Read Mist upon the Marsh: The Story of Nessa and Cassie for Free Online

as such, could only match it most closely to the fur of Faevin. To solidify this association, there seemed something about this waitress, too, that was reminiscent of shadow (just as were the inexplicable Faevin’s appearance and movements), and of things visible but intangible. There was something in her smile that was not entirely spurious, but which was neither entirely genuine.
    She made the other waitresses, at any rate, look something silly. Rather tall she was, too; at least enough to increase the feeling of discomfort which looking at her already engendered in Nessa, by forcing her to crane her neck most awkwardly. Her name was Cassie – a piece of information Nessa gleaned by glancing at her little blue nametag.
    “Well?” said the waitress.
    “Of course,” said Nessa, coming finally to her senses. “We are all very grateful to you, I’m sure --  but still I must give you this.”
    She reached into her pocket, and came out with a small roll of money. She threw rather more than seemed required, down upon the table; and then returned her eyes to the waitress, who was smiling again.
    “I’ll just take the fact that you’re grateful,” she said, “and be happy with that.”
    Nessa nodded stupidly, and slid out of the booth. Dechtire followed, but looked back at the waitress with a countenance quite identical to that which she had worn, when she looked upon the blue-haired girl. On this occasion, however, her impoliteness made Nessa somewhat cross; and so she pinched her arm, and tugged her with no little force from the diner.
    “Do that once more!” warned Dechtire. “Only do it once more, and see what does happen to you!”
    “Oh, shut up, Dechtire.”
    “I’ve half a mind to take off this damned Turin –”
    Their spat was interrupted by the voice of Caramon, which cut suddenly and cheerfully through the height of their raised voices.
    “Hello, all!” said he, walking forward with a bright smile upon his face.
    Nessa looked from Caramon to Orin; and said to the latter, “You’re quite good, you know.”
    Orin made a low bow.
    “You know,” said Caramon, “perhaps I should just go inside, and apologise –”
    Nessa caught him by the arm. “I think not,” she said. She pushed him back into place beside the driver’s-side door, rounded the truck, and slid into the cab beside Dechtire. Orin took his seat, then, and swung the door shut after him.
    Yet Caramon stood in the gravel for rather a long moment, hand poised just above the door handle. Dechtire rolled the window down, and poked her head out to ask after the cause of his hesitation.
    But then there came a familiar look into his face; and all three occupants of the truck flew into a flurry. Nessa and Orin shouted for Dechtire to hurry. Dechtire jumped out of the cab, shoved Caramon into it, and then took up the place behind the wheel. There came a tic into Caramon’s left eye. He fell down into Nessa’s lap, and began violently to convulse.
    “Drive!” shouted Nessa.
    Dechtire slammed the truck into gear, and peeled out of the lot like a stock-car driver, flinging dirt and gravel in every direction. Fortunately, the road was empty, and there came no vehicles from either hand; for, at the speed with which Dechtire was manoeuvring the old truck (which seemed more, Nessa had to admit, than any that she herself had ever been able to wring from it), a collision most certainly would have killed at least one of them.
    Next moment, the truck was racing along down Junction Road. Caramon had broken out into a cold sweat, and was flopping about on Nessa’s and Orin’s legs like an electrified fish. He seemed to be growling beneath his breath, but his teeth were jammed together as if cemented. The fingers of his right hand dug painfully into Nessa’s thigh.
    “Get the Turin off of him!” said Dechtire, glancing down at him worriedly.
    “I can’t take it off now!” returned Nessa. “We’ll all lose our eyes!”
    “Then let me pull