Slowly my eyes adjusted to the sunlight. The warm rays shone down into the room through a porthole in the ceiling.

We were in some sort of pantry. The walls were lined with shelves containing jar after jar of incredible-smelling foods. Suddenly I remembered how hungry I was.

Looking-Glass was a stocky woman with wispy, unkempt hair and a face as knotted as an elm tree. She couldn’t have been much older than forty. In her eyes was the same knowing sparkle I remembered in Bag Man’s. She procured a small basin and cloth, and with strong sinewy hands she began to untie my sandals.

“The washroom’s through there,” she said, pointing, “but I scrubbed these floors just this morning. I’d rather keep the mud off them for a while longer.” I laughed.

We made conversation as the kind woman attended to my feet. “So you’ve never left Harken before?” she asked.

“Truthfully, I didn’t know there was anyplace else. Apart from Mapless,” I added with a shudder.

“Oh, there is more,” said Looking-Glass. “So very much more.”