1.4a

M - I write from a tavern in Ánslo. The good man of the house has plied me with ale and meat, refusing payment - astonished, I suppose, at a woman traveling alone. The benches are crowded, spirits are high; but I cannot bring myself to speak with those around me. I can think of nothing but your note. But I suppose I should start at the beginning.

I traveled to Ánslo, accompanied by a young farmer trading sheepskins. I scarcely remember the journey; I thought only of the "ailment" in your note, of what could possibly have driven you to leave. I have fought an invisible army of ailments in my mind since my departure.

When we arrived at the gate, we parted ways, and I waited for nightfall before searching for your symbol. Before long, I spotted it - carved into a large stone half-hidden in the weeds. Beneath, another note bearing your mark.

It was addressed to "Frida".

I suppose some part of me believed you knew I would come for you. I am corrected now.

This Frida... you knew she would follow you. That she would choose you above your prized possessions; that she would decipher anything you left for her. You had enclosed another drawing for her - a warehouse diagram.

Do you really intend for this person to break into a warehouse? To follow the circuit of the guards, and trust that she will not be caught? Is the woman invisible?

I am beginning to draw attention. I cannot stay. I will go to the warehouse - for anything Frida can do, I assure you that I can. I have had too much ale; it does not matter. I may not be as lightfooted as this Frida, but…

But then, your note suggests that a quick mind is what's needed, not a quick body. Perhaps all that I need is here in front of me - the map, the inventory list, your instructions.

Perhaps this is not beyond me after all.