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“Cormac O’Vadros.” The man pulls off his snow-crusted mask. Despite his shock of white hair, he’s not quite so old as I thought. But he is stooped, and his right leg seems janky. Maybe artificial. Deep lines groove his bearded face. He takes in Victra, her bulging waistline, and nods. “?’Course. Alred, boil water. Brea, be a good lass and get the linens from your room.” Volga follows the girl into the other room as if she were going to get rocket launchers. Cormac gestures to my gun with a twinkle in his eye. “Big gun for a little lass. Think you need it?”

“Depends on you.”

“Not what I meant.” He nods to Volga and Victra. “You got them. Whatchu need that for?”

I keep the pistol anyway. “Bedroom?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” He leads me across the small common room to one of the home’s two bedrooms as Volga, finished with her search for now, tries to help Victra out of her wet clothing. Victra slaps her hands away. “Just mind our hosts.” She follows us into the bedroom and starts undressing. Cormac watches without expression. Volga comes in, picks him up with one hand and shoves him out the door, back into the common room.

“You expecting visitors?” she asks.

“In this squall?” he says, laughing, but his eyes dart to his children in worry. “Naw. No visitors.”

“Good, we will be cozy then.”

The sound of their voices muffle as I close the door to a crack. The bedroom is small and simple. A narrow bed with heavy quilts lies in the corner next to a coil heater. A pair of old miner boots like my pa’s hang on the wall along with a rusted slingBlade. There’s a small crochet on one of the bedside stools and a little glass filled with holly and red winter berries. Must be his wife left it there.

“Where’s your wife?” I ask Cormac, opening the door halfway.

“She’s out to sea till week’s end with the rest o’ my kin. Not much for boats meself. I tend the homestead.”

Volga takes over the questioning as I shut the door again.

Victra tosses her clothes into the corner. I am startled by the sight of her body. Her back is heavily muscled and broad. It’s a history of scars, including two bullet holes along her spine. More scars cover her arms, her buttocks, her powerful thighs. More old wounds than a whole drillteam. Respect.

“Have the contractions started?” I ask, handing her pen and paper I found on the counter.

“You japing?” She grins. “Lost my mucus plug days back. Been having contractions the last thirty klicks.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“You two worry like hens. Thought I could hold it till we got to the transmitter, but you two are right. Big building. Anything could be in there.” She starts writing on the paper, whistling as she does. “You ever been pregnant?” she asks.

“I’m shy nineteen.”

“Well, you are Red, anyway….”

“It’s like getting punched by a Telemanus. Got a real world breaker in here.” She leans naked against the wall, not a lick given for modesty. I strip off the top quilt and make up the bed. She looks up from her writing in amused contempt. “What in Jove’s name are you doing?”

“Makin’ up the bed for you.”

She goes back to writing. “Why?”

“Thought you might want to lay down?”

“I am daughter of Julii,” she says without looking up from the paper. “Not some mine wench who gives birth on her back. I stand when I deliver. All I need from you is silence and absence and that water and alcohol to wash my hands. Be polite to our hosts, please.”

Chuffed, I slam the door behind me.

In the common room, the water is beginning to boil on the thermal stove. Alred, the boy, glares at me as I ask him to take it into the bedroom. He’s a gangly one with a temper. Reminds me of my own brother Dagan. His sister brings her linens out of her room. Small and elfin-faced, she wears the skirts of a woman and a thick shawl. She shuffles nervously as I smile at her.

“What’s your name?” I ask her. “Was it Brea?”

She nods.

“Sorry if we’re giving you a fright. Promise we’re good folk. Just a little lost is all. Where’s your ma?”

She looks at the ground.