Here’s a trimmed version. I’ve kept all content and narrative flow, mainly tightening sentences, removing small redundancies, and condensing descriptions without losing their character.
6. The spy
He dreamt of Kira. In his dream they were hurrying together, her pulling on his hand urgently, both glancing behind. It was quite dark, and behind them was an area even blacker than the surrounding darkness, and it appeared to be following them.
They hurried on, and he felt fear build inside him. Then Kira stopped and released his hand. She stood motionless, facing the darkness that was darker than dark, her head bowed slightly. The patch of absolute darkness stopped moving, hanging there behind them like a menacing void of nothingness. It slowly began to grow lighter, now resembling the other darkness around them, a more natural lack of light.
She looked toward him, and he saw a tear running down her cheek. Then she disappeared, leaving him standing alone, wondering if she had been there at all.
The wake-up process this morning was more fluent, closer to normal than ever, if perhaps still not perfect.
He could still only really remember the past two days in detail. He was sure he’d been in the village for quite some time though, and had probably done much the same every day: running errands and doing small jobs that required little more than two legs and a backpack. He didn’t lie in bed thinking for long, and busily readied himself. He sensed it was considerably earlier than he had risen the past few days, and didn’t want to waste it. Maybe Lora and Arkit would be somehow impressed, he self-indulgently thought.
He realised he couldn’t really hear the rain anymore today either, but there was now a different sound: an almost imperceptible gentle popping noise. Before putting his raincoat on, he looked outside. A thick fog or mist lay on every horizontal surface — plain, slope, mountaintop, forest, building roof — although Foon couldn’t see all that; all he saw was a gradually opaquing scene that ended as an impenetrable white wall. The mild popping became slightly louder when he opened the door.
He cautiously stepped outside. He was now inside the mist, and the gentle popping occurred randomly all around him, at a similar tempo to raindrops but much less defined. It made rainfall, even a gentle one, sound jarring in comparison. It felt strongly unnatural, and completely normal and natural at the same time. He had never heard these noises before, but felt sure they had been around forever regardless. It was colder than usual, so he rubbed his arms to warm them. Doing this, he felt his sleeves were getting quite damp, almost wet. He backed into the hut, away from the wet, popping mist.
He instantly felt the perfect warmth inside again. ‘Looks like today is definitely a raincoat day,’ he thought. Maybe it was a little early to go out anyway — the sun, although not visible, surely hadn’t risen much. He felt it was far too early to head down the slope. He stood in front of the thinly constructed but acceptably wide table. There wasn’t that much stuff on it, so plenty of space remained.
He picked up the bee amulet. Someone had carved a flat piece of hardwood into the stylised shape of a bee. The fine details and basic illustration on the upper side were evenly burnt into the surface using thin elegant lines. It had almost every anatomical detail a bee would have, recorded in clean dark lines with nothing unnecessary. It was realised in a very simple and unassuming way. The first time Foon remembered noticing it two days ago, he thought it looked crude and uninteresting. Now he saw something completely different.
Someone had put great care and attention into the amulet, and it was quite beautiful in its own right. You could tell whoever made it had enjoyed making it. He liked the feel of smooth hardwood between his fingers, and traced the detail with his thumb. He slipped it into the side-pocket of his still-hanging raincoat as the first object he carried for no particular reason at all.
He turned to pick up the piece of paper again. The folds were clearly visible and sharply defined. The paper didn’t look damaged at all. He unfolded it more slowly and carefully this time, and looked at what was marked upon it. It looked very strange and unidentifiable. There were many small, hastily-drawn but compact illustrations with some form of written language underneath or beside them, all in small, neat, presumably legible handwriting. Some had no accompanying text — perhaps the appraiser was simply expected to know what was represented. Foon didn’t recognise any of it; even the explanations were as impenetrable as the illustrations.
Something caught his eye near the top-right: a diagram of a building. To him, it was undoubtedly the Fabrik, realised in exactly enough detail to familiarise one with it. There was writing directly below it. He wondered what it said. He gave up and scanned down to the bottom of the page, and saw something less familiar but familiar nonetheless: the big white dome he had seen on top of the other mountain to the west, which Simon had pointed out to him last night. ‘The Jellyfish’, that was it. Somehow it had made the bleachers rise and fall around the fire pit. Maybe it did even more. This diagram also had writing, on the left-hand side. He really wished he could read what it said.
Then he noticed something that wasn’t there: the creases in the paper. The sheet curled gently towards him, but not a single crease was in sight. His mouth hung open and his brow furrowed while he gently began to buckle the paper, ready to create the first fold again. He didn’t have to. It was already there, ready to divide cleanly — all the folds were. He stopped moving his fingers and looked at it, head cocked slightly, looking very puzzled. He fully unfolded it again, but the creases were still there. He stared directly at the central point of one crease, not letting it out of his sight, but nothing happened and he became impatient, then distracted. His eye returned to the white dome, and this time he noticed more detail. The dome seemed to have several extremely long thin tails hanging from its underside. It had a thin, short mast rising from the centre to a point, growing organically and fluidly out of the main dome with no visible seam. He wondered what it was.
Then he noticed a full absence again. The creases were completely gone, and the paper was curled towards him again. ‘It cheated!’ he thought. It waited until you looked at something else, became distracted, then pretended the creases didn’t exist. Maybe he would catch it cheating sometime — after all, he knew he was going to look at the paper again. He definitely wasn’t going to throw it away; it looked like a valuable source of information, no matter how cryptic. He folded it over, and now the creases were simply there again, as if they had always been. He hadn’t noticed that happening either, and was sure he was looking straight at it the whole time. The mysterious page really was a master of misdirection. He folded the remainder neatly and carefully placed it back on the table.
He picked up one of the perfect metal balls. As he did so, the others hung underneath, somehow all attached. He stared curiously — there didn’t seem to be anything attaching them. The position of the others changed when he lifted the one he held higher. He pulled on another; it felt firmly connected, but when he pulled harder, it broke free. He now held a single ball in his other hand. He moved it towards the cluster and it snapped into place against the nearest ball. He repeated the action with the same result. He smiled, wondering how this worked. He put the balls back down — another interesting possession to explore further.
Maybe it was time to leave, while he was still early. He pulled his raincoat from its hook, but found underneath it a previously hidden item of clothing: a soft, impossibly finely-woven upper garment. He laid his hand on it; it felt intrinsically warm, like another person’s skin, diffuse and soft and finely fibrous. He carefully removed the garment and held it stretched out in front of him. If this was really his, it was easily the finest piece of clothing in his possession. The neckline arched slightly higher at the rear, making it simple to determine which way round it should be worn.
He started to pull it on over his head. While doing so, it tore cleanly, sharply and silently from the bottom hem straight up to the centre of the neckline. He instinctively raised his arms, and the arms of the garment fell onto his own; they became one. It didn’t just fit perfectly — it simply didn’t suffer the existence of imperfection by design, and sat naturally on his body like an extra layer of warm, soft skin. It was still evenly split up the front, so Foon worried how to remedy that. He grasped the lower corner of each side and drew them together. Nothing happened until the corners touched. Both sides immediately merged naturally and perfectly, continuing all the way up until the split reached the top, and the garment was fully transformed again, no sign of a join visible, not even a trace. He ran his palm across his chest where the split should be; the transition was perfectly smooth and uninterrupted. If there was a join, it was finer than his fingertips could define. This jersey made him feel like he had strange magical powers — the ability to save people from any danger.
He really, really hoped it was his, and someone hadn’t just forgotten it. But how could you forget such a thing? He would keep its existence quiet, but if anyone complained of it being lost, he would return it immediately and explain its origins.
He put his raincoat over the top. His new undergarment accommodated it effortlessly, without resistance. He could still feel himself wearing the raincoat, almost as if there was nothing much underneath except a strange warm glow. ‘Please let it be mine,’ he thought. He put on his backpack, now without telescope — which lay neatly across the rear end of the table — empty again and ready for new contents.
He headed back into the strange mist, the gentle popping sounds chattering around him once more. He could see far enough ahead to discern the path, so he followed it down the slope towards where the Longhouse lay in wait. As he approached, it slowly became more clearly defined until the whole building was in full view. He walked to the nearest window to check if anyone was inside at this early hour. He peered in and spotted Lora busy at her stove. He walked to the door, but instead of entering, he removed his hand from the handle — a sudden thought entering his mind — and headed around to the rear of the Longhouse.
Here was a small pleasant garden with flowering borders and wide leafy plants surrounding an even, flat trimmed lawn, all framed by mist which slowly grew thicker further away. A table stood at the centre with a solidly attached flat wooden bench running along each side, covered by its own waterproof bubble: a perfectly spherical half-dome. He turned and approached a window near the centre of this side, and surreptitiously began to watch Lora.
She picked up a small wooden cylindrical container, like a diminutive straight-walled cup that could be held between two fingers. She lifted it to her mouth and licked the top, then drew it away, her eyes fixed on it while her mouth moved as she tasted the results. She nodded knowingly and placed it back, but it was suddenly hard for him to see where it had been placed. Foon felt like a talented spy, despite being slightly ashamed. He wouldn’t want anyone spying on him like this, so it felt wrong, but it was strangely exciting and hard to stop now that he had started.
He looked over to the entrance, noticing the door moving open slightly out of the corner of his eye, and saw a creature similar to the one from the alley the other day slink through the doorway. Its profile was low, and its long, pointed slender tail was straightened out behind it, following the curvature of its spine. It quickened its pace towards the stove, and as Lora turned, it smoothly transitioned to hind legs and sprang onto the counter beside the stove. In the next fluid movement, it darted towards a specific black, misshapen item of food on a thick wooden board. It seized the item with unexpectedly large jaws — its previously petite mouth now revealing a whole new form and function. Lora reflexively tried to grab it, but it was too swift. It sprang over the stove to the counter on the other side, pivoted perfectly, and sprang onto the long table in one fluid motion. As it landed, she chased it again, so it darted down onto the seat of the nearest chair on the left. The chair’s back was only inches from the table, but it slipped between the gap effortlessly.
Suddenly, that chair fell backwards at a rapid rate and struck the floor audibly. Disarray emerged in sequence along the other chairs on the same side — some jarred squint, others flying backwards and clattering or clunking against the stone floor. ‘It must be remarkably strong for its size, with really powerful hind legs,’ Foon reasoned. It descended from the last chair straight onto the floor, darted out through the still slightly open door, twisting its body to conform perfectly into the gap, all the while clutching its edible trophy between its teeth. It was now very unlikely to be captured.
Lora stood halfway along the table with arms straight down and fists balled. She did not look happy, and her frown gradually intensified. Then there was a loud but also completely silent noise — an ‘anti-sound’ that fed on all noise around it — and something invisible emanated from Lora, temporarily visible through disturbing the light layer of dust around her on the floor, decisively blowing it away into a perfect circle. But what happened to the chairs was truly surprising: they all righted themselves and resumed their precise regimental place at the table. This all happened so quickly that it was hard to believe. The entrance to the Longhouse was now also firmly closed.
Foon gawked through the window. Lora’s expression was again her usual; she seemed to have calmed down. However, her head turned precisely towards him. She regarded him with an indecipherable gaze, and he instinctively knew that ducking below the window would be ridiculous and would make him look even worse. He no longer felt like a competent spy. He had been caught.
She beckoned him in with impatient flicks of one wrist and walked briskly back to the stove. He went around to the front, opened the door, and carefully closed it behind him. She turned and gestured him closer. As he approached, she began to speak.
“Foon, if you ever find the Longhouse door ajar, even slightly, close it as quickly as possible. I don’t have eyes in the back of my head, and many smaller children can be forgetful — sometimes adults too. I’m often concentrating and don’t notice. Lawrence says he can alter the door to close itself, but that was many dry-days ago, and I refuse to chase him on it. As for that cursed creature, I don’t want it anywhere near my stove. It usually avoids people and won’t enter when others are present. But me — it shows no fear.”
Anger flicked across her face but was fleeting. “What it stole was quite rare and special, used to flavour many other ingredients simply by stewing alongside them. I could have used it many times. Now the thieving beast will enjoy it in some dark recess instead.” Her face took on frustration, then contemptuous determination, then evaporated. She grabbed two cups and gestured for Foon to sit across from her near the stove.
She filled the cups with tea so similar in fragrance to the Elder’s that it must have been brewed using very similar ingredients. Now that they both had a cup, she sat down, placed her elbow on the table, and supported her chin with a cupped hand. This was the first time Foon had seen Lora so talkative or friendly, although he felt this might be closer to her natural state than his previous encounters. He listened intently, making the most of the situation. He sipped his tea — unmistakably the Elder’s tea.
“Simon won’t allow anyone to harm it, and nobody is reckless enough to find out what happens if they do. I suspect they would no longer have a house to live in, after it had been swiftly deconstructed while they were away.” She stared at him and nodded slowly.
“That happened once before, merely because someone carelessly swatted a healthy bee, killing it. Simon was standing nearby, staring with a frozen look on his usually friendly face. I know a refugee who saw the whole thing, and they said they felt quickly compelled to move along. A day later, the bee-swatter — who thankfully lived alone — returned to find their home completely gone, the site as if the building had never been there.”
Foon nodded in wonder. It certainly sounded like something Simon was capable of, and he seemed to genuinely love creatures, but he couldn’t imagine him disassembling anything in anger. He was really enjoying her tale — unexpected and interesting. It was always good to learn something new, and if it was this easy, maybe he didn’t have to be a spy after all. He opened his ears wider and waited for more.
“So now people don’t kill healthy bees, and sometimes elect not to deliver mercy to obviously dying ones either. This rule has never been clarified further, so it’s better not to take chances. Losing a house and having to build a new one without Simon’s help is a huge pain, as the villager eventually found out. They also learned to live for a while without much heat or light, or hot water or a wet-cabin, because Lawrence was suddenly very busy for many weeks.”
“The person in question spent a lot of time in the Longhouse when not performing tasks, because it was much more welcoming than their crude new home. I allowed this, and tried to make them feel welcome. A bond grew between us in that time, and I know this person very well now. Thoughtlessly swatting a bee in front of Simon is the worst of their history of crimes. They learned and accepted the lesson, and no longer feel treated unfairly. In fact, I think they’re secretly proud to be at the centre of such a fundamental custom. After a while it made sense to everyone not to harm the bees. They exist in perfect natural harmony with their environment — a harmony always more mysterious than obvious — and it must be respected, never interfered with. The bees are precious because the honey is precious, and the meadow is precious because it needs the bees to exist, and the bees need the meadow just as much.”
“The beekeeper is precious because she understands all of it perfectly, as if it’s wisdom she was born with. She provides exactly the amount of honey we need, and production is always reliable. The quality is unsurpassable every time. Honey is literally the only thing she provides, but she requires little if anything in return. She grows her own food, crafts her own clothes, even repairs her own roof. I suspect she’s the most capable person in the village — or nearby I should say — because she never comes down here except perhaps recently, but that was only reported by a single person, and the account may be unreliable.”
She took a sip of tea, then changed the subject. “Foon, have you seen that small beast elsewhere before?”
He felt instantly uncomfortable. Not only had she noticed him at the window, it seemed she knew exactly how long he had been there and what he had seen. His instinct told him not to lie; there was a chance she knew even more. He nodded and pointed towards the village, then drew both flat hands closer together in parallel and slid them back and forth to indicate a narrow alleyway. She nodded in perfect understanding.
“Yes, it likes to hide in narrow dark places — preferably between the boxy buildings in the tight gaps. Did you learn anything more from your observation?”
Foon gestured negatively, shrugging with hands upturned, indicating he didn’t know much more. Except — most people didn’t like it much, and the angry woman in the street probably confronted him because he was entertaining its presence. It was devious, determined, destructive, and very capable — he had seen that last night and this morning. But Simon protected it, probably because he cared for all creatures, like the bees.
It felt like his thoughts had organised themselves outside his mind, then entered respectfully one at a time, forming a sequence that simply made sense. His hands were now back on the table, and his face showed an expression for which there is only one word: wonder.
This must have been apparent to Lora. He felt he had divined all he needed from the solved puzzle, and refocused on her. For the first time since he could clearly remember her, her look softened and appeared genuinely friendly — sharing and welcoming. Her eyes softened, the lower lids creasing to provide an entrancing extra smile below each. Her face became fully irresistible to behold; she was quite exceptionally beautiful, he realised.
The expression outlived its usefulness before long, and she resumed her familiar expression: inquisitive and expectant, but with the possibility it could turn to impatience at any time. As Foon vaguely anticipated, he became quite unsure if she had changed her expression at all — that it wasn’t just something he had imagined. There it was again: complete uncertainty surrounding her, defying everything his eyes told him.
“Today you’ll do a single errand for me before any other, Foon. Arkit is aware of this and knows better than to argue. You’re not shirking duties — consider this the most important job today, at least until it’s complete. I want you to go to the beekeeper. She’ll probably be expecting someone someday soon, so your presence won’t surprise her.”
“She’ll give you a few jars of honey — perhaps two, perhaps three. Bring them straight back to me. If anyone impedes your progress, simply say ‘Lora’ and look them in the eye. If they still impede you, try to escape as quickly as possible, because they are undoubtedly not from these parts and might be highly dangerous. Try to say ‘Lora’ right now.”
“Loa,” Foon said.
“That’s close enough. Don’t waste the beekeeper’s time. You can look around the farm if she’s not in sight, but if she approaches you or offers you something, act quickly and don’t keep her waiting — especially with unnecessary pleasantries or any form of personal pageantry.”
“Angee?” He managed again to connect his mind to his mouth and distil a thought into a single word. He felt briefly surprised, but his determination was being validated, making him feel resolute but reserved. He would find the words; he was getting better. Lora showed little recognition of his effort.
“No, that won’t make her angry — she’ll simply walk off as if you were never there,” Lora stated matter-of-factly. “But she might still be holding the honey as she leaves, and you’ll find that very awkward — a huge unsolvable conundrum. She doesn’t like to be interrupted when moving with purpose. The only person known to have tried woke up on the ground afterwards, alone, and although they couldn’t remember how they got there, they knew exactly who had put them there. We had to do without honey for a while, but I suppose something was learned. Anyone trying to retrieve honey a second time after failing the first is hardly going to take it from her after she walks off with it.”
“You’re simply there to collect the honey, Foon — the most important part of the job, its sole focus aside from returning here afterwards. Also, don’t think you’ll get to know the beekeeper through this exchange — not beyond her general appearance and deliberate, efficient mannerisms. You’d sooner spring to the back of the mountain in one leap than truly know what you’re dealing with there. The one who knows her best is Simon, and while that has been over a considerable period, he hardly knows anything about her. They appear to have a special understanding, but Simon is not one for idle gossip. He doesn’t really speak of her, but some days he makes his way up the hill. Lawrence has been up there too, once. He gave her a machine to help tend crops — perhaps trying to get into her good graces. I don’t think it worked.”
She seemed to realise she had deviated from the main thread, so she stood and opened a cabinet, removing three slightly shorter-than-broad, flexible grey cylindrically formed pouches. She placed them on the table. Foon picked one up — very soft and cushioning, although not overly thick. They had obvious purpose: protecting the honey jars from one another inside his pack.
“Your pack should already be open and receptive on the ground. When she offers you the honey: if she’s holding two jars, take them immediately, bow quickly, then pack them carefully into the wrappings and responsibly into your pack. If she’s holding three, take the single one immediately and place it into your pack without delay and without covering it first. Then immediately take the other two, bow quickly, then pack them all away now that you have more time. She won’t watch you do this — she’ll head off, completely forgetting all about you, I guarantee it. Don’t try to take two jars with one hand, despite the fact she might easily do so herself. For pity’s sake, do not imitate her mannerisms. Did you get all that, Foon? Are you quite sure what you have to do?”
Foon nodded. He was there to collect honey as efficiently as possible, with little room for error. Open the pack and place it ready on the ground. If two jars: take them, bow, protect, pack, return. If three: take the single one first, place it in the pack, then accept the other two, bow, protect each, pack, return safely. If anyone impeded him, say Lora’s name and they would back off — unless they were highly dangerous or stupid.
He nodded again, confident. She nodded back, stood, pushed her chair into place under the table, took both empty cups, and headed to the clean-machine.
“Y’know, there’s really only one kind of dry-day, but we certainly have many different kinds of wet days, that’s for sure,” she said as she deposited the cups.
Foon placed the honey-jar sleeves into his pack and buckled it. He stood and reset his chair. But before he could leave, she continued without turning from the stove.
“Foon. If I ever catch you spying on me again, you’re going to have a very, very bad day. That’s not a hazy prediction or vague threat — it’s reliable, undeniable, highly accurate foreknowledge provided for free, but be assured, for a single time only. Perhaps you’ll have several equally bad days in sequence. The only certainty is that it absolutely won’t be pleasant.”
Foon nodded guiltily, eyes wide, awaiting other dark consequences, but she remained focused on her craft and didn’t pursue the matter further.
He left quickly, to show eagerness and determination, he decided — but actually in case she remembered something else. Aside from another cryptic threat, he was overloaded with information and not eager to take on much more.
He tramped through the surreal thin white shroud, the unworldly gentle popping sounds always present. Although sound cannot normally be seen, it was as if what made the noises were actually living things floating invisibly, the sounds a form of communication. Perhaps they were talking about him, trying to work out exactly what he was. He smiled. This was surely something he was making up — he had no way of knowing — but he had told himself an interesting story, and that was always better than simply not knowing.
He was now approaching his hut. He felt a small wave of excitement: he was doing something he had wanted to do for a while, and fulfilling his duties at the same time — good reason.
He really didn’t know what to make of Lora. In her presence, he felt completely safe and reassured, but also threatened by potential grave danger, at the same time. She certainly knew a lot. That must be because she spent so much time in the Longhouse, he reasoned — many people visited and passed on news. But she somehow seemed able to reach into his head and read certain thoughts, or even alter them. He would have to be careful, protect his thoughts, but also try not to be dishonest with her — he had a feeling that was a bad idea.
Even Arkit was less complicated. He didn’t reach for your thoughts; his expression simply bullied your subconscious into revealing them. If he wanted to alter them, he simply stated his own, and the old thoughts fled. It was quite simple.