His gaze clicked to the opening, a coin in his hand now forgotten. He watched, staying as still as sorrow as a small shelf emerged from the blackness of the box. Upon the shelf sat an object as innocuous and seemingly inconsequential as the apron. Everson identified it easily but had long thought such objects archaic and prone to pretension.

It was a Tinderbox.

TEN

The Which had never before felt as if she had left her own body. Until now. It was like she was soaring in uncontrolled flight. The edges of reality had become blurred, her peripheral vision forced out of focus by rapid forward motion.

The future, previously indistinct but much anticipated, walked toward her in the guise of an Indiran soldier.

“You’re alive!” The Which exclaimed, breathless.

The young soldier was dirty and disheveled, bruised and bearing the scratches and scrapes of obvious struggle. His sword was gone, but, The Which saw with unbridled excitement, the satchel was strapped securely over his shoulder. She also discovered quickly that his insolence was still intact.

“After what I’ve just been through, I’m not surprised that you’re surprised,” he groused.

The Which was undeterred. All that mattered now was what might be in that satchel. “What did you see?”

“I didn’t see any Dogs.”

An impatient sigh slipped her lips before she pursed them. It would be so much more pleasant and efficient if this pawn would simply acquiesce and acknowledge his place in her grand plan.

“Obviously you did,” she corrected him curtly. “You just didn’t recognize them. They were the destiny omniscient guides.”

“Destiny omniscient guides. DOGs.” The soldier shook his head and exhaled an ironic little laugh. “Well, that certainly explains a lot. Maybe something you should have told me before.”

“What form did they take?” The Which continued as if the interview was going perfectly as planned.

The soldier glanced over The Which’s shoulder. Not only were her two guards and the massive Leftist still there, they were edging closer and straining to listen in. It was a not-so-subtle reminder to Everson that he was still a prisoner and that he should tread carefully.

“They were a form of weaponry,” he said. “That’s all I can say. I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“And so?” The Which leaned forward, her pupils dilated, her lips parted slightly like a lustful young maiden. Her features, normally so serene and inscrutable, took on an edge of near feral desire. “You have what they gave you?”

“I have something, yes.”

“I want to see it,” said The Which, her eyes darting greedily to the satchel, where she assumed the soldier had stowed the prize.

“It’s a rather plain item to have cost so many lives,” he replied calmly.