Strange Noises Fiction by Rachel Greenham

It's surprising how much you can learn about archery on board a ship. Weeks of practice, never seeing an arrow, just perfecting the technique of the draw, the balance, the patience, the smooth drawing-back of the string and visualising the line from my hand to the target. I'm growing muscles on my arms that I'm sure weren't there before. I am learning this. Me. Taniel had never learned archery. She had meant to be a shaman. See under Things Not Going To Happen While I'm Around.

Tim Manor is going to torture my hands again tonight. He doesn't come every night. I've been getting ready to go out to dinner with my parents. I've changed into my nice new evening dress that Dad bought for me. My arms are bare. I come down into the living room and he's there, talking to Mum. She sees me enter and smiles at me, but she can't meet my eyes. "Are you ready, teya?" he asks me. I shake my head. "Please don't." He stands and extends his hand to me. "Come along, you know we have to."

Part 2 of Game Theory will start appearing here in installments of not less than two thousand words on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays starting now and going on until either it reaches the end, or it catches up with what I've written so far, at which point there'll be a gap while I write ahead a bit. :-)

Kerilas was executed two days later, on the last day of Market. There's a cold wind from the North. The sky is a mottled grey sheet sliding South over the mastheads in the harbour. When the tide turns, Market sails.

"How have they been treating you?" "All right I s'pose. The food's a bit shit." "They haven't been beating you up or---" "No. Nothing like that. These are giving me a headache though." He waves at the bars in front of him. I stand for a moment and reach out towards them with the backs of my hands. Even through the bandages I can feel the poisonous cold. "Iron," I say. "Oh crap, I forgot about that." I withdraw my hand. "Yeah. Oh, also? It fucks up spellcasting. It's probably not a coincidence." "Mistress Taniel, please keep away from the bars," Deidas warns me.

"I don't want you to see him," Fareis says bluntly. We're sitting in her cabin. The stern windows and the view beyond of the harbour are arrayed behind her.

It would be nice to say that all the hate and anger I -- apparently -- still feel for Tim Manor was purged away, all into that little lead jar where I know he can never hurt me again. It's not true.

"Shitty death that HURTS!" I can hear myself screaming in English. Then the sounds I'm making don't belong to any language; I'm just screaming and crying at once. It hurts so much I don't notice for several seconds that the shaman has stopped twisting six inch spikes into my right hand. That's what it felt like anyway, or what I imagine it would feel like. My whole arm is wrenched by spasms. I'm reclining in a low chair in what looks like a treatment room. Already the long white tunic that's all I'm wearing is soaking with sweat and he's barely started.

"Why do I have to be awake?" I ask. I can just tell this is going to really hurt.

"Taniel, child. I'm glad to see you up. How are you feeling?" Satthei Fareis is all warm solicitousness. "Now, if you feel tired or overwrought you mustn't hesitate to say, and we can have you back in your bed straight away. No-one will think it rude of you." "Thank you, Satthei," I reply. "You're looking so pretty tonight. I knew this dress would suit you. It was my daughter's." "Thank you," I say again. "You've been very kind." Somehow I feel that a curtsey is called for, so I dip into one. She watches with a curious expression.