Free Glass by Stephen Palmer Page A

time for you to leave this realm and return to your own.’
    As they headed back Dwllis felt he had seen too much. Clambering over the Cemetery wall, he stood still and tried to formulate some suitable question that the druid might answer. Eventually he said, ‘We have not seen the origin of the lens, rather we have seen it swing in from the Swamps. Do you know more than that?’
    ‘The Swamps are home to many things,’ the druid observed.
    ‘You are not being candid with me. Have you seen an image of me inside the lens?’
    ‘Never. But you have?’
    ‘I may have, once or twice. It is difficult to be certain.’
    The druid turned away. But before he vanished into the mist Dwllis heard him say, ‘We shall meet again.’
    ~
    Next day, under a flaming dawn sky, Dwllis was once more confronted by Cuensheley. He had intended visiting the Archivist of Selene with whom he had previously spoken, but Cuensheley had other plans. Standing at his door she made plain her grievance. ‘I’ve heard you went out last night. Is that why you didn’t come to my evening?’
    ‘Good morning, Cuensheley. I am afraid my manservant and I were out last night, yes.’
    ‘Gadding about,’ Cuensheley muttered. ‘Where are you going now? You don’t usually tramp about the city.’
    ‘Your assessment is inaccurate. I am going to see a friend at the Archive of Selene.’
    ‘I’ll come with you.’
    Dwllis stepped back. ‘As you wish, but be sure that you cannot worm your way into my life by force.’
    ‘I don’t want to,’ Cuensheley replied with a grin. With her blonde fuzzlocks, crimson and blue ribbons down to her waist and crisp cream garments she looked delightful, but Dwllis felt only apprehension over what she might do or say. She handed him a pouch saying, ‘That’s the week’s qe’lib’we.’
    Dwllis glanced this way and that like a fugitive. ‘Thanks.’
    Was this the hold, this simple drug? Illegal it was not, but only lessers and outers succumbed to its narcotic embrace. The social fall following any revelation of his addiction to the citizens of Cray would be fatal.
    They began their walk south. Both wore earmuffs without amplifiers, and so they talked in sign language. Dwllis suspected that Cuensheley would tire of the journey soon, for there was a limit to the time she could be away from the Copper Courtyard. He was not overly worried, though it was embarrassing to be seen in public with her.
    He signed, Who looks after the courtyard?
    Ilquisrey.
    Your daughter cannot oversee it for long.
    Cuensheley laughed. She is eighteen and no idiot.
    Dwllis had not made it his business to meet Ilquisrey, and so knew little of her, though rumour had it that she was if anything more vivacious and flighty than her mother.
    What troubles you? she asked.
    People make problems.
    She laughed again. You prefer gnosticians and pyutons to human beings, do you not?
    If that is a jibe, it is low and impolite.
    Manners are not everything. We must seize the passion of the moment.
    Dwllis looked at her in surprise. She seemed serious. Murderers kill out of passion, and I would not follow them.
    You’re such a calm, well-mannered man.
    Thank you.
    Except when you’ve been on the –
    He grasped one of her hands, then signed, We need not mention that.
    You like it though.
    So you may think.
    Cuensheley laughed as if she had scored a point. It struck Dwllis that there could not be two less alike people in Cray. Of course, his interest in pyutons and gnosticians stemmed from his position, and the alleged dislike of people was professional detachment and in no way a symptom of misanthropy as had been suggested. Cuensheley surely knew that. As for the qe’lib’we, he only chewed that once a week, although he had noticed that the pouches had recently been fuller than usual, allowing two portions instead of one.
    I like a man who is interested in clothes, she signed.
    Dwllis glanced down at his own costume: black frock coat with cream shirt,