Gregor smiled emptily at the departing customer. He didn't like selling his books. He knew the history and contents of every one, and harboured the deep belief that nobody could possibly look after them as well as he did.

"Except perhaps for you, Fran." The old enchanter turned and smiled at his employee. "How goes it?"

"It's not. This was never the deal. I was just supposed to guard the brat, maybe a bit of practical midwifery. But I'm shut in some Godforsaken hovel with this screaming kid and I want my life back!"

"It's only for a bit."

"No, Gregor, kids aren't 'only for a bit'. Even when I'm done raising her, I'll still be her... mother. I'm twenty-two. So is Fynn. We're too young for that kind of responsibility."

Riarté smiled from the shadows. "I don't hear Fynn complain."

"You brought him up stupid."

"You were right, Riarté. It is in her nature to try to escape."

The speaker was female, Fran didn't recognise her. And now she was looking properly, she could see that the shop was packed with enchanters, and she could feel the attention of hundreds more. She smiled bitterly.

"And whoever thought I had free will in all this?"

An enchantress snorted, and Riarté raised a hand.

"I know what she'll do, who she'll hurt, in order to be free. Very well, Francesca, you are released from your task. You will never see Amanda again, never have to give her another bottle."

Nothing flickered in Fran's expression, but her mind was full of a tiny life in her arms, suckling happily. No, damn it, she thought, she isn't a doll for my amusement. She's the biggest burden I'll ever have to carry.

"Thank you," said Fran, and walked out.

Three hundred enchanters glared at Riarté.

"Well, that went well."

"Right," snapped Fran, disgorging a white cat onto a chair, "That's everything useful from the flat. And Alicia. Let's get this place squared up."

Fynn tried for nonchalance. "I knew you'd be back. The thing with you, Fran, is that deep down you're actually a good person."

"I'm not, you know," said Fran lightly. "Not all of me. Now, where's my little girl?"

© Naomi 'Ni' Claydon 2000. No copying without permission.