Strange Noises Fiction by Rachel Greenham

I should write a book, The Painful Injury Route to Weight Loss. It turns out in the last three months I have lost about 15 kg - that's about two and a half stone in old money. How? Basically by not being in charge of my own meals, and eating normally. The rate of weight loss is about the same as I got when I was taking Sibutramine (that weight-loss drug that was recently withdrawn due to fears of it causing heart-attacks). I knew it was happening; i could tell from feeling, and others could tell from looking, that I was losing weight.

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Introductions introductions. I'm already feeling overwhelmed, like I did that first night when the Satthei introduced me to her guests at Denhall. This time we're in the formal garden. There's a fountain -- I wonder how it's pumped -- and precisely laid-out flowerbeds and a lawn, and a colonnade around the sides away from the house itself, affording a high view over the city. Paper lanterns hang from ornate poles.

I've been trying to get Ateis's hair clean. Shampoo made from whale oil and ash and a few perfumes that don't quite hide the smell is not among my favourite things about Jeodin. Apart from anything else it's too harsh and strips the hair of too much of its natural oils, so you have to use coconut oil on it afterwards; which is nice if you can get it, but I have to confess to a hankering for modern chemicals at times like this.

It feels good to be back out in the light. I know it's a terrible cliché -- in both worlds -- about elves disliking being underground, but I really was starting to feel claustrophobic. It's funny, I don't get that belowdecks on a ship, where there's far less room.

"Come on, I want to show you something," Hajarean offers. "Before everyone else arrives." "What?" "Come on, you'll see." "It's his collection," his granddaughter explains, with a roll of her eyes. Her name, we've been told already, is Alison; Allie for short. It's very weird, hearing an English name here. "You'd better go or he'll sulk all evening." She's a pretty, redheaded girl of about twelve who's already taken Asuti in hand, it seems, showing her around.

It's hot, so it's afternoon-rest again. Siesta, it would be called back in the other world. We're in the suite of rooms they've set aside for us, having returned here for rest after lunch with Hajarean and Hanima and the four of their grandchildren currently staying, although the latter were prone to dash off with our little pack into the garden to get acquainted rather than finish their meal. It's very well appointed in the Jeodine style, with curved-arched windows, shuttered now against the heat, and rugs and cushions and chaises-longues and proper beds.

"Don't!" Sam yells at Little Jalese. She and her brother have discovered the statue at one end of the atrium pool "You'll break something!" "I wouldn't worry," Hajarean says. "This place is pretty kid-hardened by now."

As far as the smaller children are concerned it's all very exciting. None of them have ever had a ride in a horse-drawn carriage before. Well, neither have I. Asuti and Garelan have a sense that it's not just for fun. Garelan's sitting very quietly with his mother. Asuti's next to me, looking out of the window, fascinated by the spectacle of the city going past outside from such a strange vantage. But I can tell from the tension in her back and shoulders that she's worried too.