Kara stayed for dinner and resisted the temptation to pocket any more of the interesting trinkets that passed before her.  She refrained from commenting that the food was too bland, and she didn’t stare at the scar-faced man’s scars or at the winged freak’s lack of wings.  She even remembered to use the wooden tableware instead of her fingers.  Being polite was much more difficult than she’d anticipated.

            After dinner it was quite late, and Kara was determined not to lose any more time, in case the lady realized just how much silver was in the bag of coins she’d handed over. 

            She crept to the door unnoticed, and was about to slip out, when Jon saw her and dashed after her.  “Are you going?” he asked.  She considered pointing out to him what a stupid question that was, but he stood blinking up at her with his huge blue eyes as if she were someone he respected to a painful degree.  The scar-faced Professor had followed him and was looking at her too.

            “Take care of yourself, half-size,” she told Jon.  “Hey, um, you with the scars.  What does your watch say?”

            The Professor looked at her, surprised.  “Oh.  Um, it’s an inscription, from an old friend.”  He opened the recovered watch and held it out. 

            Jon read it aloud for Kara.  “Mortal or immortal, always treasure time. Herringbroke.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?” Kara asked.

            “Just what it says,” the Professor said, softly.

            “Which are you, then, mortal or immortal?” Kara said mockingly.

            The Professor said nothing, just brushed his hair behind one of his odd ears self-consciously, with a glance at the floor.  “I don’t know.”

            Kara was suddenly sorry she’d asked.  “Well, you’re all freaks together.  Good for you.  I’m leaving.”

            “Take care,” Jon said.  “We’ll miss you.”

            “And you’re the strangest of them.” Kara said, mussing his hair.  “Don’t ever cross my path again.”

            She left without looking back.  She walked through the dark, swearing when the moon disappeared behind cloud, but able to see, regardless.  As it got chillier she pulled her coat closer about her.  She had only trudged a few miles toward town when the sound of a carriage caught up with her.

            “Momma thinks we’re asleep,” came Ellea’s whisper. “So hurry and get in, and don’t argue.”

            Kara considered arguing anyway, but was too tired to think of anything particularly stinging, and so with a single curse pulled herself up onto the carriage.

            She climbed to the top to find Djaren in the driver’s place and Ellea making room for her beside them.

            “We couldn’t let you go without saying goodbye,” Djaren said.  “And we do need to talk.”

            “What about?” Kara frowned.

            “You’re unkillable by whatever that thing was, you can see in the dark as well as Ellea and I, and can break locks by kicking them,” Djaren said.

            “How do you know--?”

            “And you see Poppa,” Ellea added.  “And I can hear you clear as talking when you think too loud.”

            “And a monster who is after us is also after you,” Djaren said, before Kara could interrupt.  “You’re a freak just like us.  I won’t ask any questions, but I say we make an alliance.  We’re going to be in Germhacht next May, to go ask the consul for permission to dig in Narmos.”

            “There’s supposed to be a temple there that’s over three millennia old,” Ellea said.

            “It will be great fun.  You should come.”

            “Will there be another attack by supernatural horrors?” Kara asked sarcastically.

            “Only if we’re lucky,” Djaren grinned at her.  “Promise you’ll come.”

            “I don’t make friends.”

            “Then be our arch-enemy.  Just come.”

            “You are an insane boy, and I should have broken your face and spectacles long ago now.”

            “So you will come.”

            “Good-bye.” Kara hopped off the carriage as it passed the first of the farms outside the village, and took to her heels, with Djaren’s silver spectacle case tucked carefully in her breast pocket.  It had a star on it. 

©2007 Ruth Lampi