He sketched the pool for a while, then the view. He sat patiently still for five minutes, with no sound except birdsong and the burble of the streams, as a timid crophorn deer came to drink.

He noticed that, despite extensive weathering, the stone blocks he was perching on had traces of hard edges. They had been worked: the remains of some building or wall, perhaps a watchtower guarding the lower approaches to Helter Fortress.

A cold breeze rustled through the forest, and he felt the temperature drop. The sunlight diminished as clouds passed over. More rain coming, he surmised. He wasn’t bothered. He was shaded by trees, the cool air was a welcome relief from the bright heat of the day, and it wasn’t the first time he’d sat out in a downpour.

Rain was honest. Drusher reflected that perhaps, more than anything else, that was why he had become a magos biologis, to spend as much of his life as he could outside, in nature – whatever nature happened to be – with its simple cause-and-effect systems. It kept him away from the company of people, with their lies and secrets and agendas and games.

That, or he simply wasn’t very good at those sorts of interactions.

The thoughtful smile faded slightly from his lips. He was no longer alone. There was a man sitting by the edge of the pool below him. Drusher had no idea how long the man had been there, but he doubted it was more than five minutes. Drusher had been lost in his own thoughts and the tranquility of the place, but he was surprised he hadn’t noticed the man arrive.

‘Good afternoon,’ he called down.

The man looked up and smiled. He looked pleasant enough. He had a round face, and wore a good walking coat and laced boots. He was sketching in a large, green-covered book.

‘I didn’t see you there, sir,’ the man said.

Drusher clambered down. He got a glimpse of the man’s sketch. It was a view of the valley, very finely done.

‘I don’t mean to disturb,’ said Drusher.

‘Not at all. I was just out, ambling around,’ the man said. He continued to sketch.

‘Are you a visitor?’ Drusher asked.

‘Oh no, I live nearby,’ the man replied. ‘You?’

‘A visitor,’ said Drusher.

‘Ah well, it’s that season,’ the man said. He paused to put a point back on his graphite stick with a little pocket knife. ‘And this area is very pleasant. The Karanines in early summer – wonderful air. Good for the spirit. I sometimes wonder if, when our ancestors first came to this world, they stopped here because it was so agreeable.’

‘It is indeed agreeable.’

‘And fought over it, of course.’

Drusher frowned. ‘Fought, sir?’