So, my brother was spreading lies about me to Morag.  I had the distinct impression that they were not the first, either.  And how long had he been able to call her?  Why had I been sent to find her at all?  Why had he made no mention of her apostasy?  The world seem to tip around me again, out of kilter, out of joint, out of its head.

I stepped out from the curtains with a strange feeling of numbness.  I made faces of disbelief into the darkness.  Had I really heard what I had just heard?  I shook my head.  Here, now, was no place to stand wondering what was going on.

I pulled myself together as best I could and relit my candle - waving the match's cloud of smoke away with one hand - then returned to the typing desk by the door.

The piece of paper I was looking for was in a folder in the deepest drawer.  I noted down the numbers for Morag in a kind of insensible daze, my mind still reeling with shock at what I'd heard.  I almost put the sheet of paper back in its folder straight away, and on such a trifle, at that moment, did the whole fate and future course of our Faith potentially hang.

Instead of putting the paper away, then, I looked at the other names and addresses.

And saw that there was an entry for Great-aunt Zhobelia, whom we had always been told had gone off to find - and perhaps effect a reconciliation with - her original family and then effectively disappeared.  Great-aunt Zhobelia whom Grandmother Yolanda was convinced had once hinted at… something.  Something for sure, she'd said.  By God, I would welcome anything sure in my world, just now.  There was no actual address for Zhobelia, just a note that said she was 'Care of Unc.  Mo'.

I looked at it, transfixed.  Now what?

I half expected to find full addresses and telephone numbers for Aunt Rhea,. or even Salvador's original family, but there were no more surprises.  I looked through a few other folders and riffled through all the loose papers, in case there were any more revelations, but I think my courage was running out at that point; my hands were shaking.  I put the desk back as I'd found it and lifted the candle carefully this time.

I stopped at Allan's desk and tried its drawers, but they were all locked, and I couldn't find a key anywhere; I strongly suspected that the only key was the one hanging round his neck.  My teeth were starting to chatter, though I wasn't cold.  The mantelpiece clock said the time was half past midnight.  I decided it was time to retreat.  I considered keeping the candle aflame when I went back through the storeroom, but I really did feel I had entirely used up my quota of good fortune for the night, and it would be just my luck for there to be a Luskentyrian or two wandering around out there in the formal garden or beyond, so I blew out the candle.

I forgot to walk backwards through the storeroom and banged a shin so hard I swear I actually saw lights -1 think it was because I closed my eyes so hard; it was that or cry out.  Doubled-up, limping and rubbing my shin, I got to the window, muttering quiet but vehement curses under my breath.  It was only as I was climbing out of the opened window and saw starlight reflected in the pond on the ground below that it occurred to me that this was probably the window I had been thrown out of by my father on the night of the fire, sixteen years earlier.

Suddenly realising that, I experienced a second of dizziness as I straddled the opened sash-window, and for a moment I was terrified that I was about to totter and fall; certainly I was quite far enough above the ground to break my neck if I did.  The moment passed, but my tattered nerves, already stretched to their limit, could have done without the scare.  I started to tremble again.

Perhaps because I was shaking so much, getting down to the ground proved more difficult than climbing up had been, and I hung on my fingertips for a good half-minute desperately trying to fit the welt of my boots into a crack, but I made my way down eventually and got back as far as the orchard wall before I came up with an idea.

I looked down the road towards the river.

'Is!  What's wrong?  Are you -?' Sophi said, looking out from the hall with an expression of concern on her sweet face.  She wore pyjamas and a dressing-gown.

'I'm fine,' I said, in a whisper. 'Sorry it's so late.  Can I come in?'

'Of course.' She stood aside. 'Dad's in bed,' she said.

'Good.' I kissed her cheek.  She closed the door and hugged me.

'Can I use your phone?'

'Of course.  I might not wait up till you're finished, though,' she said, smiling.

I shook my head. 'This will be a proper call; voice.'

She looked pretend-shocked. 'Are you allowed to do that?' she asked, lifting the telephone off its table and pulling it through to the sitting room.

'Not really,' I said. 'But these are desperate times.'

'God, they must be.' She pulled the telephone's wire under the door and then closed it. 'Quieter in here,' she said, putting the phone on the sideboard. 'Need a chair?'

'No thanks,' I said, pulling from my pocket the sheet of paper I'd written Morag's numbers on.

I explained to Sophi what I'd done.

'Is!' she squealed in delight. 'You're a cat burglar!'

'There's worse,' I said, and watched her expression change to horror and then anger when I told her what Allan had said to Morag.

'That slimy bastard,' she said, her jaw set in a firm line. 'Is that who you're going to call?  Morag?'

'Yes.  She might hang up on me; if she does, will you call her back; be a sort of character witness?'

'Certainly.  I'll go make us some tea, eh?'

'I'd rather you stayed here; she might want somebody to put a good word in for me anyway.'

'My pleasure, Is.' She sat on the arm of the sofa.

I dialled the first number, and got a voice telling me I'd got through to La Mancha; I thought the voice sounded particularly distorted, and so narrowly avoided the embarrassment of trying to hold a conversation with an answering machine.  I left no message after the beeps.  I dialled the next number.

'Hello?' It was her.  It was Morag.  I knew that voice - I had heard it going, 'Yes, yes, oh yes!' just a week ago - well enough to tell from just that one word.

I swallowed. 'Morag,' I said, gulping. 'Please don't put down the phone, but… it's Isis.'

There was a pause.  Then, coldly, 'What?'

I glanced at Sophi for some moral support, which arrived in the shape of a wink. 'Did Allan just phone you?'

Another pause. 'What's it to you?'

'Morag, please; I think he's been lying to you.  I just heard him lying to you.'

'How?'

'What?'

'How did you hear?'

'Well, overheard.'

'How?'

I took a deep breath, then shook my head. 'Oh, it's a long story, but the point is I did.  I heard him say that I had tried to… seduce Grandfather.'

'Something like that,' said the cold, distant voice. 'It didn't surprise me, not considering what you've been doing to me.'

'What?  What have I done?' I asked, hurt and confused.  Sophi was biting her bottom lip, face creased into a frown.

'… Oh for God's sake, Isis!' Morag yelled, making me jump.  I jerked the handset away from my ear, startled. 'Following me; stalking me all round the country, for a start!'

'But I was told to!' I protested. 'I was on a mission!'

'Oh, yeah.  I suppose you heard voices.'

'No!  I was told to; I was sent on the mission to find you… sent by Grandfather, by the Community; everybody.'

'Don't lie, Isis.  God, this is so pathetic.'

'I'm not lying.  Ask anybody in the Community; they all came to see me off.  We had a meeting; two meetings, sub-committees-'

'I've just been talking somebody from the Community, Isis:  Allan.'