’t quite theproperplace.

Auriwashed her face andhandsandfeet.Herthinsliverof soap smelled of sunlight

and that made her smile.Then she slipped into hersecond favorite dress, as ithad better pockets. It was aturningday,afterall.

In Port she put her linengathersackoveroneshoulder,tucking a few things inside.Then she packed her pocketsfull as full. Before she left,Auri glanced back intoMantle at the brazen gear.But no. If it had wanted to

come, it should have beencontenttostayinPort.Proudthing.

InVanshewasstartledtofindthemirrorwasunsettled.Anxious even. Hardly anauspicious start to her day.Still, it was the sort of thingonly a fool would willfullyignore.AndAuriwasnofool.

Besides, the mirror hadbeenaroundforquiteawhile,sosheknewitslittleways.It

wantedmoving,butitneededtobesettledfirst.Itneededtobe comforted. Coaxed. Itneeded covering. So, despitethe fact that she was yetunbrushed, Auri gathered upFoxenandtookthelongwaydown to Wains, walkingslowly to her newly openeddoorassheeyedthefrescoesoverhead.

She stoppedbriefly in thesitting room, looking around.

The tiny wrongness was stillthere, likeahintofgristle inher teeth. It wouldn’t botherher if everything else herewasn’talmostcircleperfect.

But some things simplycan’t be rushed. Auri knewthis for a fact. Besides, sheneededthemirrorsettorightsbefore anything else. Thatmeant covering. So sheheadedup theunnamedstair,her feet skipping back and

forth to miss the unsafestones. Then she headedthrough the broken wall andintoTumbrel.

Once there, Auri openedup the wardrobe’s drawer.She did not touch the sheets,insteadherhandswenttoherpockets. She felt the smoothfacets of the brave crystal.No. She touched the curvedlines of the kind stonefigurine. No. The flat black

rock?No.Then her fingers touched

the buckle and she smiled.She brought it out and set itgently in the drawer. Thenshe lifted out the topmostfolded sheet. It was smoothandcreamyinherhands.Paleasivory.

Auristoppedthen,lookingattheblacknessofthebucklein the drawer. There was astoneinherstomach.Itdidn’t

belong here. Oh it seemedsensible. Oh yes. Certainly.But she knew what seemingwas worth in the end, didn’tshe?

Reluctantly, she lay thesheetback in thedrawer, herfingers ran over its perfectwhiteness, smooth and cleanandnew.Therewasahintofwinterinit.

But no. There is adifference between the truth

andwhatwewishwere true.Sighing,Auritookthebuckleback and pushed it deep intoherpocket.

Leavingthesheetwhereitwas, Auri headed back toMantle. She moved moreslowlynow,noskipping.Thetrip down the unnamed staircheered her somewhat. Herpath staggered drunkenlyback and forth as shemovedfrom one safe section to

another.Astoneturnedunderneath

herfeet,andAuripinwheeledher arms to keep fromslipping.Shecockedherheadtotheside,standingbalancedon one foot. Was this placeTipple then? No. It was tooslyforthat.

The mirror was stillrestless back in Van. Andwith no better options, Auriwas forced to fetch her

blanketfromherbed.Carefulnottoletittouchtheground,she draped it over themirrorbefore turning it to face thewall. Only then could it bemoved across the room sothat it stood before thebricked-overwindowwhereitsodesperatelywantedtobe.

She returned her blanketto Mantle and washed herface and hands and feet.ComingbacktoVan,shesaw

hertimehadbeenwellspent.She’d never seen her mirrorso content. Grinning atherself, she brushed the elfknots from her hair until ithungaroundherlikeagoldencloud.

But just as she wasfinishing, when she lifted upherarmstopushhercloudofhair behind her, Auristaggered just a bit, allsuddendizzy.Afteritpassed,

shewalkedslowlytoCrickletand took a long, deep drink.Shefeltthecoolwaterrunallalong her insides withnothing to stop it. She felthollow inside. Her stomachwasanemptyfist.

Her feet wanted to go toApplecourt, but she knewtherewerenoapples left.Hewouldn’t be waiting there,anyway.Notuntiltheseventhday.Whichwasgood, really.

She had nothing suitable toshare. Nor nothing halfwaygood enough to be a propergift.

So she went to Treeinstead. Her pans werehanging in their properplaces. Her spirit lamp justso.Thecrackedclaycupwassitting quietly. Everythingwasjustasitshouldbe.

That said, she had moretools than food in Tree. On

theshelvestherewasthesackof salt he’d given her. Therewere four fat figs swaddledmodestly inasheetof foldedpaper. A single, lonely,withered apple.A handful ofdried peas sat sadly at thebottomofaclearglassjar.

Set into the stone counterwasachill-well,runningwithaslowbutconstantstreamoficywater.Butitwaskeepingnothingcool save for a lump

ofyellowbutter,andthatwasfullofknives,scarcelyfitforeating.

On thecounterwasa fineandwondrous thing.Asilverbowl, all brimming full ofnutmeg pittems. Round andbrown and smooth as riverstones,theyhadcomevisitingfrom long-off lands. Theyfilled the air, almost singingof their faraway. Auri eyedthem longingly and ran her

fingertips along the edge oftheir silver bowl. It wasetched with twiningleaves....

Butno.Rareandlovelyasthey were, she did not thinkthey would be good foreating. Not now at any rate.Inthatwaytheywerelikethebutter,notfoodexactly.TheyweremysteriesthatwishedtobidetheirtimeinTree.

Auri climbed onto the

stone counter so she couldreach the apple where itperched up high upon itsshelf.Thenshesatnexttothechillwell, cross-legged, backstraight, and cut the appleintosevenequalpiecesbeforeeating it. It was leathery andfullofautumn.

After that she was stillhungry, so shebroughtdownthepaperandlayitinfrontofherself,unfoldingitcarefully.

Thensheatethreeofthefigs,taking dainty bites andhumming to herself. By thetime she finished, her handsweren’t shaking any more.She wrapped the single figback up and set it on theshelf, then climbed down tothe floor. She cupped somewaterfromthewellanddrankit. She grinned. It gave herbellyshivers.

After eating, Auri knew itwas past time she found thebrazengearitsproperplace.

She tried to flatter it atfirst. Using both hands, shesat it carefully atop themantelpiecebesideherboxofstone. It ignored thecompliment and simply satthere, not one bit more

forthcoming than it had beenbefore.

Sighing,Auripickeditupwithbothhandsandcarrieditto Umbrel, but it wasn’thappyinamongsttheancientbarrels there. Neither did itwant to rest in Cricklet nearthe stream. She carried itthrough all of Darkhouse,setting it on everywindowsill,butnoneofthemsuiteditintheleast.

Arms growing sore fromtheweightof it,Auri triedtobe irritated, but she couldn’tstay angry. The gear wasunlike anything she had everseen before in all her yearsbelow.Justlookingatitmadeher happy. And heavy as itwas, itwas a joy to touch. Itwas a sweet thing. A silentbell that struck out love. Allthe while she carried it, itsang through her fingers of

thesecretanswersthatitheld.No.Shecouldn’tbeangry.

It was doing everything itcould. It was her own faultfor not knowing where itbelonged. Answers werealways important, but theywereseldomeasy.Shewouldsimply have to take her timeand do things in the properway.

Just to be sure, Auricarriedthegearbacktowhere

she’d found it.Shewouldbesad to see it go, butsometimes therewas nothingelse to do. Some thingssimplywere too true to stay.Somemerelycametovisitforawhile.

AsAuristeppedinsidethearchingdarknessofTheGreyTwelve, Foxen’s lightstretched up toward theunseen ceiling. His calmgreen glow reached out

between the pipes thattangled on the walls. Thiswas a different place today.Thatwas itsnature.Evenso,Auri knew that she waswelcome here. Or, if notwelcome, at leastindifferentlyignored.

Aurimadeherwayfartherintotheroom,wherethedeepblack water of the pool laysmooth as glass. Carefully,shesetthebrightgearupright

onthestoneedgeofpool,thegap from its broken toothfacedupwardatanangle.ShetookastepbackandcoveredFoxen with one hand. Withnothingbutthedimgreylightfromthegrateabove,thegearwas nowhere near asshimmerant as it had beenbefore.Sheeyeditcloselyfora breathless moment, headtiltedtooneside.

Thenshegrinned.Itdidn’t

want to leave. That at leastwas clear. She picked it upand tried it on the narrowledge above the pool besideher bottles. But it simply satthere, all aloof, coruscantwithanswers,tauntingher.

Auri sat cross-legged onthe floor and tried to thinkwhatotherplacemightfitthebrazen gear. Mandril?Candlebear?Sheheardahushof feather in the air. Wings

beat hard, then stopped.Looking up, Auri saw theshape of a nightjar outlinedagainstthedullgreycircleoflight entering the grate highabove.

Thebirdstrucksomethinghardagainstthepipe,thenateit.Asnail,sheguessed.Therewasnoneedtoguessthetypeofpipethough.Thetingofitlet Auri know it was iron,blackandtwicethethickenof

her thumb. The nightjartapped the pipe again, thendipped down to the pool todrink.

After it drank, the birdwinged quickly back to itsprevious perch. Back to thepipe. Back to stand in thecenterofthedimgreylight.Ittappedathirdandfinaltime.

Auri’s gutwent cold. Shesat up straight and eyed thebirdintently.Itstaredbackat

her for a long moment, thenflewaway,havingdonewhatithadcometodo.

She looked after itnumbly, the chill in her gutmaking a slow knot. Shecouldn’t ask for things to bemore clear than that. Herpulsebegantohammeratherthen, her palms all suddensweat.

She took off running andwas gone a dozen steps

before she rememberedherself and hurried back.Embarrassed at her rudeness,she gave the brazen gear akiss so it would know shewasn’t leaving it. She wouldbeback.Thensheturnedandsprintedoff.

FirsttoMantle,whereshewashed her face and handsand feet. She took ahandkerchiefoutofhercedarboxandpelteddownthrough

Rubric and Downings toBorough.Breathinghard,shefinally stood before theunassumingwoodendoorthatledtoTenance.

Her gut all sour and chillwithfear,Aurilookedaroundthe edges of the door andrelaxed to see faint cobwebthere. There was still time.Perhaps. She pressed her earagainstthewoodandlistenedalongmoment.Nothing.She

slowlypulleditopen.Standing anxious in the

doorway,Auripeeredintothedusty room. She eyed thecobwebs hanging from theceiling, she eyed the tablesstrewn with dusty tools. Sheeyedtheshelves,packedwithbottles, boxes, tin containers.She eyed the other dooracross the room. There wasno hint of light around itsedges.

Aurididnotlikeithere.Itwasnot theUnderthing.Thiswas a between place. It wasnot for her. But as much asshe did not like it, the otheroptionswereallworse.

She eyed the floor,covered with a fine layer ofdustexceptforasetofheavybootprints, black smudgesscuffingthroughthegreyduston the floor. The bootprintstold a story. They entered

from the other door, movedfromatabletoanearbyshelf,then made a line to thedoorwaywhereshestood.

Auri glared at the spotwhere they crossed thethreshold. As they left thedusty floor of Tenance thebootprints became invisible.They were from long ago.Butevennowthesightmadeherheartthump.Herskinwasall hot prickle, indignant at

the thought of them. Asecond set of bootprints toldthe story in reverse. Theyreturned toTenancefromtheUnderthing. They moved totables,shelf,andouttheotherdoor. They made a circle ofsorts.Acircuit.

They were not newbootprints. Still, they told astoryAurididnotlove.Theytold a story shedidnotwanttoseerepeated.

Shedrewabreathtocalmherself.Therewasnotimeforthis. Theywould be coming,all hard boots and arroganceand not one bit of properknowledge of this place. Acold sweat swept the prickleheatalloffherskin.Shedrewanother calming breath andfocused.

Her expression fierce,Auri took a deep breath andcrossed the threshold into

Tenance. She placed hersmall white foot inside theblackprintofaboot.Herfootwas small enough that thiswas no hard thing. Even so,she moved with slowdeliberation.Her second stepbrought little more than hertoesincontactwiththefloor.Her feet fit easily inside thebootprints, making no marksoftheirown.

Thus she moved, one

delicatestepatatime.Firsttoa shelf, she eyed containersbefore picking up a heavybottle with a ground glassstopper. Next she took abrush and felt the bristleswith her finger. Then shemade her way back to thedoor, her steps as slow andgracefulasafawn’s.

She closed the doorbehind her. Then, breathingout a sigh of deep relief, she

ranherselftoRubric.Even moving quickly, it

took an hour to find theproper place. Rubric’s roundbrick tunnels ran the lengthand breadth of Underthing,miles and miles of passages,twisting up and down anddoubling back, taking thepipes where they needed togo.

Justasshewasfearingshemightneverfindit,justwhen

she’d begun to fear it mightnot be in Rubric after all,Auriheardasoundlikeangrysnakes and rain. If not forthat, it might have taken herall day to track it down. Shefollowed the noise until shecould smell damp upon theair.

Finally, turning a corner,shesawwaterbursting likeafountain from a cracked ironpipe. The spray had wet the

bricksfortwentyfeetineachdirection, and theotherpipesweredrippingwithittoo.Thetiny brass pipes for pressedair didn’t mind in the least.And the fat black pisspipethought the whole thingrather funny. But thesteampipe was not bestpleased. Its thick wrappingwas soaked straight through,and it was grumbling andsteaming, filling the tunnel

withamustyhothousedamp.From where she stood,

Aurieyedthedarklineofthebroken black iron pipe,carefully tracing it throughthe others. Foxen held high,she walked away from theleak, following the dark pipebackward.

After ten minutes and a

quick detour throughTenners, Auri found thevalve, a small wheel barelybig enough for both herhands. Setting down herbrush andbottle, shegrippedit tight and twisted.Nothing.So she brought thehandkerchief out of herpocket,wrapped it round thewheel, and tried again, herteeth bared with the effort.After a long moment, the

ungreasedageofitgaveway,and itgrudgingly let itselfbespun.

She gathered up her toolsand headed back. There wasno sound of snakes. Thespray had stopped, but theentiretunnelwasstillsodden.The air hungwet and heavy,making her hair stick andclingtoherface.

Aurisighed.ItwasjustasMaster Mandrag said so

many years ago. She walkedback where the tunnel floorwas dry and sat cross-leggedon the bricks among thepipes.

Then came the hardestpart. The waiting grit at her.Shehad somuch todo.Thiswas important, certainly. Buthewascomingontheseventhday, and she was nowhereneartoready....

She heard something in

the distance. Some echoof asound.A scuff?A step?Thesound of boots? Auri wentstartled and still. She closedher hand over Foxen and satall quiet in the sudden dark,strainingtohear....

But no. There wasnothing.TheUnderthingwashost to a thousand smallmoving things, water inpipes, wind through Billows,the rumbling thrum of

wagons filtering through thecobblestones, half-heardvoices echoing down thegrates. But no boots. Notnow.Notyet.

She uncoveredFoxen andwenttolookattheleakagain.Theairwasstillhotandthickwithwet,soshewentbacktoher sitting place where therewas nothing to do but fidgetand worry. Auri consideredrunning back to fetch the

brazengear.Thenatleastshewouldhavecompany.Butno.Shehadtostay.

Aleakwasbad.Butaleakmight go unnoticed for sometime.Now,with thewater tothis piece of pipe turned offentire,therewaseverychancethatsomethingvitalupabovewas all alack. No knowingwhat. The pipe could lead tosomedisusedpieceofMains,where it could stay dry for

years with no one anywaysthewiser.

But perhaps it led to theMaster’sHall, and right nowone of them was halfwaythroughabath.Whatifit ledto Crucible, and someexperiment left to calmlycalcinate was insteadundergoing unintendedexothermicfullcascade?

It led to the same thing.Upset. Folk finding keys.

Folkopeningdoors.Strangersin her Underthing, shiningtheir unseemly lights about.Their smoke. The braying oftheir voices. Trompingeverywhere with hard,uncaring boots. Looking ateverything without a singlethought of what a lookentails. Poking things andmessing them about withoutthe slightest sense of whatwasproper.

Auri realized her fistswereknots of knucklewhite.She shook herself and stood.Herhairhunglankaroundherhead.

The air was clearer now.Not wet and steaming anymore. She gathered up hertoolsandwasglad to see thesteampipehad finally roastedboth itself and everythingaround itdry.Betterstill, theslow regard of silent things

hadwaftedoffthemoistureintheair.

Auri brought Foxen closeto the black iron pipe, andwas relieved to see thetroublewasnogreater thanahair-thin crack. Though thepipelookeddry,shewipeditwithherhandkerchief.Wipedit again. Then sheunstoppered the bottle,dipped her brush, and spreadclearliquidallacrossthetiny

break.Wrinkling her nose at the

knifelike smell, Auri dippedher brush again, painting allaround the pipe. She grinnedand eyed the bottle. It waslovely.Tenaculumwastrickystuff, but this was perfect.Not thick like jam, not thinlikewater.Itclungandstuckand spread. It was full ofgreen grass and leapingand . . . sulphonium?

Naphtha? Hardly what shewould have used, but youcouldn’t argue with results.The craft employed wasundeniable.

Soon she had coated theentire pipe around the crackin glistening liquid. Shelicked her lips, looked up,then worked her mouth andspat delicately onto the faredge of thewet. The surfaceof the tenaculum rippled and

her grin grew wider. Shereachedout a finger andwaspleased to find it hard andsmooth as glass. Oh yes.Whoever wrought andfactoredthiswaslivingproofthat alchemy was art. Itshowedpuremasteryofcraft.

Auri painted two morecoats, laving all way roundthe pipe and for a handspanoff beside the hairline crack.Twice more she spat to set

and glaze it. Then shestoppered up the bottle,kissedit,smiled,andsprintedbacktoturnthewateron.

Her duty done, Auritended to the brush andheadedback toTenance.Shepressed her ear against thedoor. Listened. She heard afaint . . . No. Nothing. Sheheld her breath and listened.Nothing.

Even so, she opened the

door slowly. She lookedinside to see there was nolight around the other door.For a moment her heartstuttered as she thought shesaw new bootprints on . . .Butno.Justshadow.Justherownbreath-catchingfear.

Carefully she put thebottle back upon its shelf,setting it inside its own darkdustless ring where she hadfound it.And then thebrush.

She stepped carefully insidethe big black brutishtreadings of the boots. Shewasn’toneforruckingthingsabout. She stepped the waythe water moves within agentlewave.Nevermind themotion, the water staysunchanged. That was theproperwayofthings.

She slowly closed theheavy door behind her. Shechecked the latch to makeherself most certain sure.Stepping back into theUnderthing,thestonesshouldhave been sweet beneath her

feet.Buttheywerenot.Theywere mere stones. The airseemed strange and strained.Somethingwaswrong.

She stopped and listenedatthedooragain.Shelistenedcloser, then opened up thedoor a crack to peer inside.Nothing.Sheclosed thedoorand checked the latch. Sheleanedherweightagainst thedoor and tried to sigh butcouldnotfindthebreathforit

inside her chest. Somethingwaswrong.Shehadforgottensomething.

Auri ran back to Rubric,heart stuttering as she turnedwrong. Then wrong again.But then she found thevalveagain.Shewentdownonherknees to make herself mostcertain sure she’d turned itopenandnot closed.Sheputbothhandsuponthepipeandfelt the tremble of the water

runningthrough.Not that then. But still.

Had she moved carefullyenough? Had she left asmudge upon the floor?AurisprintedbacktoTenanceandput her ear against the door.Nothing.Sheopenedthedoorand liftedFoxenhigh so thathislightshonedownontothedust.Nothing.

By now her skin was allasheenwithsweat.Sheclosed

the heavy door. She checkedthe latch and leaned herslender weight against it,pressing with her hands andforehead.Shetriedtobreathemoredeeplybutherheartwasstiff and tight inside herchest. There was somethingwrongabouttheair.Thedoorrefused to sit right in itsframe. She pressed against itwithbothpalms.Shecheckedthe latch. Foxen’s light

seemed suddenly too thin.Had she moved carefullyenough? No. She knew. Shelistened, then opened up thedoor and looked again.Nothing. But simply seeingdid not help. She knew thatseemingwasn’thardlyhalfofthings. Something waswrong. She tried, but shecould simply not unclench.She could not catch herbreath. The stones beneath

herfeetwerenothinglikeherstones. She needed to getsomewheresafe.

Despite the stones, thestrangeness in the air, Auristarted walking back toMantle. She took the safestway, but even so her stepswere slow.And even so, shesometimes had to stop andclose her eyes and merelybreathe. And even so, thebreathinghardlyhelped.How

could it when the air itselfhadgoneuntrue?

Theangleswereallwrongin Pickering but she didn’trealize how lost she hadbecome until she lookedaround and found herself inScaperling.Shedidnotknowhow she had come to be sooutofplace,buttherewasnodenying where she was. Thedamp was all around. Thesmell of rot. The grit under

her feet. The way the wallswere leering. She turned andturned again but could notfindherplace.

She tried to push ahead.She knew that if she walkedand turned and walkedeventually she must leavegrim, gritty Scaperlingbehind. She would come outinto a friendly place. Or atleastaplacethatdidnottwistandcrampandloomallround

her.So shewalked and turned

and looked around, hopingbeyondhopeforaglimpseofthe familiar. Hoping that thestones might slowly start tobelong underneath her feet.But no. The hammer of herheart told her to run. Sheneeded her safe place. SheneededtogetbacktoMantle.Butwherewasthewayofit?Evenifsheknewtheway,the

air was growing tight anddizzy all aroundher.Thoughshewas loath to touch them,Auri stretched her hand tolean against the sharpunkindnessofthewall.

Slow steps. A turn. Shesmiled to see things open upahead of her. Finally. Herchest began to loosen upwhenfinallyshesawtheendofScaperlingahead.Shetooktwo steps before she realized

whatway it offered out. Shestopped. No. No no. Thetangle of unwelcome tunnelopened up ahead. But itopened out into the vast andemptyquietofBlackDoor.

Auri did not even turnaround.Shemerely tookstepafter slow and sliding stepback the same way she hadcome. It was hard. The wallcaught at her hand andworried it, scraping skin off

of her knuckles. The damptight knot of Scaperling didnotwantherbackinside.ButBlack Door did. The wideand welcome path to BlackDoorstretchedbeforeherlikea dark black open mouth. Amaw.Amaul.

Step after step she forcedher way backward intoScaperling. She did not dareto let theway toBlackDooroutofsight.Shedidnotdare

let it behind her, all unseen.Unseemly.Allunseamed.

Finallyshebackedarounda corner and sank tremblingto the floor. She neededeverything to not come allapart aroundher.Sheneededto get back to Mantle. Sheneeded her most perfectplace. There the stones weresafe under her feet. Thereeverything was sweet andpropertrue.

Shewas dizzy and askantand slant. She shook andcould not bring herself tostand,soshefoldedherselfinand sat crosslegged upon thefloor.

She sat there for a longand silent while. She closedher eyes. She closed hermouth. She covered Foxenwith her hand. All small shesat.Allstill.ThegrubbydankofScaperlinggot inherhair,

made it hang heavy. She lether tangleness fall all aroundherinacurtain.Itmadeatinyspace inside. It was a smallspacejustforher.

Auri opened up her eyesand looked into this tinyprivate place. She saw braveFoxen bravely shining in theshelter of her hands. Sheuncovered him, and eventhoughhis lightwas thinandthready, the sight of him in

this small space made Aurismile. She felt around insideherself for her true perfectname and though it took along and lonesome moment,finallyshefeltitthere.Itwasshivery and scant. Scared.Skint. But just around theedgesitwasstillscintillant.Itwasstillhers.Itshone.

Moving slowly, AuristoodandmadeherslowwayoutofScaperling.Theairwas

thick and shuddersome. Thewalls were full of spite. Thestones begrudged her everystep. All everything wassnarlingallapart.Butevensoshe found her way toPickering, the walls weremerelysullenthere.ThenshemadeherwaytoDunnings.

Then Auri finally felt thestones of Mantle underneathher feet. She lightly steppedinside her oh most perfect

place. She washed her faceandhandsandfeet.Ithelped.Shesatfora longmoment inherperfectchair.Sheenjoyedherperfect leaf.Shebreathedthe lovely ordinary air. Herskin no longer felt stretchedtight. Her heart grew butteryand warm. Foxen wasfulsome again, eveneffulgent.

Auri went to Van andbrushed her hair until the

damp and tangle were allgone. She drew a breath andsighed it out. Her name wassweet inside her chest. Allthings were in their properplaceagain.Shegrinned.

BEAUTIFULANDBROKEN

AFTER TAKING AMOMENT for her leisure,Auri got a drink of waterfrom the pool in Mote, thenheaded back down to gatherup the brazen gear. It waspatient as three stones, butstill, it deserved to find itsproper place as much asanyone.

For lack of any betterideas,AuricarrieditdowntoWains. Perhaps it belonged

there. Or better yet, perhapsthebrazenthingmighthinttoher of what the tiny hiddenwrongness was that kept thesitting room from ringingsweetlyasabell.

Or perhaps shemight seethegearinabetterlightdownthere. Especially with theplace so new and nearlyperfect.Itwasasgoodaplaceasany,shesupposed.

So down she went, to

proper, rich, wood-paneledWains. Then into her newsitting room. She sat thebrazen gear upon the couchandcurledupclosebesideit,tucking her feet underneathherself.

It wasn’t any morecontent. Auri sighed andcocked her head at it. Poorthing.Tobesolovelyandsolost.Tobeallanswerfulwithall that knowing trapped

inside. To be beautiful andbroken.Auri nodded and layherhandgentlyonthegear’ssmoothfaceconsolingly.

Perhaps Throughbottom?Why hadn’t she thought ofthat before? True, when shethought of love and answers,the ancient wreckage in thecavernhardlysprangtomind.But maybe that was just thepoint. Perhaps some long-dead hulking mechanata was

in desperate need of ninebright teeth and love in itsabandonedheart?

Auri ran one finger downits side, her skin snagging alittle on the jagged edgewhereitstenthtoothwastornaway.

That’s when it struck herlike a thunderclap.Sheknewexactly what was wrong. Ofcourse. She leapt up to herfeet, grinning excitedly. She

pulledthecornerofthecarpetup,rollingituntilshesawthebuttonlayingthere,content.

Her hands flew to herpockets,lookingfor...Yes.

Auri set the tarnishedbuckle down beside thebutton. She nudged it closer.Turned it. There. Shetrembled slightly as she putthe carpet back in place. Shesmootheditflatwithbothherhands.

She came to her feet andthere was a click inside herlike a key inside a lock. Theroom was perfect as a circlenow. Like a bell. Like themoon when it was perfectfull.

Auri laughed in delight,and every piece of thelaughingwasatinybirdcometumblingouttoflyaroundtheroom.

She stood in the centerof

theroomandspuninacircleto see it all. And when hereyes passed over the ring onthetable,shesawitnolongerbelonged here. Itwas free togo as it pleased. It sanggolden all through itself, andthe amber it held was gentleasanautumnafternoon.

Brimming with joy, Auridanced. Her bare feet whiteagainst the moss-softdarknessofthecarpet.

Her heart tumbling happilywithin her, Auri gathered upthebrazengearagain,smilingasherhandsclosedaroundit.Shewasbarelyhalfwaybackto Mantle when she heard ahintofmusic.

Auriwentasmotionlessasstone.Silentasthestillnessina heart. It couldn’t be. Not

yet. She had days and days.Shewasn’tnearly—

She heard again. Faint. Asound that could have beenthe chime of glass on glass,that might have been a bird,but that might also be thedistant singing of a tight-stretchedstring.

He was here! Days earlyand her half-smudged andempty-handedboth.Butevenso, her heart stepped

sideways in her chest at thethoughtofseeinghimagain.

Auri sprinted back toMantle faster than a rabbitwithawolfbehind.She tookthe fastest way, even thoughitwentthroughFacelingwithits damp and fear and thehorrid smell of hot flowershangingintheair.

Back in Mantle, she setthe brass gear up above thefireplace. Then Auri washed

her face and hands and feet.She shucked herself anddonnedherfavoritedress.

Then, quivering withnervous excitement, shehurriedintoPortandeyedtheshelves. Not the bone, ofcourse. Not the book either.Not yet. She put two fingerson the crystal, picked it up,turned it over. She breathed,tasting the air. She put itdownagain.

She shifted foot to footandglanced intoMantle.Herperfect yellow leaf wasalmostright.Thebrazengearwas sullen now, and muchtooproud.Hehadenoughofthat.

There was her newfoundring of autumn gold. Thatwasfineenough,surely.Andit suited him, twice bright.But as a gift it was . . .foreboding.Shedidnotwish

tohintathimofdemons.Then she spied the small

jar, mouth open. Her eyesflickedovertotheothershelfwith its scattering of hollyberry, bright as blood uponthe cloth. Excitement welledupinherchest.Shegrinned.

She grabbed the berriesand funneled them into thetinybottle.Theyfitperfectly.Of course.Theyweredutifulandtrue.Hollybottle.Tokeep

him safe. An early visit.Music.

It was more makeshiftthansheliked.Barelyproper.But truth be told he was the

earlyone.Itwassufficientforan early visit. She darted outthedoor,her feet tap tappingall thewaythroughGrimsby,then down Oars, and finallyuptoTripBeneath.

Auri paused there,underneath the heavydrainage grate. Her hearthammered as she tried tolisten. Nothing. Had shereally heard? Was hewaiting? Had she dithered

untilhehadgrownboredandleft?

She put Foxen in his tinybox, then worked the hiddencatch and pushed against theheavy iron bars above withtrembling arms. The grateswung wide, and Auriclambered up to Applecourt,shelteredbythehedgesthere.She went still. Listened. Novoices.Good.No light in thewindows.Good.

The moon was lookinginto Applecourt. Not a goodmoon. Auri looked out fromthe safety of the hedge,peeringatthesky.Noclouds.She closed her eyes andlistenedagain.Nothing.

Shetookadeepbreathanddartedthroughtheopengrassto stand beneath thesheltering branches of LadyLarbor. There she stopped tobreathe, going still as

steading.Afterlookingroundagain, she scampered up thetwistybranches.Itwastrickywith the hollybottle in onehand. She slipped a little,rough bark scritching at thebottomsofherfeet.

Then shewasOnTopOfThings. She could seeeverythingandforever.AllofTemerant spooled endlesslyawaybeneathherfeet.Itwassoniceshealmostdidn’tcare

aboutthemoon.She could see the prickly

chimbleys of Crucible, andwinged Mews all full offlickerlight. To the east shespied the silver line of theOldStoneRoadcuttinggully-deep into the forest, off toStonebridge, over the river,andawayawayaway....

Buthewasn’there.Therewasn’t anything. Just warmtar under her feet. And

chimbleys.Andthesharpnessofthemoon.

Auri clutched thehollybottle in her hand. Shelooked around and steppedintotheshadowofabricktreechimbley so the mooncouldn’twatchher.

She held her breath andlistened.Hewasn’there.Butmaybe.Maybeifshewaited.

She looked around. Thewind huffed by and swirled

herhairaroundher face.Shebrusheditback,frowning.Hewasn’t here. Of course hewasn’t.Hewasn’tcomingtillthe seventh day. She knew.Sheknewthewayofthings.

Auri stood theremotionless,herhandsclosetoher chest. She held thehollybottle. Her eyes flickedabout the moonsweptrooftops.

She sat cross-legged on

the tin, in the shadow ofbrickery.

She looked around. Shewaited.

AQUITEUNCOMMONPLEASANT

PLACE

EVENTUALLYACLOUDhid the moon. Smug thing.AndAuri took the chance toscamper back into the

Underthing.Her heart was heavy all

thewaythroughTenners.Butshe found a large tangle ofdrywood inUmbrel,washeddown the grates in someforgottenstorm.Ashandelmandhawthorn.Somuchwoodittooksixtripstocarryallofit to Mantle. It was quite afind,andbytheendofit,shewasneartowhistling.

Auriwashed her face and

handsandfeet.Smilingatthesmellofheryet-more-slendersliver of sweet soap, shedonned her second favoritedress again. It was still adoingday.

After filling her pocketsand picking up hergathersack,shemadeherwayto Mandril. She didn’t evenneed towether feet,as therehadn’t been a heavy rain inages.Atthefarthesttailofthe

twisting way, Auri stoppedbeforethefinalcorner.Therewas a hint of moonlight upahead, so she gave Foxen aquickkissbeforetuckinghiminsidehistinywoodenbox.

ShetookthefinalpieceofMandril more by memorythan sight, stepping carefullyuntil she stood behind theupright runoff grate thatlookedoutontonothingmuchexcept thebottomof agully.

Auri moved to stand next tothe heavy bars. From thereshesawthebulkofHavenupupon the hill, a shadowlooming large against thestarry sky. A few lightsburnedinwindows,somered,some yellow, and one up onthetopmostfloorabrightandchillingblue.

She held her breath then.No voices. No hooves. Nohowling. She looked up and

sawthestars,themoon,andafew slender shreds of cloud.She watched the cloudscrapslowly scull across the sky.She waited till it hid theslendermoon.

Only then did Auri workthe hidden latch inside the

grate so it swungopen likeadoor. Then she scurried upthe gully, across a stretch ofwell-groomed lawn, andducked into the shadowsunderneathaspreadingoak.

She stood there,motionless a while until herheart stopped racing. Untilshewasmostcertainsurethatshehadnotbeenseen.

Then Auri edged aroundthe tree until the building

couldno longer seeher.Andafter that she turned anddisappearedintothewoods.

Auri found the place whilepicking pine cones. A small,forgotten graveyard, stonesovergrown with ivy. Rosesran wild, climbing the

remains of an ancientwroughtironfence.

Arms close to her body,hands beneath her chin,Auristepped into the graveyard.Her tiny feet were silent asshemovedamongthestones.

The moon was out again,but she was lower now, andbashful. Auri smiled at her,glad for the company nowthat she was no longer OnTopofThingsandHavenwas

far gone behind.Here on theedgeoftheclearingthemoonshowed acorns scattered onthe ground.Auri spent a fewminutes picking up the oneswithperfecthatsand tuckingthemintohergathersack.

She strolled between thestones, stopping at a brokenone, the letters worn awaywith rain and age. Shetouched it with two fingersandmoved on. She lifted up

the ivy on amonument, thenturned to see the laurel treethat loomed in the far cornerof theyard.Itsrootswereallamong the stones, itsbranchesspreadabove.Itwasa lonely thing. All odd andoutofplace.

Stepping close, her smallfeet fitting neatly in betweenthe roots, Auri pressed herhand against the tree’s darktrunk. She breathed in deep

thewarm scent of its leaves.She slowly circled it andspiedadarkgapdownamongtheroots.

Nodding, Auri reachedinto her gathersack and

broughtout thebonethatshehadfoundthedaybefore.Shebentdownandtuckeditdeepinside the dark and hollowspace beneath the tree. Shesmiledwithsatisfaction.

Standing, she dusted offherkneesandstretched.Thenshe began to pick the smallbluelaurelfruitandputtheminhergathersackaswell.

She explored the forest afterthat. She found amushroom,which she ate. She found aleaf and breathed on it. Shelookedupatthestars.

Later still, Auri crossed acreekshe’dneverseenbeforeand was surprised to find atinyfarmhousetuckedamongthetrees.

Surprised but pleased. Itwasaseemlyplace.Allstone,with slate upon its pointedroof.Onthebackporch,nearthe door, there was a smalltable. A wooden platecovered with an overturnedwooden bowl rested there.Besideitwasabowlofclay,covered with a glazed clayplate.

Auri lifted the woodenbowl and found a piece of

freshbrownbreadbeneath.Itheld health and heart andhearth. A lovely thing, andfullofinvitation.Sheputitinherpocket.

She knew the other bowlheld milk, but the plate thatcovereditfacedup.Itwasnotfor her. She left it for thefaeries.

Keeping in the shadow,Auri made her way aroundthegarden to thebarn.There

was a strange dog there, allgristleandbay.Itmassedhalfagain as much as her, itsshoulders coming nearly toherchest.Itsteppedoutoftheshadows when she cameclosetothebarn.

Itwas black,with a thickneck and scars all cross itsface.Oneearwasraggedandchewed from some forgottenfight. Itpaddedcloser toher,massive head held low,

moving suspiciously fromsidetoside,eyeingher.

Aurigrinnedandheldoutherhand.Thedogsnuffledather, then licked her fingersbefore making a great gawpof a yawn and settling downtosleep.

The barnwas huge: stonebelow with painted woodabove.Thedoorswereclosedand fastened with a fat ironpaddock lock. But high

above,thehayloftwasthrownwide to greet the night.Auriclimbedtheivy-knottedstoneas quickly as a squirrel. Shewent slower up the secondhalf, the barn-boards oddagainst her fingers and herfeet.

Thebarnwasfullofmuskand sleep.Dark too, save forafewthinbandsofmoonlightslanting through the woodenwalls. Auri opened Foxen’s

tiny box, and his blue-greenlight welled out to fill theopenspace.

An old horse nuzzledAuri’sneckasshewalkedbyhis stall. She smiled at himandtookthetimetobrushhistail and mane. There was apregnant nanny goat whichbleated out a greeting. Auriscooped some grain into hertrough. There was a cat, andtheyignoredeachother.

Auri spent some timethere, looking overeverything. The grindstone.The quern. The small, well-fitted churn. A bearskinstretcheduponaracktocure.It was a quite uncommon,pleasant place. Everythingwas tended to and loved.Nothing she could see wasuseless,lost,orwrong.

Well, nearly nothing.Eventhetightestshipletsslip

a littlewater.A single turniphad gone tumbling from itsbin to lie abandoned on thefloor. Auri put it in hergathersack.

There was a large stonesweatbox,too.Itwasstackedwithslabsofice,eachthickerthanacinderbrickand twiceas long. Inside she foundbutchered meat and sweetcream butter. There was alump of suet in a bowl, a

sheet of honeycomb upon atray.

The suet was enraged. Itwas a storm of autumnapples, age, and anger. Itwanted nothingmore than tobe on its way. She tucked itdeepinsideherbag.

Oh.Butthehoneycomb.Itwas lovely. Not one bitstolen. The farmer loved thebees and did things in theproper way. It was full of

silent bells and drowsysummerafternoon.

Auri felt inside herpockets. Her fingers passedoverthecrystalandthesmallstone doll. The rock wasn’tproper for this place either.She reached inside hergathersack and felt aroundamong the acorns she’dcollected.

For a long moment, itseemed like nothing she had

broughtwouldmakeaproperfit.Butthenherfingersfoundit and she knew. Carefullyshebroughtout the lengthoffine white tatted lace. Shefolded it and left it near thechurn.Itwasthecarefulworkof many long and drowsyautumn days. It would findpurposeinaplacelikethis.

Then Auri took the cleanwhite cloth that had held thehollyberry earlier and rubbed

itwithsomebutter.Thenshebroke off a piece of stickycomb the size of her spreadhand and wrapped it up astidyascanbe.

She would have loved tohavesomebutter too,asherswas full of knives. Therewere eleven squared-off patsof it lined up upon thesweatboxshelf.Fullofcloverand birdsong and, oddly,sullen hints of clay. Even so

they were all lovely. Aurisearched her gathersack andlooked through all herpockets twice, but in the endshestillcameupalack.

She closed the sweatboxtight. Then up the ladder tothe openwindow of the loft.She put Foxen away, thenmadeherslowwaydowntheside of the barn, gathersackslungtightacrossherback.

On the ground Auri

brushed her floating hair outof her face, then kissed thehulkingdogatophissleepinghead.Sheskippedaroundthecornerof thebarnandtookadozenstepsbeforetheprickleonher neck toldher that shewasbeingwatched.

She froze mid-step, gonestillasstone.Touchedbythewind, her hair moved of itsownaccord,slowlydriftingtosurroundherfaceasgentlyas

apuffofsmoke.Moving nothing but her

eyes,Aurisawher.Uponthesecondfloor,intheblacknessofanopenwindow,Aurisawapale faceevensmaller thanher own. A little girl waswatching her, eyes wide, atinyhandagainsthermouth.

What had she seen?Foxen’s green light shiningthrough theslats?Auri’s tinyshape, obscured by hair like

thistlepuff, barefoot in themoonlight?

Auri’s sudden smile washidden by the curtain of herhair. She did a cartwheelthen. Her first in ages. Herfine hair following, a comettail.Shecasthereyesaroundandsawatree,adarkholeinits trunk.Auridancedtowardit, twirling and leaping, thenbenttolookinsidethehole.

Then, her back to thefarmhouse, Auri openedFoxen’s box and heard a

single tiny gasp threadthrough the silent nightbehind her. She pressed onehand against her mouth sothat shewouldn’t laugh. Thehole was perfect, just deepenough so that a little girlcould reach inside and feelaround. If she were curious,that is. If she were braveenough to stick her arm innearlytohershoulder.

Auri pulled the crystal

from her pocket. She kissedit, brave explorer that itwas,and lucky too. It was theperfect thing. This was theperfect place. True, she wasno longer in the Underthing.Butevenso, thiswasso trueitcouldnotbedenied.

Shewrappedthecrystalinaleafandlayitinthebottomofthehole.

Then she ran into thetrees, dancing, leaping,

gigglinghighandwild.

She went back to theboneyard then, and climbedatop a large flat slab. Backstraight and smiling, Aurimade a proper dinner forherself of soft brown breadwithjustahintofhoney.For

aftersshehadpinenutsfresh-pickedfromtheircones,eachoneatiny,perfecttreat.

Allthewhileherheartwasbrimming. Her grin wasbrighter than the slendercrescentmoon.Shelickedherfingers too, as if she weresometawdrything,allwickedandunseemly.

HOLLOW

ON THE THIRD DAY,Auriwept.

THEANGRYDARK

WHEN AURI WOKE onthe fourth day, things hadchanged.

She could tell before shestretched awake. Before shecracked her eyes into theseamless dark. Foxen wasfrightened and full ofmountains. So today was ataperingday.Aburningday.

Shedidn’tblamehim.Sheknew what it could be like.Somedayssimplylayonyou

likestones.Somewerefickleas cats, sliding away whenyou needed comfort, thencoming back later when youdidn’t want them, jostling atyou,stealingyourbreath.

No. She didn’t blameFoxen.But for half aminuteshewished itwas a differentsort of day, even though sheknewthatnothinggoodcouldcome from wanting at theworld.Eventhoughsheknew

itwasawickedthingtodo.Even so, burning days

were flickersome. Toofrangible by half. Theywerenot good days for doing.They were good days forstaying put and keeping theground steady underneathyourfeet.

But she only had threedays left. There was still somuchtodo.

Movinggentlyinthedark,

Auri picked up Foxen fromhis dish.He fairly smolderedwith fear, there would be nopersuading him like this, sosullen he was nearlytruculent. So she gave him akiss and returned him to hisproper place. Then shemadeherwayoutofbedunder thetenebrific blanket of the fulland heavy dark. It made nodifference if her eyes wereopen, so she left themclosed

while her hands sought outher cedar box. She left themclosedwhile she brought outmatchesandacandle.

She dragged a matchagainst the floor where itspittered,sparked,thenbroke.Her heart sank. A bad startfor a bad day. The secondmatch hardly sparked at all,just gritted. The thirdsnapped. The fourth flaredand faded. The fifth ground

itselfdownintonothing.Andthatwasallofthem.

Auri sat for a moment inthedark.Ithadbeenlikethisbefore sometimes. Not for along time now, but sheremembered. She had beensitting like this, empty aseggshell. Hollow and chest-heavyintheangrydarkwhenshe’dfirstheardhimplaying.Back before he’d given herher sweet new perfect name.

Apieceofsunthatneverlefther.Itwasabiteofbread.Aflowerinherheart.

Thinking of this made iteasier for her to stand. Sheknewthewaytoherbedtable.The basin had fresh water.Shewouldwashherfaceandhands—

But there was no soap.She’dusedthelastofit.Andall her other cakes were offwhere they belonged, in

Bakery.Shesatdownon the floor

again beside her bed. Sheclosed her eyes. She almoststayed there, too, all cut-string and tangle-haired andlonelyasabutton.

But he was coming. Hewouldbeheresoon,allsweetand brave and shattered andkind. He would comecarrying and clever-fingeredand oh so unaware of oh so

many things. He was roughagainst the world, but evenso....

Three days. He wouldcome visiting in three shortdays. And for all her workandwander,shehadn’tfounda proper present for him yet.For all that she was wiseabout the way of things, shehadn’t caught an empty echoof anything that she couldbring.

Nopropergiftnornothingyet to share. It simplywouldn’t do. So Aurigathered herself in andclimbedupslowlytoherfeet.

Therewerethreewaysoutof Mantle. The hallway wasdark.Thedoorwaywasdark.Thedoorwasdarkandclosedandemptyandnothing.

So,withoutfriendsorlightto guide her, Auri made herslow and careful way out

throughthehallway,trekkingtowardTree.

She went throughCandlebear, her fingersbrushing the wall lightly soshe could find her way. Shetook the long way round, asVaultswasfar toodangerouswithoutalight.Thenhalfwaythrough Pickering shestoppedandturnedaroundforfear that she would find TheBlackTwelve ahead. The air

above as dark and still andchill as the pool below. Shecouldnotbear the thoughtofthattoday.

That meant there was noway for her but damp andmoldy Scaperling instead.And if that weren’t enough,the only proper way throughDunnings was unnecessarilynarrow and all athwart withwebs. They got in her hair,which made her sticky and

cross.But eventually she found

her way to Tree. The tinytickling sound of runningwaterinthecoldwellcametogreether,anditwasonlythenthat she remembered howhungry she was. She foundher few remaining matcheson the shelf and lit her spiritlamp. The sudden brightnessof it hurt her eyes, and evenafter she recovered, the

yellow jumping flame madeeverything look strange andanxious.

Sheputthefiveremainingmatches in her pocket andtookadrinkofwaterfromthecoldwell.Theshelveslookedmoreemptythanusual in theodd, jittery light. She rinsedherhandsandfaceandfeetin

the icy water. Then she satdownonthefloorandatetheturnip in small bites. Thensheateherlastremainingfig.Her tiny facewasgrave.Thesmell of nutmeg prickled intheair.

Allflickerlingandstickywith

web, Auri made her way toBakery. It wasn’t ovenytoday. Itwashunkereddownand sullen, like a forgottenkiln.

She passed the mellowpipes and turned and turnedagain before she made herway to the littlebrickynicheso perfect for her hoard ofsoap to season in. Not hot,butdry.And—

There was no soap. Her

soapwasgone.Butno.Itwastheshifting

light from the spirit lamp,tricking her. All odd andyellow. It threw shadowseverywhere. It changed theUnderthing. It couldn’t betrusted.Thiswasobviouslyadifferent little bricky niche,emptyasanything.

She turned around andfollowed her own footstepsback toEmberling. Then she

went back, counting turns.Left and right. Left then leftthenright.

No.ThiswasBakery.Thiswasherniche.But therewasnothing there. No burlapsack. No careful cakes ofperfectsummersoap.Eveninthe low red radiant of thatplace Auri felt ice in herbelly. Was someone in herUnderthing? Was someonemoving things about?

Rucking up the smoothnessof allher long,hardyearsofwork?

All watery and looseinside she searched about,peering around corners andshining her lamp intoshadows. Barely ten feetaway, she found her burlapsack torn to tatters.Underneath the scent of hersweet cinnas soap was thesmellofmuskandpiss.There

wasa tuftof furwheresomesmall climbing beast hadrubbed itselfagainsta juttingbrick.

Auri stood. All tangle-haired and sticky. Her tinyface was stunned at first,numb in the flickerlingyellow.Thenhermouthgrewfurious. Her eyes went hard.Some thing had eaten all herperfectsoap.

Reachingout,shetookthe

tuft of fur between herfingers. The gesture was sotight with rage she fearedshe’d snap and crack theworldintwo.Eightcakes.Anentirewinter’sworthofsoap.Some thing had eaten all theperfect soap she’d made. Itdared come here, into theproperplaceforsoap,andeatitall.

Shestampedherfoot.Shehoped the greedy thing shit

foraweek.Shehoped it shitits awful self inside-out andbackward, then fell into acrack and lost its name anddied alone and hollow-emptyintheangrydark.

She threw the tuft of furdown on the floor. She triedtorunherfingersthroughherhair, but they snagged up inher tangleness. For a secondher hard eyes went allbrimful,butsheblinkedthem

back.Hot from Bakery, and all

asweat with rage and theunrightness of it all, Auriturnedandstormedaway,herbare feet slapping angrilyagainstthestone.

HeadingbacktoMantle,Auri

took the shorter way. Alldraggled and smirched shetook a moment to dunkherself in the pool at thebottomofTheSilverTwelveandfeltalittlebetterforit.Itwasnokindofproperbath.Adip.A rinse.And chilly.Butbetter than nothing, if onlyjust.Themoonpeeredfaintlythrough the grate above. Butshe was kind and distant, soAurididn’tmind.

Getting out of the water,sheshookherselfandrubbedherdampskinwithherhands.She couldn’t think of goingback to Bakery to dry. Nottoday. She eyed themoonlight peering in thegrates above and had justbegun to squeeze the waterfromherhairwhensheheardit. A tiny splashing. A tinymewling squeak. The soundofdistress.

She dashed around in along moment of panic.Sometimesalost thingfounditswaydowntothebottomofTheTwelve and fell into thepoolwhiledrinking.

Ittookabreathlesstimetofind it. Her damned awfulflickerlight seemed to shedmore shadow than it burnedaway.Andechoescamefromeverywhere, scattered by thepipesandwaterinTheSilver

Twelve, so ears were hardlyanyhelpatall.

Finally she found it. Atiny thing, mewling andpaddling weakly. It was thenext thing to a baby, barelyold enough to be out on itsown. Auri took hold of ahangingbraceandleanedoutlongacrossthewater,oneleglifting up for balance whileherotherarmwentoutaboveherhead.Shestretchedlikea

dancer.Herhanddescribedagentlearcanddippedintothepool,gentlyscoopingthetinydraggledthingup....

And itbit her. It sunk itsteeth into the meaty bitbetween her finger and herthumb.

Auri blinked and pulledherself back to the edge,cupping the small skunkgently in her hand. Itstruggled,andshewasforced

to grip it tighter than sheliked. If it fell into the poolagain, it might gasp anddrown before she found andfetcheditout.

Once both her feet wereback upon the stone, Aurimade a cage for the tinyskunk with both her handsagainst her chest. With nohands left to hold her lamp,Auri trusted to themoonlightas she scurried up Old

Ironways. It squirmed andscratched at her chest,fighting tobe free,bitinghera second time on the tip-padofhersmallestfinger.

Butbythenshe’dreachedthe nearest grate. She liftedup her hand and nudged thepoorlostthingoutside.Outofthe Underthing and backtoward its proper nighttimeplace of mothers, bins, andcobblestones.

Auri made her way backto the bottom of The SilverTwelve and ducked herthrobbinghand into thepool.It stung quite badly, buttruthfully, itwasher feelingsthat were worst hurt. It hadbeen a mortal age sinceanythinghadbeenso rude toher.

Her name hung dark andheavy in her chest as Auridraggedherdressonoverher

head.Itdidn’tfitherproperlytoday. It felt like everythingwas leering at her in theyellow light. Her hair wasdreadful.

Auri walked back toMantle, taking the long wayaround to avoid Van so shewouldn’t have to see herselfin her mirror. Coming intoPort, she saw that nearlyeverything was wrong. Ofcourse.Itwasjustthatsortof

day.She set the lamp on the

table harder than she neededto, making the flame jumphigh.Thenshedidherbesttoset the place to rights.Hollybottle close beside thefoldedsecretsofthealluncutoctavobook?No.Byitselfonthe farthest edge ofsecondshelf. The resinwanted its own space. Thebrimfuljarofdarkbluelaurel

fruit moved back onto thecorner table. The tiny stonefigurine perched high uponthewinerack,asifitweresomuch better than the rest ofthem.

Theonlythingthatkeptitsplace was her new-wonperfect piece of honeycomb.She almost took a bite of it

fornogoodreasonotherthanto brighten up her day. Shemighthavetoo,selfishasthatwould be. But she couldn’tbear the thought of touchingit,giventhestatethatshewasin.

Whenthingsweresquaredaway as well as she couldmanage, Auri took the lampand stepped through, intoMantle.Hercedarboxwasinastateofminordisarray,and

there were broken matchesstrewn about, but both ofthose were quickly mended.Thebrazengearwasfine.Herperfectleaf.Herboxofstone.Herringofautumngold.Hergrey glass bottle filled withlavender. All fine. She feltherselfrelaxabit.

Thenshesawherblanket.Her perfect blanket she hadmadeherselfinonlythemostproper way. It had twisted

and the corner lay all nakedonthefloor.

Auri merely stood therefor a long moment. Shethought that she might cry,but when she felt aroundinside herself she found shehad no crying left. She wasfullofbrokenglassandburrs.She was weary anddisappointed with all ofeverything. And her handhurt.

But there was no cryingleft in her. So instead shegathered up her blanket andcarried it to Billows. Aftersearching out a clean brasspipe,shehungitlikeacurtaininthecenterofthetunnel,letthe endless wind brush past,andwatched itwicker gentlyback and forth. It billowedandluffed,butthatwasall.

Auri frowned and movedto pull the blanket down

again. But she was careless,and a puff of wind blew outher lamp. Re-lighting it costheranotherpreciousmatch.

Once Billows was full offlickerlight again, Auritugged the blanket down,turneditover,andhungitonthe pipe again. But no.Frontways or backways, itdidn’t make a lick ofdifference.

Next she climbed Old

Ironwaysandfoundthegratethatlovedthemoonthemost.Herpalelightfeathereddownlike snowdrops, like a silverspear.Aurispreadtheblanketouttocatchthemoon,tobaskinit.

Itdidn’thelp.She carried the blanket

backward through the wholeofWinnoway. She took it tothe top of Draughting, threwit off, and watched it

plummetthroughthemazeofwires until it snagged onenear the bottom and hungthere, bobbing gently up anddown. She carried it back toMantleandwrapped it roundthe horrid, galling, stubbornbrazen gear that stood theregloating and golden in theflickerlinglight.

None of it did a bit ofgood.

Unable to think of

anywhereelsethatmighthelpeasetheoffense,Auricarriedtheblanketall thewaydownto Wains and into her newperfect sitting room. Shedrapeditoverthebackofthecouch.Shefoldeditandsetitinthechair.

Finally, in truedesperation,Auri set her jawand spread her blanket flatacross the lushredrug in thecenter of the room. She

smoothed itwith bothhands,careful not to let it touch thestone of the floor. Itoverlapped the rug almostperfectly. And for a secondshefelthoperiseinherchestthat—

Butno.Itdidn’tfixthingsatall.Sheknewitthen.She’dknown all along, really.Nothing was going to maketheblanketrightagain.

Scowling, Auri snatched

the blanket up, wadded theungrateful thing into a ball,and headed up the unnamedstair.Shefeltflatandscrapedas an old hide. Dry as paperwritten on both sides. Eventheplayfulteasingofthenewstonestaircouldstirnobreathofjoyinher.

She climbed over thedebris, through the brokenwall, and into Tumbrel. Theroom looked different in the

yellow flickerling. Full oflooming fear anddisappointment.

Andwhenhereyespassedover the vanity, she saw itdifferently. It was not rakishnow. In the shifting light shesawithadasinisterbent,andcaughtaglimpseofwhatwasturning it from true. Shecould feel the tattered edgesofitsdisarray.

But tanglehaired and

sticky, all unwashed andhollow as she was, she washardly in the proper state formending. She was in nomood to tend to theungratefulthing.

Instead Auri knelt beforethewardrobeandsetthespiritlamp beside her. Her kneeswerechillyonthestonefloorasshepulledopenthedrawerand looked down at thecreamyfoldedsheetsinside.

Auri closed her eyes. Shetook a long, stiff breath andsigheditoutagain.

Eyes still closed, shestuffed the blanket hard intothe drawer. Then she lay herhandupon the topmostsheet.Yes. This was fair. Evenblind she could sense thesweetness of it. Her fingerstrailed across the creamysurface....

She heard a tiny frizzling

noiseandcaught thescentofburninghair.

Auri sprang back,scrabbling madly backwardon all fours, away from theviciousspittingyellowflame.Catching hold of her hair, itwascoldcomfort to seeonlya few stray strands werecharred. Auri stomped backtothewardrobe,snatchedherblanket up, and slammed thedrawer, too furious to even

thinkofbeingproperlypolite.Then, climbing through

thebrokenwall,Auristubbedher toes against a juttingblock of stone. She didn’tdrop her lamp, but it was anearthing.Insteadshemerelycried in pain, staggering tocatchherbalance.

Auri sat down hard uponthe floor, clutching her foot.Itwas only then she realizedshe’d dropped her blanket. It

waslayingonthenakedstonebeside her. She grit her teethso hard she feared that theywouldbreak.

After a long moment shegathered up her things,trudged back to Port, andstuffed the blanket angrilyinto the wine rack. Sincethat’swhereitbelongednow.Since that’s the way thingshadtobe.

Aurispentalongtimesittingin her thinking chair, glaringat the brazen gear. Itwas allglimmer and warm honey intheyellowlight.Sheglaredatitallthesame.Asifitweretoblame. As if it were the onethat made a mess ofeverything.

Eventuallyhersulkburnedout. Eventually she calmed

enoughtorealizethetruth.Youcouldn’tfightthetide

or change the wind. And ifthere was a storm? Well, agirl should batten down andbail,notruntherigging.Howcould she help but make amess of things, the state thatshewasin?

She’d strayed from thetrueway of things. First youset yourself to rights. Andthen your house. And then

your corner of the sky. Andafterthat...

Well, then she didn’trightly know what happenednext.Butshehopedthatafterthat theworldwould start torun itself a bit, like a gear-watch proper fit and kissedwith oil. That was what shehoped would happen.Because honestly, thereweredaysshefeltrubbedraw.Shewas so tired of being all

herself. The only one thattended to the proper turningoftheworld.

Still,itwassulkorsail.SoAuristoodandrinsedherfaceand hands and feet. Therewasnosoap,ofcourse.Itwasno kind of proper wash. Itdidn’t make her feel even alittle better. But what elsecouldshedo?

She brought the lamp toher lips and puffed out the

yellow tongue of flame.Darknessfloodedintofilltheroom, andAuri climbed intohernarrow,nakedbed.

Aurilayinthedarkforalongwhile. She was tired andtangled and hungry andhollow.Shewaswearyinher

heart and head. But even so,sleepwouldnotcome.

She thought it was thelonelinessatfirst.Orthechillthat kept her gritty-eyed andshifty.Perhapsitwasthedullache of her twice-bithand....

But no. Those were noless than she deserved. Theywere not enough to keep herallwide eyed at night. She’dlearned to sleep with worse

than that. Back in the timesbeforehe’dcome.Backintheyears before she had hersweetnewperfectname.

No. She knew what theproblemwas. She slid out ofher bed and brought out oneof her fewmatches. It struckon the first try, and Aurismiled white in the red lightofitssulfuriousflaring.

She lit thespirit lampandcarriedittoPort.Guiltily,she

removedherblanketfromthewinerackwhereshe’dstuffedit.Shesmootheditgentlyoutacross the table, murmuringan apology. And she wassorry. She knew better.Cruelty never helped theturningoftheworld.

She folded the blanketcarefully then, her handsgentle. She matched thecornersandkeptitsquareandtrue. Then she found the

proper place for it upon thebookshelf, and brought thesmooth grey stone so that itwouldn’t want for company.Itwouldbecoldatnight,andshewouldmiss it.But itwashappythere.Didn’titdeserveto be happy? Didn’teverything deserve its properplace?

Still,shecriedabitasshetuckedtheblanketin,settlingitontheshelf.

Auri made her way backinto Mantle and sat on herbed. Then she went back toPort tomake sure her cryinghadn’t skewed things allabout. But no. She brushedthe blanket with her hands,comforting. It was as itshouldbe.Itwashappy.

Back in Mantle, Aurimoved about the bare room,making sure everything wasas it should be.Her thinking

chair was just so. Her cedarbox was flush against thewall. Foxen’s dish anddropper jar were resting onthebedshelf.Thebrazengearsat in its niche, indifferent totheworld.

The fireplace was empty:clean and trim. Her bedsidetableheldhertinysilvercup.Above the fireplace on themantelpiece sat her perfectyellow leaf.Her small strong

box of stone. Her grey glassjar with kind, dried lavenderinside. Her ring of sweet,warmautumngold.

Auri touched each ofthese, making sure of them.They were everything theyought tobeandnothingelse.Theywerefineasfine.

Despiteallofthis,shefeltunsettled. Here, in her mostperfectplace.

Auri hurried down to

Borough, brought back abroom, and set to sweepingMantle’sfloor.

It took an hour. Notbecause of any mess. ButAuri swept slowly andcarefully.Andtherewasquitealotoffloor.Shedidn’toftenthink of it, asMantle hardlyneededtendinganymore.Butitwasabigplace.

Itwas hers, and the placeloved her, and she fit here

likeapea inherownperfectpod.Butevenso,therewasalotofemptyfloor.

The floor all fresh, Aurireturned the broom. On herway back she wanderedthrough Port to check on theblanket.Itseemedtobedoingwell, but she brought thehollybottle over to keep itcompany too, just in case. Itwas a terrible thing to belonely.

She stepped back intoMantleagainandsetthespiritlamp on her table. She tookher three remaining matchesout of her pocket and putthemonthetabletoo.

As she sat on the edge ofher bed, Auri realized whatwas out of place. She washerselfindisarray.She’dseensomething in Tumbrel andnottendedtoit.Aurithoughtof the three-mirrored vanity

and a tickling finger of guiltran itself along the edge ofherheart.

Even so. She was tireddown in her bones now.Weary andhurt. Perhaps justthisonce...

Auri frowned and shookherheadfuriously.Shewasawicked thing sometimes. Allfull of want. As if the shapeoftheworlddependedonhermood. As if she were

important.Soshestoodandmadeher

slow way back to Tumbrel.Down Crumbledon. ThroughWains.Throughcircle-perfectAnnulet and up the unnamedstair.

Afterclimbingthroughthebrokenwall,Aurilookedhardat thevanity in theflickeringlight. As she did, she couldfeel her heart rise slightly inher chest. The shifting light

against threemirrors, itmadecountless shadows danceacrossthebottlesthere.

Stepping closer, Auriwatchedcarefully.Shewouldneverhaveseenthisproperlywithout theshiftingnatureoftheyellow light.She steppedleft, then right, looking atthings from both sides. Shetilted her head. She went toher knees so that her eyeswerelevelwiththesurfaceof

the vanity. A sudden, sunnysmile spilled all across herface.

Back straight,Auri sat ontheedgeof thechair in frontofthevanity.Shetriednottolook in themirrors, knowinghow she must appear. Anunwashed, red-eyed, tangledmess.Toothin.Toopale.Shewas no kind of lady. Sheopened the two drawersinstead and stared into them

for a moment, letting theyellow light and shadowsslidearoundinside.

After several minutes,Auri nodded to herself. Sheremoved the pair of glovesfrom the right-hand drawerand set them near themirrorbyapotof rouge.ThenAuripulled the right-hand drawercompletely freeand switcheditwith itspartneron the left.She sat there for a long

moment, moving the twodrawers back and forth intheir new tracks, a look ofintent concentration on herface.

Everything atop wasdisarray, bottles and baublesstrewn about. Despite that,nearlyeverythingwasjusttheway it ought to be.The onlyexception was the hairbrush,which Auri tucked into theleft-hand drawer by the

handkerchiefs, and a smallgoldenbroochwithtwobirdsin flight, which she hidbeneathafoldedfan.

After that, the only thingout of place was a delicateblue bottle with a twistedsilver stopper. Like many oftheotherbottles,itwaslayingonitsside.Aurisetitupright,but that wasn’t right. Shetried to tuck it in a drawer,butitdidn’tfitthere,either.

Shepickeditup, listeningto the liquid tinkling inside.She looked around the roomuncertainly. She opened thevanity’s drawers again, thenslidthemclosedagain.Theredidn’t seem tobeaplace forit.

She shook the bottle idlyinherhandandtappeditwithher fingernail. The pale blueglasswasdelicateaseggshell,butdusty.Shegavethebottle

a good polishing, hoping itmight be a little moreforthcoming.

When it was clean itgleamed like the heart ofsome forgotten icy god.Turning it over in her hands,she saw tiny letters etchedacross the bottom of theglass. They read: For MyIntoxicatingEsther.

Auri put her hand acrossher mouth, but a muffledgiggle still escaped. Movingslowly, her expression thickwithdisbelief,sheunscrewed

the stopper and took a sniff.She laughed openly then,hugely, from deep in herbelly. She laughed so hardshe could barely screw thetop back on. She was stillchuckling a minute later asshe tucked the bottle deepintoherpocket.

Shewasstillsmilingwhenshe made her careful waydown the unnamed stair andput the bottle carefully away

inPort.Itlikedthebookshelfbest, and that was doublygood, as there it would keepboth hollybottle and theblanketcompany.

Auri was still smilingwhen she climbed into hertiny perfect bed. And yes, itwascold,andlonelytoo.Butthatcouldnotbehelped.Sheknew better than anyone, itwas worth doing things theproperway.

ASHANDEMBER

WHEN AURI WOKE onthefifthday,Foxenwasquiterecoveredfromhismood.

Thatwasforthebest.Shehadabusylotofworktodo.

Laying in the dark, shewonderedwhatthedaywouldbring. Some days weretrumpet-proud.Theyheraldedlike thunder. Some werecourteous, careful as alettered card upon a silverplate.

But some days were shy.They did not namethemselves.Theywaitedforacarefulgirltofindthem.

This was such a day. Aday too shy to knock uponher door. Was it a callingday? A sending day? Amakingday?Amendingday?

Shecouldnottell.Assoonas Foxen was sufficientlyunslumberous, Auri went toTaps and fetched freshwater

for her basin. Then back inMantle she rinsed her faceandhandsandfeet.

There was no soap, ofcourse. That was the veryfirst of things that shewouldset to rights today. She wasnot vain enough towork herwill against the world. Butshe could use the things theworldhadgivenher.Enoughfor soap. That was allowed.Thatwaswithinherrights.

First she lit her spiritlamp. With Foxen’s sweetcerulean to soften it, theyellow flame helped warmthe room without filling itwith frantic shadowsclawingat the walls, all jerk andjudder.

Auri opened up the flueandsetacarefulfirewithhernewfound tangle-wood. Sofineanddry.Allashandelmand spryhawthorn.She soon

setitcracklingtolife.Sheeyeditforamoment,

thenturnedaway.Itwouldbeburningforsometime.Itwasjust as Master Mandragalways said: nine tenths ofchemistrywaswaiting.

But she hadwork enoughto fill the time. First sheventured down to Tree. Shefetched the small copperkettle and her cracked claycup. She pocketed the empty

linen sack. She eyed thebutter in the well, thenfrowned at it and shook herhead, knowing better than toborrow trouble with theknivesitheld.

She lifted out the hardwhite lump of suet instead,sniffed it curiously andgrinned. Then she gatheredup the tiny tripodallof iron.Shetookhersackofsalt.

She was just about toleave when she paused andeyed the silver bowl ofnutmegseeds.Sostrangeandrare. So full of faraway. Shepicked one up and ran herfingertips along its tippledskin. She brought it to her

face and breathed in deep.Muskandthistle.Asmelllikea bordello curtain, deep andredandfullofmysteries.

Stilluncertain,Auriclosedher eyes and bent her head.The pink tip of her tongueflickedshylyouttotouchthestrange brown pittem. Shestoodthere,stillasstill.Then,eyes closed, she brushed thesmooth side of it soft acrossher lips. It was a tender,

thoughtful motion. It wasnothinglikeakiss.

After a long moment,Auri’s mouth spread into awide, delighted smile. Hereyes went wide as lamps.Yes.Yesyes.Itwastheverything.

The leaf-etched silver bowlwas heavy, so Auri made aspecialtripandcarriedittwo-handedback toMantle.Nextshe fetched the large stonemortar where it hunkereddown all lurksome inDarkhouse. She went toClinks and brought twobottlesback.ShesearchedthefloorofTennerstillshefounda scattering of dry pineneedles. She brought these

backtoMantletooandplacedthem at the bottom of thecrackedclaycup.

Bythenthefirehadfadedinto ashes. She swept themup. She placed them in thecracked clay cup and packedthemtight.

She went to rinse hersooty hands. She rinsed herfaceandfeet.

Auri set another fire andkindledit.Sheputthesuetin

thekettle.Shehungthekettlebythefiretomelt.Sheaddedsalt.Shegrinned.

She went down to Treeagain and brought back theacornsshehadgatheredandawide,flatpan.Sheshelledthenuts and toasted them,jiggling them about in thepan.Shesprinkled themwithsalt and ate them each byeach.Somewerebitter.Somewere sweet. Some were

hardly anything. That wasjustthewayofthings.

Aftershe’deatenthemall,she eyed the suet and saw itwasn’t finished. Not by half.So one by one she crackedthenutmegseeds.Shegroundthem in theold stonemortar.Shegroundthemfineasdustandpouredthedustintoajar.Crack and grind. Crack andgrind.Themortarwasagrimthing,thuggishandterse.But

after two days without aproper wash, Auri found itperfectsuitedtohermood.

When she was finishedgrinding, Auri pulled thecopperpotofmeltedsuetoffthe fire. She stirred. Shesieved thedottleoff till therewas nothing left but hot,sharp tallow. She set thecopperpotaside tocool.Shewent to fetch fresh waterfrom the proper copper pipe

in Pickering. She filled thespiritlampfromabrightsteeltap tucked tidily away inBorough.

When she returned, thefirehaddiedagain.Sheswepttheashesupandpressedthemdown into the cracked claycup.

She rinsed her sootyhands. She rinsed her faceandfeet.

Shelit thefirea thirdand

final time, thenAuriwent toPort and eyed her shelves.She brought the bottle ofEsther’s and set it near thefireplace with her tools. Shebroughtthehollycloth.

Nextshecarriedinthejarof dark blue laurel fruit. Butmuch to her chagrin, itwouldn’t fit. No matter howshe tried, the jar of laurelsimply wouldn’t let itself besettled with her tools. Not

evenwhen she offered it themantleplace.

Auri felt unfairly vexed.The laurel would have beenideal. She’d thought of it assoon as she’d awoke andthought of soap. It wouldhavefitlikehandintoahand.She’dplannedtomingle...

But no. There was noplace for it. That much wasclear. The stubborn thingwouldsimplynotbereasoned

with.Itexasperatedher,butshe

knewbetter than to force theworld to bend to her desire.Hernamewaslikeanechoofan ache in her. She wasunwashedandtangled-haired.Itwould be nothing but purefolly.Shesighedandbroughtthejarofdarkbluefruitbackto its shelf in Port where itsat:self-centeredandcontent.

Then Auri sat upon the

warm, smooth stones ofMantle. She sat before thefireplace, hermakeshift toolslaidoutaroundher.

The ashes in the crackedclay cup were just as theyshouldbe.Fineandsoft.Oakwould have made them toointractable. Birch was bitter.But this, this was a perfectmix. Ash and elm andhawthorn. They made amedley without melding or

meddling.Theashwasproudbut not unseemly. The elmwas graceful but notinappropriately apetalous,especiallyforher.

And the hawthorn . . .well. Auri blushed a bit atthat. Suffice to say thatapetalousorno, shewas stilla healthy young lady, andtherewas sucha thingas toomuchdecorum.

Next she brought out the

bottleofEsther’s.Theywereterribly coy, full of stolenmoments and the scent ofselas flower. Perfect.Thieving was precisely whatsheneededhere.

The nutmeg was foreign,and something of a stranger.Itwasbrimfulofseafoam.Alovely addition. Essential.They were cipher and amystery. But that was notparticularly troublesome to

her. She understood somesecretsmustbekept.

She peered into thecooling pot and saw thetallow starting to congeal. Ithugged the kettle’s edge,making a slender crescentlike the moon. She grinned.Of course. She had found itunderneath the moon. Itwould follow the moon,waxingfull.

But lookingcloser,Auri’s

smile faded. The suet wasclean and strong, but therewerenoapplesinitanymore.Now itwasbrimming full ofage and anger. It was athunderstormofrage.

That wouldn’t do at all.Shecouldhardly laveherselfwith rage day after day.Andwith no laurel to keep it atbay . . . Well, she wouldsimplyhavetodrawtheangerout. If not, her soap was

worsethanruined.Auri went back into Port

and looked around. It was afairly simple choice. Shelifted up the honeycomb andtookasinglebite.Sheclosedhereyesandfeltherselfgoallgooseprickle from thesweetnessofit.Shecouldnothelp but giggle as she lickedit off her lips, almost dizzyfrom theworkofbees insideher.

Aftershehadsuckedallofthe sweetness from it, Auridelicately spat the lump ofbeeswax out into her palm.She rolled it in her handsuntil it made a soft, roundbead.

Shegatheredupthetallowpot and made her way toUmbrel. The moon wasmotherlyhere,peeringkindlythrough thegrate.Thegentlelight feathered slantways

down to kiss the stone floorof the Underthing. Auri satbeside the circle of silverlightandgentlyset thekettleinthecenterofit.

The cooling tallow nowformed a thin white ringaround the inside of thecopperkettle.Aurinoddedtoherself.Threecircles.Perfect

forasking.Itwasbettertobegentle and polite. It was theworst sort of selfishness toforce yourself upon theworld.

Auri tied the bead ofbeeswax to a thread anddipped it in the center of thestill hot tallow.After severalmoments,sherelaxedtoseeitworking like a charm. Shefelt the rage congealing,gathering around the wax,

heading to it like a bear onhuntforhoney.

By the time the circle ofmoonlighthadleftthecopperpotbehind,everybitofangerhad been leached out of thetallow.Asneatafactoringasever hand of man hadmanaged.

ThenAuri took the kettleoff to Tree and set it in themoving water of the chillwell.Cricket-quickthetallow

cooled to form a flat whitedisktwofingersthick.

Auri carefully lifted thediskof tallowoff the surfaceand poured the golden waterunderneath away, noting idlythatitheldahintofsleepandalltheapplestoo.Thatwasapity. But it could not behelped, suchwas the way ofthingssometimes.

The bead of wax wasseething.Now that the anger

had been factored free, Aurirealized it was much fiercerstuff than shehad thought. Itwas fury, thunderous withuntimely death. It was amother’s rage for cubs nowleftalone.

Auri was glad the beadalready dangled from athread.Shewouldbeloathtotouchitwithherhands.

Slow and quiet, Auritucked the bead into a thick

glass jar and sealed itwith atight, tight lid. This shecarried off to Boundary. Ohso careful she carried it. Ohso careful she placed it on ahigh stone shelf. Behind theglass.Itwouldbesafestthere.

In Mantle, Auri’s third and

final fire had fallen into ash.She swept it up again.Theseashes filled the cracked claycuptobrimming.

She rinsed her sootyhands. She rinsed her faceandfeet.

All was ready. Aurigrinned and sat down on thewarmstonefloorwithallhertools arrayed around her.Onthe outside she was allcomposed,butinsideshewas

fairly dancing at the thoughtofhernewsoap.

She set the kettle on theiron tripod. Underneath sheslidthespiritlampsothatthehot, bright flame could kissthe copper bottom of thekettle.

First therewasherperfectdisk of cleanwhite tallow. Itwas strong and sharp andlovely as the moon. Part ofher, some wicked, restless

piece, wanted to break thedisk to bits so it wouldmeltthe faster. So she could haveher soap the sooner. So shecouldwashherselfandbrushherhairandfinallysetherselftorightsaftersolong....

Butno.Sheset the tallowgently in the kettle, carefulnottogiveoffense.Sheleftitin its pure and perfect circle.Patienceandpropriety.Itwastheonlygracefulthingtodo.

Next came the ashes. Sheset thecrackedclaycupatopa squat glass jar. She pouredthe clear, clean water overthem. It filtered through theash and drip, tick, trickledthroughthecrackinthecup’sbottom.Itwasthesmokyredofbloodandmudandhoney.

When the final drips hadfallen, Auri held the jar ofcinderwash aloft and saw itwas as fine as any she had

ever made. It was a sunsetdusky red. Stately andgraceful, it was a changingthing. But underneath it all,the liquid held a blush ofwantonness. It held all theproper things the wood hadbroughtandmanycausticliesbesides.

In some ways this wouldbe enough. The tallow andthecinderwashwouldmakeaserviceable soap. But there

would be no apples in it.Nothing sweet or kind. Itwould be hard and chill aschalk. It would resemblebathing with an indifferentbrick.

So yes, in some ways,these would be enough forsoap. But how awful wouldthat be? How terrible to livesurrounded by the stark,sharp, hollowness of thingsthatsimplywereenough?

Sitting on the warm,smooth floorofMantle,Aurishivered at the thought ofmoving through a joylessworld like that. Nothingperfect.Nothingbeautifulandtrue.Ohno.Shewastoowiseto live thatway.Auri lookedaround and smiled at all herluxury. She had a perfectloving leafand lavender.Shewore her favorite dress. HernamewasAuri, and itwas a

shining piece of gold insideherallthetime.

So she twisted off thesilver stopper from the ice-blue jar, and poured theperfume in among the well-ground nutmeg powder. Thesmell of selas flower filledthe room, so sweet and lightagainst the prickle sting ofnutmeg.

Aurismiledandstirredthetwo together with a kindling

stick, then poured the thick,wet,pulpymassintothelinensack she’d set inside awide-mouthed jar. She used twostickstotwisttheendsofthesack, and her makeshiftwringer squeezed the fabrictight until it oozed a thick,darkoilyliquidthatspattereddown into the jar. It wasbarely a slow trickle. Just aspoonful of the liquid. Twospoonfuls.Three.

She turned the sticks, hermouthalineofconcentration.Thelinentwistedtighter.Thedark liquid welled up,gathered, dripped. Drippedagain.

Despite herself, Auriwished she had a properpress. It was so wastefulotherwise. She strainedagainstthesticks,shiftinghergripandgiving themanotherhalfaturn.Shegritherteeth,

her knuckles going white.Another drip. Three more.Ten.

Auri’s arms began totremble, and despite herselfshe glanced toward the iron-bound door that led toBoundary.

Shelookedaway.Shewasa wicked thing, but she wasnot so bad as that. Idlewishing was mere fancy. Itwas another thing entirely to

bend the world toward herowndesires.

Finally her shaking armscould bear no more. Shesighed, relaxed, and pulledthe sticks free, upending thelinensackintoashallowpan.Nolongeradark,pulpymass,the nutmeg pomace nowlookedpaleandcrumbly.

Auri lifted up the glassand eyed the viscous liquid,clearasamber.Itwaslovely,

lovely, lovely. It was likenothing that she’d ever seenbefore. It was thick withsecrets and sea foam. It wasprickle-rich with mystery. Itwas full of musk andwhispers and tetradecanoicacid.

Itwas so fine a thing shedearlywished formore of it.Thejarhardlyheldapalmful.She glanced over at the panand thoughtof squeezingout

thepomacewithherhandstogather up a few morepreciousdrops....

But reaching out, Aurifound that she was oddlyloathetotouchthegrittymasswithherownnakedskin.Shepausedandtippedherheadtolookmorecloselyatthepale,grey, crumbling pomace andher stomach pulled into aknotatwhatshesaw.

It was full of screaming.

Days of endless dark redscreaming.Ithadbeenhiddenby the mysteries before, butnow the selas-sweet hadstolen those away, and Aurisaw the screaming clear asday.

Auri lifted up the jar andeyedtheamberbyne.Butno.It was just as she had seenbefore. There was noscreaming hidden thereamong the mysteries and

musk. It was still a perfectthing.

Auri drew a long andshaky breath at that. Andsetting down the jar, shegently lay the linen sack andbothhertwistingsticksinsidetheshallowtinpanbesidethehorrid pomace. She handledthem as little as she could,with nothing but herfingertips,asiftheyhadbeenpoisoned.

She did not want it nearher. No bit of it. She knewalready. She knew of red.She’d had enough ofscreaming.

Sweating slightly, Aurilifted up the pan with bothher hands and turned to facethe doorway. Then shestopped before she took asingle step toward well-ordered Port. She could notkeep this there. Who knew

what chaos it would bring?Screaming was no kind ofkindlyneighbor.

Auri turned toward thehallwaythen.Shetookastep,then stopped, not knowingwhere she’d go. To Billowswhere the wind would carryscreaming all throughout theUnderthing?ToTreewhereitwouldsmolderlikeacoal,sonear her pots and pans andpreciouspeas....

Butno.Nono.So Auri turned a final

time. She turned to face thethirdwayoutofMantle.Sheturned toward the iron-bounddoor and brought the linenbagtoBoundary.

Returning, Auri rinsed her

face. She rinsed her handsandfeet.

She took one step towardthetripodandthecopperpot,then stopped. She went backto her basin. She rinsed herface. She rinsed her handsandfeet.

More than anything shewantedsoap.Tositandfinishwhatshehadbegun.Shewassoclose.Butfirstshesteppedoffhurriedly toPort tomake

herself quite sure of things.She smoothed the blanketwithbothhands.Shetouchedthe flat grey stone. Shemoved the hollybottle backwhere it belonged. Shetouchedtheleatherbook,thenopenedup thecover tomakesure certain its pages werestillalluncut.Theywere.Butglancing back toward theshelf she saw the stone hadgonealloutofjoint.Shetried

toslideitbacktoproper truebut couldn’t see the shapeofitandcouldn’ttellthewayofthings and if it was a placewhereitwasright.Thehoneytoo. She wanted honey butshemustn’t....

Sherubbedhereyes.Thenforced herself to stop andlook down at her hands. Shehurried back to Mantle. Sherinsed her face. She rinsedherhandsandfeet.

Shefeltthepanicrisinginherthen.Sheknew.Sheknewhow quickly things couldbreak.Youdidthethingsyoucould. You tended to theworld for the world’s sake.You hoped you would besafe. But still she knew. Itcould come crashing downand there was nothing youcoulddo.Andyes.Sheknewshe wasn’t right. She knewher everything was canted

wrong. She knew her headwas all unkilter. She knewshe wasn’t true inside. Sheknew.

Her breath was comingharder now. Her heart ahammer in her chest. Thelight was brighter and sheheardthesoundofthingsthatnormallyshecouldn’thear.Akeening of the world all outof place. A howl ofeverything all turned from

true....Auri looked around the

room, all startle sweat andfear.Shewas tangleandcut-string. Even here. She couldsee traces. Mantle was alleggshell. Even her mostperfect place. Her bed wasalmost not her bed. Herperfect leaf so frail. Her boxof stone so far away. Herlavender no help at all andgrowingpale....

She looked down at hershaking hands. Was she allfull of screaming now?Again?No.No no. Itwasn’ther. Not just. It was alleverything. All everythingunravelding and thin andtatter. She could not evenstand. The light was jagged,scraping like a knife againsther teeth. And underneath itwas the hollow dark. Thenameless empty everything

was clawing at the frayingedges of the walls. EvenFoxen wasn’t even nearly.Thestoneswerestrange.Theair.Shewent looking forhername and couldn’t even findit flickering. She was justhollow in. Everything was.Everything was everything.Everything was everythingelse. Even here in her mostperfect place. She needed.Pleasesheneededplease....

Butthere.Againstthewallshe saw the brazen gear wasallunchanged.Itwastoofullof love. Nothing could shiftit.Nothingcouldturnitfromitself.Whenalltheworldwaspalimpsest, it was a perfectpalindrome.Inviolate.

It was all the way acrossthe room. So far she fearedshe could not reach it. Notwith the stones below hergonesorough.Nothollowas

shewas.Butwhenshemovedabit she saw itwasnothardat all. It was downhill. Theproud,brightbrazengearwastrue enough, it pressed downhard against the thin frayedtatterworldandmadeadent.

Then shewas touching it.It was so smooth and warmalongitsface.Andallasweatbreathless desperate Auripressed her forehead upagainstitscool.Shetookhold

ofitwithbothherhands.Thesharpnessof its edgesonherpalms was like a calmingknife.Sheclung to it at first,like someone in a shipwreckgrips the stone of shore. Butall theworld aroundherwasstill storm. All tumbledown.All crumble pale and ache.And so, with shaking armsshe strained against it. Shepulled to turn the gear uponitsnarrow ledgeof rock.She

spun it widdershins. Thebreakingway.

It tipped from tooth totooth. She spun the brazengear and only then did Auriunderstand the fearsomeweightofit.Itwasafulcrumthing.Itwasapin.Apivot.Itshifted,tilted,buttruthfullyitonlyseemed to turn. In truth,itstayed.Itstaid.In truththewholeworldspun.

One finalweighty tip and

now the space left by themissing tooth was turnedstraight down. And as theedges of the gear grit hardinto the stone Auri felt thewholeworldjararoundher.Itticked. Clicked. Fit. Fixed.Trembling,shelookedaroundand saw that everything wasfine. Her bed was just herbed. All of everything inMantle: fine. Nothing wasnothing else. Nothing was

anythingitshouldn’tbe.

Auri sat down hard uponthe floor. So sudden-full ofsweet relief she gasped. Shelaughed and gathered up thegear and held it to her chest.She kissed it. She closed hereyesandwept.

ALLTOHERDESIRE

SETTING FULCRUMBACK upon his narrowledge, Auri wiped hersmudgy tears away from hissweet brazen face. Then shewalkedover to thekettleandwaspleased tosee the tallowwas allmelted. It smelled ofhot, of hearth, of earth, ofbreath. She bent and puffedtheyellowflameaway.

Then to her basin. Auririnsed her face. She rinsed

herhandsandfeet.She sat herself beside the

kettle on the warm stonefloor. Soon now. Close. Shegrinned, and for the space ofone long breath she almostdidn’t mind how tangle-haired and smudged she hadbecome.

Auri stirred the tallowwithaslenderstick.Shedrewa calming breath. She tookthe jar of cinderwash and

poureditslowlyinamongthetallow.Themixwent cloudyallatonce,white tingedwithjust a hint of pink. Shegrinnedherproudestgrinandstirredandstirredagain.

Shegathereduptheamberbyne, all prickling quick andpetal kind. She poured it inthe kettle too, and all theroom was filled with muskand mystery and bear. Shestirredandselasfilledtheair.

Herfaceintent,oncemoreshe stirred. Once more. Shefelt the mix grow thick. Shestopped and set aside theslenderstick.

Shetookabreathandletitout. Shewent and rinsed herfaceandhandsandfeet.Twoby two, she gathered up hertools and took them backwheretheybelonged.BacktoTreeandPortandClinksshecarried bottles, lamps, and

pans.Whenallofthiswasdone,

Auri took the now-coolcopper pot and carried it toPort. She tipped the kettle,reached inside, and liftedouta smooth, curved dome ofpale,sweetsoap.

She used the flat edge ofthe petal plate to slice thedomeofsoap.Shecut it intocakes, each one a differentsize, a different shape. Each

toeach,andall toherdesire.It felt wicked and delicious,but given that the soap washers, this tiny willfulnesscoulddonoharm.

She indulgedherself fromtimetotime.Ithelpedremindhershewastrulyfree.

As she worked, Auri sawthesoapwasnottruewhite.Itwasthepalestpink,thecolorof fresh cream with just asingle drop of blood. Auri

lifted up a cake, andmovingoh so careful, she brought itto her face and touched itlightlywithhertongue.

She grinned at itsperfection. It was kissingsoap. Soft but firm.Mysterious but sweet. Therewas nothing like it in allTemerant.Nothingbelowtheearthorunderneaththesky.

Auri couldn’t wait amoment more. She skipped

off to her basin. Shewashedher face and hands and feet.She laughed. She laughed sosweet and loud and long itsounded likeabell, aharp,asong.

She went to Clinks. Shewashed herself. She brushedher hair. She laughed andleapt.

She hurried home. Shewent to bed. And all alone,shesmiledandslept.

THEGRACEFULWAYTO

MOVE

THE SIXTH DAY Auriwoke,hernameunfurlinglikeaflowerinherheart.

Foxenfeltittooandfairly

burstwithlightwhenshefirstwetted him. It was a waxingday.Adayformaking.

Shelaughedat thatbeforesheevenleftherbed.Thedayhad come too late, but shecould hardly care. Her soapwas sweet as any ever was.Besides, there was a dignityto doing things in your owntime.

But that thought soberedher somewhat. His visit

wouldnotwait.Hewouldbehere, soon. Tomorrow. Andshe still had nothing goodenough to share. She had noperfectgifttogive.

TherewerethreewaysoutofMantle....Butno.

She washed her face andhands and feet. She brushedherhairuntil itwasagoldencloud. She took a drink anddonned her favorite dress.She didn’t dally. Today was

goingtobeabusyday.First came the disposition

of her new and perfect soap.She had made seven cakes.Onewasbyherbasin,safeinMantle. One she’d washedwithyesterdayinClinks.Thelargestfourshecarriedoff toBakerytocure.Thesmallest,sweetest one she tucked intothe bottom of her cedar boxso she would never have togowithoutagain.Thatwasa

lessonfirmlylearned.Ohyes.She paused, one hand

inside her cedar box. Wouldhe like a cake of kissingsoap? It was quite fine. Heneverwouldhaveseenitslikebefore....

Butno.Sheflushedbeforeshe’d even finished thinkingit. Itwould be altogether tooimproper.Besides, itwasnotright for him. The mysteriesmightfit,buthehadmuchof

oak about him. Willow too,and he was absolutely not aselassort.

She shut the lid of hersweet cedar box, but gettingtoherfeet,Aurifelttheroomgobright and tip aroundher.Staggering, she took twostepsandsatdownonthebedbefore she fell. She felt thefear rise up in her. Her eyesdarted round the room, allstartlement.Wasthis...?

No. This was a simplerthing, her stomach was anempty drum again. She hadforgottentotendherself.

Sowhenherheadstoppedspinning, it was off to Tree.Butonawhim,forcompany,she brought along brashFulcrum.HehadseensolittleoftheUnderthing.Andheavyas he was, it really was theleast thatshecoulddoforallhishelp.

Pans were nearly all thefruitthatTreecouldofferup.But onlynearly.Shebroughtoutatinpotandfilleditwithfreshwater. She lit the spiritlamp with her penultimatematch.Thensheclimbedontothe counter and reachedwithbothhandstofetchdownherjar. The dried peas rolledinside, tinkling playfullyagainsttheglass.

Sheworkedthebalingtop

andpouredpeasintoher tinyhand until they filled hercupped palm. Her hand wasnot that large. It was not sovery many peas, but it washalf of what she had. Shetipped them into the potwhere they plinked into thewarmingwater.Then,after amoment’s hesitation, Aurishrugged and poured theotherhalfintothepotaswell.

She set the empty bottle

on thecountertopand lookedaround. The burner’sflickerlight and Foxen’sgreen-blueglowbothshowedthe bareness of the shelves.She sighed and put it fromhermind.Today therewouldbesoup.Tomorrowhewouldvisit.Andafterthat...

Well,after thatshewoulddoherbest.Thatwastheonlyway.Youdidnotwantthingsfor yourself. That made you

small. That kept you safe.That meant you could movesmoothly through the worldwithout upsetting everyapplecart you came across.And if you were careful, ifyou were a proper part ofthings, then you could help.You mended what wascracked. You tended to thethingsyoufoundaskew.Andyou trusted that the world inturn would brush you up

against the chance to eat. Itwas theonlygracefulway tomove.Allelsewasvanityandpride.

Could she bringhoneycombtosharewithhimtomorrow? It was theloveliestofthings.Hehadtoolittle sweetness in his life.Thatwasthetruth.

She thought on thiswhileboiling bubbles danced herpeas about the pot.Auri idly

strokedbrashFulcrum’sface,and after a long while ofmusing she decided, yes, thehoneycomb might work ifnothingelsepresented.

She stirred the soup a bitand added salt. She wishedthe butter wasn’t full ofknives. A little fat in thiswould be a true delight. AlittlefatwouldsuitittoaT.

After her lovely soup, Auriheadedback toMantle.WithFulcrum keeping companyshe could hardly make herway through Vaults orVeneret.Soshetookthelongway round andwent bywayofPickeringinstead.

Belly warm and with aguest besides, she took her

time along the close-fitsquarestonetunnels.Shewasnearly back to Doubton,Fulcrum heavy in her arms,when she felt a gentlecrickling underfoot andstopped.

Looking down, she saw ascattering of leaves upon thefloor. It didn’tmake a bit ofsense to find them here.There was no wind inPickering.Nowaterhere.She

looked around, but couldn’tsee a speckle of birddropping. She sniffed the airbutdidn’tsmellabitofmuskorpiss.

But there was nothingthreatening either. Nothingknotted up about the place.No skew or wrongness here.But not nothing neither. Itwashalfathing.Amystery.

Curious,AurisetFulcrumgently down upon the floor

and lifted up the leaf. Itlooked familiar. She huntedroundandfoundahandfulofthem scattered near an opendoorway.Shepickedtheseupand when they wrangled uptogether in her hand sheunderstood.

Excited,shetookFulcrumback to Mantle. Before sheleftshekissedhisfaceandsethim comfortably to rightsupon his stony ledge, gap

down of course. Then sheskipped to Port and lifted upthe silver bowl. She held thecrickling leaf she carried upagainst the twining leavesengraved around the edge. Itwasthesame.

She shook her head,unsure of what they mightportend. Still, therewas onlyonewaytotell.Takingupthesilver bowl, Auri scurried

back to Pickering, thenthrough the doorway whereshe’d found the clusteredleaves. Over a stone tumble.Aroundafallenbeam.

She did not know if shehadeverbeentothispieceofPickering before. But it wasstill simplicity itself to findher way. Here and there, aleaf or two would dot thefloorlikebreadcrumbs.

Finally she came to the

bottomofanarrowshaft thatled straight up. An ancientchimney from the daysbefore?A tunnel for escape?Awell?

It was narrow and steep,but Auri was a tiny thing.And even carrying the silverbowl she climbed it quicklyas a squirrel. At the top shefound a plank of wood,already partially askew. Shepushed it easily aside and

clambered out into abasementroom.

The room was dusty anddisused, full of shelves.Barrels stacked in corners.Shelves jammed full withbundles, kegs, and crates. Inamong the smell of dust shecaught a whiff of street andsweat and grass. Lookingroundshesawawindowhighup in the wall, and on thefloor below some broken

glass.It was a tidy place, save

for a scattering of leavesblown down in someforgotten storm. There weresacks of corn and barleyflour. Winter apples. Waxedpackages stuffed tight withfigsanddates.

Auri walked around theroom, her hands behind herback.Shesteppedlightlyasadancer on a drum. Kegs of

molasses. Jars of strawberrypreserve. Some squash hadtumbled from their burlapbundle just beside the door.She shooed themback insideand pulled the drawstringtight.

Eventually she bent tolookmore closely at a lowershelf.Asingleleafhadcometo rest atop a small claycrock. Moving carefully, shelifteduptheleaf,removedthe

crock,andputthesilverbowldowninitsplace.Shelaytheleaf back down inside thebowl.

She allowed herself asingle longing look aroundtheroom,nomore.ThenAuriheaded back the way shecame. Only back in thefamiliardarkofPickeringdidshe draw an easy breath.Theneagerlyshebrushedthedustfromhernewtreasure.If

the picture was to bebelieved, the crock heldolives.Theywerelovely.

TheoliveswenttoTree.Theylookeda little lonelyon theirshelf. But lonely was a longsight better than naught butempty echo, salt, and butter

full of knives. Better by alongroad.

Next she checked onthings in Port. The ice-bluebottle wasn’t entirely athome. It huddled on thelowest, leftest shelf upon theeastern wall. Auri touched itgently, doing her best toreassure. He liked bottles.Mightthisbeaseemlygift?

She picked it up andturneditinherhands.Butno.

Not this bottle. Grave.Graven. Not named forsomeoneelse.

Maybe someotherbottle?That felt nearly right. Notquite,butnearly.

She thought about thevanity inTumbrel.Yesterdayit had seemed squared andtrue. But she was more thanslightly tattered then. Not atherbest.Perhaps therewasabottlemixed among the rest.

Something wrong or lost oroutofplace.

If nothing else it was aplace to start. So Aurigathered up thewarm, sweetweight of Fulcrum in herarms.Andbecausehehadn’tseen them yet, she took theslightly longer way throughVan and Forth and Lucientbefore she headed down toWains.

She paused to rest in

Annulet,hernewandperfectcircle of a sitting room.Fulcrum settled like a kingupon the velvet chair whileAuri lounged upon thefainting couch and let herarms recover from the ohsweetacheofholdinghim.

But she was too busy forlong lounging. So Aurigathered up the heavy gearagainandmadeherslowwayup the unnamed stair, taking

her time so Fulcrum couldmarvel at the odd andcunningcoynessoftheplace.And,asthetwoofthemweregentlefolk,theybothignoredthebashfuldoorthatsatuponthelanding.

Then into Tumbrel.Climbing through the wall,Aurisawtheroomwasjustasshe remembered.Not perfecttruelikeAnnulet.Butnothingglaringly unskew. Nothing

askant or lost or loudlywrong. Now that the vanitywas squared away, Tumbrelseemed content to rumbledown into a long warmwinter’ssleep.

Even so, she’d come allthis way. So she opened upthe wardrobe and peeredinside. She touched thechamberpot. She looked intothe closet too, noddingpolitely to the broom and

bucketthere.Auri eyed the vanity.

Therewereafewfinebottlesthere. One especially caughther eye. It was small andpale. Coruscant, like opal.Perfectwith a cunning clasp.Shedidn’t have to open it tosee that there was breathinside.Apreciousthing.

She lifted Fulcrum higherand triedpeering through theroundhole in theverycenter

ofhisohsocenteredness.Shehoped to notice somethingshe had missed before.Something looseor raveledy.Some thread that she couldtug to jostle something free.But no. Whether she lookedstraight or slant, the vanitywas well and truly set torights.

A bottle coruscant withhidden breath would be aprincely gift. But no. Taking

itwaseverybitasstupidandunkind as wrenching out atooth so she could carve abeadfromitandthreaditonastring.

She sighed and left. Outthrough the wall, then downthe unnamed stair. PerhapsshecouldgohuntingdowninLynne, itwasapipingplace,andmus—

It was then. Headingdown, a sly stone turned

beneath her foot. As Aurimade her musing way fromTumbrel down the unnamedstair, a stone step tipped andpitched. Her forward.Lurching.

Aurigaveacry,andinhersudden startle Fulcrum leaptaway. He spun and tumbledfromher armsand sailedoutfrom the cloud of her goldhair. Heavy as he was, healmost seemed to float rather

than fall.He turned, toppled,andstrucktheseventhstairsohardhecrackedthestoneandbounded back into the air,thenspunagain,fellflatuponhisbrazenface,andshatteredonthelanding.

The sound he made waslike the keening of a brokenbell. The sound was like adying harp. Bright piecesscattered when he struck thestone.

Auri somehow kept herfeet. She didn’t fall, but oh,her heart went icy in herchest. She sat down hardupon the steps. Too numb towalk.Herheartwascoldandwhiteaschalk.

Shecouldstill feelhiminher hands. She saw the linesofhissharpedgeskissedintoher skin. Coming to her feetshe shuffled stiffly down thestairs. Her steps were numb

and stumbling as morethoughtless step-stones triedtotripher,likeadaftoldmanwho won’t stop telling anunfunnyjokeyetandagain.

She knew. She shouldhavemovedmoregentlywiththeworld.Sheknewthewayof things. She knew if youweren’t always steppinglightly as a bird the wholeworld came apart to crushyou. Like a house of cards.

Like a bottle against stones.Like a wrist pinned hardbeneath a hand with the hotbreath smell of want andwine....

Allbrittlestiff,Auricameto stand upon the bottomstair. Her eyes were downand all around her hung hersunny hair. This was theworst of wrong. She couldnot bring herself to lookbeyond her tiny dust-

smudgedfeet.Buttherewasnothingelse

to do. She lifted up her eyesand peered. Then peeked.Thenshesawthepieces,andher heart went sideways inher chest. No. Not shattered.Broken.Hehadbroken.

Slowly Auri’s face broketoo. It broke into a grin sowide you’d think she ate themoon. Oh yes. Fulcrum hadbroken, but that wasn’t

wrong. Eggs break. Horsesbreak. Waves break. Ofcourse he broke. How elsecouldsomeonesoallcertain-centered let his perfectanswers out into the world?Some things were just tootruetostay.

Fulcrumlayinthreebrightpieces. Three jagged shapeswith three teeth each. Nolonger a pin stuck hard intothe heart of things. He had

becomethreethrees.If anything her grin grew

wider then. Oh. Oh. Oh. Ofcourse. It wasn’t somethingshe was looking for. Nowonderallhersearchingwasfor naught. No wondereverythingwascantedwrong.It was three things. He wasbringing three, and so mustshe. Three perfect threeswouldbehergiftforhim.

Auri’sbrowfurrowedand

sheturnedtolookbackupthestairs.Thegearhadstrucktheseventh step. Fulcrum hadshattered it quite flagrantly.Notseventhen.Anotherthingshe had been wrong about.He wasn’t coming on theseventh day. He would visithertoday.

Some other time thatknowingmighthave sentherspinning badly out of true. Itwouldhavesetherallasweat

and tangled beyond all hope.But not today. Not with thetruth so sweetly set beforeher. Not with everything sosudden plain for her to see.Three thingswaseasy if youknewthewayofit.

Auri was so whelmed ittook her several minutesbeforesherealizedwhereshewas standing. Or rather, sherealized that the stairwayfinally knew where it was.

Knewwhat it was. Where itbelonged. Ithadaname.ShewasinNinewise.

THEHIDDENHEARTOFTHINGS

AURIGATHEREDUP thethrees and headed back toMantle. They seemed muchlighter now, though that wasno surprise.Theyhad spilled

their secrets, and Auri knewfullwellhowheavyhard-heldsecretscouldbecome.

Back in Mantle, Auricarefully arrayed the threes.But before she even finishedsettling them along the wall,shesawtheshapeofherfirstgift to him. It couldn’t bemore clear.Nowonder therewas so much extra floor inhere. No wonder she hadnever used the second shelf

alongthewall.Theteethweremarvelous.

So true. They shone likewishesfromafaerietale.

Seeinghowitoughttobe,Auritookthefirstbrightthreestraight back to Tumbrel.Through Wains with itsaltogether men, and circle-perfect Annulet, thenNinewise,allnonchalantwithitsnew-namedness.

Grinning,Auri carried the

bright brass three right up tothe wardrobe drawer andtuckedit inmostcarefully.Itnestled in effortlessly. It fitthere like a lover or a key.She reached down with bothhandsand felt thecoolwhitesmoothness of the sheetagainst her fingertips. Shebroughtitupandpressedittoherlips.

It was free to leave. Andbreathless, she came running

back to Mantle with itclutchedagainstherchest.

The second three shecarried straightaway toTocks. And for a breathlessmoment Auri left theUnderthingbehind.Abrokenwall, a hidden stair, thenthrough a basement up intothe store room of the finestinn she knew. There she leftthe three and took away athickwhiteeiderstuffedwith

innocence and down. It wasfine and soft, full of kindwhispers and rememberedroads.

Even laden with theweight of it, Auri sprintedthrough the tunnels lightlyasawisp.

Back in Mantle, shespread the mattress carefullyagainst the wall across fromher own bed. Close enoughthat if he needed her just

whisperingwouldbeenough.Closeenoughsoifhewantedto, he could sing to her atnight.

She flushed a bit onthinking that, then broughtthe perfect creamy sheet andwrappeditallaroundhisbed.She smoothed it gently withher hands. Its loveliness waslikeakissagainstherskin.

Grinning, Auri crossed toPort and brought the blanket

back. No wonder it had lefther.Ithadknownthetruthofthings much sooner thanherself. It simply wasn’t forher anymore. She spread hisblanket on the bed andnoticeditnolongerfearedthefloor. Stepping back shelookedatit,sosoftandsweetandsafeandfair.

FromPortshebroughthisfine teacup. She brought theleather book, uncut, unread,

and utterly unknown. Shebrought the small stonefigurine. All three of theseshe set upon the shelf besidehis bed so he would havesomebeautyofhisown.

Andjustlikethat,shehadagiftforhim:asafeplacehecouldstay.

As much as she mightwant to stop and bask, sheneeded to keep moving.Threewastheruletoday.Sheneededtwogiftsmore.

Auri went back to Port andeyedtheshelveswithherbestmaker’seye.Andsinceitwasa making day, and with thewind so fair upon her back,she thought on what it wasthathemightneed.

It was a different way ofthinking. Even though shewas not wanting for herself,

she knew this sort of thingwasdangerous.

Sheeyedthehollybottle,itteasedather,butsheknewitwasn’t right for him. Notquite. It was an unexpectedvisitgift.Thehoneycomb...almost. She reached out totouchtwofingerstothejaroflaurel fruit. She lifted up thejarandheldittothelight.It’strue that he was somewhatlackinglaurels.

Itclickedtogetherthen.Ofcourse. She smiled a bit.What better to keep rage atbay?Besides,itwasthethirdpart of a thing she’d alreadybegun. A candle. A candlewould be just the thing forhim.

She stopped then, all of asudden, the jar still in herhand.Sheheldherbreathandthought about the hardrealities of time. A candle

meantmelting.Andmelding.Most of all it meant amold.She felt her whole facefrowning at the thought ofsomething dipped for him. Itwasn’trightatall,hewasnotonefordribsanddrabs.

No. A mold. It was theonly way to make a candlefineenoughforhim.

AndthatmeantBoundary.She didn’t hardly hesitate

at all. For herself she would

notdare, but thiswas simplyhow it had to be. Didn’t hedeserve a few fine things?After all that he had done,didn’t he deserve a fine andprincelygift?

Ofcoursehedid.SoAuristrode to Mantle. So Auriopened wide the iron-bounddoor. So Auri enteredBoundary.

Itwasacleanandquietplace.

Therewasaworkbench.Itwas dark and smooth andhard as stone. There weremountings on the sides. Avice. A set of floating rings.A burner stand. There weretaps and faucets, well-arrayed: all steel and brassandiron.

There were shelves here,all mounted on one wall.Crowdedwithvastandvariedtools of the craft. Acids and

reagents in their stopperedglasses. Sulfonium inside ajar of stone. Racks ofpowders,saltsandearthsandherbs. Oils and unguents.Fourteen waters. Twicelime.Camphor. All perfect. Alltrue. All gathered andfactored and stored in themostproperways.

There were tools here.Alembics and retorts. A finewide wickless burner. Coils

of copper tubing. Cruciblesand tongs and boiling baths.Therewere sieves and filtersandcopperknives.Therewasafinegrinderandagleamingcleanscrewpress.

There were the stoneshelves too. The carefulshelves. Bottles hunkeredthere behind the thick, thickglass. These bottleswere nottidy like the other shelves.Theywere not labeled. They

were muttly. One heldscreaming. Another, fury.There were many bottlesthere, and those two werenowhereneartheworst.

Auri set the jar of laurelfruitatoptheworkbench.Shewas a small thing. Urchinsmall.Most thingsdidnotfither.Mosttablesweretootall.Thisonewasnot.

This roomused to belongto her. But no. This room

belonged to someone once.Now it didn’t. It wasn’t. Itwas a none place. It was anempty sheet of nothing thatcould not belong. It was notforher.

Auri opened a drawer inthe workbench and broughtoutacirctangularbrassmold.The sort that would suit acandlewell.

Her expression grave,Auri eyed the laurel fruit. It

was every bit as reverent asonemight expect, but it wasprideful too.And held a hintof north wind’s chill. Thatneeded to be tempered.And . . . yes. There was athread of anger runningthrough it too. She sighed.Thatwouldnotdoatall.

She narrowed her eyes atit and danced the numbersthrough her head. Glancingback and forth between the

moldand the jarof fruit, shesawthewaxitborewouldnotbe near enough. Not for anentire candle. Not for apropercandle.Notforhim.

Aurileftandreturnedwiththe honeycomb.Moving in abusinesslike fashion, she layitinthepressandscrewedthehandle down until the honeypoured into the clear, cleanjarbelow.Itwastheworkofhalfaminute.

Leaving it to drip, she litthenearbywicklessandspuntheringstandsothat itheldacrucible at the proper height.She opened up the press,lifted out the flat sheet ofbeeswax, and folded it inquarters before setting it inthecrucible.Therewasnotalot of it, perhaps asmuch asshe could cup in both herhands. But once she’drendered down the laurel

fruit, it would be enough tofillthemold.

Aurieyedthemeltingwaxandnodded. Itwas a drowsything. All autumn sweetness,diligence, and due reward.The bells were notunwelcomeeither.Therewasnothing in it that she did notwantforhim.

Honey and laurel mighthavebeenenoughifthiswereasimplepoet’scandle.Buthewas no mere poet. Sheneededsomethingmore.

Apinchofcamphorwouldhavebeenideal.Justapinch,a spark, a hint of somethingvolatile. But she had nocamphor, and there was nosense in wishing. So shefetched a daub of perfectpitch instead from Port. For

binding,andtokeephishearthearty against the comingwinter.

Auri stirred the beeswaxwith a slender glass rod. Shesmiled. It was a rare joyworking with the propertools. What luxury. Waitingfortheresintodissolve,Auriwhistled as she stirred, andgrinned. That would be hersecret. There would be herwhistleinthecandletoo.

She stepped into Mantlethen, and eyed her perfectlavenderinthegreyglassjar.She lifted out a sprig of it.Then two.ThenAuri felt thehot shame rise in her chest.This was no time for thrift.Hewasneverstingywithhishelp.Didn’thedeservesweetdreams?

Auri set her jaw andpulled fullyhalf the lavenderfromoutthejar.Shecouldbe

a greedy, greedy thing attimes.

Back intoBoundary.Auripouredthelaurelfruitintothegrinder.Inthreebreaths’timeitwasmincedtidilyandfine.Then she stopped, staring atthemassofhalf-pulpedfruit.

She knew the properwayfor laurel. She knew thepatient way of things. Grindandboilthewaxyfruit.Sieveoff thedottle.Boil again and

clarify and cool to separatethewax.Evenwiththepropertools it would be hours ofwork.Hoursandhours.

But he was coming soon.Sheknew.Sheknewshehadnotimeforit.

And even if she had allday. There would beprinciplesinsidethewaxthatwere not right for him. Hewas plum full of anger anddespair. And pride . . . well,

he had that in a sure andcertainsurfeit.

Therewerewaystofactorthose things out. She knewthem all. She knew theturning circles of thecalcinate. She could sublimeanddraw.Shecouldisolateanon-exclusionaryprinciple aswell as any who had everturnedtheirhandtoworkthecraft.

Butthiswasnotatimefor

begging favors from themoon. Not now. She couldnotrushandneithercouldshebedelayed.Somethingsweresimplytooimportant.

It was just as Mandragsaid: Nine tenths of alchemywas chemistry. And ninetenths of chemistry waswaiting.

The other piece? Thatslender tenth part of a tenth?The heart of alchemy wassomething Auri had learnedlong ago. She’d studied itbefore she came tounderstand the true shape ofthe world. Before she knewthekeytobeingsmall.

Ohyes.She’d learnedhercraft. She knew its hiddenroads and secrets. All thesubtle, sweet, and coaxingways that made one skilledwithin the art. So manydifferent ways. Some folkinscribed, described. Therewere symbols. Signifiers.Byne and binding. Formulae.Machineriesofmaths...

But now she knew muchmore than that. So much of

what she’d thoughtwas truthbeforewasmerely tricks.Nomore than clever ways ofspeaking to the world. Theywereabargaining.Aplea.Acall.Acry.

Butunderneath, therewasa secret deep within thehidden heart of things.Mandrag never told her that.She did not think he knew.Auri found that secret forherself.

Sheknewthetrueshapeofthe world. All else wasshadow and the sound ofdistantdrums.

Auri nodded to herself.Her tiny facewasgrave.Shescooped the waxy fine-ground fruit into a sieve andsetthesieveatopagatherjar.

She closed her eyes. Shedrewhershouldersback.Shetook a slow and steadybreath.

Therewasatensionintheair. Aweight. Await. Therewas no wind. She did notspeak. The world grewstretchedandtight.

Auri drew a breath andopeneduphereyes.

Auri was urchin small.Her tiny feet upon the stonewerebare.

Auri stood, and in thecircle of her golden hair shegrinned and brought the

weightofherdesiredownfullupontheworld.

Andallthingsshook.Andallthingsknewherwill.Andallthingsbenttopleaseher.

It was not long before Aurireturned to Mantle with asorrel colored candle pressed

with lavender. It smelled ofbayandbees.Itwasaperfectthing.

Auriwashedherface.Shewashedherhandsandfeet.

Soon. She knew. Soon hewould come visiting.Incarnadine and sweet andsadandbroken.Just likeher.Hewould come, and like theproper gentleman hewas, hewouldbringthreethings.

Grinning, Auri fairly

danced.Shewouldhavethreethingsforhimaswell.

First his clever candle, allTaborlin. All warm andstuffed with poetry anddreams.

Second was a properplace.Ashelfwherehecouldputhisheart.Abed to sleep.Nothingcouldharmhimhere.

And the third thing?Well...Sheduckedherfaceand felt a slow flush climb

hercheeks....Stalling,Auri reached out

for the small stone soldiersitting on his bedshelf.Strange she’d never noticedthe design upon its shield. Itwas so faint. But yes. Therewas the towerwrappedup ina tongue of flame. No meresoldier, it was a small stoneAmyr.

Peering closer,Auri spiedslight lines upon his arms as

well. She did not know howshe had missed these thingsbefore. Itwas a tinyCiridae.Ofcourse.Ofcourseitwas.Itwould hardly be a properpresent for him otherwise.She kissed the tiny figurineandsetitbackupontheshelf.

Still, there was the thirdthing.This timeAuri didnotblush. She smiled. Shewashed her face and handsand feet. Then she skipped

quickly into Port and openedup the hollybottle. With twofingersAuriliftedoutasingleseed.Thetinyberrybrightasblood despite green Foxen’slight.

AuriscamperedofftoVanand peered into the mirror.She licked her lips andpressed the berry up againstthem, daubing it from left toright.Thenshe smoothed theberry back and forth across

them.She eyed her reflection.

She looked no different thanbefore. Her lips were palestpink.Shesmiled.

Auri returned to Mantle.She washed her face andhandsandfeet.

Excitement bubbling upinside of her, Auri looked athis bed. His blanket. Hisbedshelf with the tiny Amyrwaitingtheretoguardhim.

Itwasperfect.Itwasright.Itwasastart.Hewouldneeda place someday, and it washere all ready for him.Somedayhewouldcome,andshe would tend to him.Somedayhewouldbetheoneall eggshell hollow empty inthedark.

Andthen...Aurismiled.Not forherself.No.Noteverfor herself. She must staysmalland tuckedaway,well-

hiddenfromtheworld.But for him it was a

differentthingentire.Forhimshewould bring forth all herdesire. Shewould call up allher cunning and her craft.Thenshewouldmakeanameforhim.

Auri spun about threetimes. She smelled the air.She grinned. All around hereverything was proper true.She knew exactly where she

was. She was exactly wheresheoughttobe.

CODA

DEEP IN THEUNDERTHING, stoneswarm beneath her feet, Auriheard a faint, sweet strain ofmusic.

AUTHOR’SENDNOTE:

LETMETELLyou a storyabout a story. Because that’swhatIdo.

Back in January of 2013, Iwas in a San Francisco barwithViHart:mathemusician,videotrix, and all-aroundlovely person. We’d bothbeen fans of each other’swork for years withoutknowing it, and had recentlybeen introduced by a mutualfriend.

This was our first timemeeting in person. I had justfinished the first draft thestory you now hold, and Vihadagreedtotakealookatitandgivemeheropinion.

We spent a couple hourstalking about the story, ourconversation frequentlytangenting off in odddirections, the way goodconversationsdo.

Her feedback was really

good. Not just clever, butstartlingly insightful.When Imentioned this to her, shelooked slightly amused andexplained that writing wasmost of what she did. Shescripted her videos, thenrecorded them. The scriptingwas the lion’s share of thework.

She pointed out somethingsthatneededworkinthestory, some rough spots,

some logical incongruities.Shepointedout theparts sheliked, too, and talked aboutthestoryasawhole.

I should mention that bythis point in the evening, Iwasslightlydrunk.Abitofararity for me. But since wewere hanging out in a bar, itseemedpolite tobuyadrink.ThenIhadadrinkbecauseViwas having another, and Iwanted to be social. Then I

had another because I was alittle nervous about meetingVi for the first time. Then Ihad another because I was alittlenervousaboutmystory.

Well, let’s be honest, Iwasmorethanalittlenervousabout thestory. Iknew,deepinmyheartofhearts,thatmynew-wrought story was atrain wreck. A colossal,smoldering mess of a trainwreck.

“Itdoesn’tdothethingsastory is supposed to do,” Isaid to her. “A story shouldhave dialogue, action,conflict.A story shouldhavemorethanonecharacter.I’vewritten a thirty-thousand-wordvignette!”

Visaidshelikedit.“Well,yes,”Isaid.“Ilike

ittoo.Butthatdoesn’tmatter.You see, people expectcertainthingsfromastory,”I

explained.“Youcanleaveoutone or two if you stepcarefully, but you can’t ditchallofthem.TheclosestthingI have to an action scene issomeone making soap. Ispend eight pages describingsomeone making soap. Eightpages of a sixty-page storymaking soap. That’ssomething a crazy persondoes.”

As I’ve said, I was really

worried about the story.Andperhaps more than slightlydrunk. And I was finallygetting something off mychest that I hadn’t reallysharedwithanyonebefore.

“People are going to readthisandbepissed,”Isaid.

Vi looked at me withserious eyes. “I felt more ofan emotional connection tothe inanimate objects in thisstory than I usually feel

toward entire characters inother books,” she explained.“It’sagoodstory.”

ButIwasn’thavinganyofit.Ishookmyhead,notevenlooking up at her. “Readersexpect certain things. Peopleare going to read this andbedisappointed. It doesn’t dowhat a normal story issupposedtodo.”

ThenVi said something Iwillalwaysremember.“Fuck

those people,” she said.“Those people have storieswritten for themall the time.Whataboutme?Where’s thestoryforpeoplelikeme?”

Her voice was passionateand hard and slightly angry.Shemighthave slammedherhanddownonthetableatthispoint. I like to think sheslammed her hand down onthetable.Let’ssayshedid.

“Let those other people

havetheirnormalstories,”Visaid. “This story isn’t forthem. This is my story. Thisstoryisforpeoplelikeme.”

It was one of the nicestthingsanyonehaseversaidtome.

I did not mean to write this

story. Or rather, I did notmeantohavethisstoryaboutAuriturnoutthewayitdid.

Istartedwritingitmidwaythrough 2012. I meant for itto be a short story for theRogues anthology edited byGeorge Martin and GardnerDozois. I’d anticipated itbeing a trickster story andfigured Auri would make anicecomplement to themoretraditional scoundrel-type

rogues who would no doubtshowupinthatbook.

But the story didn’t turnout the way I’d expected. Itwas stranger than a simpletrickstertale,andAuriherselfwas more full of secrets andmysteriesthanIhadguessed.

Eventually the Auri storyhit 14,000 words, and Iabandonedit.Itwastoolong.Tooodd.Andbesideall that,ithadbecomeclear itwasn’t

right for the anthology. Auriwas no mere trickster. Mostimportantly, this wasn’t aroguestoryatall.

DespitethefactthatIwasalreadyoverdeadline,Martinand Gardner were very kindandgavemesomeextratime.So I wrote “The LightningTree” instead, a storyfeaturingBast.Amuchbetterfitfortheanthology.

But Auri’s story was still

crawling around inmy head,andIrealizedtheonlywaytoget it out was to finish thething. Besides, I owed BillSchaferatSubterraneanPressa novella from way back.He’d published my two not-for-children picture books,The Adventures of thePrincess and Mr. Whiffle:The Thing Beneath the Bed,and the sequel, The Dark ofDeep Below. So I knew he

wasn’t afraid of a story thatwasalittlestrange.

SoIkeptwritingthestory,anditkeptgettinglonger,andstranger. I could tell by thispointthatitwasn’tanysortofnormal. It wasn’t doing thethings a proper sort of storyshould do. It was, by alltraditionalmetrics,amess.

But here’s the thing. Iliked it. It was weird andwrong and tangled and

missingsomanythingsthatastoryissupposedtoneed.Butit kinda worked. Not onlywas I learning a lot aboutAuri and theUnderthing, butthe story itself had a sort ofsweetnesstoit.

Whatever reason, I let thestorydevelopaccordingtoitsown desire. I didn’t force itinto a different shape or putanythingintoitjustbecauseitwas supposed to be there. I

decided to let it be itself. Atleast fornow.At leastuntil Imade it to the end. Then Iknew I’d probably have towield the editorial hatchet,performing cruel surgery inordertoturnitintosomethingnormal.Butnotyet.

Yousee,I’dactuallybeendown this road before. TheNameof theWind does a lotofthingsit’snotsupposedto.Theprologueisalaundrylist

ofthingsyoushouldneverdoas a writer. But despite allthat, it works. Sometimes astory works because it’sdifferent.Maybethiswasthatkindofstory....

But when I wrote theeight-page scene with Aurimaking soap I realized thatwas not the case. I waswriting a trunk story. Forthoseofyouwhodon’tknowthe term, a trunk story is

something you write, thenwhenit’sfinishedyouputthemanuscriptinthebottomofatrunkand forgetabout it. It’snot the sort of story you cansell to a publisher. Not thesort of story people want toread.It’sthesortofstorythatyou write, then on yourdeathbed you remember itandaskaclosefriendtoburnall your unpublished papers.Right after they clear your

browserhistory,ofcourse.I knew Bill at Sub Press

was delightfully open tostrangeprojects,butthis?No.No, thiswas a story I had towritetogetoutofmyhead.Ihad towrite it to learn aboutAuriandtheworld.(WhichisnamedTemerant,bytheway,didyoucatchthat?)

Simply said, I knew thisstory was for me. It wasn’tfor other people. Sometimes

thathappens.But still, I liked it. Itwas

strangeandsweet. I’d finallyfoundAuri’svoice.I’mratherfondofher.AndI’dlearnedalot about writing in the thirdperson, so it wasn’t a totalwasteoftime.

When it was finished, Isent it to my agent, Matt,because that’s what you’resupposedtodowhenyou’reawriter.ItoldhimIwasgoing

to offer it to Bill, but that Ididn’t expect Bill wouldactually want it, as it was,narratively speaking, a train-wreck.

ButMatt read itand likedit.

Hegavemeacallandsaidwe should send it to Betsy,myeditoratDAW.

“She isn’t going to wantthis,”Isaid.“It’samess.It’sthe story a crazy person

writes.”Matt reminded me that,

according to my contracts,Betsyhadrightoffirstrefusalon any future books Iwrote.“Besides,” he said. “It’s justpolite to loop her in. She’syourprimarypublisher.”

Ishruggedandtoldhimtogoaheadandsendit.SlightlyembarrassedtothinkofBetsyreadingit.

ButthenBetsyreaditand

liked it. She really liked it.Shewantedtopublishit.

That’s when I started tosweat.

Inthemanymonthssincemyconversation with Vi Hart,I’verevisedthisstoryroughlyeighty times. (This isn’t

unusualforme.Infact, it’salittleonthelightside.)

As part of this process,I’vegiven this story toaboutthree dozen beta readers,gathering feedback to helpme in my endless, obsessiverevisions. And one commentpeople have made over andoveragainandagain,phrasedmanydifferentways,isthis:

“I don’t knowwhat otherpeople will think. They

probably won’t like it. But Ireallyenjoyedit.”

It’s strange to me howmany people have said someversion of that. Hell, I justnow realize I said somethingsimilarmyself a page or twoagointhisauthor’snote.

The truth is, I’m fond ofAuri.Ihaveaspecialplaceinmy heart for this strange,sweet, shattered girl. I lovehermorethanjustalittle.

I think it’s because we’rebothsomewhatbroken,inourown odd ways. Moreimportantly, we’re bothaware of it. Auri knows sheisn’t all quite proper trueinside, and this makes herfeelverymuchalone.

Iknowhowshefeels.But that itself is not

unusual.Iamtheauthor,afterall. I’m supposed to knowhow the character feels. It

wasn’t until I startedgathering feedback that Irealized how common thisfeeling is. I’ve had personafterperson tellme that theyempathize with Auri. Thatthey know where she’scomingfrom.

I didn’t expect that. Icannot help but wonder howmanyofuswalk throughourlives, day after day, feelingslightly broken and alone,

surrounded all the time byothers who feel exactly thesameway.

So. If you read this bookand you didn’t enjoy it, I’msorry. It’smy fault.This is astrange story. You mightenjoy it more on a secondreading. (Most of my storiesare better the second timearound.) But then again,maybenot.

Ifyou’reoneofthepeople

who found this storydisconcerting, off-putting, orconfusing, I apologize. Thetruth is, it probably justwasn’t for you. The goodnews is that there are manyotherstoriesouttherethatarewritten just for you. Storiesyouwillenjoymuchmore.

This story is for all theslightly broken people outthere.

I amoneof you.You are

not alone. You are allbeautifultome.

PatRothfuss

June,2014

P. S. I realize now that Ihaven’t talked about theillustrations at all,which is aterrible shame. Not onlybecause they are lovely.And

not only because NathanTaylor is a saint for puttingup with my obsessiveinsanity. But because thestoryofhowtheycametobeincluded in this story is aninteresting one in its ownright....

Unfortunately, I’m out oftimeandoutofspace.SothatstorywillhavetowaituntilIwrite about it onmy blog. Ifyou’re interested, you can

track it down there:http://www.patrickrothfuss.com