Hadigan, the man of pockets leaned over Xindii with his knife to the young boy's neck. He pushed down with an unyielding fervor, severing his windpipe, laughing; mocking.

'Bleed my boy, bleed. Jia is mine now. All mine. I can't wait to taste of her dreams, smell her cunt.' The Hotch man's tongue fell from his lips, frenzied and capricious, probing the circumference of Xindii's brow. The man of pockets smiled and pushed the knife down further, severing Xindii's head from his neck.

The boy from Jeppa woke within a cocoon of damp sheets and tried to push Hadigan off with his feet, his legs flaying frantically, maneuvering himself off the bed in a panic attack of deep rooted dream. Xindii fell to the wooden floor, reaching for his neck, making sure it was still attached. He wiped the sweat from his face and felt the stampede of blood circulating within his chest, his heart throbbing with an incredible pace.

He sighed deeply, becalmed. Felt the sun burning into the shutter, seeking entry. After about ten minutes he pulled himself up from the floor and opened them, bathing naked among the warm rays of the last star in all creation.

He heard the sound of muffled voices beneath his feet, voices that carried with it the smell of hasrat and gunnark eggs frying in a pan. It turned his stomach but not in a bad way. It had been a while since he had eaten, a week, maybe two. He didn't even know what day it was. Cratchet? Maybe Groosalak? He didn't know. All he knew was that he was hungry.

He sat back down on the edge of the bed and reached for the glass of water on the bedside. He took a sip, which then snowballed into a mighty gulp. His throat was dry, probably through endless dream fugues of tormenting withdrawal. He placed the glass back on the table and saw the needle points in his arm. Sedatives maybe? Maybe water so he wouldn't dehydrate? He wanted to ask but felt ashamed to do so.

He would have to soon though, the sheer mouthwatering smells of the kitchen below was making his stomach yearn and plead. He gathered up a sheet and wrapped it around him and made for the door. It opened before he had a chance to do so himself.

Josiah Kahn stood there, holding a glass of freshly squeezed rainbow fruit. He approached the boy slowly. 'Welcome back to the land of the living, master Xindii,' He offered the boy the glass and he took it willingly.

'Th-' Xindii coughed, spilling some of the fragrant juice over the floor, Josiah came to his aid holding him. The boy held his hand out, reassuring the Mapper that he would be alright. He took a sip of the rainbow fruit and his taste buds exploded making him squirm and squint.

'Too harsh?' asked the Mapper.

'I think,' Xindii coughed and again and again until his throat had decided it had had enough. 'I think . . . I'll just stick with the water, for a while.'

The boy smiled and for the first time since that fateful afternoon in that Booktique in Brentish, Josiah felt a kinship with the boy.

'Come, Basquiat is making breakfast. The whole works apparently. You wouldn't want to miss it.'

The two friends made their way downstairs into the huge kitchen diner where Josiah poured Xindii a mug of honey-wood tea. The boy took it willingly in both hands, appreciating the warmth it gave. He sat down at the kitchen table and noticed the tall chef at the end, hovering over the hot stove. He was the most unusual of chefs he had ever seen. Over six feet tall, a pinny wrapped around his waist. He was like a cross between a butler and a high powered solicitor, his suit the finest - no doubt - that the tailors of Brentish could offer. He was an exotic though, his skin the colour of cocoa and his hair a deep red as slick and silky as cherry brandy, tied back by a simple piece of hessian cloth. He turned about and acknowledged Josiah with a slight bow of the neck, the tattoo on the right side of his face stretching down the solid frame of his neck. How long it went on for was a mystery. There was indeed a lot of skin to cover. What it signified was another matter but he had the distinct feeling he was never going to find out.

'Basquiat? Where is Rickard and Jia?'

He turned about 'Master Rickard took the Miss into the Folly in the early hours, sir. I gather the Miss has discovered a fondness for the local wildlife.'

His accent was dubious, a cross between Hazz'Rah and sultry Frican. But it was articulate and defined nonetheless.

Jia?

'Jia? Jia is here?' Xindii asked.

Josiah nodded. 'Yes my friend, after the excitement of Testament I felt we needed a break from the city and prying eyes.'

'How long exactly have I been . . . out?'Josiah picked up his mug of honey-wood tea and took a sip. 'Three months.'

'Three months?

'Yes, precisely. You were corrupted, Xindii. I'm not sure what you remember but you were corrupted. Hadigan had secretly been feeding you doses of Xelofremanine to heighten your gift. He understood you were quite susceptible to dreamurlurgy. Do you remember any of it?'

'Bits. It's like a mirror has cracked and I'm trying to watch the whole story in a shard.'

'Well let's just say you led us a merry dance. And when we got you back here it was just the start of our troubles!'

'What happened?'

'Once your body realised that no more Xelofremanine was going in you started to go into withdrawal. It has been touch and go for the last few weeks but you made it.'

'It feels like I've been away longer.'

'You're back now, Xindii. That's all that matters. There aren't many who return from the Murk. But you have.'

Basquiat approached the table with two massive plates of hasrat and golodova beans and placed them on the table. 'The eggs will be a moment.'

'Thank you, Basquiat.'

As Josiah's unusual friend turned around and made his way back to his eggs, Xindii noticed the giant beetle hanging on his back, mandibles poised to tear the shirt from his back and burrow into the manservant's dark flesh.

Josiah saw Xindii's eyes widen with terror and he brought himself close, talked to him with a subtle and calming voice. 'Xindii? What is it?'

'There's a beetle on Basquiat's back.'

'Xindii? Can you feel your heart racing, eh? It's the last dregs of that nastiness inside you. Calm your heart, be still. Take that Beat from your chest and cradle it, tame it and look anew upon Basquiat. I assure you that there is nothing there . . . You must trust me, Xindii. Take the Beat, quell it. Bury it in your mind . . .'

Xindii did as he was told. He didn't want any more of this. He took that pulsating beat and buried it deep, turning his gaze away from Basquiat and Josiah and looked upon the delicious breakfast where he proceeded to vomit into his lap.

Basquiat looked open eyed. Josiah just patted the boy on the back.

'Better out than in, master Xindii,' Josiah commented. He then turned to Basquiat. 'How are those eggs coming along?'

The unusual retainer just grunted.

Over the next few days Xindii's nausea and visions passed, the exorcism of Xelofremanine from his system successful. He regained a ravenous appetite, eating Josiah out of house and home.

In the weeks that followed the young Jeppa boy regained his strength, Basquiat massaged the strength and resilience back into his atrophied muscles where after he would walk in the Folly with Jia, much to Rickard's annoyance. He had grown fond of the Kraken Brood, teaching her the language of Frugalmeyer so she could at long last communicate. Josiah told his ward to concentrate on his own studies. He still felt sheepish around the girl, he hadn't forgotten the battle with Hadigan in the disued station of Jeppa. The eyes of the Krakens still woke him most nights.

Weeks turned into months and Xindii was starting to treat the Crackets like his own home. It had been well over six months since he had come here, the city now a distant memory. He appreciated the peace, the solitude. His walks in the Folly with Jia, her companionship and solidarity with his recent plight. The Crackets offered more than solitude, it offered respite. Much needed and long sought after. Most of all, for the first time ever, it felt like home, something which he had been long denied.

Every other day, except when Josiah had to return to Testament - either for the Booktique or matters with the Watch, (he was a Mapper afterall) - the two friends would wander the acres of the Crackets and sometimes further, each using a canoe and exploring the water ways, Josiah taught him to control the Beat, meditate and calm his mind. There was still fire in the boy's mind and every now and again it needed extinguishing. Josiah taught himself control, to be the centre of the room, the focal point. That to dream you needed to be solid before everything else faded away. Solidity was the first lesson of a Mapper. Dreaming came years later.

That night, as Basquiat prepared a rather fragrant Kissledaw curry, Xindii asked Josiah if he was indeed training him to be a Mapper.

'It's not my place to teach you, Xindii. Although learning the initial basics will help you to control your mind. No, that choice isn't up to me although I have put forward a candidacy for you if you wish to pursue it . . . but I'm not going to lie my friend, soon you will have to face judgement for what you have done. Soon, we will have to return to Testament to face trial. It is my deepest hope that they will see sense and let me tutor you.'

'And if they don't?'

'Let's not be defeatist so early on, master Xindii.'

Two days later an unexpected and welcome guest came calling at The Crackets. Basquiat opened the door to Professor Dom Janus and the two Mappers retired to Josiah's study with lashings of honey wood tea.

'You can't be serious?'

'And neither can you, surely?' replied the Don of Varosium.

'You would have me turn away a child. A child with a spectacular gift.'

'That spectacular gift has killed four people or have you forgotten. Because I assure you the courts haven't. What did you think would happen? That they would forget? Sweep this little misdemeanor under the carpet. The families of the deceased want his blood, Josiah.

'You have done your part. You have done more than enough. The man of pockets is no more. The Guild and the Watch are forever in your debt, but the problem of the boy still remains and the courts grow hungry.'

'Xindii deserves a chance.'

Dom Janus leaned forward. 'A chance for what exactly? He looked to the floor, shaking his head in disgrace. 'Ah, yes I see. You put him forward for candidacy at Varosium. And how far do you think you were going to get with that?'

Josiah looked into his tea and sighed.

'You would besmirch the Guild and tarnish the name of Varosium by educating a killer in the ways of dreamurlurgy. There are some houses in the world who have put forward their children's names and still been turned down and you dare to assume that this, this Jeppa boy be educated by the finest university in the land?

'You are one of my greatest students, Josiah but I think your lucidity leaves a lot to be desired. The Guild wants you to drop this matter, immediately. The boy is rested and cleansed and ready to face trial and you are to turn your back on the matter.'

'I will still stand as his advocate.'

Dom Janus looked at him blankly through his large rimmed glasses. 'I didn't think you heard what I said. This is the Guild, Josiah, you are to turn your back and ignore this matter.'

'I will stand with the boy.'

Dom Janus rubbed his nose and swore under his breath. 'You always were a stubborn bastard. There is of course the other matter of the Kraken Brood. She is to be handed over to the Guild.'

'What for exactly?'

'I'm sure no harm will come to her. She is of course a rarity. I'm sure the Guild's intentions are of fascination only.'

'Oh I'm sure they are.'

'I don't like your tone, Josiah.'

'If the Guild wants the girl then you tell them to come and get her, Professor.'

'You are playing a dangerous game my friend. This is the Guild, Josiah. They granted you power and lands and you would deny them a savage from the Black Swell?'

'She is no savage and she is more powerful than you or I. She is under my protection'

'Oh, how so exactly?'

'Article 9.'

'Asylum?' the Professor asked, almost choking on the words. 'She's a mute. She can't even speak.'

'Nevertheless, it's what she asked of me.'

'Did she indeed? They will take her by force if deemed necessary.'

'They can do what they like.'

The two Mappers sat in silence for a moment. Dom Janus leaned forward. 'If you do this, go against the Guild, I cannot help you, you understand.'

'I understand.'

The Don of Varosium nodded and stared at his student and swallowed hard. 'So be it. It's on your own head.'

He gathered his cane and coat to him and walked from the study. Josiah sat in silence for a moment and Basquiat entered.

'Basquiat, better pack me and the lad a case.'

He nodded and turned his back.

'Oh, Basquiat?'

He turned about once more.

'If anyone comes looking for Jia, then the pair of you make for Kalas never to return'

The retainer just bowed his head.