Saturday, the little paper on the wall says. Leah wakes up, eats snacks for breakfast, and walks a new path around the apartment to try to find any food shops. She finds a tiny hole-in-the-wall place that sells beer, wine, eggs, milk, bacon, metal cans of soup, brightly coloured drinks, and more of that ‘chocolate’ stuff she’d discovered was so good. Leah decides on the responsible route, and gets only the eggs and a vegetable soup.

Finishing the tour around the area, she comes across a large green space with trees and a stone fountain, the sprays of water reaching impressive heights – or she would have found them so, before she got used to this world’s plumbing powers. A few people are walking dogs through the park, or sitting on benches, feeding flocks of the feral pigeons that swarm the city – Leah speculates on the legality of hunting the pigeons, but decides that she shouldn’t, simply by dint of never having seen someone carrying a weapon. Other than those two people on the horses, but they seemed to be city guards of some sort. To her surprise, she finds herself missing the food at the Valerid estate.

Back in the apartment, she reads, stretches, watches traffic, and tests out the various clothes in the cupboard. She finds weather-appropriate things that are easy to move in and seem to not get wet with sweat too quickly, though she still finds it strange to look at her bare skin and see her body unscarred.

In the afternoon she leaves for the gym, a healthy walk away but invigorating to someone accustomed to travel. The building is much more crowded now than it was in the early morning hours, and the fighting zone is only slightly less full than the other half. Eight people wearing similar clothing to what she chose are in the process of practicing some sort of pin, paired off by weight.

The man at the desk is someone new, but he greets her politely.

“I’m here for the…” Leah says, gesturing.

“The wrestling classes? This one’s just wrapping up, the next starts in fifteen. You’re already changed, I see, but there are locker-rooms over there for your stuff.”

“I brought nothing,” Leah says, most of her brainpower dedicated to examining the fighting currently taking place. Bar-room brawling, but with poise, she decides.

She watches carefully, and sees very little she recognises. The prospect of learning an entirely new style is daunting and exciting. It’s been so long since I’ve learned something totally foreign! Her old Devadiss riding teacher comes to mind, a strict man who didn’t speak a word of Algic or Volsti, but taught her by example and physical intervention, where necessary. She sees this teacher doing much the same, putting a guiding hand on students to help them angle their limbs properly, and tucking their heads to protect their necks during the falls.

The class finishes, and the last bit is dedicated to coordinated stretching and cleaning of all surfaces – Leah can imagine the smell if they didn’t do that, but is still a little surprised at the wanton use of cleaning products. She hopes whatever they use is less harmful than lye.

A few new students have shown up, leaving the changing rooms which are marked by gender. Leah moves to stand with them. The teacher acknowledges them once the last of the old students have left. Her eyes settle on Leah, and she smiles.

“Alors, c’est toi la nouvelle? Luc m’a dit que tu n’as aucune expérience en lutte, mais plutôt en équitation. C’est vrais?”

Leah freezes up at the words. The teacher waits a second, notices her blank expression, and switches. “You hare de new studen, de one oo show up at four hin de morning? De renfaire one? Orses?”

Her accent is horrendous, and while the language may have been slightly reminiscent of Devadiss, the accent when speaking Volsti is very much the same. Her memories of her riding teacher suddenly feel like premonitions

“Horses, yes.”

The classmates laugh a bit. The teacher presses on. “Good legs, den?” She slaps her thighs for emphasis, and Leah shrugs.

“I’m a bit out of practice.”

She shrugs in return. “So you are ere! Bes place to be. You fight, before?”

“Yes.”

“You win?”

Leah feels this question means something different to her than to Leah. She thinks of the last dead body she saw – the guard, on the way through the walls of Seffon’s fortress. “I try to.”

“You win?”

“I try.”

She nods and turns to lead them in to the practice area. Leah is not sure, but she believes she might have passed a test of sorts.

The class opens with stretches and strength workouts, focusing strangely on the neck. Leah understands why the style might use padded helmets for training, but does not see any of the other classmates wearing one, and therefore does not request one herself.

As the hour-long course progresses, she learns that the six others in her class are all at varying levels of experience. Chatting with those who speak her language, she learns that one of them has already learned much of a style called jiu-jitsu, and has since branched out into this; another is taking these as basic fitness and self-defence courses prior to applying to be a police officer; another used to be quite good, but has since forgotten almost everything; another is an actor, and wants to be able to do their own stunts. The gender division is about even, a sight to which Leah is unaccustomed.

There being an uneven number of students, the teacher takes a more active role, switching up the pairings so that she can work directly with each student in turn. When she gets to Leah, they run through the three selected moves of the day in succession, with subtle adjustments to the runs each time. The steps are basic – how to place your feet, how to grab your opponent securely, and how to bring your opponent to the ground.

“When was de las time you ride a orse?” the teacher asks, towards the end of it.

“Ah…too long ago. I’m out of shape.”

“No, dat’s a good ting. Your leg are not stiff. Your muscle are more heven. You walk, now?”

“Everywhere.”

“Excellent.” The accent is not Devadiss when she speaks like this, and the change is jarring. The teacher continues the move through Leah’s temporary confusion, and Leah, on instinct, shifts her stance and grip – the way taught to her by Meredith.

The teacher’s eyes narrow. “Nice! Where did you learned ow to do dat?”

“I…I didn’t expect another run-through, I reacted on instinct, not with the move. Go again, I’ll do it right.”

She takes hold of Leah’s left hand, holding it up. “You made a fis, when you try to resis. Like you are olding someting. We don fight wit stick, wit bar, wit staff, wit noting. Use your ands.” The teacher places Leah’s hand, palm open, over her bicep. Leah nods, blushing, and they run through the set a few more times, taking turns, before she switches to the next student.

At the end of the course, Leah goes to the counter and asks how much a class costs.

“Individually? Twenty-two dollars. Or, you can get a package – ten classes for two hundred, twenty classes for three seventy.”

“Package?” Leah asks, and the man explains how to book a class online or in person. She ends up choosing the ten class option, and booking a slot in the afternoon every Saturday, Monday, and Wednesday.

“That’ll only hold you for three-ish weeks; you sure you don’t want the twenty classes, if you’re going to be that dedicated about it?”

Leah imagines life three weeks from now. A quiet voice in her head wonders whether Jeno is already married yet, or if that’s yet to come. Would the five have moved on to their next assignment without me, or will they be waiting? “If I’m still here three weeks from now, I’ll have bigger problems.”

The man at the counter looks confused and slightly alarmed, but nods politely and signs her up for the ten classes. Leah pays, and is about to leave when someone calls her name from within the gym.

Turning, she sees one of the quieter girls from work, the one she had privately named Welleslassi-Red. The woman has short auburn hair, incredibly lean muscles, and usually wears platform shoes with wood heels that click the same way as the sandals of that Welleslass noblewoman who had sent the five to find her abducted daughter – who, as it turned out, had merely eloped with a footman, and returned on the condition the five keep the marriage a secret. Leah smiles at the memory, wondering if the girl is still living her double life.

Welleslassi-Red steps off the noisy pedalling-device she had been using and approaches. “Didn’t want to interrupt you before. I saw you in the fight classes, you seemed good!”

“Oh, thanks!”

“I didn’t know you knew any martial arts.”

“I don’t, that was my first class.”

“Bullshit!”

Red waves her to follow, and Leah does. Red takes a towel and rubs down the machine she had been using, and while doing so asks how Leah is finding the bar, if she’s enjoying herself, if she’s being well-treated by the customers, by the girls, if there’s anything she’s struggling with.

“I find it hard to remember the difference between all the champagne bottles…all the labels are so similar, so plain,” Leah says.

“Ugh, same. Most boring drink in existence, it’s all French arrogance that makes it so expensive and fancy. What’s your poison?”

“Pardon?”

“What do you drink?”

“Uhh…I don’t, not often. Where I was, before here…” Painful memories of the rest of the five pang for a second. “There were a lot of local specialties, mostly hard alcohols. Whiskeys, vodkas, brandies, that sort of stuff. Never really liked the taste.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a beer person? So un-classy. Or – oh God – are you a microbrewery person?”

Leah considers. “I guess I’m a mead person? I like honey.”

Red seems to find this very funny. “No, I like that answer; it makes you unique. I’ve never had mead, what does it taste like?”

“Nice, sweet, not too strong,” Leah shrugs.

“Awn, like you,” Red says jokingly. Leah winces a bit at this but keeps it under wraps. “Are you taking the classes to try to get stronger? You should get a membership to the gym, if you don’t have one already. We could be workout buddies! Having someone with me gives me motivation to not slack off, to show up every week at least once. My last buddy left a while back, and I’ve been struggling since.”

“I mostly just work out at home.”

“You have a gym at your place?”

“No, just some weights and a carpeted place for resistance training.”

Red looks her over. “You’re a push-up person, aren’t you?”

“What does that mean?” Leah asks, sincerely.

“Come on,” Red says, and assumes a plank position. “Show me what you can do.”

Already tired from the class, Leah nonetheless joins Red in an open part of the gym floor, and copies her as she starts doing some sort of torso-press facing the floor. Immediately Leah’s arms start burning. She looks more carefully at what Red is doing, and adjusts her shoulders and palms to better match it. Her arms burn slightly less, but still after five presses she collapses. Red laughs a bit, and lets herself down.

“I hate them too, don’t worry. I’m way more into cardio anyway.”

Leah, meanwhile, is burning with disappointment. She holds her triceps, and feels next-to-nothing. After saying goodbye to Red and walking home, she gives her body an hour to rest and then does another hour-long exercise regimen, pushing through sore shoulder muscles to get it done.

She cannot remember the last time she was this weak. She knows that over-exercising isn’t the answer, but facing an indeterminate amount of time in this world, fear pushes her to prepare as quickly as possible.

*

Sitting down to supper – the soup, an overly salty experience with oddly slimy noodles – she considers the pile of books she has set aside to read. Ignoring the fictional ones, she instead picks up the one non-fiction she found that seemed interesting: a book on edible wild plants and mushrooms.

It might reveal something about the innate differences of this world; my world and this world share a language, and the same basic shapes and colours of people, but what about nature? Politically, things seem a normal sort of hierarchy with something called “elections” involved. Religiously, things seem wildly different, with everyone seeming to talk about a singular god, rather than a pantheon. But these are all cultural relics, not natural ones. My time travelling with the five has taught me a lot about surviving off the forest, and how to identify plants. If I want to know how intrinsically similar these two worlds are, I need to compare their essential components; biology.

Some things – like puffballs, cattails, and mustard – are consistent. Others – like partridge berry, fairy spuds, and bolettes – are familiar but named very differently. By the time she has finished her supper and cleaned the kitchen, she has learned only that the book talks of a country with an environment more like harsh Algi than temperate Volst. How cruel, she reflects, that the forces of the universe have banished me to a place so like home, yet so different.

As if to mock her, a bird starts to sing from the balcony, a dearly familiar tune. Running over and throwing back the curtain, Leah sees not the familiar black-and-white of a Spring Bitthoo, but a red bird with a tall crest, black mask, and thick red beak. It flies away at her sudden appearance, but returns shortly to peck at the balcony floor, and once again lets out its descending call.

“Bitt!hoo, bitt!hoo, bitt!hoo, bitt!hoo.” It looks out over the road as it calls out and, having confirmed a lack of food on her balcony, flies off and out of sight.

Leah, kneeling on the floor to watch it, leans back and falls down against the carpet, staring at the ceiling, and then starts crying.