An ordinary oil lamp did indeed hang outside of the cave, on a stave driven into the ground. The Stranger dismounted from his horse and drew his pistol and both he and the horse entered the cave.

“Be not afraid, stranger. Come in peace.”

The voice was rough, as though its speaker was not much used to speech. The walls of the cave were covered in moss. It was warm and dry, and a small fire burned cleanly farther back. A heap of dry wood was stacked neatly nearby.

As for the speaker, he stood by the fire, dressed in a simple robe and leaning on a staff. His beard was long but kempt. His eyes were deep and keen. He carried no weapon that the Stranger could see. The Stranger settled his horse near the entrance and advanced to the fire.

“Here,” the hermit said. He went to the horse and patted him, and the horse snorted. The hermit brought out two small, wizened apples and fed them to the horse, who munched contentedly.

Outside, the storm seemed set to sweep over the canyon. Ankhs and crosses flashed like fireflies and the Stranger heard the tread of giant feet, and shivered. He had had enough of the machinations of Colossi and pupae.

“You have come from afar,” the hermit said.

“Yes.”

“From that other place.”

“Yes,” the Stranger said, surprised. It was seldom that such matters were discussed so openly on the Escapement.

“You carry a great burden.”

“You seem very perceptive, hermit.”

The hermit shrugged. “You travel alone to the edges of the world, stranger. Make the inference.”

The Stranger was forced to smile. “That seems fair. I am travelling to the Mountains of Darkness, to seek the Ur-shanabi.”

“The Plant of Heartbeat. Yes. I have heard that it flowers in the dark. But stranger, no traveller who crosses the twelve double hours of the night ever returns.”

“You know much of what lies beyond?”

“It is said that, beyond the Great Salt Lakes, the land is populated by herds of lions, and wild scorpion men. But whether that is true or not, I could not tell you. You must pay the ferryman to cross the waters. Beyond lies the tunnel.”

“I have a map,” the Stranger said. Perhaps he felt a little defensive. “From Jefferson & Norvell, Medici, of Jericho.”

“I heard Jericho has fallen.”

“You hear much, here in the wilderness?”

“I hear the loons cry, and the earth tremble when the wild Harlequinade passes,” the hermit said, complacently. “And they tell me that the old general who ruled over Hole is vanquished once again into the Doinklands, there to take on a new shape and form.”

“You seem remarkably well informed, hermit.”