Nimue entered the town and gasped in amazement. The source of the noise and the shuddering of the ground was the most bizarre machine she had ever seen. A huge, bulbous copper cauldron with an enormous wheel, whose revolutions drove a piston shining with grease. The machine hissed, smoked, spluttered boiling water and belched steam, then at a certain moment uttered a whistle, a whistle so horrifying and dreadful that Nimue was dumbfounded. But she quickly overcame her fear, even approaching closer and curiously examining the belts which the gears of the hellish machine used to drive the saws in the mill, cutting trunks at incredible speed. She would have continued watching, but her ears began to hurt from the rumbling and grinding of the saws.

She crossed a bridge; the small river below was murky and stank repugnantly, bearing woodchips, bark and flecks of foam. The town of Ivalo, however, which she had just entered, reeked like one great latrine, a latrine, where, to make matters worse, somebody had insisted on roasting bad meat. Nimue, who’d spent the previous week among meadows and forests, began to choke. The town of Ivalo, which marked the end of another stage on her route, had seemed like a resting place to her. Now she knew she wouldn’t tarry any longer than was absolutely necessary. Nor add Ivalo to her store of pleasant recollections.

As usual she sold a punnet of mushrooms and medicinal roots at the market. It didn’t take long; she was now practised, knowing what there was demand for, and whom she should go to with her wares. She pretended to be half-witted, owing to which she had no problem selling, the stallholders vying with each other to outwit the dull girl. She earned little but didn’t waste time. For speed mattered.

The only source of clean water in the vicinity was a well in a narrow little square, and in order to fill her canteen, Nimue had to wait her turn in a lengthy queue. Acquiring provisions for the next stage of her journey went more smoothly. Enticed by the smell, she also bought several stuffed pasties, which on closer inspection seemed suspicious. She sat down by a dairy to eat them while they were still tolerably fit to be consumed without seriously damaging her health. For it didn’t look as though they would continue in that state for long.

Opposite was a tavern called the Green-something; the sign’s missing lower plank had turned the name into a riddle and intellectual challenge. A moment later, Nimue became engrossed by her attempts to guess what—apart from frogs and lettuce—could be green. She was startled out of her reverie by a loud discussion being conducted on the tavern’s steps by a small group of regulars.