'Jeez; you make all your roads so narrow,' Yolanda said, stepping round a bramble bush that pushed itself out into the middle of the road.

'It's just overgrown,' I told her, shifting my kit-bag over my other shoulder.  I felt a mix of emotions: elation at returning home and trepidation at the prospect of what Yolanda had hinted might be a frosty welcome.

'Yeah, but you do, anyway,' Yolanda insisted. 'Some of those roads up north… I mean, don't you like tarmacadam?  I thought the Scots invented the damn stuff.'

The Woodbeans' house stood sentinel at the steep river bank, in front of the old iron bridge.  I looked up at the quiet house, Yolanda stood shaking her head at the holes in the bridge's deck and the narrow pathway of odd assorted planks that led across it. Thirty feet below, the river swirled slowly.

'Hold my hand,' she said, putting her hand out behind her. I stepped forward and took her hand as she set one tentative foot on the first of the planks. 'Gettin' so you have to be Indiana fuckin' Jones just to git to your place…'

The drive left the trees and rose a little, heading between the wall of the apple orchard to the left and the lawn in front of the greenhouses to the right.  A couple of the goats looked up from their tethered munching on the lawn to watch us approach.  We saw the primary children, filing out of the greenhouse in an orderly fashion; one of them noticed Grandma Yolanda and me, and shouted.  In a moment they had broken ranks and started running towards us. Brother Calum appeared at the end of the line of running children, looking at first concerned, then pleased, then concerned again.

Yolanda and I were surrounded by a small field of crop-headed children, all jabbering and smiling and raising up their arms to be lifted and held, while others pinched and stroked my leather trousers, and made ooing and ahing noises over my jacket and shirt.  Calum stood by the open door of the greenhouse, waved once and nodded cautiously, then disappeared through the gateway into the farm courtyard.  Yolanda and I followed, each holding hands with half a dozen children and trying to answer a whirlwind of questions.

We met Brother Pablo as we entered the courtyard, standing holding the bridle of Otie, the donkey, while sister Cassie brushed her.  Several of the children left our sides to go and pat and stroke the donkey, which blinked placidly.

'Sister Isis,' Pablo said, lowering his eyes as he returned my Sign.  Pablo is a couple of years younger than me, a tall, stooped, quietly spoken Spaniard who has been with us for a year.  He usually had a smile for me, but not today, it seemed.

'Hi, Isis,' Sister Cassie said, nodding.  She left the brush hanging in Otie's coat and let her hands rest on the heads of a couple of the children. 'Hey; you look… really elegant.'

'Thanks, Cassie,' I said, then introduced Yolanda and Pablo.

'We met, honey; last week,' Yolanda told me.

'Oh, yes; sorry,' I said, as more people appeared in the courtyard from the buildings; I waved and returned various greetings.  Allan appeared from the mansion house and hurried through the crowd; Brother Calum exited shortly afterwards and followed him.

'Sister Yolanda, Sister Isis,' Allan said, smiling, and took our hands. 'Welcome back.  Pablo; please take Sister Isis's bag and follow us.'

Yolanda, Allan, Pablo and I walked over to the mansion house; everybody else stayed outside. 'How are you, Sister Yolanda?' Allan asked as we climbed the steps.  I looked at the poster advertising my cousin Morag's fictitious concert at the Royal Festival Hall.

'Felt better, felt worse,' Yolanda told him.

When we got to the landing between the Order office and Salvador's quarters, Allan hesitated, a finger tapping at his lips. 'Grandmother,' he said, smiling, 'Salvador said he was sorry he missed you the other day and he would love to see you now; would you like a chat?' He motioned towards Grandfather's quarters.

Yolanda put her head back a little and looked at my brother through narrowed eyes. 'You don't say.'

'Yes,' Allan said.  He put one hand to the small of Yolanda's back. 'We'll just have a word with Isis; sort of a debriefing.' He nodded at the office doors. 'We'll just be in here.'

'Does-' I began, and had been about to say Doesn't Grandfather want to hear what I have to say? but Yolanda was there before me.

'Fine; I'll sit in,' she said.

'Oh?' Allan said, looking awkward. 'Well, I think Salvador's expecting you…'

'He's waited two years; he can wait another few minutes, I think.' Yolanda smiled narrowly.

'Well…' Allan began.

'Come on; faster we are, less time we keep him waiting,' my grandmother said, stepping towards the office doors.  I saw Allan's jaw set in a tense line as we followed.

Sister Erin stood up from her desk as we entered the office. 'Sister Isis.  Sister Yolanda.'

'Hello, Erin.'

'How ya doin'?'

'Thank you, Pablo,' Allan said, taking my bag from him and putting it down by the secretary's desk.  Pablo nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

Yolanda and I sat in front of Allan's desk; he brought a chair over from beside the smaller desk.  Erin remained there, behind us. 'So, Isis,' Allan said, sitting back in his seat. 'How have you been?'

'I'm well,' I said, though in fact I still felt hung-over and was starting to wonder if I had a cold coming on. 'However, I have to report that my mission to find Sister Morag has not been successful.'

'Oh,' Allan said, looking sad.

I started to detail my journey, turning round once out of politeness to include Sister Erin in my audience, only to discover that she must have slipped out of the office.  I hesitated, then went on.  As I told Allan of my adventures - and he took notes, leaning forward over a pad on his desk - I realised that my kit-bag had vanished too; Allan had left it lying at the side of the other desk, but it wasn't there any more.

'A porn star?' Allan coughed, calm demeanour and voice cracking at once.

'Fusillada DeBauch,' I confirmed.

'Good grief.' He made a note. 'How do you spell that?'

I explained about my visits to Mr Leopold's office, La Mancha in Gittering, Clissold's Health Farm and Country Club, and my return to La Mancha.  Yolanda nodded now and again and grunted when I got to the bits that included her.  I left out falling through ceilings, attacks on racialists and visits to night clubs.

Unfortunately I couldn't easily evade being arrested or being seen on television.  I mentioned attempting to use the zhlonjiz to ask God what to do, and taking the cannabis cigarette for the same reason when the zhlonjiz didn't work.  Allan looked awkward, and stopped writing.

'Ah,' he said, looking pained. 'Yes, we heard from the Fossils about the zhlonjiz.  Why- ?' His voice cut off as his gaze flicked behind me, towards the door.

Yolanda glanced round, then swivelled in her seat.  She cleared her throat.

I turned round to see my Grandfather standing in the open doorway; Erin stood behind him.  Salvador was dressed in his usual white robes.  His face, surrounded with white hair, looked red.

'Grandfather…' I said, rising from my seat.  Yolanda turned round in hers but stayed sitting.  My Grandfather strode into the room straight up to me.  He did not return the Sign.  He held something small in his hand.  He leaned past me and slapped whatever it was on the desk in front of my seat.

'And what,' he hissed, 'is that?

I looked at the tiny piece of bakelite.  'The top of the zhlonjiz vial, Grandfather,' I said, perplexed. 'I'm sorry; it's all I got back from the police.  I used a little-'

My Grandfather slapped my cheek, banging my upper and lower teeth against each other.