The Second Saturday

At 03:32, Maddie wakes up.

There is no particular reason for this. Nothing has fallen over, the house is quiet and Blinks, for once, is not standing on the bed asking a question that can only be answered with food.

Maddie looks at the clock and closes her eyes.

Her brain, apparently pleased to have her undivided attention, begins.

First there is the conversation she'd had with someone at work on Thursday. Had she sounded abrupt? She hadn't meant to. Then there is the problem with a piece of software that has been working perfectly well for eight years and has chosen this week to develop an opinion about file permissions. She knows roughly how to fix it, although knowing roughly how to fix something at half past three is not always the same as fixing it on Monday morning.

Then she remembers something she'd meant to say to Lou last Tuesday, which leads to a conversation they might have had but didn't, followed by one they might still have in which Maddie explains herself rather more eloquently than she generally manages in real time.

At four seventeen, she is considering the national debt.

At four forty, she has moved on to the practical difficulties of overthrowing a small nation. The transition between the two subjects is unclear. She isn't planning to overthrow anything, but once the question has arrived she finds herself wondering about the roads, the ports and whether the people responsible for the electricity would notice.

She turns over. The pillow is cool on the other side.

“It's Saturday,” she tells the darkness.

The darkness offers no assistance.

Somewhere after five she falls asleep again.

At 07:05, Blinks arrives with a shrew.

She announces this in several notes, rising and falling with a confidence that would be admirable in a cat with a better understanding of music.

Maddie opens one eye.

“Morning.”

Blinks stands near the foot of the bed with something small and brown in her mouth. She gives another muffled meow, steps forward and releases her prize onto the duvet.

The shrew lands, pauses for perhaps half a second, and runs.

Maddie sits up.

“Oh, no. No, no, no.”

The shrew disappears over the edge of the bed. Blinks follows it with both eyes, bright and intent, looking satisfied with the opening stages of the proceedings.

“Blinks.”

Blinks looks up.

“We don't bring breakfast to people who haven't asked for it.”

Maddie gets out of bed, putting her feet down cautiously. The shrew darts along the skirting board and vanishes behind a stack of books.

It is very small and very quick. It is also very much alive.

Maddie closes the bedroom door. Blinks, who has made her contribution to the morning, settles on the bed to watch.

For fifteen minutes, the shrew darts between the chair, the wardrobe and an assortment of books Maddie has not put away. She blocks the gap beneath the wardrobe with a row of hardbacks and fetches a clear storage box from the landing. The box is awkwardly large for such a small animal.

“Please,” she says, crouching by the wall. “I really would like us both to get on with our days.”

The shrew makes no promises.

Eventually it emerges from behind a shoe. Maddie lowers the box carefully over it, then slides a stiff piece of cardboard underneath. She lifts the whole arrangement with both hands and remains still for a moment, checking that the little animal is safe inside.

Blinks lifts her head.

“No,” Maddie says. “You've done enough.”

She carries the box downstairs and out into the garden, keeping Blinks firmly on the other side of the kitchen door. Near the thick hedge at the bottom, she tips the box gently onto its side. The shrew goes straight into the leaves and is gone.

Maddie waits a moment, then takes the box back indoors.

Blinks is standing by her food bowl.

“Of course you are.”

Maddie gives her breakfast. Blinks eats with the wholehearted concentration of a creature who has been up for some time and has accomplished everything she intended to accomplish.

The kettle goes on. Maddie puts the storage box away, returns the bedroom books to something resembling a pile and washes her hands.

It is almost half past seven.

She has been awake for a substantial portion of the night, has rescued a shrew and has yet to drink a cup of tea.

Then she sees the reminder on her phone.

CHRIS'S — 4 PM.

Maddie puts the phone face down beside the kettle.

“Oh.”

---

Christopher's invitation arrived a week ago, although everyone knew the date two weeks before that. The group has claimed the second Saturday of each month for years, barring illness, holidays or a wedding that can't reasonably be rescheduled.

Four o'clock at ours. Continue from where we left off. Bring your notes, dice and something to share if you fancy. Helen says she'll make sure there's enough tea.

Chris has promised a recap of the last session, followed by the usual disagreements about what actually happened. Maddie replied that she'd be there as soon as the invitation arrived.

She wants to go. That isn't the difficulty.

She and Chris have known each other since school, and Helen has been their friend just as long. During sixth-form free periods, Maddie and Chris used to spread improvised maps across desks and persuade whoever was nearby to roll dice. They revised for examinations as well, generally after someone reminded them that examinations existed.

The current group has been meeting, in one form or another, for almost ten years. Chris is running their latest campaign, now two years old, and he has a talent for turning one small decision into trouble several sessions later. Maddie likes that about his games.

Even so, she can already imagine six people around a table, overlapping conversations and an evening that may stretch almost into Sunday. She likes the people and the game. She has also had very little sleep.

The little storage room downstairs is meant to be today's project. The paint, roller and dust sheet are ready. Maddie opens the door, presses a loose end of masking tape back against the skirting board, and looks at the wall she intended to finish before lunch.

Then she shuts the door.

It isn't happening today.

---

Upstairs, her gaming computer takes its time starting. Maddie sits in the office chair with her tea and waits for the screens to come to life.

A message from Jess appears in the work chat. It can wait until Monday. Maddie closes the notification and launches a game instead.

For the next hour she plays a fast-paced shooter, moving from one brief match to another. It demands enough attention to keep her mind occupied. Her reactions are slower than usual. She loses twice, wins once and discovers that she's been gripping the mouse much too hard.

She stretches her fingers and goes downstairs to make toast. Blinks is asleep on the sofa, her morning's hunting apparently forgotten.

At ten forty, Maddie sends Lou a message.

Good morning. Blinks brought me a shrew at seven this morning. Alive. Bedroom now mostly restored.

A reply arrives while Maddie rinses her plate.

Mostly?

I'm reasonably sure all the books are back where they were.

And the shrew?

Released into the garden. Blinks was not consulted.

Probably wise. How are you?

Maddie looks at the message for a little while.

Not much sleep. Games at Chris's later.

Second Saturday?

Yes.

Looking forward to it?

That is a harder question than it ought to be.

Yes. And not entirely. Both seem to be true.

Lou doesn't answer immediately. Maddie returns upstairs to a strategy game she's been playing for several weeks. Here, at least, complicated situations can sometimes be improved by selecting the right square on a map.

By eleven thirty, she has established a supply route, lost a settlement and recovered it with a plan that is almost certainly too expensive. A message appears from Lou.

I remember you coming back from the last session full of stories. You also said you weren't doing anything on Sunday.

I've still kept Sunday clear.

Good. What are you taking?

Maddie looks across the desk. Beneath a notebook lies her bag of dice, one of which has escaped and sits beside the keyboard.

Dice. Notes. Possibly biscuits.

Solid plan.

Maddie smiles. Between turns, Lou tells her about something she's seen in a shop window, and Maddie sends a picture of a particularly unfortunate building in her game. Their conversation wanders, pauses and resumes when one of them has something else to say.

At lunchtime, Maddie makes a sandwich and eats at the kitchen table instead of in front of a screen. The storage-room door stays shut.

---

At two forty-five, Maddie shuts down the game, having said one more turn several times and meant it on none of them.

She showers, changes into comfortable clothes and fetches her campaign folder from the shelf above the desk. After two years it has acquired a number of loose pages and an envelope with a note she no longer understands. The last session ended with laughter, an argument and Chris looking pleased in a way that should perhaps have worried them all. She can wait for the recap.

Maddie puts her dice, folder and a pencil into her rucksack, then finds the biscuits she promised to bring.

Blinks watches from the sofa as Maddie searches for her keys.

“I'm going out,” Maddie tells her. “You're staying here.”

Blinks remains where she is.

Maddie finds the keys in yesterday's coat, puts fresh water beside Blinks's bowl and checks that the cat flap is free.

At three twenty-eight, she sends Lou one last message.

Off to Chris's in a minute.

Have fun. No need to report back until tomorrow.

Maddie puts the phone away.

Outside, the red Mini stands in the driveway. The afternoon is bright, with a chill in the shade of the hedge. Maddie settles into the driver's seat, puts the rucksack beside her and starts the engine.

She knows the way to Chris and Helen's house without directions. For the first few minutes, she drives with the radio off; at the turn onto the main road, she switches it on.

---

Chris and Helen's house is a short drive away, on a street where Maddie has been parking the Mini for so long that she no longer notices which houses have changed colour.

She arrives at ten to four. There are two cars outside already, and a familiar collection of shoes just inside the front door.

Helen opens it before Maddie can ring.

“You're early. Come in.”

“Only by ten minutes.”

“For this lot, that's early. Chris is pretending he knows where all his notes are.”

Maddie follows her through to the kitchen. Helen lets her put down her bag and stand quietly for a moment before joining everyone. There is a kettle on, a tray of mugs and a bowl of crisps that will not survive the first hour.

“Tea?” Helen asks.

“Please.”

“Good night?”

“Not especially. Blinks brought me a live shrew at seven.”

Helen stops with her hand on the cupboard door.

“Into the house?”

“Onto the bed.”

“Oh, Maddie.”

“I got it out. The shrew, I mean. Blinks stayed to supervise.”

Helen shakes her head, smiling, and puts an extra biscuit beside Maddie's mug.

In the dining room, Chris has spread a map across nearly the whole table. The edges are held down with rulebooks, and behind his screen are piles of notes covered in his small, sloping handwriting. A row of little figures stands at the edge of a dark-green patch of map.

“Maddie!” he says. “Ready to make excellent decisions?”

“I was rather hoping you'd brought some.”

“No. I only bring consequences.”

She takes her usual chair beside the window.

Jen and Simon are already there. Jen is sorting dice into colours while Simon examines a pencil sharpener that has come apart in his hands. He assures Maddie that he's fixing it. Rob arrives a few minutes later carrying a battered character folder, followed by Mark, who has forgotten a pencil but remembered enough snacks for a small expedition.

“New boy gets the last chair,” Simon says.

“Three years,” Mark replies, sitting down. “I've been here three years.”

“And you ran an entire campaign,” Jen adds.

“Thank you.”

“Still the new boy, though.”

Mark accepts a pencil from Maddie and says nothing further on the subject.

They claim chairs, compare notes and ask after one another's weeks. Maddie knows the noises of the room. Dice clatter into trays. Somebody tears open a packet. Chris asks whether anyone has seen the small notebook he has placed directly in front of himself.

For a few minutes there are three conversations at once, and Maddie finds she is only following parts of each. She unwraps her biscuits and listens.

At four fifteen, Chris sits behind his screen.

“Right. Shall we find out whether you survive the woods?”

“That sounds like a leading question,” Rob says.

“I'm a very neutral Dungeon Master.”

“You laughed when we reached the trees last month,” says Jen.

“I was pleased you'd got that far.”

Nobody believes him.

---

Chris begins with the recap.

For two years their characters have pursued clues to an orb that must be carried to a distant temple and destroyed to lift an ancient curse. Their latest lead points towards a citadel beyond an immense forest. Last month they reached the trees with an army of Orcs and Goblins close behind. They cannot fight it on open ground, and everyone they've questioned about the forest has been reluctant to describe what lives inside.

“And,” Chris finishes, “it's getting dark.”

“Of course it is,” says Simon.

Maddie glances at her character sheet. She and Mark play elves, both skilled at stealth: Maddie with her bow, Mark with his sword. Jen's human mage understands living things, Simon's dwarf has an axe and a talent for making things, and Rob's wizard keeps discovering uses for spells nobody else remembers. Chris controls the party's human swordsman as a supporting character, careful to leave the decisions to his players.

“I want to scout the tree line,” Mark says.

“You're not going alone,” Maddie replies.

“I didn't say I was.”

“You looked as though you were about to.”

“Are we doing this in character?” Rob asks.

“It makes very little difference,” says Jen.

The elves move ahead. Chris describes silver-barked trunks, a narrow track and a mist that seems indifferent to the wind.

Maddie rolls for a closer look.

“The track is worn in both directions,” Chris says, “but you can only see footprints going in.”

“Less normal than I'd like,” Simon says.

Mark asks whether the ground has been disturbed recently. Maddie checks for signs of Goblin scouts. The others remain just beyond the first trees, listening to the distant noise of the pursuing army.

It is Jen who asks whether the forest itself feels alive in a magical sense.

Chris considers this, then asks for a roll.

“Well,” he says, after looking at the dice, “that depends what you mean by alive.”

“You know perfectly well what I mean.”

“Yes,” Chris says, looking delighted. “But does the forest?”

Maddie turns her pencil over in her fingers. This is why she likes Chris's games. He never tells them the answer before they're ready to discover what question they should have asked.

They enter the forest.

---

The path divides unexpectedly, and the trees crowd closer whenever anyone speaks loudly. Rob's magical light reveals a stone marker carved with unreadable symbols. Simon sketches it, Mark takes a rubbing and Maddie marks a tree with a strip of cloth.

Ten minutes later they find the same tree.

“We went in a circle,” Rob says.

“We didn't,” Maddie replies. “There was a stream between us and the last turning.”

Chris lets them consult their maps before pointing out that the cloth is now tied to the other side of the trunk.

“Then we need a fixed point,” Simon says, reaching for a ruler.

“Not the ruler again,” Jen says.

“What is wrong with the ruler?”

“Do you remember the raft?”

Mark begins laughing. He wasn't there for the raft, but he's heard about it often enough.

“The measurements were correct,” Simon insists.

“The raft was upside down,” Maddie reminds him.

“For a very short time.”

“Long enough for Chris to ask whether any of us could swim.”

Chris folds his hands over his notes, enjoying the memory.

“Could we concentrate,” Rob says, still laughing, “on the tree that's moved?”

“I don't think we're walking through an ordinary forest,” he adds.

“An excellent piece of detective work,” Chris replies.

They laugh, and Maddie joins in, still trying to decide what moved the tree.

At six, Helen appears with food and an announcement that the dining table must remain sufficiently visible for people to put plates on it.

Chris moves the map. Simon rescues his sketch. Jen lifts a pile of character sheets away from a dish just in time.

They eat around the cleared table, discussing work, a film Rob has seen and the truly extraordinary amount of time Mark spent trying to get a train home on Thursday. Nobody talks about the forest for a while.

Afterwards, Maddie steps into the garden with her tea. Beyond the hedge, the evening has become dark blue. Through the dining-room window, she can see Simon talking with his hands as he explains something to Rob.

Helen comes to stand beside her.

“You all right?”

“Yes. Just needed a minute.”

“They're rather loud when they've all got ideas.”

“They are. They're good ideas, though. Mostly.”

Helen gives her a look.

“You're having fun?”

Maddie thinks about the question, rather than answering automatically.

“I am. I'm tired, but I am.”

“Then take your tea back when you're ready. Nobody's going anywhere without you.”

Maddie finishes her tea beside the back door. Inside, somebody has started laughing so hard that they cannot explain why. When she returns, Simon is insisting he was only trying to move a plate.

---

By half past seven, they have reached a clearing in the forest.

Chris describes a fallen tree lying across a shallow ravine. Beneath it runs black water, with no reflection of the sky. On the other side stands the beginning of an old stone road that appears to lead towards the citadel.

Behind them comes the distant sound of horns.

“They're gaining,” Rob says.

“I could set fire to the undergrowth,” Simon suggests.

Jen looks at him.

“You're standing in an enchanted forest.”

“I did say could.”

“I'm going to ask the roots whether we may cross,” Jen says.

Chris asks her what she offers in return.

“Why does she have to offer anything?” Mark asks.

“She doesn't,” Chris says. “I'm asking.”

Jen considers her answer. “We won't cut the living trees. And we won't bring the army with us if we can help it.”

“You're promising quite a lot on behalf of people who aren't listening,” Simon points out.

“I'm speaking on behalf of the people who are.”

Chris asks her to roll.

The dice stop. Jen looks up.

“The roots beneath your feet begin to move,” Chris says. “Not towards you. Away.”

He draws a passage opening through the undergrowth. It leads down into the ravine, where an older stone bridge lies beneath moss.

“Was that always there?” Maddie asks.

“You couldn't see it from above.”

“Is it safe?” Simon asks.

Chris smiles.

“I knew you were going to do that,” Simon tells him.

The dwarf examines the bridge and rigs a rope handhold along its damaged edge. Rob offers light without flame. Mark volunteers to go first, with Maddie following at a distance, her bow ready.

For a few minutes everyone speaks at once.

Maddie starts to suggest a different order, then stops as Rob and Simon talk over one another. She looks at the little figure representing her elf beside the bridge.

Chris waits until the conversation settles.

“Maddie? You had something?”

“Only that if the army reaches the clearing, we don't want all six of us trapped on the bridge. Mark and I can cross and check the far bank first. Then the others follow.”

“That's what I was trying to say,” Mark replies.

“No, you said you wanted to go first.”

“Which is shorter.”

“Also less informative.”

They agree in principle. In practice, there are questions about a second rope, a loose stone and whether the magical light might attract attention. By the time they've settled all three, the mugs have been refilled twice and Chris is asking whether anybody intends to roll a die tonight.

Mark does. It lands badly.

“The stone shifts beneath your foot,” Chris says.

“Do I fall?”

“You catch the handhold.”

Simon looks pleased with himself.

The others follow more carefully. One of Simon's pins bends, which he notes with disapproval. Rob's light reveals something beneath the water that nobody wants to investigate.

By the time Chris's swordsman crosses last, it is nearly ten. From the far bank they hear Goblin scouts enter the clearing behind them.

“Can they see the bridge?” Jen asks.

“Not yet.”

“Will they?”

Chris looks at the map for rather longer than necessary.

“You hear them shouting. Then you hear axes striking wood.”

Jen closes her eyes.

“I did ask them not to cut the trees,” she says.

“You did,” Chris agrees.

Something shifts in the forest. Chris moves a broad piece of green card across the map, covering the route the party has just taken.

“The undergrowth closes behind you,” he says. “The shouting becomes much harder to hear.”

“That's good,” says Rob.

“Is it?” asks Simon.

“For the moment,” Maddie says.

They are all looking at the map now.

Chris points to the old stone road. “You can follow it east. Through the branches, very far off, you think you can see a light near the top of the citadel.”

“Finally,” says Mark.

Chris pauses.

“Then the horns sound again.”

“Behind us?” Rob asks.

“No,” Chris says. “Ahead.”

Nobody speaks for a moment.

“We'll leave it there,” Chris says, sitting back.

“Oh, you can't,” Jen protests.

“I can. I'm the Dungeon Master.”

Mark looks down at his notes. “You realise we have a whole month to think about this.”

“I'm counting on it.”

---

It is almost half past eleven by the time Maddie packs away her dice. They have spent the last part of the evening talking through the bridge crossing, arguing about whether Jen has somehow made a bargain with the forest and trying to guess how an army can be both behind and ahead of them.

There are empty plates on the kitchen counter, cups in places no one remembers putting them and a stack of paper that Chris promises to sort before the next second Saturday.

Maddie is tired enough that the separate conversations begin to blend together again. But she has her notes, knows which pencil belongs to her, and has remembered where she left her coat.

Helen gives her a container of leftover food to take home.

“For tomorrow,” she says.

“You really don't have to.”

“I know.”

Maddie says goodbye to everyone, exchanging the usual vague promises to send photographs of notes and terrible theories about the forest. Mark reminds her to message him if she remembers the detail about the marked tree. She assures him she will, though she suspects the answer is not something either elf has yet been told.

Outside, the Mini is cold and damp with the beginning of dew. Maddie sits for a moment before starting the engine. The street is quiet. Her head is full of trees, goblin horns and Simon's improvised bridge.

At home, Blinks meets her in the kitchen, evidently of the view that arriving at midnight should involve an immediate explanation.

“I'm back,” Maddie says.

Blinks walks to her bowl.

“Yes, I know what time it is.”

Maddie gives her a small portion of food, puts Helen's container in the fridge and leaves her game folder on the table. Tomorrow is empty, exactly as she'd planned it.

She opens her phone to tell Lou she's home. There is no need for a long account tonight.

Survived the forest. Mostly. Home now.

Lou replies almost at once.

Good. Tell me tomorrow. Sleep first.

Maddie puts her phone down. Blinks has finished eating and is waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

For once, Maddie follows her without argument.