"Mademoiselle, if you had not intended it, it would not have happened," said Poirot. "Hands do not move unless minds make them move...." -- Sophie Hannah, The Killings at Kingfisher Hill

When Ketevan came of age her mother had given her Onomi Manor for her main residence outside Tavgirid. It was tradition, of course. Before her it had belonged to her uncle, and before him to his uncle, and so on back through the generations. When her older sister became queen it would eventually go to one of her children.

There was one main consequence of the way the manor regularly changed hands. All of its staff were loyal to the Diashamijë family, of course, but the majority were more loyal to the family's current head -- which was not necessarily the current monarch, illogical though it seemed. The head of the family was whoever was oldest. Currently that was Great-Aunt Gulisa, who cordially detested Ketevan.

If she brought Hariye to Onomi the news would reach Great-Aunt within hours. From there it would go immediately to Ketevan's mother, who would barge in and demand to know exactly what was going on.

Ketevan didn't like the thought of anyone knowing about Hariye. The soldiers at the fortress had to know, and the fear of losing their job would keep them from gossiping, but she did not want anyone else to find out. He was hers. No one else had any right to know about him. So going to Onomi Manor was out of the question.

She rode out in search of somewhere she could hide him. After spending a morning riding around the countryside she could come up with no better solution than a summer house belonging to one of her cousins. Most of Vakaryanese high society -- and indeed everyone else who could afford it, regardless of class -- owned summer houses along the coast where they went to escape the crowds thronging the summer markets. The size of the house ranged from "a palace in all but name" -- most common along the shores of the Hrazdin Inlet -- to "a modest-sized house with at most four bedrooms" -- most common along this part of the shore.

Cousin Revaz's house was the latter sort. Since it was autumn the house had been shut up last month. It would be checked intermittently until next summer. Knowing Revaz and his boring hobbies, Ketevan doubted it would be checked more than once a month. No one was likely to break into a house notable mainly for containing an astonishing collection of watercolour paints and sub-par landscape paintings.

Years ago she'd learnt how to pick locks. She picked the lock on the gate and the front door, then went back to the fortress to collect Hariye.

Don't think of it as hiding for your life. Think of it as an adventure, Hariye told himself as Ketevan showed him into the house.

Ketevan said, "I'll be gone for a day at most. When I return I'll have dealt with the pirates and I can bring you to a place where you'll be permanently safe. Here's plenty of food, there's a well in the kitchen courtyard, and I'll make up the main bed for you. Lock the door after I leave and don't open it to anyone."

Hariye nodded silently. No matter how much he tried to think of it as an adventure, he couldn't help feeling more like a hunted animal. He didn't feel like exploring the house just then. All he really wanted was to curl up in a corner somewhere, go to sleep, and hope this would turn out to be a nightmare when he woke.

When Ketevan was about to leave she hesitated in front of him. There was something strange in her eyes again. Her hand came up to rest on his chin and her thumb brushed over his lips.

It had to be innocent, of course. Probably it was some Vakaryanese custom he was unfamiliar with. But it unsettled Hariye. He drew back slightly. Anger flashed into Ketevan's eyes for the briefest moment before she smiled.

"I'll see you tomorrow," was all she said.

After she was gone and the front door was safely locked -- Ketevan had hunted through the kitchen until she found a key for it, though she couldn't find one for the gate -- Hariye went up to the main bedroom and slept for hours. His dreams were confused and frightening, but he couldn't remember them when he woke up.

It was evening. The sun was just above the horizon. The shadows cast by the trees outside the gate were long and sharp. They made Hariye think of fingers reaching out to grab him. He shuddered and tried to avoid them as he left the room.

Once he was out on the landing the world ceased to look quite so grim as they had a minute ago. Here he was in a foreign country, in a strange house, with no one else around for miles. This was exactly the sort of situation he'd enjoyed reading about in fairy-tales. Usually the protagonists of the stories found some important information in places like this that helped them later. He couldn't see how he could find anything that would help him specifically -- unless the house contained a book of spells that could turn a mer into a human -- but it was still exciting to wander around a strange house.

Hariye explored the landing first. It was little more than a balcony overlooking the entrance hall downstairs. The main bedroom's door was at the top of the stairs. Another door at the end of the landing opened onto another bathroom. There was only one other door on the second storey, to the other side of the main bedroom and next to the window. Hariye opened it and found an empty closet.

Before going downstairs he paused to look out the window. The house was built in the middle of a small forest. Beyond the trees he could see a green hill rising up steeply. On the far side of it, even steeper and looking like something out of a painting, was a huge snow-covered mountain. Hariye had seen snow before -- contrary to popular belief Çarisar winters were in fact cold enough for snow -- but he'd never seen such a mountain before. Bare rock showed black through the white coat. It was beautiful but it scared Hariye in a way he couldn't explain. He shuddered and turned away.

The stairs and the floor of the landing were bare wood. Downstairs the floor was stone covered by a rug. The walls were white-washed but undecorated. Hooks in the walls suggested tapestries or paintings were hung there when the house was inhabited. The front door had windows on either side of it to allow light into the house and let people inside see guests as they arrived. Hariye peered through one window to see if Ketevan had reappeared yet. The gates were closed over and as long as no one looked closely they appeared to be locked.

He went into the first room on the left at the bottom of the stairs. It was a dining room with the table and chairs covered with dust sheets. He went to the room on the other side of the hall. Judging by the shelves it was meant to be a library, but all of the books were gone. Hariye felt mildly disappointed even though he knew he wouldn't have been able to read them. He understood only a few words of basic Vakaryanese. Ketevan always spoke to him in Çarisarian so his knowledge hadn't increased much since meeting her. Through the window he saw a small meadow beside the house.

He tried the room beyond the library. Finally, a room with something interesting in it! It was full of rectangular objects wrapped up in cloth. He moved one of the cloths. Beneath it was a painting of... something. After a minute's confused staring Hariye realised it was meant to be a field covered with flowers. Or were those shapeless splashes of paint meant to be cows?

Another door beneath the stairs led into a hallway. Hariye opened each door and was disappointed to find only two more bedrooms -- much smaller than the others and obviously meant for servants -- and the kitchen. Ketevan had left a loaf of bread in a cupboard, a bottle of milk in the cool larder, and a few oranges on the kitchen table.

Hariye sat down at the table and began to peel an orange. Just as he was looking around for a bin to put the orange peel in -- this was someone else's house after all; it would be rude to leave litter around for the owner to clean up -- he heard a noise that made his blood run cold. It was the squeak of a gate opening.

It's only Ketevan, he tried to reassure himself.

Hariye scurried back along the hall and peered out past the stairs. From here he could see through the windows. His worst fears were instantly confirmed. Whoever was outside, they weren't Ketevan. He couldn't see their face, but they were much taller than Ketevan and had jet black hair instead of her light brown. They rode a reddish-brown horse instead of Ketevan's grey horse. Metal glinted at the side of the horse's bridle.

He shrank back into the hall. Nervously he looked over his shoulder to make sure no one could see him from the kitchen windows. The horse hooves stopped outside the front door. For a minute there was silence. Hariye waited to hear a knock at the door. He reached into his pocket and grasped the key to make sure it was still there. Its weight was the only comfort he had in this situation.

Finally the knock came. Hariye almost jumped out of his skin, because instead of the front door it was at the back. For a terrible moment he was frozen, afraid to go anywhere in case the person outside saw him. How did he know there was only one? The house could be surrounded for all he knew. Then anger took over. He was a prince, damn it! He wasn't going to cower in a strange house like a criminal hiding from the police!

Hariye marched into the kitchen and, taking the precaution of crawling on his hands and knees to avoid being seen through the windows, went through the cupboards for a knife. They were all completely empty. The only weapon he could find was a poker. He picked it up and took a deep breath. Then he stood up.

No one was at the door.

Hariye stared out the window in confusion for a minute. Strange ideas of ghosts and disappearing passengers darted through his mind. Before he could start thinking anything truly silly, the stranger reappeared in the courtyard.

It was a woman, perhaps ten years older than Hariye, dressed in a black trousers and a long black overcoat with white embroidery at the collar and sleeves. The overcoat had a v-shaped neck revealing a white shirt underneath. On her head she wore a long red veil that reached almost to her knees, held in place with a silver headband.

Her horse's saddle was red with silver decorations and had raised parts at the front and back. The bridle was a length of red cloth. As far as he could see it didn't have a bit. Nor was the rider wearing spurs; else he'd have heard them clank as she walked. She had no sword at her side. She looked more like she'd just been at some festival than a potential threat.

Hariye watched as she led her horse over to a water trough in the courtyard. She tied it to a hoop in the wall, went over to the well, and brought back a bucket which she poured into the trough. She patted the horse's neck as it drank and said something in Vakaryanese. Then she turned and approached the door again.

Apparently she didn't see Hariye in the darkened kitchen, because she went up to the door and knocked loudly. He gripped the poker harder. The door didn't have a lock; just a latch that he easily unfastened. He flung the door open and stared up at the stranger with his best attempt at a "go-away-and-stop-trespassing" expression.

Belatedly it dawned on him that she might very well be the house's actual owner, and if so he would have some awkward questions to answer.

The stranger blinked down at him with a startled expression. She was more than a head taller than him and very thin, and there was something odd about her eyes. She spoke in Vakaryan, saying something that had entirely too many consonants for Hariye to even begin to parse it.

"What do you want?" he asked in Çarisarian.

The stranger paused, made a few hastily-cut-off attempts to speak, then finally managed in very heavily-accented Çarisarian, "Food for my horse. Where?" Seeing Hariye's hesitation she added, "Can pay," and produced a bag of coins from her pocket.

He could hardly explain that he didn't know where or if there was any food in the barn without inviting questions about who he was. Inspiration struck when he remembered the small meadow he'd spotted through the library window.

"There's a field round there," he said, pointing. "You can let him graze there."

And I hope you're gone before Ketevan comes back, he added mentally. The stranger had shown no sign of being suspicious or dangerous, but he would prefer to avoid explaining this situation.

She thanked him and left to take her horse round to the meadow. Hariye went back into the kitchen and closed the door. He set the poker down by the fireplace and collapsed into a chair. Only then did he realise just how frightened he'd been during the whole conversation.

At least it's all over now, he thought. Then his eyes fell on the oranges, and the loaf of bread in the open cupboard.

He wavered from a moment. The stranger was very thin. If her horse was hungry, then she probably was too. But with every minute she stayed here the danger increased. He should leave her alone and hope she left soon. His family would have heart-attacks if they ever found out he'd let a guest, however uninvited and unwanted, leave without being fed. He didn't have a knife to cut the bread. But maybe she'd leave faster if he gave her food.

As he picked up the loaf and an orange he told himself repeatedly, I must be out of my mind!