Flynn was in his element. Behind at door at the back of the library was the spiralling iron staircase to the archive. A few strides away was his desk, pushed up against a stained-glass window which, in the daylight, sent coloured light shimmering across the shelves and lock-boxes behind him. The whole place smelled of parchment and aging paper, and there was another room beyond this one, packed from floor to ceiling with objects and items from across Shaman and beyond. And at the centre of it all, on a writing desk, was his father’s chronicle, newly re-covered in rich red leather.

It was getting late. He’d already lit the candles and lanterns, and now it was getting impossible to see. Flynn closed the register he was working in with a snap, tying it closed with the leather straps attached to its cover, he returned it to its shelf. He carefully extinguished all the flames and then nudged Denahi awake with his foot. They took the stairs to the library, Danahi with his usual enthusiasm and a clattering of claws, until they emerged into the expansive room above. It too was empty and dark, and as they left, Flynn locked the double doors behind him with the key at his belt.

The family apartments were empty when he arrived. Flynn went to his room, grabbed his telescope case and his rucksack and took a bottle of wine from the fridge. He was just zipping the bag closed when the front door opened again and Cal appeared in the doorway.

“Perfect timing,” Flynn smiled. It grew into a grin under her questioning glance. “Get changed, he urged her brightly, “I’ve got something I want to show you.”

He threw himself down onto the sofa and propped his feet up on the coffee table, safe in the knowledge Renn wasn’t there to scold him.

“I’ll wait,” he laughed, enjoying himself.

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