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articularly when the wind was blowing from the north； out of the old kingdom。
due to the unreliability of technology； the ancelstierran soldiers of the perimeter garrison wore mail over their khaki battledress； had nasal and neck bars on their helmets and carried extremely old…fashioned sword…bayonets in wellworn scabbards。 shields； or more correctly； “bucklers； small； perimeter garrison only；” were carried on their backs； the factory khaki long since submerged under brightly painted regimental or personal signs。 camouflage was not considered an issue at this particular posting。
sabriel watched a platoon of young soldiers march past the bus； while she waited for the tourists ahead of her to stampede out the front door； and wondered what they thought of their strange duties。 most would have to be conscripts from far to the south； where no magic crept over the wall and widened the cracks in what they thought of as reality。 here； she could feel magic potential brewing； lurking in the atmosphere like charged air before a thunderstorm。
the wall itself looked normal enough； past the wasteland of wire and trenches。 just like any other medieval remnant。 it was stone and old； about forty feet high and crenellated。 nothing remarkable； until the realization set in that it was in a perfect state of preservation。 and for those with the sight； the very stones crawled with charter marks—marks in constant motion； twisting and turning； sliding and rearranging themselves under a skin of stone。
the final confirmation of strangeness lay beyond the wall。 it was clear and cool on the ancelstierre side； and the sun was shining—but sabriel could see snow falling steadily behind the wall； and snow…heavy clouds clustered right up to the wall； where they suddenly stopped； as if some mighty weather…knife had simply sheared through the sky。
sabriel watched the snow fall； and gave thanks for her almanac。 printed by letterpress； the type had left ridges in the thick； linen…rich paper； making the many handwritten annotations waver precariously between the lines。 one spidery remark； written in a hand she knew wasn’t her father’s； gave the weather to be expected under the respective calendars for each country。
ancelstierre had “autumn。 likely to be cool。”
the old kingdom had “winter。 bound to be snowing。 skis or snowshoes。”
the last tourist left； eager to reach the observation platform。 although the army and the government discouraged tourists； and there was no acmodation for them within twenty miles of the wall； one busload a day was allowed to e and view the wall from a tower located well behind the lines of the perimeter。
even this concession was often cancelled； for when the wind blew from the north； the bus would inexplicably break down a few miles short of the tower； and the tourists would have to help push it back towards bain—only to see it start again just as mysteriously as it stopped。
the authorities also made some slight allowance for the few people authorized to travel from ancelstierre to the old kingdom； as sabriel saw after she had successfully negotiated the bus’s steps with her backpack； crosscountry skis； stocks and sword； all threatening to go in different directions。 a large sign next to the bus stop proclaimed： perimeter mand northern army group unauthorized egress from the perimeter zone is strictly forbidden。
anyone attempting to cross the perimeter zone will be shot without warning。
authorized travelers must report to the perimeter mand h。q。
remember— no warning will be made sabriel read the note with interest； and felt a quickening sense of excitement start within her。
her memories of the old kingdom were dim； from the perspective of a child； but she felt a sense of mystery and wonder kindle with the force of the charter magic she felt around her— a sense of something so much more alive than the bitumened parade ground； and the scarlet warning sign。 and much more freedom than wyverley college。
but that feeling of wonder and excitement came laced with a dread that she couldn’t shake； a dread made up of fear for what might be happening to her father 。 。 。 what might have already happened 。 。 。
the arrow on the sign indicating where authorized travelers should go seemed to point in the direction of a bitumen parade ground； lined with white…painted rocks； and a number of unprepossessing wooden buildings。 other than that； there were simply the beginnings of the munication trenches that sank into the ground and then zigzagged their way to the double line of trenches； blockhouses and fortifications that confronted the wall。
sabriel studied them for a while； and saw the flash of color as several soldiers hopped out of one trench and went forward to the wire。 they seemed to be carrying spears rather than rifles and she wondered why the perimeter was built for modern war； but manned by people expecting something rather more medieval。 then she remembered a conversation with her father and his ment that the perimeter had been designed far away in the south； where they refused to admit that this perimeter was different from any other contested border。 up until a century or so ago； there had also been a wall on the ancelstierre side。 a lowish wall； made of rammed earth and peat； but a successful one。
recalling that conversation； her eyes made out a low rise of scarred earth in the middle of the desolation of wire； and she realized that was where the southern wall had been。 peering at it； she also realized that what she had taken to be loose pickets between lines of concertina wire were something different—tall constructs more like the trunks of small trees stripped of every branch。 they seemed familiar to her； but she couldn’t place what they were。
sabriel was still staring at them； thinking； when a loud and not very pleasant voice erupted a little way behind her right ear。
“what do you think you’re doing； miss？ you can’t loiter about here。 on the bus； or up to the tower！”
sabriel winced and turned as quickly as she could； skis sliding one way and stocks the other； framing her head in a st。 andrew’s cross。 the voice belonged to a large but fairly young soldier； whose bristling mustaches were more evidence of martial ambition than proof of them。 he had two gilded bands on his sleeve； but didn’t wear the mail hauberk and helmet sabriel had seen on the other soldiers。 he smelled of shaving cream and talc； and was so clean； polished and full of himself that sabriel immediately catalogued him as some sort of natural bureaucrat currently disguised as a soldier。
“i am a citizen of the old kingdom；” she replied quietly； staring back into his red flushed face and piggy eyes in the manner which miss prionte had taught her girls to instruct lesser domestic servants in etiquette iv。 “i am returning there。”
“papers！” demanded the soldier； after a moment’s hesitation at the words “old kingdom。”
sabriel gave a frosty smile （also part of miss prionte’s curriculum） and made a ritual movement with the tips of her fingers—the symbol of disclosing； of things hidden being seen； of unfolding。 as her fingers sketched； she formed the symbol in her mind； linking it with the papers she carried in the inner pocket of her leather tunic。 finger…sketched and minddrawn symbol merged； and the papers were in her hand。 an ancelstierre passport； as well as the much rarer document the ancelstierre perimeter mand issued to people who had traffic in both countries： a hand…bound document printed by letterpress on handmade paper； with an artist’s sketch instead of a photograph and prints from thumbs and toes in a purple ink。
the soldier blinked； but said nothing。 perhaps； thought sabriel； as he took the proffered documents； the man thought it was a parlor trick。 or perhaps he just didn’t notice。 maybe charter magic was mon here； so close to the wall。
the man looked through her documents carefully； but without real interest。 sabriel now felt certain that he was no one important from the way he pawed through her special passport。 he’d obviously never seen one before。 mischievously； she started to weave the charter mark for a snatch； or catch； to flick the papers out of his hand