I heard another rustle and I staggered back, my heart pumping heavily. I started to wonder if leaving the camp had been the wisest thing to do. 
Suddenly he spoke, his voice ringing from out of the darkness: ‘Be careful where you trot. I would hate to see you stumble to your death.’
I whirled around, nearly dropping the torch. They were the first words I had heard him speak. There was something suspiciously familiar about his voice.
‘You have lured me here,’ I said, after recovering from the shock. I was painfully aware of my own trembling voice.
I still could not detect him, but judging by the sound of his voice, he was close - closer that I had estimated.
I saw a rippling movement in the shadows and next, he stepped into the pale gloss of the moonlight. The sallow, featureless face seemed to be emitting a soft glow.
I held up the torch defensively, as if it were a sword.

‘Well,’ he said. Now I noticed that his words were muted. I stared at his face, at the place where a mouth should be. ‘Isn’t this romantic?’
I said nothing. Still eying the white face, I suddenly realised what it must be.
‘Have you ever danced with a ghost in pale moonlight?’ he asked, extending a hand, as if inviting me to try it.
‘You are no ghost,’ I said, spitting the words at his feet. ‘You’re wearing a mask, aren’t you? I can hear it.’
He merely inclined his head.
‘You have lured me out here,’ I repeated. ‘Why? What do you want?’
There was a little pause. ‘I have not lured you,’ he then said, his voice as blank as the mask hiding his real face. ‘It was my intention to get away from you; I hadn’t expected you to chase me like this.’
I narrowed my eyes at him, not sure if I believed him. ‘You’ve been playing a game with us ever since Millie and I first travelled through that forest. Don’t lie to me.’
‘A little longer than that, even.’
Again, I felt the unpleasant trickle that I had somehow heard this voice before.
‘If it’s games you like playing, I have another one for you,’ he continued. ‘I believe you are quite competent. This is how we play the game: first, you run away, second, I chase you; third, we battle somewhere dark and scary, fourth…’
‘I give you a kick in the nuts and tell you to clear off?’
‘No.’ He had moved closer. So close, in fact, that the smouldering torch could burn his clothes if he just reached out his hand. I willed him to try.
‘I want that sword, Daffodil,’ he said lowly. ‘I’ll go at lengths to get it.’
The sudden shock of him saying my name like that, and the ringing familiarity of his tone made me suck in my breath sharply. ‘I know who you are!’
I extended one hand and, before he could stop me, yanked away the mask. It had only two tiny slits for the eyes in it.

A pale face, though not as white as the mask, revealed itself, framed by a cascade of chestnut hair. It was hard to tell in this darkness, but I thought that the pair of eyes that was staring down at me was of a shimmering shade of swampy green.
‘I figured you would by now.’ He sounded bitter.
‘What the hell?’ I asked, feeling completely nonplussed now that the initial shock had worn off. ‘Why are you making yourself our enemy?’
‘You have made me your enemy,’ he corrected. ‘I did warn you, didn’t I?’
‘The “now you’re playing with fire” thing? I figured you were just a very bad loser!’ I reconsidered this for a moment, then added: ‘I guess you are a very bad loser.’
‘I am,’ he admitted, sounding not the least bit ashamed about it. ‘I’m used to getting what I want.’
Anger rose inside of me. ‘THAT’S NO REASON TO HAUNT US DOWN, YOU CREEPY GUY!’ I shouted, waving the torch about wildly. ‘Do you realise that only maniacs and psycho killers do this sort of stuff?’
‘Daffodil -’
‘WHAT? ARE YOU GOING ALL FRIENDLY ON ME NOW? TRYING TO SUCK UP TO ME AS IF IT’S PERFECTLY LEGAL TO STALK US EVERYWHERE WE GO?!’
‘Calm down,’ he said icily. ‘Actually, I know no laws that forbid me to follow you at all.’
‘Well maybe because it’s called COMMON COURTESY, you freak!’ I gulped for breath. ‘Did you expect me to smile and nod understandably? Invite you to partake in our meal next? Offer you a bouquet of flowers as thanks?!’
‘In case you failed to notice, Daffodil, I still haven’t killed you.’
This comment made me quiet down for a bit. I took a step away, trying to read the expression on his face. It was hard to tell what he was thinking.
‘What do you mean by that?’ I asked eventually.
‘You know what I mean. I’m not your enemy, nor of those foolish men that you have brought back with you.’
‘Then whose enemy are you?’ I retorted. ‘Millie’s?’
‘Not exactly. But as long as she clings to that sword, it can’t be helped.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ I said, my voice filling with sarcasm, ‘that your enemy is her sword?’
He gave no reply but continued to stare at me.
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘It’s just a silly old thing. It can’t even kill a dog let alone anything else. What threat could it possibly be to you? Or what value?’
He pursed his lips together. ‘That is none of your business.’
‘Oh no? Then whose business is it?’
‘Mine alone. I don’t wish to speak of this further.’
‘Then tell me something else.’ I cocked my head. ‘Who are you?’

He actually gave a smile, though a pale, ghostly one. ‘I’m afraid that I won’t tell you that either. Neither my identity nor my motives are any of your concern.’
‘I would think they are, seeing as you’ve been pursuing us for weeks now.’
‘You thought wrong then.’
‘And the tournament? Have you been following us even before that? Did you steal the sword in Claywold?’
‘No,’ he said plainly. ‘I crossed you in Devilswood and not before. You should return to your camp now, Daffodil, I’m sure Millie is concerned for your wellbeing. I have nothing more to say to you.’
‘Well, I have a few more things to say to you.’ I gave him a sort of foul glance. ‘Don’t come near us again. Stop sneaking around at night as if you’re one of the Fairy Folk and by the way, if you happen to be the creator of those spooky lights; pack ‘em up. We’ve seen enough of that.’
‘They’re not mine,’ he said quietly. ‘They are part of the forest. But you have seen that they are not harmful as long as you are not aggressive. As for the other thing; I’m afraid I cannot do that. You may as well invite me to travel along with you, because I’m not leaving your trail.’
I snorted. ‘As if.’  
‘Then you should resign yourself to it. I know where that sword is drawing you and I will be there.’
‘You are mistaken,’ I snapped. ‘That thing is doing as much drawing as I am on my way to become a princess.’
‘Perhaps you should be more careful with those claims,’ he said amused. ‘It seems that everyone is giving it a shot these days. It might not be Millie that comes out victorious.’
‘Bugger off,’ I spat. ‘You’re making a poor job of convincing me, so by your leave I’ll just return to bed now. Good night to you.’
He stood perfectly motionless as I staggered away from him, occasionally almost stumbling over one of the rocks or stones.
‘Freak,’ I muttered under my breath.



Chapter Twelve
A bloody idiot

I told everyone what had happened that night, though I thoroughly censored the version for the Rough Rebels. Only when Millie and I were alone I gave her the full record.
Neither of us was very happy about it, but it seemed that, for now at least, it could not be helped. We speculated a lot about who he could be, but it brought us no further, of course. Millie knew no one in Archeon expect the people she had met in Sword And Stone and Low-of-the-Road and I was hardly more familiar with the people in my own country.
When asked, Cuckoo suggested that he might be a noble’s son, which sounded sensible to me. He seemed to possess the wealth and the attitude for this, at the very least. Why a nobleman’s son would pursue a brittle old sword from the rural side, was beyond me however. It seemed to me that, even if someone wished to oppose the current monarch, it was far more sensible to do that by using a well-trained and subtle assassin.
But then, what did I know of politics?

Since we could not ditch him, we decided on a new strategy, involving some serious exercises of ignoring him entirely. At night, we would chatter far louder that we usually would, just to assure him that we did not give a damn about his luring presence.
He never showed himself since the last incident, but we could tell he was still following us. 
It was made clear by the trails he left behind: broken undergrowth, audible footsteps and other movements. He seemed no longer bothered to hide his trails, as I knew he could. He had proven that by the disappearing track Millie and I had followed during the tournament, not to mention the appearing and disappearing stepping stones over the river.


As we ignored him, we travelled on, soon leaving Devilswood behind us.
Once we were in the open again, it became harder for him to remain hidden and for us to ignore his presence. Still, he was out of sight most of the time, only once making the exception by starting a campfire just one hillside from ours. I could even see his figure sitting, crossed-legged, roasting something over the flames. I had felt an urge, then, to step up to him and shout some impolite things in his pretty aristocratic face.
Millie only barely restrained me, assuring me - or trying so, at least - that violence was never the right answer. I remained unconvinced.
We crossed Low-of-the-Road but I shall only make a short record of it. Riding through the familiar hills we even passed some sheep in a flock which I was convinced was mine. There was only one good reason for me to keep going however: with the cloaked guy’s breath in our necks, I could think of nothing I desired less than for him to know where I and Gran lived.

The Rough Rebels were a peculiar lot to travel with. I had wondered whether I should be calling them the Cuckoo Gang from now on, seeing as Cuckoo himself had confided in me that we were part of the intimates. I never noticed anyone besides him use this term however, and I had a growing suspicion that the leader of this gang had an unusual high opinion of himself.
As for the others, they were merry and knew some nice tricks to help us through the long and uneventful days. You would be surprised how quickly this travelling turns into one blur of hobbling up and down a horse’s back, not being able to tell one dreary afternoon from another.
Ladybug had an excellent singing voice, though I had to get used to it at first. His tone wasn’t exactly sweet and melodious, despite what his name would suggest. But once I had gotten used to the hard and somewhat edgy sounds, I rapidly began appreciating it.
I became alarmed only when he and Cuckoo offered to teach us some new songs. This was not, as you might suspect, because it was blatantly clear that whoever heard Cuckoo sing felt his ears ring for the next couple of hours, but due to the fact that I had presented myself as a minstrel. The fact that I had been as boozed as a bull and that I could not remember a thing about me claiming any of the sort, did not alter this conclusion.
My only rescue was that, seeing as the other men (especially Cuckoo, who turned out to be a royal drinker) had been just as drunk, they were a bit vague on the subject themselves. I had discussed things with Millie and decided that it was best to wait for the opportune moment, at which point I would craftily say: ‘Minstrel? Me? Don’t be silly, I’ve been a shepherdess all my life!’
All in all, we had our stuff pretty much worked out when we arrived at Elm Trail.

At this point, I should duly warn you, all went spectacularly wrong.
It started with the fact that neither I nor Millie had come up with an escape plan, or any plat at all, for that matter. We were completely stuck with the Rough Rebels, who seemed to be convinced that we had a very good reason for being in this greasy little town, only centre to the middle of nowhere.
Of course, we had absolutely no reason to be here. I could not even think what business anyone would have here, seeing as the place had barely enough houses to fill three narrow streets. Further, it possessed one local pub annex nearly deserted Inn and four shops.
I briefly wondered what the cloaked guy was going to do upon arriving here, and whether he would hire a room in the same pub. That would be highly uncomfortable.
I didn’t linger on those thoughts too long, however. Immediately after the Rough Rebels had gone up to dump their few possessions in their room, which to our general astonishment, they all shared, I seized the rare opportunity to talk to Millie in total private.
This is how the conversation went:

I, grasping both her arms like a drowning man might grasp a passing dolphin, shrieked: ‘WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?!’
She, trying to not have her arms broken by my firm grip, replied as any dolphin would: ‘How should I know?!’
I released her, thinking hard. ‘Maybe if we leave now and run real fast, we’d be out of reach before they can discover we’re gone.’
‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ Millie said, massaging her arms. She seemed unusually sensible given the situation. I wondered whether this was the reversed brain capacity teamwork again.
‘No, you’re right, they would catch up on us anyways. I see only one option, Millie.’ I shook her arm again.
‘Ow! What’s that?’
‘Sorry. We must pretend that we have fetched this secret weapon anyway. We will have to extend our little make-believe a little farther, until…’
‘Until what?’
‘I dunno,’ I admitted helplessly. ‘The opportune moment seems hard to come by. We’ll just go with what keeps us going for now.’
‘We should check out the shops, I think,’ Millie said. ‘Just in case.’
I agreed to that, and so we made our excuses to the Cuckoo Gang and ventured off by ourselves. Checking out the shops was the easiest thing to do: one was a bakery, second a butcher, third a tailor, fourth a carpenter.
‘Well, that’s it then, I said gloomily. ‘We’ll hardly fool these guys with a baguette.’
‘Look,’ Millie pointed to the end of the road. ‘What is that, then?’
I shrugged. ‘Just a house with a muddy windowpane.’
‘No, it’s not!’ She dragged me over. ‘Look, it’s another shop.’
She was right. Though the window was dirty and the stone bricks of the building were almost crumbling, it certainly was a shop. Or at least, the sign over the door suggested as much.

Wondering if it had anything useful, we entered. The door creaked, and so did the floor with every step we took.
The place was nearly empty, save for some dusty cupboards. Upon trying, however, most of them appeared locked.
We made our way to the counter, which was unemployed.
‘This doesn’t seem like a right place to me,’ I whispered to Millie, but she already banged her fist on the wood, calling: ‘HELLO? Anybody there?’
I winced at her shouting, urging her to calm down.
Then we heard hasty footsteps, another door in the back opened and a tiny, plumb man revealed himself, wearing a cooking apron as if he just came out from the kitchen. He barely reached over the counter.
‘Yes?’ he asked. ‘No need to shout, I’m not deaf.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said hastily. ‘My friend was under the impression that you run a shop. Clearly this was a mis-’
‘Course I run a shop!’ the man cried indignantly. ‘Why else would I put up a sign like that, huh? Haven’t you read what it said?’
‘No,’ we both admitted.
‘We can’t read, sir,’ Millie added by way of apology.
The fellow scratched his head. He reminded me of a large, very lively potato. ‘Ah well, you’re not the only ones,’ he muttered. ‘So, what can I do for you two young ladies?’
‘What kind of shop do you run, then?’ I heard Millie ask.
‘Aah. I thought one might guess upon seeing the interior.’
‘Well,’ I said, giving the room another inspecting look, ‘I hate to break this to you sir, but the place is rather empty.’
‘Of course,’ the man said, throwing me a sorry glance. ‘What I’m selling isn’t hardware - it’s software!’
Millie looked puzzled.
‘Network, girl. Network!’

‘Ooh!’ She looked at me, her eyes suddenly large and shiny like two perfectly round lakes in the middle of a full moon’s night.
‘That is amazing,’ I said, not quite able to comprehend our luck. ‘See, we’ve just been looking for that. Do you have updates?’
‘A network shop without updates would not be much of a network shop, young missy.’
‘Well then,’ I continued, feeling my excitement grow rapidly. ‘Anything higher than version seven will do. Preferably a lot higher, if you please.’
‘Do you have any specific wishes, miss?’
‘Well…’ I thought about the fancy tricks the cloaked guy could do and imagined how it would feel if I could outdo him in that. ‘How much would it cost to have an extensive grasp and detail on the information?’
‘Goes from low to high, frankly. How extensive would you wish it?’
‘Err - anything below a hundred copper coins will do.’
The man snorted, holding one hand to his mouth as he did so. When he had finished and I was scarlet red, he said: ‘I’m sorry miss, I can’t give you anything fancy for that amount. I have a version nine I could give you though. You’re lucky I’m officially closed for revisions - not that you could read that, nor can anyone in this murky town…I’ll offer it for a fair price. Ninety copper pieces, because I like your face.’
If I could turn redder, I’d certainly have done so now.
He beckoned me and I followed through the back door. We entered a small in-between space, and he drew up two chairs. Millie had followed us, standing awkwardly in the doorway.
‘Now,’ the man said, as he settled himself opposite me. ‘I’m just going to take you on a side-along tap so I can install the latest version in you. Hold on now.’


He reached out for my hand and I instantly felt how I slit into the huge bulk of chaotic information that was the network.
I didn’t have to do a thing, just sit there and wait as tiny blocks of information neatly piled up, building inside me the ability to access farther and better into the pandemonium that was the databank of the world. The shop owner’s guide string changed and modified until he was suddenly done, and I found myself back on the chair.
‘Whew,’ I said. ‘Thanks a bunch.’

I paid. It sort of ached to depart with most of what I had left, but then again, this update was just what we’d needed.
Just before we left the shop, I halted, asking: ‘Sir? Do you know what might happen if someone, say…had the latest update, the most fancy version that’s out there - could he, like, manipulate reality with it?’
The shop owner raised his eyebrows. ‘Of course he could. That’s why people have been calling it magic, you know!’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘But it’s basically just drawing on information. No one ever physically changed things at will. Isn’t that right?’
‘That’s right,’ he answered. ‘Not to any extend that it matters, anyway.’
‘What would you say if someone actually did this?’ I asked it lightly, as if the thought had only just occurred to me. ‘Would you think it a break-through?’
‘I’d say that anyone like that is a bloody idiot,’ the fellow muttered. ‘One tiny mistake and it’s not the tree you’re messing with, but someone’s life.’
Highly disturbed, we thanked him, said our polite goodbyes and left the shop.

I was eager to test out my new version, but told myself to wait until we had returned to the pub. It was best to not make the Rough Rebels suspicious of anything.