Karigan thought she’d like to travel back in time to see how things once were. It was the way of civilization, she supposed, to tear down and rebuild, or to change and expand so the original structure was unrecognizable.

“So, I am here alone,” Dakrias said, “in this miserable place, except for the rats and the occasional visitor like you. And . . .” He trailed off as though not sure he should go on.

“And?” Karigan prompted.

He leaned forward and dropped his voice to a near whisper. “Sometimes—sometimes something catches the corner of my eye, as though a person were walking by the door, but when I look, no one is there. Sometimes I hear things, like distant whisperings or far off conversations, yet when I investigate, no one is there. Then, a time or two, I have felt something brush by me, but no one was there.” Dakrias shivered.

So did Karigan.

“Brown!”

They both jumped and squawked. The two had been so drawn into Dakrias’ tale, they hadn’t noticed the entrance of the same unpleasant clerk Karigan had bumped into in the gardens. He strode imperiously over to Dakrias’ writing desk.

“Brown, where is that memorandum I wanted?”

Dakrias swallowed. “I’m—I’m sorry, sir, I—”

The man followed Dakrias’ gaze to the writing desk, saw the mess of splotches, and frowned. His specs flashed in the lamplight when he turned to glower at Dakrias.

“Your copy is abominable. What happened? Did one of your little ghosts come tweak you on your back end?”

“N-no, sir.”

“I’m at fault,” Karigan said, “for disturbing him while he was focused on his work.” The man turned his withering glare on her, but she lifted her chin. She wasn’t afraid of him.

“You again,” he muttered. “What are you doing here?”

“Delivering documents on behalf of my captain.”

She picked them up and passed them to him. He glanced at them dismissively and dropped them on Dakrias’ desk. Karigan saw the flash of a black stain on his palm. Likely his penmanship was less neat than Dakrias’.

“I need that memorandum in three copies,” he told Dakrias, “and I need it now.”

“Yes, sir,” Dakrias said, and the man strode out of the records room.

Karigan waited until she was sure the man was out of hearing range. “Who was that?”

A totally deflated Dakrias replied, “The chief administrator, Weldon Spurlock.”

“Oh.” She had now managed to get on the wrong side of the head of administration, which did not bode well if she was going to be handling more administrative duties. She hoped her elbow mended really fast.

She took her leave of Dakrias so he could get back to work. As she passed the abandoned corridor, she did not dare to pause lest she see another apparition.

As Karigan approached officer quarters, she stopped in her tracks when she saw Mara leading Reita Matts away from Captain Mapstone’s door. Reita had been a Rider for only a few months longer than Karigan, and had proved to be perfect morale support during those early, difficult months.

Now Reita’s face was ashen. Tears leaked from her eyes, and she seemed unaware of her surroundings.

“What—?” Karigan began, but Mara curtly shook her head to forestall questions. She wrapped her arm around Reita’s shoulders, guiding her in the direction of Rider barracks.

Reita must have received some terrible news. Perhaps the captain could tell Karigan more, but when she entered officers quarters, she found the captain slumped over her worktable, head in her hands. A winged horse brooch glittered next to her elbow.

“Captain?” Karigan said, with growing alarm. “What’s wrong? I just saw Mara and Reita.”

Without looking up, the captain said in a heavy voice, “Reita’s brooch abandoned her. She wasn’t with us for even a whole year and a half, and her brooch abandoned her.”

Reita was no longer a Green Rider. No wonder she had looked to be in a state of shock. She loved the messenger service, and the other Riders were her only family. Not only had she “lost” an occupation she loved, but she’d be unable to be with her “family.”

“It’s the shortest term I’ve ever known a brooch to stay with a Rider.” This from the captain who had spent most of her adult life as a Green Rider. She had seen many Riders come and go during her years of service, but Karigan could tell she was taking this one particularly hard.

“It just seems odd,” the captain said. “The shortest term I have seen is three years. Five is more common, barring a Rider’s death.”

Not just odd, Karigan thought, but wrong.

Aye, wrong, a separate voice seemed to echo her.

She shuddered it away, thinking that Dakrias’ notions about ghostly conversations were getting to her.

“Karigan—” the captain rubbed her face with both hands as though fatigued. “You’re excused for the rest of the day, unless Mara needs some help with Reita.”

Karigan nodded in acknowledgment and turned to leave.

“Just a moment.” The captain reached down beside her and hauled out a large leather pouch. “This is for you, from Arms Master Drent. Careful, it’s heavy.”

Karigan took the strap of the pouch with her left hand and immediately the weight of it dragged down on her. When she set it down, she heard a metallic clinking within. She opened the flap and found inside iron balls of various sizes. Hand weights.