She walked the rising slope of Coral Way, the sun warming her neck and cheek. It drained the tension from her, eased the ache of her muscles and the burn of her cuts. She felt more relaxed, more comfortable than she could ever remember. Did this delicious sensation come from the knowledge that very shortly she would be giving her back to the island – perhaps never to return? Kiska savoured the thought.

She brushed past people who dazedly wandered the streets to stare at wreckage left by the battle, at broken windows and smashed shop fronts. They seemed to study each other as if searching for some reassurance, in the face of such proof, that the night had been nothing more than a foolish nightmare.

Kiska found Reach Lane unnaturally deserted. Any other day of the year would have seen it choked with vendors at carts, squatting on outstretched mats or standing with their wares overflowing baskets. Even the mongrel dogs that should have been running underfoot were nowhere to be seen. Terrified by the lingering scents, Kiska supposed. She banged on Agayla’s door. The garlands of dried flowers hung limp; their musky pungency surprised Kiska. ‘Auntie! Hello! Are you there?’

While Kiska waited an old woman pushed a cart of sweetbreads up the street. This she manoeuvred against one wall, then took her pipe from her mouth to nod.

‘Morning,’ Kiska responded.

‘Thank Burn and the Blessed Lady for it!’

‘Yes. Thank them.’

Breathing out smoke she announced, ‘I was nearly eaten by one of those fiends.’

‘Were you?’

‘Oh, yes. But I prayed to Hood himself all night and the demons passed me by.’

‘Hood?’ Kiska echoed, startled.

‘Oh, yes. Hood, I prayed. Ol’ Bone-Rattler. Please pass over my poor, thin, worn-out soul. Take my neighbour instead. And sure enough – he took my neighbour.’ The old woman cackled and winked.

Kiska laughed uneasily. Oponn deliver her from this crazy island! She banged again on the door while the old woman shooed flies from her sweetbreads. ‘Agayla! Open up! It’s me, Kiska.’ Silence. She pushed on the heavy plank door and it swung open. Surprised, she gazed for a time into the dark shop. Leaning in, she called, ‘Agayla?’

‘Go on in, lass,’ the old woman urged from across the way. ‘No one enters there that she don’t wish to. Go on.’

Kiska stepped in and closed the door. Just to be careful, she barred it as well. ‘Auntie?’ No one answered. She edged in between the shelves. In the rear, she found Agayla sitting before a stool, head bowed under a towel. ’Auntie?’

Agayla raised the towel, peered up blearily. ‘Oh, hello, child.’

‘Auntie, what are you doing?’

Agayla sat back, pressed the towel to her face. A bowl of water on the stool sent up whisps of aromatic steam. ‘I’ve caught a terrible cold.’

‘Oh. Are you all right?’

‘Yes, yes. Just tired. Very, very tired.’ She raised a hand to Kiska. ‘What of you? Safe and sound I see.’