We traveled on the same boat as Kossi, although I only got to see his back from afar before being confined to a tiny cabin for the whole duration of the trip. The porthole was big enough to empty a bucket into the river, but too small to escape. And no matter how many times I asked, I wasn’t allowed to get my books back. But at least, I had a jug to quench my thirst. I smelled it. Water. Probably safe.

  After drinking, I sat down on my narrow berth and looked outside.

  This is going to be a long trip.

  A dangerous one as well, I realized. I was alone in my cabin, so if death came from a nearby boat, or from the shore, there’d be no witness. My body might not even be discovered before we reached Carastra.

  With a shiver, I closed the porthole and retreated to the far end of the cabin.

  All day, guards walked and chatted on the other side of the locked door. They were relieved every few hours, which I found comforting: unless all of them were bought somehow, no murder could be seriously considered on board. They were here to watch a dragon, after all. With great power came a great number of guards, when the creature, or the hero, failed in their great responsibility.

  I daydreamed throughout the day, worrying about pretty much everything. Brealia? Brunz? My own situation? Wherever my mind looked, everything fueled my anxiety.

  At least, I was going back to Carastra. I’d see Catalin again, my beacon of stability in this wretched world. Unlike me, she had a bright future ahead of her, as a talented sorcerer. I closed my eyes and pictured her triangular face, her round-tipped nose and her thick cherry-red hair. She was perfect. For her sake, I had to figure out a way to avoid disaster again.

  “Step away from the door!” called a female-sounding voice in the end of the afternoon.

  I grinned. I was already sitting in the opposite corner of the room, but given the size of the cabin, it also meant I could almost touch the door. Where was I supposed to go?

  “I’m as far as I can be,” I answered in a tired tone.

  A guard, a woman who looked slightly older than me, let in a twelve-year-old carrying a jug and a bowl with a wooden spoon in it. Food and drink. And no table to put them on. The kid handed both to me, avoiding my gaze as if I were a basilisk or a mythological gorgon.

  “Your meal,” said the guard, stating the obvious with confidence.

  “Thanks.”

  I didn’t know what to do with myself, a steaming bowl in one hand, a full jug in the other, so I just sat there, waiting for my visitors to leave. The kid took the empty jug back, then hurried away, and the guard locked the door again.

  The smell coming from the bowl made me realize I was hungry. I carefully put the full jug on the floor, freeing one hand to hold the spoon. I stirred the food with precaution. It was a hot broth with bits of vegetables and very cooked meat. It smelled delicious, a little different to what I’d gotten used to eating in Brealia. I brought the spoon closer to my nose, my mouth already watering.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  I wonder what makes it smell so rich, so…

  In the back of my mind, old impressions resurfaced. Family. Holidays. Possibly family holidays. If anything, I missed my native world more.

  Smells do that to you.

  I breathed in again, trying to figure out what was directly speaking to my emotional memories. Why this slight fragrance, mixed to the rest of the broth, felt so bittersweet…

  Bitter almond. This is what it reminds me of.

  I’d never eaten anything that tasted like almonds in Brealia. With my sweet tooth, I’d remember. There were other kinds of nuts, but nothing with that specific taste or smell.

  My mother was an avid reader, something she’d passed on to me. However, unlike me, she wasn’t into fantasy worlds or science-fiction adventures. She read lots and lots of murder mysteries. And in these books of hers, some of which I’d borrowed from her bookshelves as a teenager, the smell of bitter almond was a signature.

  I looked down at the bowl, still salivating, but now fighting to put down the spoon slowly, instead of dropping it and splattering broth all over the place.

  Cyanide!

  I couldn’t be sure, but it smelled like someone was trying to poison me, and I couldn’t take any chances. Palatable as this meal seemed, it could be lethal.

  My hands shook as I stood up on unsteady legs and emptied the bowl out of the porthole. I had no way to know, but better safe than sorry.

  I should have been hungry after skipping my only real meal of the day, but the incident made me lose my appetite. I spent the rest of the day giving nervous looks everywhere. Did I really look like a spy? How could anybody believe I was one, after I literally materialized out of a portal created by order of King Esthar?

  Who am I even supposed to be a spy for? Emperor Faur? Anything I could tell him, he already knows. I’d be the most useless spy in the kingdom.

  I spent a terrible night, curled up in a corner of the cabin, falling asleep only to wake up with a jolt moments later. Rinse and repeat until daybreak. I finally got up from my hiding place, feeling as crumpled as my clothes.

  Breakfast was stale bread. Since it looked, felt and smelled normal, I devoured it. Then, caught by an imperious need to relieve boredom and anxiety, I closed my eyes.

  “Cherub, are you there?”

  “I am, Al.”

  “Do you know you got me arrested yesterday?”

  “Does this count as your daily question?”

  I grinned. “Of course not! I just thought you might want to know that yesterday’s miracle went wrong. You got me a horse, but it didn’t exactly go unnoticed, and now I’m detained for theft.”

  There was silence at the far end of my mind.

  “When I granted you a compensation for your death, I only promised a minor miracle a day,” Cherub finally answered.

  “Yes, but…”

  “Remind me, Al. How old are you again?”

  I gritted my teeth. “Forty.”

  “Old enough to understand. Look, I live in another plane of existence and despite what you might think, I’m not watching over you all the time. I’ll grant you whatever help I can, but I can’t always see the big picture, so you must consider the consequences of your own actions.”

  I breathed deeply. When I called my guardian angel, I didn’t exactly expect them to lecture me on adulting.

  “Do you want me to help you break out of this place?” they offered.

  Panic made my heart leap.

  “No, thanks! This is the last thing I need right now. If I run away again, I’ll be shot on sight.”

  “Then what do you expect from me?”

  “I… I just wanted to chat.”

  I wanted to feel better, and you did the exact opposite. Well done.

  “I must leave, Al. Call me when you really need help.”

  Cherub’s presence vanished from my mind, leaving me terribly alone, and even more distressed than before.

  I thought you were my friend. Why am I so disappointed?