She is gone again now, and there is only Genia and me at home. Funny, how the house seems quieter than before. It was only the one night. Just one. But, seems to me now that I realise something - a man is only the sum of the people he knows. He is the company he keeps and the kin he finds for himself. I'd forgotten what my voice sounded like, while there had been no board to sound it off. I had allowed it to sit fallow in my own throat.

I feel as though the rug has been pulled out from beneath my feet. That's how it feels. Like some terrible wrongdoing has been dealt to me. I mean, it hasn't really. It's just life and all its trials and tribulations. It wasn't deliberate, or nothing like that. But it does hurt me to have remembered, only to have to forget again. And I don't just mean her going. It's everything else and all. Suppose she just reminded me of it all when she came, and I'm remembering again now that she's away.

But it lit a strange hope in me. Daft and foolish. Had no business hoping like that. But for a split marc I thought mayhaps if she found her way back, then others would too. I won't write the names. But, it did cross my mind. Found myself walking by a familiar span of the forest, and craning my neck for a glimpse of chimney smoke. All of that has been snuffed now.

I know I need to find new kin and all of that. But seems to me that I'm old now. Not in body, but in spirit, like. I'm all worn out. Only benefit of her going, is that I don't have to worry about Genia no more. Been a long while since she's been elsewhere. Years and years in fact. For a marc I did worry that they'd start setting her off again. Memories do that. Old faces. Might've sent her on the backover. So, suppose if I am grateful for anything, I'm grateful for that.

Grateful for that, and for the turn, spent with my cindered old friend. I've seen soup clearer than the grey bathwater that Kairiel Bosburn left behind.

It's funny when I think about it. But, had I heard about those maps a few years ago, I'd have jumped at the chance. The ABV and all of that. I'd have jumped at the chance. I'd have bitten that Corsair's hand off for one opportunity or another. To prove myself, you ken? Full of bluster and pride and the likes. Full of wanting to be better. Better than I am; better than what I was before.

I only went along last night cos I heard about the free beer, and the urchin in me wouldn?t let such an opportunity pass. He still lives deep down somewhere in my belly. Owt for nowt. If owtis going for free, I'll be along to see that I get my share. Who knows where his next dinner is coming along from? Fill your belly, kid.

Suppose in some ways, I reckon that I gave up along the way. But not in a bad way. Like, I resigned. It was like my anger simmered out and now it's just hot, sweet tea. I'm calm most turns. I can't recall the last time I kicked off and caused a ruckus.

In lots of ways it's good. Bad in others though. Like, used to be I was High Lord Bill. Lord William, to use my name proper. Used to be I had high expectations for myself. Used to be I had bold dreams and threw myself at the world like a prize fighter. These turns though, I can walk into whichever Inn, and nobody knows my name. They don't recognise my face. They wouldn't know me from Adam. Which in many ways, is good. Best way to be. Head down, ears open. They might not know me. But I'll know them. I'll listen when they talk and give it all away for free.

Suppose, what I'm trying to say is - used to be I'd jump at a chance, mayhaps I just need to find what it is that?s gonna make me jump again these turns?

I remember when I started my journal the last time I'd just started learning my letters. I wrote it at Aunt Lly's kitchen table. I remember I started writing because mam had just died; I needed somewhere to put it all. All of that feeling and jumble that was wriggling inside.

I remember when I started my journal last time I'd only just gone 18. I hadn't been from home long. I was full of grand dreams. I imagined I'd be mighty. I was gonna be somebody; and somebody important at that. Like when I visited mam for that last time all kitted up in my new suit and with dirty rings on my fingers. My coin purse was full and she took it from me.

In that journal Dickie, Alb and me had got a boat. I met my Da - He said that he had a litter of boys and that I was the runt of them. I wound up trying to strangle him and my half brothers wound up trying to kick the life from me, on account of what he said about mam. I managed to save my teeth, though. Back in that last journal, I got new teeth.

I never?seen Da again, or those half brothers of mine. I never met the rest of them, and it's likely I never will.

I killed the man that killed my mam. I still haven't been to her grave. It'll be three years coming up and I still haven't been. They say that it changes a person to take a life, but I don't reckon that it changed me at all.

***

I remember training with Skyelark. Her always telling me that I was too noisy to be a rogue. I'd met her by chance - she was sleeping in that Cell in the forest. I was her first student in many years, she said. I don't think that she ever wanted me. She always used to run her hand through my hair. I hated her for that. Never said it, but I did.

Aunt Lly found me sleeping in the sewers. She had a load of pastries and said that she couldn't manage them all by herself. Said that I'd better come with her and help. I went back to that wee cottage in the woods where she lived all by herself. Said she'd been awful lonely since her Mylor had died. He was like her husband, except they wasn't ever bonded. I stayed with her for a long time. I chopped wood and stuff for her and she fed me sausages. She slept in a hammock in the corner and me on a pull out cot near the fire. Later, Cass the cat slept on my belly.

***

Genia was another chance meeting in the woods. You'd think I'd be able to remember it well, but I don't. Save for the sight of a bare leg and all that ashen hair. I followed her. It burns me with shame now to write it, but I followed her. I should never have done that. But I didn't know any better. I was only a bairn. An animal really; not much better anyhow.

I died a thousand times for her in that last journal. Through every parting and every bite of stupid jealousy. Every fumbled, stupid thing I said. Every time I disappeared and come back again. All of the times that she cried, and I cried. The squabbles and the piggyback rides.

I remember having to take my shirt off to remove the armour beneath before I was allowed beneath the canvas with her. Cos she didn't want to touch the leather. And I tried to run away into the woods.

I remember secretly wishing her short, like me, so that I never felt so dammed little beside her and the wound up feeling all the littler for it.

***

This new journal starts differently from the last. I can write a little better now. I live in a house with Genia that's missing a wall - but I'll become a bricklayer if she wants me to.

I'm different in this journal and all. I don't reckon I'm so angry anymore. I don't want a nice suit and dirty rings no more - I haven't worn anything like that in years. I don't want to be rich. I ain't bothered about chasing after no hateful feelings against my Da. I don't want to be the greatest rogue or a High Lord.

These turns I find myself more concerned about that apple tree me and Genia planted last spring. I have more care for getting Firenze the Bastard rabbit to like me. I'll keep working, hard and honest with Dickie and Alb. I might find me my dog and live quiet and happy. Either way, I won't be out looking for trouble no more.

It's been about a cycle since Mam died. Maybe a little more. I still haven't set off a lantern for her like we had planned. I still haven't been back to her house, neither. I don't really want to go back. I'll put it off a little while longer.

I doubt anyone even thinks about Nancy Doherty anymore. She wasn't important or brave or anything. She wasn't the best mam in the lands, neither. But still, she was my Mam. She was a little dot of a woman, with yellow hair and brown eyes - Little, like me. We were both little; in the sense of being short. My Dad might have been little and all, but I never did know him to find out. Mam still had yellow hair when she died. She was still young: 34-35 summers, I think. I know she was only young when she had me and her folks had slung her out. She had named me William after her own dad.

We never had much when I was a bairn. We moved around a lot - which is easy to do if you don't have much because you don't have anything to pack and cart along with you. We moved for lots of reasons; dodging unpaid rent, looking for work, or giving some fella of Mam's the slip, were the main reasons. She always picked blokes over me, especially as I gotten older. She'd lock me out of the house for a few days when she got a new one and I'd rogue about with the other urchin kids. I never minded it in the summer - Me, Dickie and Ably Moone would have a riot. But it weren't so good when it was cold. A few times, she put me in the Boy's Home for a spell if the weather was too bad. That was horrible place, and I don't want to write about that today. Mam would always come get me again in a week or two. I'd always resolve to be mad at her and give her a hard time when she did, but that's easier said than done when it's your Mam sobbing over a busted lip at the kitchen table.

Most of the blokes were horrible; some of them were just stupid, but most of them were horrible. I received a fair few hidings as well as her. When I got older and a little bigger, I'd try to intervene when they went for her... Sometimes she'd turn on me, too. It was bad. Some of the things that happened were just bad. I'm glad Aunt Lly taught me my letters so I can write them rather than have to speak them. Lot's of people say writing is therapeutic, and I suppose it is. I write nicer than I talk these days.

The last time I went to visit Mam was after I became a Rogue. Aunt Lly made me up a new suit and I tidied myself up and wore all of my finery. I wanted to show her that I was good - that I made it. She seemed happy that last visit. She was on her own and doing well. She apologized for lots of things. I stayed for a few days and gave her a purse full of coin when I left... And that was the last time that I ever seen her. She hugged me tightly on the doorstep. She was little, sharp and uncomfortable to hug.

"You're a good lad, our Bill, you ken? You always were such a good lad..."

About two cycles after a letter came to Aunt Lly's place saying that she had died. Well, not died; was murdered.
Nancy Doherty was battered to death.