Clovis called up to him once more and climbed down off the wagon. "Bring your things inside Evan. I will show you to the guest bed." The young man at the railing above watched me until I reached the door. The setting sun's last rays reflected off the silver handle of the dagger tucked into the belt around his waist.

"This way," said Clovis, opening the rough finished wooden door.

I followed him in and hovered within the shallow perimeter of light in the doorway. He struck a match and lit a brass lantern sitting on a polished wooden table in the center of the room. He turned up the wick and took hold of a small rope dangling above the table. The room filled with light as he pulled and hoisted the lantern up close to the rafters.

"A Yemeni chandelier," he said, tying the rope off. The roughly hewn stone blocks of the walls were barren and huge timbers from some remote corner of this treeless land held up the thatched roof. A large open hearth stood in the far corner, its edges blackened from untold years of usage. Two chairs sat at the rectangular table, the polished surface of which held dozens of round, dark knots, scattered like constellations. Two more chairs hung from the cross beam above the lantern.

"You can set your things in the bedroom." He pointed to an open door opposite the hearth. "You will be on the right side."

I stepped in and waited a moment for my eyes to adjust. Two small mats lay rolled up against the far wall. I sat my bag in front of the right one.

"I am going to start a stew."

"Sounds good," I said back to him. Lingering in the bedroom, I noticed three leather-bound books next to the other bedroll. The lettering on the spines and covers had long since worn off from handling. "What are you reading?" I asked as I opened one. Hand-written Greek letters covered the thick brittle pages.

"Those are Diocletian's garden journals. I found them again a few years ago."

I walked out with the dagger tucked neatly into my waistband. He looked up from his preparations at the smaller table in the recessed kitchen.

"Ah," he said smiling as I approached, "look at you. You will fit in perfectly here."

I peered over his shoulder at the preparations. "Can you grow things in this soil?"

"Sort of, I have to bring fresh loam down from the highlands each winter. I keep a garden between here and the well up on the hill," he said, pointing with his knife. "We will eat from its bounty tonight."

My next question was cut short by a loud uninterrupted mechanical clatter from above that sounded as if the tower had just collapsed into the sea. Clovis went on chopping, undisturbed.

"What's that?" I shouted over the noise.