Patricia heard a murmuring of voices as the others prepared to leave the building, then the sound of the front door closing, followed by the heavy tread of the Watcher on the stairs. She stood with her back to the doorway. She was afraid to see his face.

“You want my help?” Anomen asked.

“I do want to look through any papers that may be here,” she said, “but mostly I wanted to tell you what Elgea said.” She took a deep breath, glad that he hadn’t come around to face her. “It looks as if that dwarf you killed and the man that fled were responsible for Moira’s death. You’ve done as your father asked. Moira’s murderer is dead by your hand.”

She’d expected something--- an indrawn breath, another shockwave of empathic suffering, she didn’t know just what, but something--- yet there wasn’t even the faintest sound from the man. She couldn’t help it. She had to turn…. He was standing as if made out of stone, holding his right fist in a way that told her something was clasped in the palm. His face was completely empty, as if his spirit had fled. She covered the three paces that separated them without conscious thought.

“Anomen! What is it? Stop it! You’re scaring me!” She didn’t even know what she was saying, she was so alarmed by his lack of expression. She reached out unthinkingly to shake him, and as she touched his arms she fell straight into a raging sea of emotion….

It was so hard to think. The feelings of hate and anger and loss and relief and love battered her from all directions, one wave on top of another, crashing again and again. Must think…. She was Patricia. She clutched at that thought and held to it like a raft. Slowly other ideas emerged, as she bent every ounce of will and training into separating her own mind from Anomen’s miseries. Once she had firm control over her own identity again, she found herself imperceptibly beginning to search for the eye of the storm, the center of his distress. She slowly built up the mental image of a boat, a tiny coracle that could easily skim up and down the billows, skating over the waves instead of plowing through them….

Where are you? She cried in her mind. I’m coming… where are you? But there was no reply. Helm, help me help your servant! O Crying One, have mercy upon us both! I cannot bear this shared pain for long, it is too much additional burden. Show me how to bring him out of this!

In her mind’s eye she suddenly saw a pure white seagull appear above her, circling and crying out. She was relieved. Her prayer had been answered in so much, at least; here was her guide. Where to, O messenger? Patricia thought, and the bird swerved off to the left. All right, then. She gave the coracle a push with her mind, and followed after him. All at once the tiny craft picked up speed. She glanced behind her, and there was a walrus pushing the boat, only it had one large eye in the center of its forehead, rather than two. Another spirit helper, then.

There was a shaft of sunlight ahead. The clouds opened above a small fist-shaped island that lay at the center of the eye of the storm. The coracle landed on the sandy shore, and when she looked around, the gull and walrus had vanished. This was the heart of the problem, then. She took a few steps towards the center of the islet. How odd; a growing sense of peace filled her heart as she walked further in, yet somehow whatever lay here was the root of Anomen’s distress.

She topped a small rise and looked down into a tiny hollow. In the midst of the vale a fountain splashed into a gold-rimmed pool. Patricia slid down the sandy dune and fetched up at the wall. She cautiously tested the water with one finger. It was pleasantly cool, but not ice-cold, and crystal clear. She scooped up a handful and put it to her lips. It was the equal of the best spring water she’d ever drunk. She drank again and again, though until the first draught she hadn’t even known she was thirsty. She even bathed her face in it, and the sting of her scrapes instantly vanished.

Patricia recalled herself with an effort. It would be so easy to simply rest here, but the storm still raged outside. She studied the pool carefully. It never overflowed, and she couldn’t see any bottom, nor any plumbing for the jet of water that sprang from the center. The wall on this side was gently rounded at the top edge, but otherwise absolutely plain. She slowly began to circle it. As she got about a quarter of the way around, the wall began to change. Odd bulges appeared, and faint chasing, but she could identify no pattern until she reached the exact opposite side from where she started. She was at the front of the fountain then, and the image suddenly clicked into place. Now she knew the source of Anomen’s rage and grief.

In the outer world, Anomen was holding a ring in his hand, a ring with a device of two clasped hands that was so familiar to her that she could have drawn it in her sleep. She’d seen it on his shield for the past tenday. It could only be Moira’s ring, and he must have found it below, in this den of thieves.

The island was gone, she was plunged back in the raging sea with no boat, but now she knew how to break the storm. She struggled mightily, forcing her mind to remember: you have arms, you have hands, you are in a room, you must break your hold on Anomen….

She was back, back behind her own eyelids, comfortably ensconced once more within her own skull. She drew a deep breath, aware that no more than a few minutes could have passed, and forced her eyes open. Anomen still stood with that awful look of vacancy on his face. Decisively, she pulled her hands away from his arms and placed them both around his right hand. She began speaking in a soothing voice, massaging his fingers, trying to imperceptibly loosen his grip.

“Anomen, you must listen to me, this is Patricia. You must come back from where you are. Running is not the answer. It is not your fault. Come back out, we have much work yet to do. You must bring justice to the last man. You must tell your father the truth. And you must give this back to your sister.” On the last sentence she succeeded in prising open his fingers, and deftly slipped out the small circle of gold she knew was hiding there. As she pulled it away with her left hand, his fingers convulsively tightened, but he caught nothing more than her right hand.

He sighed then, and as she glanced up she saw that some expression was returning to his face. The Watcher looked down at her, still only half-awake, and smiled sleepily as he looked at their clasped hands. She smiled back, relieved beyond measure that he was at home again. Then he startled back to full consciousness, and let go as fast as if her hand had been on fire.

“Where is it?” he demanded at once. “Give it back!”

She didn’t know where the courage came from, but she replied, “No. Not yet. Not until you talk to the Inspector. I can’t risk your fading out again.”

“You have no right---,” he began, but she cut him off.

“I have every right to make sure that you don’t grieve yourself to death! I need you, and it almost killed me trying to get you back this time! Don’t make me have to do that again!” She glared at him, suddenly furious. “Don’t you know anything? No, I suppose you don’t. You couldn’t. You’re not me. You weren’t even there when I explained it. Here, take your sister’s ring. Go drown yourself in your sorrows if you want. I just thought you had more fight in you than that. I thought you had a dream.” And I can’t take any more of this empathy. You can’t even be grateful.

“Excuse me,” she said brusquely, carefully walking around him. “I have to go explain to this Inspector why we shouldn’t be in trouble for those two dead bodies.”

“How did you know?” It was choked out, like he had a fishbone stuck in his throat.

“Know what?” Patricia said impatiently.

“That I had it in my hand, that it was Moira’s,” he said dazedly.

“It was obvious that you were holding something. As for the rest, you wouldn’t believe me. Nor should you care. I’m just a Bhaalspawn, after all.” Her own hand tightened on the ring, which she hadn’t given back to him yet in spite of her words. A wave of the same peace she’d felt on the island in her vision broke over her. She was appalled at herself. What had she been saying? Oh, no, had The Thing gotten loose while she was stuck in the empathic vision? She hunted desperately in the depths of her mind. No, there it was, still on its chain, although it looked awfully smug.

“I apologize, Anomen,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what happened to you while you froze up, but I’m glad you’re back with us now. Let’s both forget everything that happened since you walked up the stairs. Yes, I do want some help in searching the wardrobes. You take this one, and I’ll look in the one at the far end. Oh, and I think this is yours.” She placed the ring back in his hand and curled his fingers over it. “Moira will be glad to have it back someday.”