I had died. Probably a long time ago. In fact, I didn’t even remember the exact moment it had happened. Was it when I had suddenly stopped caring, when desires and emotions had faded away, when my vision had grown dim and narrow, when my movements had become mechanical and monotonous, when I had lost the ability to be surprised… I wasn’t living; I was just existing, pretending to be alive.

  The Church had accused me of heresy and the witchcraft and had then cursed me. They were still hunting for me, even though nearly eight years had passed. That was why we kept moving farther and farther south. Our money had almost run out; we needed to settle somewhere and replenish our funds.

  My bouts have become more frequent. My madness was hereditary and incurable. Anton was only sixteen then, and it was hard on him. He watched over me and hid my bouts from others. If they had found out, I could have been deemed a witch and burned at the stake without a second thought. I had spent two years in the cellar of a true sorcerer and had seen what he did to people. I had felt on my own skin what the monastery’s ‘holy’ men were capable of. I knew their power was a consequence of madness. Back then, to escape, I had crossed a line but had managed to claw my way back, paying a terrible price for it. And I didn’t want to do it again. Honestly, by that point, I didn’t want anything at all anymore.

  That day, we finally reached Kliechi. It was a major southern port city, situated on the border of three voevoddoms. It was full of common folks and nobles, where fortunes were made and life pulsed with chaotic energy. Exactly what I needed. My intuition had saved us many times before, and this time it screamed at me to stay there. I didn’t know if it was normal to know certain things in advance. Anton said it wasn’t. But he was just a boy, and the fact that he lacked this sense didn’t mean others didn’t possess it. And anyway, what counted as a deviation from the norm? And where did one find this ‘norm’? Not that it mattered. Even if it was a sign of madness, so be it. My great-great-grandmother had been mad too, yet thanks to it, she had become the most powerful voivodna, had brought the northern lands under her rule, and had won the Blue War. Because everyone had feared her—feared her savage cruelty, her animal instinct, and her absolute unpredictability.

  The city seemed to me like a lazy, well-fed, and spiteful beast resting by the seashore. The southern sun beat down mercilessly as we reached the port market. The market roared with a thousand voices, stalls overflowed with exotic wares, and a motley crowd jostled and shoved. I choked on the surge of emotions. Not my own. Theirs. Another delightful feature of my madness. My own feelings would suddenly distort; I’d start perceiving smells as sounds, sounds as colors, and the emotions of others as smells. My consciousness blurred. The city stank like a midden heap that had been festering under a scorching sun for days. I gasped for air, futilely trying to clamp my nose shut, a distant part of my mind knowing it was useless. How does one hide from emotions? Anton figured out a bout was starting and dragged me to the pier, away from prying eyes. I caught my breath. My vision cleared, my head stopped spinning. The stench remained, but at least I could breathe.

  We rented a modest room in a tavern. I needed time to sort through my thoughts. And to decide what we would do here.

  We needed a cover—something to keep our stay in the city from sparking gossip and unwanted curiosity, a cover that could also grant us access to the circles of the gentry. And I needed information. The money we had left was enough for something modest like a booth or a lodging house. The coastline around the city was dotted with tiny lodging houses that catered to both merchants and nobility, some there on business, others staying longer with their families for a seaside respite. Running a lodging house wouldn't be difficult, but the competition was fierce. Besides, it wasn't for me. My intuition was silent about it—a sign it was a pointless venture. A booth, then? Or even a workshop? I could handle the finances; after all, I had been taught to manage a voevoddom. Running a booth couldn't be harder. But that wasn't for me either. So, all that was left was to wait. If only I could control my own tormented, frantic mind!

  We had already been in the city for two days, but I woke up today with a clear certainty—something was going to happen. I dragged Anton out to explore the city. The boy was only sixteen, but he looked older—lanky and fair-haired. I presented him as my brother. Fortunately, I had lightened my own ginger hair; they were looking for a red-haired, grey-eyed girl, and I was now blonde and blue-eyed. My eyes were, of course, still grey, but skillfully lined, they always appeared darker. It was a flimsy disguise, but we were far from the northern lands, so it sufficed. I was tall and sturdy myself, though I had grown terribly thin. But this, at least, made our sibling resemblance convincing to everyone.

  It all happened at the port market. The very same one where I had fallen ill. I wandered through the rows with some trepidation, examining the wares and listening for my intuition. It remained silent. Suddenly, a woman beside me shrieked wildly.

  "Help, good people! Thief! My purse! All my money! My children will starve! Oh, woe is me!"

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  The woman was now sobbing desperately, crawling on her knees in the dust. Anton tugged at my sleeve.

  "Help her, Chrys—"

  I hissed at him. "Have you forgotten?"

  "Oh, sorry. Lidia. Help her. Can't you see how distraught she is?"

  The woman kept wailing. I didn't care. I would have walked past, just like the other shoppers, carefully stepping around the weeping woman and looking the other way. But inside me, a huge beast seemed to stir and scratch, making my stomach flutter. My intuition had finally awoken.

  I walked over to the woman and crouched down beside her.

  "Did you see the thief?"

  "A boy. Nippy little bugger. Got right under me elbow while I was seein' to the peaches," the woman said, looking at me with a fragile hope. Tears and despair welled in her eyes, but she was ready to believe in a miracle.

  I closed my eyes and began to build mara in my mind. Maras don't exist—at least, not for others. But for me, they are as real as stone and breath. And they can be useful. When I need to know something about a person, I summon his or her mara. It is always agonizing, for in that brief instant, my consciousness, my very mind, shatters into millions—billions—of droplets. They hang suspended in the void before streaming back together into endless rivulets of possible realities. It is like playing a terrible game of 'what if?'... and the number of 'what ifs' is beyond counting. The more I know of a person, the sharper the mara becomes. Though sometimes, it feels as if a hint is whispered to me from nowhere. Whether it is divine providence or a voice from the abyss offering a clue matters not at all. You can speak to a mara, question it. But the most important thing is this: you can banish it at any moment. The only price is that in summoning one, I bring the next bout of madness rushing toward me.

  I opened my eyes. A boy of about ten stood beside me. His face wavered and shifted, as if seen through mist. In his hands, he clutched a small purse. The thief's mara.

  "So, where's our little pilferer now?" The question sounded as if I were talking to myself, but I was asking the mara.

  "He's run off, the little rotter," the woman whined, her face a mask of misery.

  "Which way?"

  The mara twisted its features too, its shifty eyes darting about. Then it gave a shrug, turned towards the wharves, and pointed a grubby finger at a derelict dock.

  "Up on the roof, yonder," the mara grunted. Then it started to whine, its voice taking on a beggar's singsong plea. "Spare a coin, missus? For a crust? And a drop of the sharp stuff? Hey diddle diddle, the cat's countin' her kittens..."

  "Begone," I said, flicking my hand. The mara dissolved into the air.

  I broke into a run towards the docks, Anton closed on my heels. Behind us, the woman stared after our retreating figures, utterly bewildered.

  A shadow flitted across the roof. The little thief sensed danger, but I was faster. In one fluid motion, I vaulted over the parapet onto the roof and seized the wretch just as he reached the edge. He began to whimper.

  "Ey, ease up! I 'aven't touched a thing!"

  I fished the purse out of his grasp, then grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him back towards the woman.

  "It's him! That's him, the thief! He stole my purse!" The woman recognized him instantly and rushed over, a wave of curious onlookers surging behind her. Purses were stolen often—a common enough affair. But catching the thief? That was a rare spectacle. And, of course, a free show: the chance to watch the little rat get a beating. The air grew thick with malicious curiosity and cruel glee. The stench of rotten meat washed over me. Another bout beginning?

  I tossed the purse at the woman's feet and gave the thief a rough shake. Only then did I notice—it wasn't a boy at all, but a dwarf. An ugly, wizened face like a baked apple, with mean little eyes glinting up at me. Gone was the whining. Now dwarf hissed like a sewer rat, spewing a stream of filthy curses and spitting in my direction. A wave of disgust washed over me. I flung the creature into the crowd. Let them deal with him.

  The men surged forward, fists raised, but the dwarf squirmed between their legs, took a few kicks from the hucksters, tumbled into the ditch, and vanished down a drain. Like a rat. A foul, stinking rat. The nausea in my gut didn't subside.

  The woman threw herself at my feet, tears choking her voice as she poured out her thanks. The crowd around us hummed with approval, heads nodding respectfully.

  "Here, good lady, have it, please...” she pleaded, trying to press a couple of silver coins into my hand. “If you knew... you've saved my babes from starvin', from the workhouse. I'll be in your debt forever, I'll pray for you, I will, every day the One gives..."

  "Don’t needed it, keep it," I said, gently pushing her hand away.

  A burly, sun-browned spice merchant stepped forward from the crowd and gave a respectful bow.

  "My lady, that was nobly done. Few men would stand for the wronged, and for a delicate girl to show such courage... A marvel, truly."

  My intuition stirred again, the beast within sighing and flooding my insides with heat. Could I have devised a better cover for a thief? Now I knew my purpose here. How perfectly things were falling into place.

  "Is theft a common trouble here?"

  "Aye, all too common. The place is rotten with cutpurses now, more than ever."

  "And what of the city watch? Have you complained to the town council?"

  "Of course we have. They say they've more important matters to attend to than chasing down every vagabond and street rat."

  "And other troubles? Beyond theft, are there... other unpleasantries?"

  The merchant narrowed his eyes.

  "And why would that interest you?"

  I smiled.

  "I'm thinking of setting up the private inquiries."

  "Private ones? Do such things even exist?"

  "Of course they do," I said, putting on a serious expression and handing the man a calling card with simple text: Kreta Lidia Chrysstein. "I'm still searching for suitable premises, but as you can see, my first clients have already found me."

  I turned to the woman, who was tucking the precious purse deep into her ample bosom.

  "My dear, I would be most grateful if you'd recommend me to your acquaintances. Lidia Chrysstein. Private inquiries, and so forth."

  Her mouth agape in astonishment, the woman stared after Anton and me as we walked away.