Leximandra Reports, and other tales by Charlotte E. English

than to disturb her when she was working. He
pattered off again, finding the blanketed basket she left for him
on the other side of the room.
    'Just a few more
minutes, Siggy,' she murmured without looking up. He grumbled in
reply, sending her a plaintive series of impressions: hunger,
emptiness, imminent starvation. She stifled a laugh.
    'In theory, Sig,
you are a wild animal. A feral beast, part of brutal, brilliant
nature. You could go forth and forage for your own food. In
theory.'
    Sigwide ignored
her. His claws scrabbled on the wicker as he turned in his basket,
curling up with an offended air.
    'All right,
fine. Food.' She put down her tools and wrapped up the ring and the
precious gem in soft cloth, unwilling to leave them lying abandoned
on the table. Sigwide jumped joyfully out of his basket and wove
his thin grey body around her feet, beating her to the door. She
stepped over him with the nimbleness of long practice,
chuckling.
    Sigwide's
favourite food was a complex, carefully balanced mixture of dried
bilberries, fresh rosehips, assorted nuts and a scattering of
pungent mushrooms. He was completely spoiled, dining like a king on
this rather expensive mixture every day, but she didn't begrudge
him his luxuries. He had been her faithful companion - her only
reliable friend, other than her parents - for the last eleven
years. He ought to be slowing down now that age was catching up
with him, but so far he had never lost his inexhaustible
energy.
    Llandry leaned
against the kitchen table, watching him eat. She tried to keep her
thoughts focused on Sigwide, but as usual her mind betrayed her.
Tendrils of nerves snaked through her belly and began to grip,
clutching hard. She hadn't wanted to stop working because as long
as she was fully occupied, she was safe from apprehension. Now,
though, her treacherous thoughts turned to tomorrow. Tomorrow .
    It had been her
mother's idea to take the istore jewellery to the market. Ynara
thought it would be popular. Doubtless she was right; the istore
never failed to interest and attract those who saw it. Short of the
money to cover the rent on her small, but pleasant tree, Llandry
had allowed herself to be persuaded about the market; after all, it
was preferable to having to ask her parents for help.
    She had begun to
regret it immediately. She was to have her own stall at the next
Darklands market, which was held every full moon in Glour. It was a
popular event attracting thousands of shoppers, which of course was
why it was so suitable a venue for her glorious new jewellery. That
fact also made it a prospect of pure terror for Llandry. Thousands
of people pushing and shoving and jostling each other, staring at
her jewellery, her stall, her face. She would have to talk to some
of them. Talk, comfortably and persuasively, to a succession of
complete strangers. The only saving grace about this hideous
prospect was the opportunity to stand for a while under the stars
and the light of the full moon. It was not nearly enough to balance
out her fear.
    Feeling the
tell-tale tingling sensation beginning to creep up her arms,
Llandry tried to pull back her thoughts. She walked about the room
briskly, swinging her arms. It was no use. Within minutes her
fingers had cramped and curled with tension and her whole body was
tingling uncomfortably. Soon afterwards she began to shake
uncontrollably, hyperventilating, growing dizzy and faint. She sat
down with her head between her knees, trying to breathe deeply.
Sigwide abandoned his repast and trotted over to her, thrusting his
nose against her legs.
    'I'll b-be fine,
Sig. Just... give me a moment.' At length the dizziness faded and
her shaking eased. She stood up carefully, stretched and shook her
befogged head. Her face was wet with tears; these attacks always
left her feeling intolerably shamed and humbled. She patted her
face dry on her sleeve, then picked up Sigwide. It comforted her to
have him close for a time afterwards, the warmth of his