Elo was standing outside the door, in a private capacity. Everyone knew, of course, that he was working as a guard in Naydeer's mine. When he was at work, which he wasn't, at the moment. He was just being a private person, out in his evenings, standing at some random place within the Mansion. Why not? Shebbetin was a free town. Anyone was allowed to walk along the lanes, or to stand there. It was not his problem if a door right behind him was the entrance to a place where people had been called to come to a gathering tonight, to hear about the Choosing, was it? Elo crossed his arms in front of his broad chest and leaned back lightly against the doorpost.

A young woman in a black cloak came walking up the lane, eyeing Elo, eyeing the door behind him, and slowing down to almost a halt. She wavered. Then, without saying a word, without looking at Elo, she walked on.

A few people came around the corner, deep in conversation. They saw Elo and stopped talking. They also stopped walking. Withdrawing into the shadow of an archway, they began to whisper in low, urgent voices, and finally slunk away into a small passage behind them. All except one.

A woman with a thick gray turban walked out of the shadow, heading straight toward Elo. Her body was poised and upright, her strides long, with an energetic spring in them. She stopped in front of Elo, meeting his cold stare with sparkling eyes.

"Good evening," she said and slid past him, into the room behind that door.

* * *

"Intimidation," Kaya said. "Threats of violence. Threats that might get acted upon, as we know." She leaned forward, gazing into the eyes of her friends. "It does affect us. Very few dare to show up at gatherings now. But," Kaya added, with a wicked grin, "all the right ones. Naydeer is sorting them out for us. We know straight away where to find the people with grit now." She winked at Ngyrya, who smiled back at her, her gray turban almost hidden under a big shawl she had wrapped tightly around her head and shoulders.

"Hmm." Lhut rubbed a hand along his arm. "Yes. But not for much longer. People will not be setting up gatherings any more at this rate. We will find it hard to contact new people."

"Maybe," Kaya replied. "Maybe not. Who knows. That threat of violence makes it clear to everyone what the situation is. It makes the oppression more palpable. More obvious. It may make people angry. 'What is this, after all? We only want to take part in the Choosing, like everyone else. And for that, we get threatened? Surely not! That can't be! What, you push me? Just you wait! I'll push right back!' You know? It might spur people into action."

Kaya tapped the ground at her feet with a stick. "If people are agitated enough, nothing will stop them. They won't even need gatherings then, to know about the Choosing. They will talk to each other, one on one. It will spread like a wildfire, if the fire is hot enough inside them."

* * *

The owner's cabin ducked deep into the cover of the night, shutters closed, door locked. Only a tiny sliver of light pouring out spoke of the presence within.

Joonster's body was stiff, taut. He held his tongue in his cheek and his fingers crossed inside his pocket. The miner could not see. She was kneeling before Joonster, focused and tense, as she finished the loop around Joonster's ankle in one smooth, sweeping motion.

"There." Her voice was shaky. "That's how they do it, in the mine. Break free of the demon spell."

Joonster reached out a hand wordlessly, and the woman dropped the magical amulet into his palm. Two twigs, tied together at an angle, like the crossed fingers of a human hand.

Joonster let the coin fall into the dust before the crouching miner. "Trace it back. To who it came from."

The woman picked up the coin, brushing dirt off her knees. She silently opened the back door and disappeared into the blackness of the abandoned tunnel.

Joonster sat still, motionless. Then he stooped, running a finger around his ankle, just along the line of the miner's touch.

* * *

Ojorsven hated going up into the mountains. It was by far the least favorite part of his position as a Behrlem scribe. He loathed traveling, and on horseback at that. Proper carriages were bad enough, but this? And now, of all times! Up here, it was winter! Unbearable. And they still were not safely out of the rainy season either. Ojorsven had actually spent last night in one of the emergency shelters along the path, seeking refuge just in time before an icy sleet began to fall from the sky. Getting soaked in the freezing wind, with still half a night's ride ahead of you—that could mean actual death, with all the fevers you'd catch.

Ojorsven grumbled. He distrusted these vast highlands even at the best of times. They invariably made one feel tiny and lost, with those mountains towering over one.

But, well, nothing to be done about it. It could not be helped. It was just a part of his position, and that was that. And Ojorsven loved being a scribe in Behrlem, generally. It suited him very well. It was stable and steady. There always was something to do, but never too much, or in too much of a hurry. Always some news, but always some olds too. Lots of olds, actually. Lots of reliable, predictable parts of his work and of his world. People he knew, who kept coming by every now and then, with a bit of new gossip about old acquaintances, or a little request for something or other. Ojorsven loved to oblige in that way. A little service here, a helpful word there, a duty well done, and people well satisfied. Really, it was a good position. Very pleasant, all in all.

Except for things such as this trip to the mountains, amidst the howling winds. The only consolation Ojorsven could find, apart from inevitability, was the excellent reception that would await him, unfailingly, at the end of his journey. He had been a scribe in Behrlem for quite some time now, and whenever duty forced him up into Shebbetin, Naydeer had provided him with an excellent welcome. She was one of the old acquaintances that sweetened up his life, really. A very special woman. With a very special winery as well. Exquisite, really. Not something that he would enjoy on a regular basis in Behrlem. Or on an irregular basis, even, to tell the truth. And the same for the food. And for the rooms. For the company, for the way he was treated like some very rare, treasured, highly important visitor. Just the general air, the quality of his reception there. Yes, that truly was something to look forward to. He had not met Naydeer very often, but he enjoyed the occasion all the more for it.

* * *

Kaya was pacing up and down Enim's room, rubbing her scar underneath the thick woolen cap. "We really do need to know! People are getting impatient. They are on their toes, and we must tell them. When will the folkcount happen?"

She turned around and gave Enim a hard look. "And what if it won't? In spite of all the sweet talk. We've been expecting it any day! What if they never come at all? How will we notice that they don't? Will we just sit here and wait forever?"

Enim pulled the blanket hanging down from his desk up more closely around his waist. His feet searched for the warmling on the ground. "I don't know."

He tapped his fingers on the boards in an irregular rhythm. "The Behrlem scribe did not give a date. I did not ask for one either, I have to admit. It just seemed obvious that it would be very soon. They had their plans all ready, even before I showed up. For her colleague Ojorsven to come up to the mountains with a receptacle, and do a complete folkcount."

Enim looked up at Kaya with a worried frown. "I would have expected him to be here by now."

* * *

On the evening of his third day in Shebbetin, Ojorsven contently settled down on lush silky cushions by the fireplace. With a happy sigh, he let the plum wine swirl around in his glass, breathing in its exquisite aroma. He had relished all the luxuries and attentions offered to him. He loved visiting the beautiful large villas so typical of Shebbetin, as well as talking to their occupants, most of whom he knew, and very few of whom were new. Ojorsven had recorded all the changes very conscientiously. The receptacle traption he had been given for that purpose was an unwelcome bit of new to Ojorsven, but never mind. He had managed even that. And enjoyed himself well enough during his days, and very well indeed during his evenings.

However, after three days, he was beginning to feel a certain longing for the pleasures of his own little house in Behrlem. For his familiar surroundings, his worn-out slippers, his favorite cup and his cat. Nice as it was to be pampered and spoiled here, he could not feel sorry if, soon, it would be time to go home again.

But there was something that nudged him uncomfortably at the back of his mind. Some part of his orders, his commission of what he was supposed to do here. He was not quite sure he had understood it properly. And Nenimoria had also mentioned that someone had come to the county house in Behrlem specifically to request that everything be done with extra care.

"Naydeer, may I ask you something?" Ojorsven made a go for it. "I have gone through all the houses now, registering any changes. But I wonder... There are more people in Shebbetin, obviously, than I have counted. There is a whole settlement over there, which I have seen from a distance but never gone into. Because I have headed straight here, for very good reasons," he smiled brightly at Naydeer. She beamed back at him.

"But I wonder. What about the people living there? Should they not be included in the folkcount, perhaps? Even though they never have been so far? Who are they, anyway?" Ojorsven turned a questioning gaze on Naydeer.

Naydeer topped up his plum wine with a genial expression and a slight shake of her head. "Oh, no," she said. "Never worry about that. It is not worth the trouble. There are people there, of course, but only temporarily. They don't live here. They are nomads. Shepherds. Surely you have heard? How there was nothing here, before we owners set up the mines? Only some isolated cottages up in in the mountains, and passing vagrants."

Ojorsven nodded. There was a dim image in his mind of the primitive past in these parts. The huge, empty mountains, with some grazing animals and a few forlorn wanderers who spoke very little and understood even less, knowing nothing of the world beyond.

"That is who they are," Naydeer continued. "The descendants of those herders. They used to trek in the mountains, and now they have come here for a while, because they saw that they can get coin in the mines. But they don't stay. They do not belong here. They just come to work for a bit, and then leave again. They don't even speak Kokish. So do not bother chasing after that lot in the icy wind, trying to get anything out of them. It is not worth the trouble."

The image of scurrying after people in the icy wind stuck with Ojorsven. Especially since he might have to do it for quite a long time. The settlement did not look very small. Nor did it look purely temporary, to be honest. It did not seem to have been set up yesterday, to be dismantled tomorrow by its nomadic inhabitants. These were stone houses, after all, even if small and cranky ones. But they were not tents.

He mentioned that to Naydeer.

"Oh, yes," she replied with a supercilious sneer and a knowing wink at Ojorsven. "The houses stay. But the people go. When they come, they move into whatever empty shack they find. And when they leave, they abandon it behind them without a care. They have no sense of belonging to this place. Not even to Shebbetin. Much less to Yurvania. They don't even know what that is. They have no understanding, and no interest either. They are simply not a part of it."

Ojorsven nodded slowly. That would explain it.

"But do not take my word for it." Naydeer offered him a plate of tidbits together with an earnest gaze. "I am only one person, and I have my own perception of things. I may be wrong. So please, by all means, do get a second opinion, and a third. There shall be half a dozen people coming here tonight to our little dinner party. Please feel free to ask any or all of them for their opinion. I shall be interested to hear what they say. But I am pretty sure that they will all confirm what I have just told you."

* * *

Enim's horse trotted steadily along the mountain path, traversing a tableau painted in hues of white. Ash gray clouds hung low in the sky, heavy with snow. Ghosts of icy crystal blew across the track, losing themselves again in the foggy twilight.

Enim shivered beneath his thick cloak. But he gritted his teeth. He would see this through. This time, he would get an exact date for the folkcount from the scribe in Behrlem. And not just that. Enim would go for all the details he could possibly think of, on every little aspect. He would not settle for an easy answer again. This time, he would know everything when he left, truly everything.

*

"How could this possibly have happened?" Enim gripped the counter of the Behrlem county house, aghast. "And I had even come here beforehand to tell you! How could you possibly have failed to see all the people of Shebbetin?"

"There, there, young man!" Nenimoria's tone was soothing and admonishing at the same time. She could not let Enim rail at her colleague like that, after all.

Ojorsven crossed his arms before his chest protectively. "I have done the best I could, under the circumstances," he professed. "I have built on the records of previous folkcounts, making sure to note any changes."

His brow furrowed. "As to those people who have never been in the records in the first place, I did indeed notice them. And I have made inquiries, I assure you. I have asked a number of different people as to whether those ought to be included in the folkcount, and so far, you are the only one who thinks they should have been. Everyone else was clearly of the opinion that those people are not part of the population that ought to be counted. So."

"But did you ask any of the people concerned?" Enim was shaking with outrage and disbelief.

"Look here," Nenimoria intervened again. "What's done is done. Ojorsven has given it his best, and he has returned from the mountains after many long days. With the completed receptacle, which we have sent back to Varoonya, as we were supposed to. So it is gone now. Nothing to be done about it."

But Ojorsven made another offer of reconciliation. "If the county office in Varoonya decides to send new receptacles and to have some extra folkcount done, so be it. Up to them. However, if they want that, they had better make sure they send some additional scribes along as well, to do all that counting. For including a whole new population in a folkcount surely is more work than one person alone can do. Especially in winter," Ojorsven added, with emphasis.

* * *

Yoor held the open envelope in his hand and read a little note out loud to Torly.

"'I am in Behrlem and have no time before the courier leaves for Varoonya. Please make a copy of this report for yourselves and one for me. Give the original to Lenoren. Urgently. Love, Enim.'"

Yoor looked at Torly.

Torly looked at the report in her hands.

She began to skim through it.

"Oh, damnation."