Alone, for the first time since his arrival in Arcadia, Marinus felt a thrill of excitement like electricity coursing through his limbs. He didn't stop to ponder why the fisherman had been so reluctant to leave him the job, but, true to his word, he started climbing the tree one rung at a time with great care not to lose his balance.

  Already it had grown dark in the orchard, but as he climbed, Marinus could see the edges of the surrounding valley were still aglow with the light of the setting sun, turned to a rose-gold hue. He climbed higher, until the branches of the tree thinned out and a small platform became visible among the stubs of broken limbs, just shy of the treetop. He was a good four feet above the other trees in the orchard, and could see clearly in every direction for a long way.

  "Just like sitting in the crow's nest," he said to himself happily, recalling his days as a sailor, perched atop the ship's mast.

  There was enough room to sit down on the platform, and as he leaned back he felt something poke into his back – it was the horn to sound the alarm, hanging against the trunk on a leather strap. He slung it round his neck and laid back lazily, taking in his new surroundings.

  From up there it was clear to see how the orchard linked up to a handsome walled garden ringed with trees to block it out of view from the ground. Beyond the garden stood a fine, stately home – no doubt the manor of this lord Agon, Marinus thought – with gleaming marble porticoes, carved pediments, and two wings branching off from its central hub. On one side it faced a long carriage drive that joined the avenue Anneus lived along, but this face of the building was camouflaged with creeping vines, and a pair of tall metal gates barred the way up to the house.

  "Someone likes his privacy!" Marinus muttered to himself with a smirk.

  Even as he watched, the outlines of the architecture faded into the surrounding darkness, and only the columned porticoes and windows now stood out, framed against a soft firelight glowing within. The sky was all dark now, except for the moon and stars that shone over the face of Arcadia.

  Marinus had almost given up on trying to make out anything more in that strange manor, when a new light caught his eye. Down in the walled garden there shone the flashing and flickering tongue of a torch; at the same instant, Marinus heard a voice borne on the wind, crying out something indistinct. A moment later the light was extinguished, but the voice called out again, just as vaguely to Marinus's ears – it sounded like a mere string of vowels: a name, he assumed.

  The next thing he saw was a figure at the far end of the orchard, white and ghostly in the dappled moonlight.

  "This can hardly be the thief – from inside the household?" Marinus mused, but any such thought of his mission was immediately thrust out of mind by what he saw next. The figure appeared to swim towards him out of the gloom; a shimmering white garment materialised around long, graceful limbs, and a face... Marinus had never seen a face of such delicate beauty, framed by flowing locks of blonde hair.

  The girl was running with light steps down an aisle between rows of fruit trees, barefooted on the long grass, and stopped only a short way from the base of Marinus's tree. He almost tumbled to his death, he whipped around so quickly to keep her in view.

  He had no words for the impression that was forming in his mind – not even his excitement earlier had prepared him for this; this sudden ravishment by beauty. It was thus some time before he noticed the hissing sound of whispered reproaches, and the approaching figure of the girl's handmaid: a frumpy old matron clutching the now-extinguished torch as she followed her young mistress along the length of the orchard. There was such a contrast between these two figures, Marinus could have laughed – it was as if he had found a lily growing side by side with some drab and sickly toadstool. He could hardly believe these two were of the same species, let alone sex. The girl – who was steadfastly ignoring the calls of the old woman – was tall and comely, with a slender neck that seemed always to incline her head to one side or the other, as if better to show off her long, flowing hair, which glinted with the colour of burnished gold. The matron was short, squat, and had her own mousy-grey hair tied back and tucked under a hood of some diaphanous, dark blue fabric. Her face was a permanent scowl – conditioned perhaps by sheer force of habit – and her eyes were scarcely visible beneath a heavy frown.

  Stolen story; please report.

  By contrast, if there was any flaw to the girl's appearance, it was a slightly ghostly pallor to her skin, as if she had hardly seen daylight in years; but to Marinus this only heightened the impression of ethereal beauty she gave off, as she vacillated between the dark blue shade of the fig trees and the opaline sheen of the moonlight.

  At last he attended to the words of the old woman, for the girl had begun to respond to her chiding.

  "What will your father make of this, I ask you! Having entrusted me with our care, to see you take such shameful advantage... dragging me out here, refusing to obey my commands..."

  "Mopsy, give me a leg up, will you? I can't quite reach these figs," the girl said, with a tinkling laugh that pierced Marinus's heart.

  "They are not for you, missie!" the crone hissed, indignant. "How dare you plunder your father's pride and joy..."

  For the maiden had managed to pluck a number of the prize figs despite her. She was popping them greedily into her mouth when the matron gave her a sharp slap on the wrist, scattering some of the fruit.

  "Ouch! Mopsy, how could you? They're no good to anyone if we just leave them on the ground to rot."

  And she darted around to the other side of the tree to resume her harvest.

  "I tell you, Chrysanthe, someone will pay for this!" the old woman tutted, drawing her heavy brows into a frown.

  "Father can't expect me to be on my best behaviour all the time; he ought to indulge me now and then, as other girls' fathers do..."

  "What would you know about it, eh? Some girls would be whipped for what you're doing, and besides, your father does nothing but indulge your every whim..."

  "Not every one, not by a long way," the girl pouted, "he doesn't let me go out; I'm his prisoner!"

  "Some prison!" the matron said, rolling her eyes, and smitten as he was, Marinus could see her point. The manor was magnificent, and their land holdings must have extended for miles around.

  "What is the use in having free rein of the estate, if I'm followed everywhere I go by an old misery-guts like you?" Chrysanthe said.

  "Would you rather be caught out on your own one of these days, set upon by brigands, and assaulted? No... my duty is to protect you," her guardian replied.

  Chrysanthe made a face, "and how would you manage that?" she said disparagingly.

  "Don't. test me, girl," the crone said, in a guttural voice, and Marinus was sure that the girl jumped. Perhaps her shock showed on her face, for the old woman laughed and said in a more kindly tone, "come now, dear, let us be off – it's past your bed time, now. You don't want poor old Mopsy to get in trouble!"

  And, amazingly, the girl obeyed. She shook her head, and meekly followed the old woman back up to the garden, casting away the last few figs as she went.