10
Janus led us out of the office and down the stairs. At the bottom he paused and drew out his ‘lucky’ crystal. He looked it over and sighed. “I suppose my luck had to run out some time.”
“Is the swamp that bad?” I asked him.
He tucked the crystal back in his pocket and pursed his lips. “It’s difficult to describe the swamp. The feeling that floats in those everlasting fogs is one not of hopelessness, but of a constant tingling in the mind. Like a scratch you can’t itch.”
I winced. “That doesn’t sound right.”
He shook his head. “No, and the way we get the reeds out of the water is-well, primitive. We wade into the marsh and chop their stalks, and in that way harvest them.” He closed his eyes and shuddered. “The swamp waters are rather cold and slimy.”
“We could help you,”
