I managed to change tense halfway through, hoping it’s not too jarring.

Area summary, according to Ilsa

The area surrounding the immense waterfall known as Wynder Fall and the large churning pool at the foot of the Fall (the Cauldron). Many inventors have laboratories built into the cliffs behind and beside the fall.

Our visit

We head north on our first day to North Cauldron. A strange name for an even stranger place. It’s so-called as it’s comprised of cave dwellings carved in to the cliff behind the massive (and massively loud) Wynder Falls. The heaving, ever churning pool at its base is known as the Cauldron, and the caves are north of it, just, so there is a logic to it.

Ilsa hands me a set of earmuffs made to muffle the crash and roar of the water, but embedded with a charm that allows us to speak and be heard. There’s some way of tuning them so we choose who to communicate with by lift the setting of that to Ilsa. She’s clearly comfortable with the process and I would only waste our time trying to do it myself. Pride and self-sufficiency are over-rated.

We walk a broad paved path bordering the Cauldron as she explains “The falling waters are a wonderful source of energy, both mechanical and magical. This area attracts inventors and researchers from all sorts of places, using the Falls to power new ideas, test theories, and produce items impossible to create elsewhere.”

I ignore her smug smile, it tempts me to mischief and I am here representing their majesties, my behaviour must be exemplary. Instead, I ask, “Do they actually live here, or just have their laboratories in the cliffs?”

“A bit of both.” I think she’s a little disappointed by my lack of reaction. “Those that live here have their laboratories at the front, and their living quarters at the back, behind sound-proof doors.”

She grinned, “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Ilsa veers off onto another path, also paved, heading towards a set of large barn-like buildings near the base of the cliff, far enough from the waterfall to catch only a little of its spray.

It’s a riding stable although I’ve never seen or ridden quite such steeds before and never wish to again. The best I can describe? Mountain goats the size of large ponies.

Before I knew what was happening, a hard, bowl-like hat was strapped to my head and I was hustled onto one of those large long-haired menaces, and buckled into to a saddle shaped like a baby’s high chair.

The instant the stable doors opened, our two goats bolted for the cliffs, then spirits save me, went straight up them.

To this day I do not know how they, or I, survived that climb. And I don’t want to think about it.

I will focus instead on the inventor’s quarters. Ilsa led us to.

She was unlatched and off her goat while I was still coming to terms with the bliss of being still. She kindly reminded me how to undo the fastenings and swallowed her snigger when, on dismounting, my knees also refused to keep me upright.

She tucked her arm into mine. “It’s generally best to get your first ride over with without warning. You did very well.”

I tried to think about a poor performance might look like. As it was, the distraction of her touch, as she steered me towards a door at the back also back of the ledge we’d stopped on, steadied my gait surprisingly quickly.

We were directly behind the waterfall. It said a little of my condition that I was only noticing it now. The roaring wall of water was scant inches from the foot of the ledge, covering us, the goats, and the stone with a fine incessant mist.

Through the door was a simple room, furnished with shelves holding hats like the one I gladly removed and an ingenious archway that now somehow pulled the worst of the damp from our clothes.

We could even remove the ear muffs, the sound muffling charms in this place were remarkable.

The tour of Inventor Tria’s workspace and home was so normal in comparison I found it barely memorable, although I did find the use of illusion mirrors as windows in the deeper rooms to be comforting and clever.

As the tour wound to a close, I faced the prospect of another goat ride, but this time down. I must have visibly paled at the thought as Ilsa looped her arm through mine again and said, “The goats are only for coming up. We can take the lifts down.”

Inventor Tria tried to explain the reasons why the lifts only went down. In fact, they didn’t, but up was reserved only for goods – food, supplies and suchlike. There simply wasn’t capacity for people both ways.

Regardless, I was actually relieved to be herded into a large metal cage and rattled down a long stone shaft with only occasional bursts of lamplight.

We took a donkey cart back to the inn. My knees were still mostly on strike.