My feet were no longer cold and I put a cautious hand on the stone floor. Rather than striking up cold, it was warm to the touch, which puzzled me until I remembered what Shiv had said about heat from underground. I left the boxes and peered carefully up the flight of stairs where a dim glow suggested a light on the floor above. It was not shifting about so no one was carrying it, but if you leave lights burning at night, it's because you're expecting someone to be moving around at some point. I crept stealthily up the stairs and once I turned the corner was pleased to find a carpet underfoot, so much better for silence than flagstones. A small oil-lamp stood on a highly polished stone table in the middle of the hallway and I realised this was the noble's living quarters. I paused to get my bearings and headed swiftly for the study to get out of sight before someone went looking for the privy.

It was not locked either. I was struck by this man's confidence in his security, especially given the relaxed approach of the gate guards. These people just didn't expect trouble, at least not the sort we were bringing. Well, I always aim to be ready for trouble so I locked the door behind me anyway. I looked round the neat room with its stacks of documents and orderly records. This was no idle ruler, like Armile of Friern, say, grinding every mite he could out of his subjects to spend it on a pretty militia and fancy whores. The peasants tilled the land and caught the fish or whatever, but this man ran the mill, the forge, the stores and did a lot of the organisation too. Co-operation meant survival for everyone here, and that made for a still more dangerous enemy. I shivered despite the mild air as I began a thorough search of the room.

With everything else left open, whoever ran this place should have realised that locking a box is as good as sticking up a sign that it holds something important. The ancient oak chest was open in a moment and I pulled out a book. There were others. It was too dark to read anything so I reluctantly reached for a small lamp full of a fishy-smelling oil. The shutters were closed and with the lamp in the hall, there would be no betraying glow under the door so I judged the risk worth it.

In the golden glow of the lamp, I could see the books were written in Old Tormalin and halfway down I found the histories Shiv had mentioned. There was better to come but it is a real shame when something happens to prove you were right about something important and there's no one with you to look impressed when you say 'I told you so.' What got me so pleased were the notes on slips of parchment tucked between the pages. They were written in the Mountain Men alphabet, or something almost identical. Sorgrad and Sorgren had taught Halice and me the script as a means of writing letters no one else would be likely to read, so I knew I wasn't mistaken. I couldn't make much sense of the words themselves; my vocabulary in the Mountain tongue is rather specialised, dealing mainly with gambling, valuables, houses and horses. Still, I was able to see this language bore a resemblance to the Mountain tongue, about the same as, say, Dalasorian to Caladhrian, or Tormalin to Lescari; if you know one, you'll probably be able to get the gist of the other if it's spoken slowly.

Charts were folded beneath the books and I was getting more and more interested so I dug them out and spread them on the desk. As I painstakingly spelled out the names on what looked like a family tree, I recognised several of the 'Formalin noble houses mentioned by Azazir and Ryshad. Some had the names of cities beside them, along with other unidentifiable notations. A couple had been crossed through and I wondered what that might signify. Other closely written sheets might have been reports. They were headed with what looked worryingly like the names of Aldabreshi Warlords. I know very little about the Archipelago; it's another place where no one uses money and, besides that, they have a nasty habit of executing uninvited travellers. Still, everybody knows the Warlords have been known to attack the Tormalin and Lescari coasts when they think they can get away with it, and I didn't like to think of these Elietimm looking for allies down there. It was starting to look as if much more trouble was brewing for Planir the Black than he knew about. I looked around for something to make copies on, but found that ink and writing materials were precious enough here to have their own little, locked cabinet which meant they would probably be missed. I didn't dare do anything which might alert anyone to my visit so I tried to commit as much as I could to memory.

There were maps on the table and I studied them too once I noticed they depicted this island, identifying the village and the road we had followed. I gave a soundless whistle as I saw the detail. Almost every rock was drawn in. The island was divided between three owners and I realised the symbol we were seeing everywhere was a badge of some kind. Each domain was marked out with its own insignia and I made a mental note of the landmarks around what seemed to be the main stronghold of each one; if we were ever going to find Geris, I'd bet it would be in one of these compounds.

I ran through the charts, careful to keep them in order, until I found one drawn to a larger scale which showed the whole island group. My heart sank as I saw the extent of the land area and roughly calculated the population, if every village had as many people as the ones we had seen. These islands might have less than half the land of Caladhria all told, but I'd bet they had more than four times the population of Ensaimin, and we're reckoned to be crowded by local standards. The only good news was the extent of division here; even sand banks in the shallower channels between the islands were marked with badges of ownership, sometimes with several. Careful erasing and redrawing of insignia was quite common on the borders of each domain and several of the changes looked recent; with land this poor, even a few plough-lengths would be a valuable addition, wouldn't they? This evidence of conflict was about the only bright spot I could see in an otherwise very gloomy vista.

This faint spark of good news was stifled when I realised the next map showed stretches of the Dalasorian and Tormalin coasts, I was able to find Inglis and, in a separate sketch, Zyoutessela. The Dalasorian coast was drawn in some detail with numerous lines and notations on the sea which I suppose would mean something to a sailor. I frowned; with Inglis the only real centre of power and organisation in those parts, it would be a tough job to drive these people out if they decided to all get on a fleet of ships and help themselves to some decent land for a change. I could only hope they had very few ships, ideally just the one we had seen. Sinking that — and any other similar vessels — would have to be a priority. Shiv would just have to get us home by magic.

The sound of a door opening down the hallway froze me to the spot. I pinched out the lamp and crouched behind the desk, sucking my scorched fingers. No one approached so I knelt down to peer through the crack of the ill-fitting door; a small child in a long night-gown was padding down the hall, trailing a woolly animal of some sort. It went into a room at the far end and I heard a low murmur of adult voices, hushing the child when a rising wail threatened. I crouched there, heart pounding, for what seemed an age. Finally I decided they must have decided to let the child join them rather than try returning it to its own bed. Still, parents of young children are notoriously light sleepers so I decided I'd better get clear as fast as possible. I replaced everything as precisely as I could and let myself out with ten times the caution I'd used before. Luckily, Drianon must have decided that particular mother deserved a decent night's rest and I was out of the house without anyone rousing.