The sharp cries of mountain foxes sounded here and there and the cool air was scented with the medicinal odour of the bloodbark trees. A small flock of blueleg fowl moved off through the scrub like clockwork toys as the wagon passed by in its caul of dust; a little further on the hand hauled on the reins and snapped the peg brake as an armadillo the size of a jitney lumbered across the road. At last, a cluster of lights in the distance resolved into the lamps of the lodge where Pilgrim had spent his adolescence after outgrowing the care of the Hearth. His bad leg and slight build unsuited him for most ranch and farm work, but he had made himself useful by assisting the lodge’s cook and keeping the ranch’s accounts and taking charge of its storeroom, and that might have been the course of his life if Grandfather Bearbane hadn’t found out that Master Able was looking for a secretary.

Pilgrim’s uncle, Blessed Sandhill, was waiting for him on the long porch that fronted a string of rooms dug into a low ridge with a cluster of wood-frame windmills (they were new) turning on its crest. Blessed’s fringe of jaw hair had turned grey, but otherwise he didn’t seem much changed: a sturdy pragmatic person dressed in the high-waisted trews and canvas work vest of a drover, a stub of chewbone hung on a loop of string around his neck. After Pilgrim had washed up and changed his clothes, Blessed insisted on opening the flask of vintage vinewater Pilgrim had brought as a gift. They sat on the porch in the gathering dusk, sipping from thimblecups. Pilgrim told his uncle about his plans to finish Master Able’s work on sightings of the visitors, and Blessed told Pilgrim about the plan to run a railway stub up through the valley and north across the plateau to the Hearth.

‘The aunties want to build a big new strangers’ lodge, too, so rich city folk can pay to hunt and fish by day and carouse at night. In short, we’re getting civilised around here. Can’t say I much like the idea, but as long as it doesn’t interfere with lodge work I’ll keep my peace.’