THE JOY DEVICE

For the little joys in my own life:

Julian and Christian

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THE JOY DEVICE

Justin Richards

First published in Great Britain in 1999 by

NA

an imprint of Virgin Publishing Ltd

Thames Wharf Studios

Rainville Road

London W6 9HT

Copyright © Justin Richards 1999

The right of Justin Richards to be identified as the Author of this Work

has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and

Patents Act 1988.

Bernice Summerfield was originally created by Paul Cornell

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real

persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN 0 426 20535 9

Cover illustration by Fred Gambino

Typeset by Galleon Typesetting, Ipswich

Printed and bound in Great Britain by

Mackays of Chatham PLC

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade

or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the

publisher‟s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other

than that in which it is published and without a similar condition,

including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

CHAPTER 1

There are two conflicting schools of thought. Actually,

„conflicting‟ is something of an understatement. They are

about as diametrically opposed as you can get. As I struggled

to tread water, catch my breath and recall the details of each

possible course of action, I kept my attention firmly on the

bandersnatch. I tried to keep my gaze away from the teeth,

but this was rather tricky since the animal was almost all

teeth, at least from my vantage point.

And herein lies the problem. „Vantage‟ suggests some sort

of superiority, in terms of height if not intellect and physical

prowess. I was somewhat below the level of the huge mouth

as it plunged towards me, and, while my physique is

something that I take a healthy interest in maintaining at its

peak, I must confess that it was beginning to seem rather

inadequate given the company.

Which leaves the intellect. And brings me back to the

thought that raced through my mind. Of course, once I had

realized that this was not the most advantageous of

situations, I began to run through the available options. And,

as I say, there were two distinct and irreconcilable schools of

thought about what to do when faced with a ravening, not to

say frumious, bandersnatch.

The first option that is advised is to stand one‟s ground,

resolutely refuse to show any fear, stare down the creature,

and then poke a pencil or similar sharp instrument through

one of the eyeballs into its brain. Such as it is. My immediate

feeling at the moment when it mattered most was that

whoever had dreamt up this advice was either walking

around oblivious to the pencil or similar sharp object sticking

out of the front of their face, or was dead. Or both. In fact, I

won‟t conceal the fact that I was actively and urgently

considering the alternative advice that is offered for such

situations.

That is: swim like crazy for the bank, then run like hell.

And pray (though I think that bit‟s optional and dependent

on your own particular beliefs and faith system). On the

whole, especially given that my artist‟s materials were (a) on

the further bank and (b) pastels, I was ready to plump for

Option Two.

But then I remembered the Duchess‟s brooch.

Oh please!

It was, as you will recall, pinned through the lapel of my

jacket. It had never occurred to me that it had any value as a

drawing implement, but right now its similarity to a pencil

and ability to function as a sharp object was suddenly and

perfectly apparent.

Yawn!

Fumbling slightly with the catch as I kept my eyes fixed

firmly on the bandersnatch roaring above me, I managed to

extract the heavy brooch from my jacket. Careful not to prick

myself with the sharp end of the pin, I angled it towards

Ho hum... blah-blah-blah...

a ferocious snarl of anger as it plunged down towards

et cetera, et cetera, blah-de-blah-de-blah...

death throes of the terrible creature. I had endeavoured to

keep a tight hold on the brooch, but alas, in the confusion

and the struggle, I was unable to maintain my grip. The

brooch was still deep in the animal‟s eye as it crashed into

the water, sending up a colossal plume and drenching me

anew. The makeshift weapon, the thing that had without

doubt saved my life, was ripped from my grasp. On cold,

damp evenings beside the deep waters of the Spirax, I can

still feel the ache in the muscles in my shoulder, torn and

damaged as I tried desperately to hold on, to extract the

brooch from the creature‟s brain. But without success.

And, as I waded ashore and pulled myself up the bank,

pausing only to acknowledge the scattered applause and

congratulation from the rest of the expeditionary team, I

found I was shaking with fear.

„You‟re cold, Dent,‟ Hampbell said as he offered me his coat.

I pushed it roughly aside, ashamed of myself. I, Dent

Harper, who had just faced and killed a bandersnatch no

less, was shivering with fear. Fear at the thought of having to

explain - somehow - to the Duchess of Nimfette that I had

lost the brooch she had given me as a token of her

Yes, yes... Get on with it...

As we sailed back up the Rumpopo, the sun was low in the

sky. I lay back in the boat and listened to the warbling of a

wallaloon close by. The jungle was tinged orange with the

setting sun, and the light glistened and shimmered on the

rippling water as the oars dipped in and out in a lazy

metronome of languid progress.

Huh, travelogue. Boring, boring, boring...

Benny sighed and put the book down. She spent a moment

massaging her temples before reaching for the glass of wine

on the table beside the abandoned book. Behind the bottle of

wine, the half-empty bottle of wine, was a pile of notebooks.

There were times when Benny would have considered the

bottle half full. This was not one of them.

There were times when she would have thought nothing of

lifting one of the notebooks, of flicking through it, of reading

the odd passage. Of reliving her memories and experiences.

But now she sipped the wine, not really tasting it, and stared

at her diaries. There it was - the stack of books that detailed

her life. Or purported to. She was well aware that it was a

second-hand description. Sometimes third- or fourth-hand,

depending on how she had been feeling when she wrote.

There had been times when she could have smiled wryly as

she peeled back the layers of memory and recalled what had

actually happened. But in too many cases the closest she

could get now was peeling away the yellow sticky notes on

which her reinterpretations and amendments were scrawled,

and to the initial version beneath. The version she had

rewritten and hidden from herself.

But now that so many of her actual memories were gone,

had been wiped away by the organic programming that had

invaded her mind, she was loath to relive them. It was easier,

simpler, safer to read Dent Harper‟s lurid accounts of

adventures out on the Rim. Easier to create new, vicarious

memories than try to dredge up the old ones, or admit that

they were gone forever. So much of her life now existed only

as handwritten accounts in faded ink on tattered paper in

frayed notebooks. Unread, perhaps never to be read. Perhaps

unreadable. She might as well be the ersatz version of herself

that had been given life in the largely fictional and wholly

melodramatic Adventures of the New Frontier.

It was like being dead.

For several months Benny had actually been dying. The

technology-bred illness that had taken her memories had

given her back her life. Now her whole life stretched once

more ahead of her. Benny might live for decades yet. Or

years. Or perhaps only a month. She did not know. But she

was free of the knowledge of inevitability, free of worrying

about it.

It was her past, not her future, that was upsetting her now.

Now that the future was as assured as the future ever could

be, Benny was worried about the memories that were gone.

The real reason that she hesitated to open her diaries was

not that she might faintly recall events they recounted, or

even that she might have no stirring of recollection at all.

It was that she would discover how much she had

forgotten, how much had been taken from her.

And she wasn‟t sure she was ready for that yet. She had

lain awake at night, thinking about how it would be. She had

cried soundless tears from her mind‟s eyes as they read

through page after page of her own handwriting, telling of

exploits that could have happened to other people. Emotions

she might never have felt, friends she might as well never

have met, or lost. Things she could, and in some cases

should, never have done.

„I‟ll burn my books,‟ her dream self had said. But her

waking self was never quite able to muster the same self-

assurance or confidence. She might need them. Might...

She told herself that it was liberating to be free of the

baggage. It was a relief not to have to worry about so much of

her history. It was a blessing to have a ready excuse for any

past indiscretion or misdemeanour. It was terrifying.

The problem was not that her past was a blank, a clean

slate. If she had to make a guess, she reckoned she could

actually remember most of it. But the problem was not

knowing what she didn‟t know. While she was busy, while

the present occupied her, she was fine. It was at the end of

the day, when she was tired, when she was alone, that the

depression was worst. It was then that she told herself that

people forgot things anyway, and she was probably no worse

off than many people. And it was then that she least believed

it.

She was still staring at her diaries. Why not read them?

Just once, read them through. It wasn‟t all there, of course,

but a lot of it was. Just read it and be done with it. The

memories would never be memories again, but she would at

least know what was missing. Something of what was

missing. And when people said, „Do you remember when...?‟

or „There was the time...‟ she could smile, and pretend. Or

perhaps the memories would come back, triggered, released

somehow by the catharsis of reading her own accounts of...

of whatever.

Or perhaps they would not.

She set down her wine, and reached for the topmost

notebook. The cover was stained and scorched, the pages

discoloured. She rested the book on the polished wooden

surface of the desk. Gently, carefully, she ran her hand over

the cover, trying to work out whether she remembered how

the book felt. Still she did not open it.

Instead, with her palm resting on the top of the diary,

keeping it closed, she shut her eyes. What would be inside

the first volume? The first volume in the pile rather than

necessarily her first diary. How many had she lost over the

years? How much would not even be in the books?

She opened her eyes again, and found she was looking at

herself. The desk was against a wall, and there was a mirror

above the desk. Her eyes were tired as they blinked back at

her. Behind her reflected self, Benny could see the red silk

that lined the walls, the heavy-framed portraits that stared

back at the mirror. And she could see through the huge bay

window that filled one wall of her lounge.

Outside, the sand was rippling gently, almost like water, in

the slight breeze. The surface of the small planet seemed to

be shifting in a hazy approximation of life. It was blurred,

indistinct, difficult to focus on. The effect was exacerbated by

the imperfections so carefully worked into the silvering of the

mirror and the glass of the window.

For several moments Benny looked out across the surface

of Braxiatel‟s planet. She could see the Mansionhouse as it

stretched away across the sand. One day, she knew from the

plans, there would be formal, landscaped gardens out there.

A long lawn. Avenues of trees and fountains and statues.

Like the real Versailles had been. Maybe that was why the

place seemed so familiar. Maybe that was why she had

snatches of deja vu when she entered the Hall of Mirrors, or

the skeletal structure that would become the Archaeology

section of the Braxiatel Collection.

Or maybe, in the future, when the great project was finally

complete, when the workmen had moved on and the endless

day-to-day noise was ended... Her hand was still resting on

the cover of the book as she stared into the reflection of the

world she saw through the window. A reversed distortion of

an imperfect view. Then she opened the book.

The first page was blank apart from her handwritten name:

Professor Bernice Summerfield. And the date she had started

this diary. A date far in the future.

She turned the page, and there was a knock at the door.

„Dinner‟s ready. I thought you‟d want to know.‟

She looked up. Jason was standing in the doorway. He was

smiling broadly, his head slightly to one side as he leant

against the door frame.

She looked back at the book. The page was in mid-turn,

frozen at the point where she could see the writing on the

next page, but could not read it.

„I hope I‟m not interrupting.‟

„No,‟ Benny said. She closed the book and replaced it on the

pile. „No, not at all.‟

The view through each of the seventeen large arched windows

was almost identical. They gave out on to rolling sands, and

behind that a huge planet with magnificent brightly coloured

rings hung low over the horizon. The spectacular view was

reflected in each of the seventeen mirrors that filled the

arches, which themselves mirrored the windows.

The ceiling was covered with richly coloured oil paintings in

the Earth Classical style to match the rest of the

architecture. The polished wood of the floor reflected the

clear bright light from the twenty heavy crystal chandeliers

that hung low from the vaulted ceiling. Stretching up as if to

meet the chandeliers were a dozen women and a dozen

children, fashioned from bronze and holding torches aloft.

The ends of the torches became a tray of candles, the flames

flickering and reflected in the windows, the mirrors, the

chandeliers and the polished forms of the lamp bearers

themselves.

The arches of the mirrored alcoves and the windows were

ornamented with a round symbol, a disc filled with swirling

embossed lines. Benny knew that in the original Hall of

Mirrors at Versailles this had been the sun-and-lion-skin

emblem of Louis XIV. She smiled at the deviation as she

entered the vast, impressive room.

As ever it was the differences she found amusing and

intriguing more than the similarities. The view from the

windows, the changed emblem, the statues in the four

marble niches towards the middle of the room. And the long

trestle table that looked lost in the middle of the floor.

She let Jason take her arm, almost without thinking about

it. He led her to the makeshift dining table, and pulled her

chair out for her. Smiling a thank-you, Benny sat down. She

reached for her napkin, still smiling as she looked round at

the others. At her friends.

Jason was sitting beside her. It had been with the same

mixture of relief, happiness and annoyance that had tinged

their marriage that she had realized she could remember

everything about him and about their relationship. In fact,

most of her recent memories, so far as she could tell with the

help of her friends, had survived intact. She knew them all so

well.

Beside Jason was Chris Cwej. He was slightly shorter than

Jason, slightly plumper too. His dark hair was slicked back,

which made it even more apparent that it was receding. Only

his eyes seemed still to belong to the tall, fair-haired man he

had used to be. Benny wondered whether he found it easier

to cope with his change of body than she found coming to

terms with her change of mind.

The other side of her was Clarence. She didn‟t believe he

actually needed to eat, but he seemed happy to do so if only

for social reasons. He was a biomachine created from the

remains of what had once been an immensely powerful,

sentient ship. In his current form, he was an angel.

Somehow, in this room, that seemed entirely appropriate and

in keeping. He looked more at home than any of them.

Except perhaps Braxiatel.

Irving Braxiatel sat at the head of the table. He was tall and

thin, dressed immaculately as he usually was in a light-grey

suit. His hair was short and dark and his features slightly

angular. His eyes were alive with an intensity that was

exaggerated by the way they flicked to and fro across the

table as he looked from one person to another. Benny knew

his brain was assembling information, making plans,

examining options with the same rapidity as Clarence‟s

systems were, though with very different motives and

techniques.

„I‟m afraid‟, Braxiatel said when Benny and Jason had

taken their seats, „that, since I‟ve still not got round to

employing any kitchen or serving staff, you‟ll have to help

yourselves.‟ He motioned for them to remove the lids from the

dishes that were arranged along the table.

She waited until the pudding before she told them. It

wasn‟t so much summoning up the courage, she told herself,

as choosing the right moment. She wanted them happy

enough and relaxed enough and with enough wine inside

them that they would listen and take in what she wanted to

say. But not so much that they would not understand, or

would forget it afterwards.

Jason reached over with a wine bottle, tipping it towards

Benny‟s glass. She put her hand over the top of the glass to

show she didn‟t want any. The bottle froze. Jason stared.

After a moment, there was silence.

Braxiatel frowned. „Are you all right, Benny?‟

„Yes,‟ she said. „Well, no but yes. If you understand.‟

Braxiatel dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. „It‟s

difficult, I‟m sure,‟ he said gently. „Don‟t try to force things.

Some memories may come back of their own accord, as it

were. Lots won‟t, though.‟ He dropped the napkin down on

the table, opening his hands as if in an apology.

„I know,‟ Benny said. She felt Jason take her hand and

squeeze it. She shook it free without looking at him. „It‟s not

that,‟ she said quietly. „There‟s something I want you all to

know. I think now‟s as good a time as any.‟

She could almost feel them all looking at her as she stared

down at the empty plate in front of her. Silence.

She looked up again, fixing each of her friends in turn with

a short but meaningful stare. She finished with Jason,

locking her eyes on to his. „I‟m going away,‟ she said. „I need a

break.‟

Jason‟s eyes did not move, but his mouth dropped open.

„Away?‟ he said. „You mean, away away? From here, and us?‟

„You‟re going away?‟ Clarence said before she could answer

Jason.

„Yes,‟ she said. It sounded short, impatient. She hadn‟t

meant it to.

„You need a break?‟ Cwej asked.

„I need a break,‟ she repeated. „That‟s what I said.‟ She

looked round them all again. „What is this, parrot class?‟

„But we‟re your friends.‟ Jason sounded weak, almost

pathetic as he said it.

She took his hand and squeezed it. He did not try to pull it

away. „I know,‟ Benny told him. „Really I do. But I need a

break. I don‟t know who I am any more, not really. I need to

go away for a bit, that‟s all. Rediscover myself if you like.

Think things through. Find myself.‟

„But are you sure you‟re up to it?‟ Clarence asked. „You‟ve

been ill.‟

Benny laughed, a dry sarcastic sound that echoed off the

mirrors. „I had noticed,‟ she said. „I‟ve been dying. And that‟s

an effort, believe me. It drains you, leaves you cold and

numb. Even without the memory-loss thing.‟

There was a pause. There were meaningful exchanged

glances and worried looks. Benny waited in silence for the

next move.

„Well,‟ said Jason at last, his voice trembling with forced

enthusiasm. „That‟s great. So... where are we going, then?‟

„Not we. Me. Alone. I need time and space.‟

Jason stared. He sighed. „I don‟t think you‟re ready yet,‟ he

said. „I don‟t think you‟re up to it.‟

„Oh, don‟t you?‟ she snapped back. „And what gives you

special insight into what I do and don‟t need or what I am or

am not ready for or up to?‟ She realized she was still holding

his hand and pulled away quickly. „Tell me that, Jason Kane,‟

she said loudly to cover the move and her embarrassment.

„Where are you going?‟ Cwej asked.

„And for how long?‟ Clarence added.

„I don‟t know how long,‟ she said. „But I thought I‟d head

out to the Eastern Rim. Live on the edge.‟ She smiled at the

joke. But nobody returned her smile. „Danger, excitement,

the frontier spirit, that sort of thing,‟ she said. „Bit like the old

days. I think. Anyway, it‟ll be a change, and the change will

do me good. Besides,‟ she lied, „I‟m looking forward to it.

Lots.‟

She looked round again. They were all quiet now. All

avoiding her gaze, staring down at the table, or up at the

ceiling, or just looking away. All except Braxiatel, who caught

her eye as he nodded slowly. „You‟re very quiet,‟ she told him.

He stopped nodding and raised an eyebrow. „Well, you‟ve

obviously made up your mind,‟ he said. „If you‟re sure this is

what you want to do, then we must respect your decision.

We‟re your friends, after all. We‟re here to support you in

whatever way we can, in whatever way you think best. That‟s

what friends are for.‟ There was a hint of a smile on his face

as he said it. He sighed. „Still, if your mind‟s made up…‟

But she wasn‟t fooled for a moment. „Oh yes,‟ Benny

snapped back. „Very clever. Appealing to my guilty conscience

now, are you? Shaming me into changing my mind, is that it?

Well it won‟t work.‟

„Of course not,‟ he murmured.

„I‟ve already decided. I‟ve packed my rucksack, and I‟ve

booked a flight from Cyrano Major. I‟m off.‟ She nodded to

punctuate the point, and felt the effects of the wine as she

moved her head. „First thing tomorrow,‟ she said as she stood

up. She threw her napkin down like a gauntlet, ignoring the

fact that it landed in a bowl of custard. „Just as soon as I‟ve

sobered up.‟

They all flinched as the door slammed shut behind Benny.

Braxiatel was standing, politely, out of habit. Cwej was

leaning back in his chair, frowning. Clarence was staring at

the door with his mouth open. Jason was wiping the

splashes of custard from his face.

Braxiatel sat down. Jason dabbed at his shirt with a clean

bit of napkin. Nobody said anything for a while.

„Port,‟ Braxiatel said eventually. „Port in the Hall of Battles.‟

„How appropriate,‟ Cwej muttered.

„Good idea,‟ Jason said. „I could do with a drink. Another

drink.‟

„She‟ll change her mind,‟ Clarence said. „In the morning,

when she‟s thought it over.‟

Nobody spoke. Nobody even looked at him.

„Won‟t she?‟ he said to the figure closest to him. But it was

just his reflection.

The port was excellent, they all agreed. They had several

glasses, even Clarence. Eventually Jason voiced the concerns

they all shared.

„What if she likes it out there?‟ he said. „What if she doesn‟t

want to come back?‟

„Is that likely?‟ Clarence asked.

„She talked about the frontier spirit,‟ Cwej said. „She talked

about danger and excitement. It‟s in her blood. She‟s a doing

rather than a being person.‟

Braxiatel nodded. „Her memory losses have upset her a lot.

More than we can guess, probably. But she is fundamentally

not retrospective any more than she is introspective. She‟ll

want to be out there, making new memories to replace the

ones she has lost.‟

„And to take her mind off things,‟ Jason said. „She wants to

spend some time working out what she wants to be when she

grows up.‟

„Don‟t we all?‟ Cwej said. „And fat and balding wasn‟t on my

list, I have to say.‟

„She sees the frontier spirit as a way of getting away from

the humdrum affair that everyday life has become round

here.‟ Braxiatel refilled his glass from the decanter. „She

thinks that she‟s heading off into uncharted territory, the

lands where men are real men, and archaeologists are real

archaeologists with trowels and romantic dreams.‟

„Oh God,‟ murmured Jason.

„But where, also,‟ Braxiatel said, „the excitement is without

real danger, and the thrills are without pain or

responsibility.‟

„And I assume it‟s not really like that,‟ Clarence said.

„The frontier spirit‟, Jason told him, „is another phrase for

real danger, for real risk of ending up dead in a dusty gutter.‟

„If the drug gangs don‟t get you,‟ Cwej offered, „then a cartel

might lop your head off if you stick your neck out.‟

„Or one of the outlaws who‟s fled to the Rim to escape

whatever brutal justice waits for him at home might decide

he likes the look of you,‟ Jason added.

„Danger, excitement, risk, the odds and everything else

against her. The cradle of civilization, picaresque lands rife

with cut-throats, villains, street scum who‟ll murder you for

the price of a beer.‟ Braxiatel nodded grimly. „That‟s about the

size of it.‟

Clarence‟s expression was grave. „You‟re afraid she‟ll come

to some harm,‟ he said. „You‟re worried about her.‟

For a long time they all just stared at him.

„I think you‟re missing the point here,‟ Braxiatel said gently.

„We‟re not worried that Benny will come to any harm as such.

She‟s quite capable of looking after herself.‟

„Then, what?‟

„We‟re worried‟, Jason said, „that she‟ll like it out there.‟

Clarence considered this. „We have to stop her going,‟ he

said.

„But how?‟ Cwej asked. „We all know Benny. Once she‟s

made her mind up...‟ His voice tailed off.

„Someone will have to talk to her,‟ Clarence declared.

„Someone will have to persuade her to stay. Tell her that it

isn‟t a good idea.‟

Jason snorted. „You saw how she was just now at dinner.

It‟ll be a brave man who tries to talk her out of it now.‟ He

laughed. „You won‟t catch me -‟ But then he saw how they

were looking at him. How they were all looking at him. He

stopped laughing. „Now wait a minute...‟

„According to God‟s simulations, as well as our own

experience and intuition of course,‟ Braxiatel said slowly,

„there‟s only one person who has a reasonable chance of

talking Benny into or out of anything.‟

„Reasonable?‟ Jason exploded. „Reasonable? Anybody less

reasonable when she‟s in this sort of mood is difficult to

imagine.‟

„Oh, come on,‟ Cwej said. „It can‟t be that difficult.‟

„I have trouble imagining them,‟ Jason told him.

„I meant, to talk to her about it.‟

„Fine. You do it, then.‟

„That is, for someone who enjoys your special relationship

with Benny,‟ Cwej finished.

„Let‟s just hope she remembers it,‟ Braxiatel said as he

topped up Jason‟s glass. „Here‟s to your success.‟ He raised

his own glass and sipped appreciatively at the deep-red liquid

within it.

Jason drained his glass in a single gulp. „Fine,‟ he said.

„OK, fine. You want me to get you out of this, then fine.

„That‟s what I say.‟ He handed his glass to Braxiatel and

stared at him. „I‟ll do it,‟ he said, thrusting out his chest and

his chin. „Fine. It‟s down to me, is it? Right, then. Fine. Just

fine. And dandy.‟

There seemed to be a lighter atmosphere in the room now.

Except round Jason. But nobody spoke. They just smiled.

„I didn‟t give you that glass to hold on to,‟ Jason snapped at

last. „Fill it up and give it back, will you?‟

„I thought you were going to talk to Benny,‟ Clarence said

as Jason snatched back the glass.

Port splashed viscously on to his shoes. Jason ignored it.

He ignored the trickle of sticky liquid on his hand and

knuckles too. „I am,‟ he said. „Really, I am.‟ He drained the

glass once more, then held it out to Braxiatel. „Again,‟ he

said, slightly indistinctly. „Oh yes, I‟m going to speak to her,‟

he went on, waggling the glass dangerously as Braxiatel

refilled it again. „Absolutely, I am.‟ He nodded, his face set in

a determined expression. „First thing in the morning.‟

„Fine,‟ said Cwej.

CHAPTER 2

I wrote earlier, you will recall, of my great ambition while

here on this darkest of planets. I shall now inform you of how

I came to attain that goal, and in a quite extraordinary

manner.

As I said that I would, I went on the afternoon of the

seventh to see the Virabilan Proconsul, knowing full well that

he was in all probability the last person to whom I could

apply in this matter. After a while, inevitably it seems looking

back now, our conversation turned to the native rituals of the

area. I mentioned as casually as I deemed to be natural that I

should not at all be displeased to experience (albeit from afar)

one of these strange nocturnal ceremonies. The Proconsul‟s

reply surprised even me by its force, although his wife -

whom I have of course described before in no little detail -

smiled surreptitiously. She was obviously well used to

outbursts of a similar vigour.

„On no account,‟ cried the Proconsul, bringing his fist down

far from delicately among the Regal Worcester and double

damask. „On no account will I condone these evil - and I use

the word with all its nuances - these evil, not to say devilish,

rituals. They are to be stamped out at the earliest possible

convenience.‟ He said many other things as well, but they

seemed to consist mainly of stutters and loud exhalations not

at all befitting his high office. Just at this moment a tray of

sweetmeats arrived, and our conversation widened to

encompass the difficulties involved in shipping out high-

quality biscuits from Virabilis.

One interesting point that did arise from the ensuing

discussion was that there is in the town a certain Frenkman

who claims to be able to supply anything to those with

sufficient funds at their disposal - indeed it is from him that

most of the Proconsul‟s very finest biscuits arrive. A thought

regarding this gentleman occurred to me, my interest in the

native rituals heightened if anything from its none too mean

original level by the Proconsul‟s unexpected vehemence, and I

determined to see this Monseigneur Pacquet, as he is named.

To pare a tale of length to the minimum, Pacquet was most

helpful. In return for a large amount of the local currency, on

the night of the twelfth I found myself, accompanied by this

diminutive, moustachioed gentleman, on the edge of a grove

not very far from the town. We arrived just as the ritual was

about to commence, and watched from our clandestine

position as the torches were extinguished all around the

grove, leaving the locale in total, moonless black.

Pacquet had warned me what was to be the form of the

dance, and we had arranged a system of whistles so that I

could find my way back to our cover before the torches were

rekindled. However, despite his description, I was hardly

prepared for what was to follow. The earliest part of the

dance, if dance it can be called, involved merely milling

around, bumping into people, apologizing in silence (silence

but for the beat of the drums, that is) by a shaking of hands,

and walking on.

Next, the shaking of hands became something akin to a

perusal of the same, each tickling the fleshy part of the

other‟s palm for several minutes, although it seemed almost

no time at all. By the third stage of the rites, which involved

the stroking of the arms, shoulder and head of whomsoever

strayed into one‟s path, I was beginning to get caught up in

the collective excitement of the crowd - most of which, I

should add, was female.

But it was the final movement that I found the most

interesting. It involved the rubbing together of backs between

pairs of people. Pacquet had warned me of the dangers of

accidentally rubbing backs with the witch doctor, one of the

spear-bearing tribesmen, or for that matter a spiny mutabo

tree, and I went to great trouble to ensure that the back that

I found did indeed belong to a member of the fair sex.

I could tell that it did so by the height of the owner - for all

of the tribesmen are at least as tall as I; and, despite the fact

that it seemed rather more encumbered by clothing than any

other I had yet met in the blackness, I rubbed my own back

against it with a vigour returned in at least equal proportion.

As that all too short final moment of the native ritual came

to a close, I (forgetting myself in the close exchange of bodily

warmth) murmured quietly, „God bless the Throcket of

Magnamora‟, for his cattle must have been almost as grateful

for the posts he provided for them to rub their backs upon on

the open plains of Magnamora Minor.

My words, overheard by my spinal collaborator, provoked a

small gasp from her, as if she had been suddenly surprised

indulging in some illicit pleasure. What struck me as odd was

that it was a gasp I recognized, and which I remembered for

most of the silent journey back to town with my Frenkophile

philanthropist.

So it was, my dear reader, that I at last came to rub backs

with the Virabilan Proconsul‟s wife.

Benny smiled and put the book down. She had slept badly

after her outburst at dinner the previous evening, but a swift

chapter of Harper‟s Adventures on the Rim had brightened her

spirits. She was, she had almost convinced herself now,

looking forward to it. A bit.

Though, of course, she had no real intention of going.

She had made a half-hearted attempt to pack as she waited

for someone - anyone, really - to arrive and suggest

breakfast. Then they would all say how they‟d miss her, and

couldn‟t she reconsider, please?

And Benny would tell them that, no, her mind was made

up. And then later in the morning she would receive the

confirmation of her travel arrangements as promised by

Domistos Tours and have the perfect excuse to cry off and

make a great show of being disappointed that her one simple,

outrageous request had not been fulfilled by the tour

company.

By the time Benny had got bored with waiting she was

extremely hungry and had thoroughly packed her rucksack

for the third time. She hoisted it on to her shoulder and

headed off towards breakfast.

Benny stopped at the top of the main staircase and looked

down. The staircase itself was as impressive as the other

parts of the building that were actually finished. It was

constructed out of different-coloured marble. Slabs, steps

and balustrades were all of marble. Red and white stone,

veined through with white, black and blue, led down to the

hallway below. With painted panels and false-perspective

landscapes adorning the walls, it was an awe-inspiring sight.

But this was not why Benny paused as she looked down

into the hallway. She could see Jason pacing nervously up

and down below. As she watched he climbed the first few

steps of the staircase, then turned and went back down to

the hall to resume his pacing. He was waiting for someone,

and Benny knew exactly who. And why.

„Why does he have to be so obvious about everything?‟ she

murmured to herself. Then she adjusted her rucksack on her

back, adopted a thoughtful expression, and started down the

stairs. Just in case he was not paying attention, she started

whistling.

Jason was apparently on his way up the stairs when Benny

looked up. They passed on the half-landing.

„Oh, hi, Benny,‟ he said lightly. „Good morning. Sleep well?‟

She gave this some consideration. „Yes, thanks.‟ Then she

carried on down the stairs.

„Oh, er, wait a minute, will you?‟ Jason turned and followed

close behind her.

By walking at an angle she managed to keep him behind

her, so he could not see her face and she appeared not to be

paying attention. „Mmm?‟ she said.

„So, er, you‟re off, then?‟

She paused at the bottom of the stairs. Just long enough

for him to think she was waiting for him. Then she set off

towards the dining room. „Yes. Just waiting for the final

confirmation of arrangements. Should be here by now.‟ „Oh.

Right.‟ He managed to catch up and they kept step in silence

for a while down the hallway.

„Jason?‟ Benny said after a while, stopping suddenly.

„Yes?‟

„Was there something you wanted?‟

„No,‟ he said quickly. She could tell from his face he had

meant to say „yes‟. „No,‟ he said again, as if to be sure.

Benny nodded slowly. „Good,‟ she said.

They both stood in silence, looking at each other.

„Jason, listen -‟ Benny started, just as Jason said, „Benny,

I-‟ They both stopped.

„After you,‟ Jason said.

„No, no. You go first.‟

„All right.‟ He took a deep breath.

„You would too, wouldn‟t you?‟ Benny snapped before he

could exhale. „You‟d go ahead and barge in with whatever

half-arsed comment or observation you have before I can get

a word in edgeways. Typical. Just typical. Thank you so

much, Jason bloody Kane.‟

He stared at her, mouth frozen open, as if he were about to

speak.

„Well, what is it?‟ Benny demanded.

„No, no,‟ he said. „You go first.‟

„Oh don‟t start that again. I don‟t have to be asked for an

opinion, you know.‟ She started off down the hallway again. „I

can talk when I want, thank you. I‟m not some shrinking-

violet wallflower woman who daren‟t venture an opinion, you

know.‟

„Yes, Benny,‟ Jason said quietly.

She turned immediately. „You mean yes, you agree, or yes, I

am?‟ She frowned at him hard. „Think before you answer

that.‟

„Am I allowed to answer that?‟

„What are you implying?‟ She stood with hands on hips and

stared at him, ignoring the way her rucksack was sliding

across her shoulder.

„Nothing, Benny. It‟s just that -‟

„That I never let you say anything? Is that it?‟

„Well -‟

„Well, that‟s rubbish, isn‟t it?‟

„Yes, Benny. It‟s rubbish.‟

He was biting his lip in that annoying way that meant he

didn‟t mean what he said. Benny took a deep breath and

ignored it. „Right, then,‟ she said with great patience, using

most of her reserves of goodwill for the morning. „What did

you want to say?‟

He said nothing. He was still biting his lip, considering.

She gave him three seconds. More than ample, she

reckoned. He obviously needed help with this one. So she

said, „Because if you think you can talk me out of going to

the Rim you can forget it.‟

„Oh. OK, then.‟

„No,‟ Benny said, „my mind‟s made up. I told you -‟ She

paused to reassess his comment. „What?‟

„OK,‟ Jason said again. „I won‟t try to talk you out of it.

Your mind‟s made up.‟

„Good,‟ Benny said loudly. „Great. That‟s sorted, then. I‟m

off.‟ She waited for him to speak. He didn‟t. „Today,‟ she said

emphatically. „Soon, in fact.‟

Still Jason said nothing.

„And I‟m looking forward to it. So don‟t try to persuade me

to stay.‟

„But Benny,‟ Jason said surprisingly gently and quietly,

„don‟t you think

So quietly she barely heard him. „And you know what I‟m

looking forward to most? Getting away from you. That‟s what.

Peace and quiet without you forever interrupting and

wittering on. Never listening to a word -‟

She paused. Hang on, he had just said -

But, before she could remember exactly what he had been

saying, Jason was talking again, making the most of the gap

she had left in the air.

„And I‟m glad you‟re going,‟ he said loudly. „I hope you have

a really good time out there, you know that? Just great.

That‟s what I hope. And I‟m looking forward to it too.‟

„Oh?‟

„Yes, I‟m really looking forward to a bit of time to myself

here. A bit of time without the endless arguing over nothing.

Without forever having to pretend I disagree because it‟s

expected. Without having to take the other side just to keep

the banter going and have something to quarrel about.‟

She was shocked. So shocked she knew she hadn‟t

managed to hide it. Her expression must be obvious. „You

really mean that?‟ she said.

Jason sighed. When he answered his voice was quieter,

more reasonable. „Benny ..

„Because if you do, then it just confirms to me that I‟m

making the right choice here.‟

„Good. I‟m glad I‟ve helped,‟ he snapped back. „You bugger

off to the Rim and see if I care.‟

„Right,‟ she said. „I will.‟ She marched off to breakfast, not

looking to see if Jason was following. „God I need a cup of

coffee.‟

It seemed that everyone else had already breakfasted. The

bacon was cold, the scrambled eggs congealing and the coffee

tepid. It did nothing to mitigate Benny‟s dark mood. By the

time the sound of the workmen hammering and cutting stone

in a nearby room struck up she had reached the conclusion

that perhaps she would go to the Rim after all. That would

show them.

She sat alone and drank another cup of the grainy cold

coffee.

„Good morning.‟ Braxiatel seemed unusually cheerful as he

handed Benny a plain white envelope. „This came for you.

Special courier from Telestris. I suppose they don‟t trust the

satellites yet.‟ He smiled. „Can‟t say I blame them.‟

„Thanks.‟ She took it without further comment.

Braxiatel waited. But she did not open the envelope. She

set it down beside her plate.

„Would you like some fresh coffee?‟ he asked after a few

moments.

„No, this is fine.‟

He nodded. „I‟ll get you some.‟

When she was alone again, Benny allowed herself a slight

smile. Then she opened the envelope. The final

arrangements, complete no doubt with an apology and an

excuse to bottle out. She had made her point. Now she could

save her face as well.

But then she read the letter. And then she read it again.

Jason was waiting for Braxiatel in the small kitchen area

nearby. There was coffee brewing, the strong aroma

permeating the atmosphere. Jason did not seem to be

enjoying the smell. Cwej and Clarence were standing nearby.

Nobody said anything.

Braxiatel checked the coffee. „So, how did it go?‟ he asked.

Jason nodded. „It went... well,‟ he said. „Considering.‟

The relief was evident on both Clarence‟s and Cwej‟s faces.

„You talked her out of it?‟ Clarence asked.

„Well done,‟ Cwej said. „Really, well done.‟

But Jason did not look like he was in the mood for

congratulation.

„What did you mean, “considering”?‟ Braxiatel asked.

„I meant I‟m still alive.‟

„And Benny?‟

„She‟s still alive too.‟ Jason gulped. „And she‟s still going.‟

There was silence for a while. „But what about all those

things you were going to say?‟ Clarence asked. „You know,

about how we love her and need her and she mustn‟t go.‟

„Didn‟t you explain things?‟ Cwej asked. „Didn‟t you point

out what she might be getting herself into?‟

„Well...‟ Jason shuffled his feet. „Sort of...‟

Braxiatel sighed. „All right,‟ he said, „what did you say to

her?‟

„Edited highlights will do,‟ Cwej said.

Jason looked at them. „I told her...‟

„Yes?‟ They all leant forward expectantly.

„I told her to bugger off and see if we care.‟ Jason was

looking at his shuffling feet now. „I mean,‟ he went on

quickly, „I don‟t care. I really don‟t. If she wants to go off and

have a good time, make a fool of herself without us, then

that‟s... fine.‟

The only sound was Braxiatel‟s footsteps as he took the

coffee to the dining room.

He passed her in the hallway. Benny was in a hurry. She

barely changed course to avoid the hot coffee pot.

„Oh, thanks,‟ she said quickly. „But no, thanks. No time.

Got to dash. That was my itinerary. Got to repack everything.

They‟re sending a shuttle. I‟ll give you a shout when I‟m off.

Bye for now.‟

Then she was gone.

Braxiatel watched the space that Benny had recently been

occupying. He considered for a moment, then continued

through to the dining room with the coffee. Once there, he

poured himself a cup and sat down where Benny had been.

In front of him on the table was the envelope he had recently

handed her. Ignoring the sounds of the workmen in the next

room, he picked it up.

Beneath the envelope was a sheet of folded paper. He

opened it and read quickly through the itinerary. Shuttle

flights, connections. Hotel booking on one of the main

planets on the Rim. He committed it all to memory as fast as

he read through it.

Right at the bottom, beneath the printed details, was

scrawled a brief note. It ended with an exclamation mark. As

he finished reading, Braxiatel sounded out the exclamation

mark. Then he looked round quickly to check nobody had

heard.

He sat for a few minutes, finishing his coffee and staring at

the paper. Then he replaced it under the envelope and set off

back to the kitchen area.

Cwej, Clarence and Jason were still there. Cwej was staring

at Jason. Jason was looking at the floor. Clarence had Inn

eyes shut. Like kids waiting for the headmaster to mete out

suitable punishment for their misdemeanours.

„Right, you three,‟ Braxiatel said sharply. „My study, now.‟

The walls of Braxiatel‟s large study were inlaid marble. In the

centre of the room stood a mahogany writing desk. A simple

office chair was behind it. Along each wall were alcoves. In

several stood statues of Levithian Graffs in full ceremonial

armour. Others were empty, the walls blank, awaiting

paintings of parts of the grounds that had yet to be created.

Once painted, these would be to make up for the lack of

windows. The room was deep within the Mansionhouse - not

overlooked, and completely shielded.

Against one wall was a leather sofa. It was a big sofa, and

Cwej, Clarence and Jason all fitted into it with room to spare.

„I‟ve just read Benny‟s itinerary,‟ Braxiatel said as he sat

himself in the office chair. He leant forward, resting his

elbows on the top of the desk. „She‟s off to Virabilis.‟

„For how long?‟ Cwej asked.

„It‟s an open-ended deal. But she‟s staying in the Xcelsior. I

doubt she can afford that for long.‟

„She‟s had this planned for a while,‟ Jason said. „There‟s no

way we could have talked her out of it.‟

„I thought you didn‟t care,‟ Clarence said.

„I don‟t.‟

„When‟s she leave?‟ Cwej asked.

„In about half an hour. They‟re sending a shuttle.‟

„Good luck to her,‟ Jason muttered. „I hope she has fun.‟

„I‟m afraid she may,‟ Braxiatel said. „There was a hand-

written note at the bottom of the itinerary. It said that the

tour company were sure that Benny would be pleased to

know that they‟d secured the services of the local guide she

asked for.‟

Jason laughed. „Doesn‟t sound like Benny. Needing a local

guide?‟ He shook his head. „Not that I care,‟ he said wistfully,

„but if she‟s getting a guided tour I reckon she‟ll be bored and

back here in a week.‟

„It does sound out of character,‟ Cwej admitted.

Braxiatel sighed. „Except that the local guide she asked for

was a specific person,‟ he said.

„Anyone we know?‟ Clarence asked.

„Only by repute. It‟s Dent Harper.‟

* * *

Once in her room, Benny tipped out the contents of her

rucksack on to the bed. Then she sorted through and put

most of the things back in the rucksack.

Dent Harper.

She could hardly believe it. She had actually managed to

get Dent Harper as her guide. This was going to be terrific.

Amazing. The adventure holiday of a lifetime.

She rummaged through her wardrobe looking for a decent

frock. After all, there would be dinner between the

adventures and the visits to Places of Interest. There would

be drinks at the bar after dinner. And after that... Well, after

that she could ask Dent about his own brushes with death

and discoveries of the ancient.

She paused. What would Harper be expecting? Would she

be as he thought she would? Had she better read through

her diaries, just in case, or should she rely on just being

herself whoever that might be?

She picked up the pile of notebooks from the desk, hefting

them as she felt the weight of accumulated experience. „Sod

it,‟ she said, and put them back on the desk.

She was humming happily as she left her room, her ruck-

sack slung over one shoulder. At every window she passed

she glanced out to see if the shuttle had arrived yet.

I take it you mean the Dent Harper,‟ Cwej was saying. „Young,

rich, strong, handsome...‟ There was a hint of regret in his

voice.

„I don‟t care,‟ Jason insisted yet again. „I really don‟t. I

mean, what about those awful travelogue books of his?

What‟s that one? Journeys on a Wilderdonkey - something.‟

He shook his head in apparent sadness. „What a tosser. Can‟t

even write properly.‟ He broke off into a collection of

sighs and tut-tuts. „I ask you,‟ he said after a while, „have you

actually read any of that stuff? I mean, have you? Has

anyone?‟

„Yes, I have, actually,‟ Braxiatel said. „Have you?‟

„Well, no,‟ Jason admitted. „Not as such. I did see this

documentary once, though.‟

„Who is Dent Harper?‟ Clarence asked. „Should I know of

him?‟

„Not if you want a quiet life,‟ Jason said. „I don‟t care.‟

„He‟s a sort of explorer,‟ Cwej said. „He goes off on perilous

expeditions round the new worlds of the Rim. And then he

writes about them afterwards.‟

„Is that it?‟

„No. He‟s rich beyond his own wildest dreams. His books

are bestsellers throughout the Sector, and he‟s so damned

good-looking even I used to be a bit jealous of him,‟ Cwej

confessed.

„But you‟re not now?‟ Clarence hazarded.

„No,‟ Cwej said. „Not a bit. A hell of a lot.’

Braxiatel counted off his comments on his fingers as he

said, „This Dent Harper character is actually something of a

legend. Most of it of his own making, of course. But there

seems to be a good deal of truth in it all. He wears boots

made from the hide of a bandersnatch he wrestled to death

single-handed while camping out in the killer-mud swamps

of Surtan-Deth IV. He has muscles on his muscles, an IQ

that‟s off the scale and an income from a trust fund that‟s

equivalent to the gross domestic product of several small

planets. And that‟s just the bit he declares for tax.‟

Cwej sighed. „His hair is personally styled by Vital Zazoom,

and his exploration clothes are sponsored by a Prestige

League sokka team.‟

For the first time, there was a hint of something akin to

regret in Jason‟s voice as he said, „He has degrees in subjects

that I can‟t even read the names of, and his explorations of

the Outer Limits are legendary. They are also by appointment

to Madeleine, Duchess of Nimfette.‟

„And you don‟t care,‟ Cwej reminded him. „Benny is about

to set off on perhaps the most thrilling escapade of her life

with this guy as her personal - and I mean personal - local

guide, and you don‟t care.‟

„They‟re both booked into the Xcelsior on Virabilis,‟

Braxiatel reminded him, „with adjoining rooms sharing a

lounge area, and you don‟t care.‟

„No, I don‟t.‟ Jason‟s voice was loud and full of emotion. „So

this guy cracks nuts by coughing very loudly, and he‟s so

talented that his little finger is rumoured to be going it alone.‟

He shrugged. „Of course I don‟t care. You know how much I

don‟t care?‟

But before he could tell them, there was knock at the door.

After a flurry of exchanged glances, Braxiatel leant back in

his chair and swung his feet up on to the desk. Following his

cue, Cwej leapt to his feet and started examining one of the

statues. Jason lounged back on the sofa, looking up at the

ornate ceiling. Only Clarence looked less than totally relaxed

as the door opened.

„Oh, here you all are,‟ Benny said. „Hi.‟

„Oh, right, yeah. Hi.‟ Jason waved, and carried on looking HI

the ceiling.

„What are you all up to?‟ she asked suspiciously.

„Oh, just talking about the design for the gardens,‟

Braxiatel said. „Swapping ideas, brainstorming, you know.‟

„Want to join in?‟ Cwej asked. „We were just saying how

much you‟d enjoy, er, things.‟ His eyes widened slightly as he

returned his attention to the statue. „Such detail,‟ he

breathed. „So intricate.‟

„No, thanks.‟ Benny grinned. „But thanks, though. Glad

you‟re having fun. Just wanted to say goodbye, that was all.‟

„Oh, are you leaving already?‟ Clarence asked. He seemed

about to get to his feet, concerned, but somehow Jason‟s

relaxed position on the sofa was preventing him from moving.

„Yes. Shuttle‟s here. Got to run.‟

„Right,‟ Braxiatel said. „Bye, then.‟

Benny waited, obviously expecting something more.

„Send us a postcard,‟ Jason said. „Between you and me, I

don‟t think the Rim‟s all it‟s cracked up to be. But it‟ll be

good to get some first-hand feedback.‟

„You be away long?‟ Cwej asked her, looking up for a

moment from the statue.

„Oh, I don‟t know. Depends how much fun I‟m having.‟

Cwej smiled. „Fine. Whenever. Take your time. Enjoy

yourself.‟

Benny smiled back. „I will.‟ She hesitated in the doorway.

„Will you... Will you miss me?‟ she asked quietly.

„Hmm?‟ Braxiatel asked. „Oh, sorry, thought you‟d gone,

No, no. We‟ll be fine. Don‟t worry about us now.‟

„Oh, no,‟ Jason agreed. „Lots to do here. Gardens, you

know.‟

„Finish the interiors,‟ Cwej added.

„Yes, we‟ll miss you,‟ Clarence said. But the door was shut

and Benny was gone. „What?‟ he asked as he realized the

others were staring at him.

„Never mind,‟ Braxiatel told him. „You‟d be hopeless at

poker, you know.‟ He cleared his throat. „You were just telling

us, Jason, how much you don‟t care.‟

„Oh, yes.‟ Jason remembered. „Let me see now. Er…‟ He

sucked in his cheeks. He sighed. „What the cruck do we do

about this?‟ he asked.

„Pray she has a really boring time and comes home?‟ Cwej

suggested.

„Praying‟s not much good,‟ Clarence said.

„That‟s rich,‟ Jason told him, „coming from you.‟

„It‟s a thought, though,‟ Braxiatel said. There was a slight

twinkle in his eye as he swung his feet off the desk. „Listen,‟

he said as they all leant forward to hear him. „I have an idea.‟

CHAPTER 3

The trip to the spaceport was uneventful. Harper‟s taxi

passed four vehicle wrecks and a recent drive-by shooting, he

clicked his tongue in habitual annoyance as he waited for the

traffic to clear. He was going to be late.

Not that in the event this mattered. The incoming ship lie

was meeting was itself three hours late. And that was on top

of the four hours late he already knew about from the

spaceport arrivals bulletin site. So he had a bit of a wait.

He found a coffee bar and sat with his back to the wall,

carefully examining the other clientele before deciding to

order. Most of the other people in the coffee area seemed

tired and worn. Harper stood out from them in that he was

awake and alert. He was also the tallest, broadest and by far

the most handsome of the lot. And he knew it. And the fact

that he knew it was apparent in the way his slightly cleft chin

was pushed forward, in the way he sat confidently upright on

the uncomfortable metal chair, and the way he seemed to

look down on all the others from a height even he did not

actually achieve.

„Ready?‟ the waitress asked. She was standing close

enough to seem threatening, and her apron was stained with

more things than Harper had seen listed on the menu card.

„Coffee,‟ he said. „Lots of milk. Not too strong.‟

„Cappuccino,‟ she said, as if this were a local greeting

„Three dinari.‟

„Three?‟ He looked at her face for the first time. And wished

he hadn‟t.

„Includes service,‟ she said as she took the money. She was

back almost immediately with something warm and wet that

tasted bitter and unpleasant.

As he sipped his alleged cappuccino, a gangly youth with

straggly hair brushed past Harper.

„Sorry, mate,‟ the youth muttered without pausing.

Harper grabbed the back of his loose coat and dragged him

back. The youth doubled over backward, his face expressing

his surprise. As he stared into Harper‟s eyes, his expression

changed to one of resignation. Then, as Harper deftly relieved

him of the knife he was holding, apology.

„Can‟t blame me for trying,‟ he said through cracked lips

and over broken teeth. Then he handed Harper back his

wallet.

Harper said nothing, but gave him a glare that spoke

volumes. Then he shoved the youth away from him and

returned his attention to his coffee. He spun the knife into a

nearby rubbish bin. On the other side of the cafe he was

aware of several young women nodding in his direction and

whispering excitedly to each other. Maybe he should have

bought a paper to hide behind. They would be over wanting

autographs before long.

So by way of actively ignoring them, as much as anything

because he was getting bored with just staring at his coffee,

Harper pulled a battered notebook from his pocket and

started to write in it.

I made sure I arrived early. There were the usual problems

with the traffic, but I knew the back ways and short cuts of

course. I was at the spaceport well ahead of the arrival of

Miss Summerfield‟s ship. I found a bar in a quiet area of the

spaceport and sat with my back to the wall.

A quick look round was enough to satisfy myself that there

would be no immediate problems with the other clientele.

They seemed quiet and docile enough. Mostly between flights

by the look of them. Well, who else would hang around a

spaceport? The good news was that there were no lights

brewing. And nobody I recognized as being out for my blood,

money or honour.

The cocktail waitress was a blonde beauty who seemed out

of place in such an establishment. She obviously recognized

me, and we got talking. Her name was [need something

romantic but not too sexy - Helena?] and she was waiting to

hear if she‟d got into Val-Tec to read modern philosophy and

linguistics. We hit it off straight away.

„Whiski,‟ I said. „Not much ice. A strong one.‟

„Five dinari,‟ she said huskily.

„Five?‟ I raised an eyebrow.

She leant closer and whispered, „That includes service.‟

I peeled off a five-dinari note from my thick wad and

pressed it into her hot palm. „A bargain,‟ I told her.

As I sat sipping at the strong drink, I caught sight of

movement from the corner of my eye. I made use of my

excellent peripheral vision to identify Tiffin Retch as he stood

in the entrance to the bar, looking round. I could see at once

that he had spotted me.

The knife was gleaming in his hand as he made his way

inwards where I was sitting, apparently looking for a free

table. As he reached me, his knife hand extended slightly. I

reached out and grabbed -

„I said “excuse me”.‟

Harper flinched in surprise and quickly closed the

notebook. A rucksack thudded on to the table in front of him,

making his coffee cup jump, and the woman sat down.

„Dent Harper, right?‟ she said.

He nodded, waiting for the copy of one of his books to come

out and get shoved in his face.

„Hi.‟ She held out her hand and he shook it without

comment. „I‟m Benny,‟ she went on. „Nice of you to come an

meet me.‟

„Meet?‟ He frowned. „Benny... I don‟t think I‟ve ever...‟ Then

he realized, and his frown cracked into a smile. „Benny in

Bernice. Professor Summerfield.‟

She smiled back. „I recognized you from the photos on your

book jackets. Mind if I sit down?‟

„You are sitting down.‟

She continued to smile. „Yes. But you might still mind.‟

„No. No, no problem. Sit down. Please.‟

She stood up. „Shall we go, then?‟

„Go?‟

„Hotel? You know. I‟ve had a long journey, could do with a

change of clothes, shower, that sort of thing.‟

Harper stood up. „Yes, of course.‟ He reached for her

rucksack, but she beat him to it and slung it over her

shoulder. „We can pick up a taxi outside. Best not to have a

car of your own to get burnt out in this place. Even if you

could get insurance. It‟s not far to the hotel anyway.

Depending on the traffic.‟

„Good.‟ She followed him from the coffee area. „It‟s good to

meet you, by the way.‟

„And you. Hold on tight to your bag, won‟t you?‟ He guided

her past a group of youths, expecting a few comments if not

an actual assault. But they ignored them.

„Have to be a bit careful,‟ he said quietly to Benny. „I expect

you‟ve seen a couple of muggings or a robbery already.‟

She shook her head. „I thought it all seemed quite quiet

actually. Thanks for agreeing to show me round. I never

thought -‟

„It‟s nothing. I‟m between expeditions right now. And it‟s

good to meet you too.‟ He turned full circle as they walked,

checking they weren‟t being followed, or about to be attacked

from behind. But there was nobody near, nobody taking any

interest at all.

They found a taxi waiting in a no-parking zone right

outside the main entrance to the spaceport. The roads were

surprisingly clear. There was no sign of the previous

problems. Harper wasn‟t sure he could remember ever having

such a clear route. „Good trip?‟ he asked.

Benny grunted. „Not really. Well, it was OK. But the

scheduled flight from Bactural was delayed for about nine

hours for some reason. Nobody seemed to know why. Pretty

typical I guess.‟

„Guess so. It‟s a long time since I‟ve been on a scheduled

flight.‟

„I‟m something of an adventurer myself,‟ Benny admitted.

That was why I thought you‟d be the perfect guide to the

wonders of the Eastern Rim, and Virabilis seemed the best

place to start. To see the sights.‟

„Such as they are,‟ Harper said. He pointed out of the

window. There was a shooting here this morning. No sign of it

now though. They‟re not usually so keen to clear up the

mess.‟

„The frontier spirit,‟ Benny was saying. „Excitement, the

thrill of the unknown. Always on the lookout for trouble,

relying on your own skill and determination and courage to

get out of tricky situations.‟

„Yes, it‟s a bit like that.‟

She settled back in the seat. „Can‟t wait.‟

From the Journal of Bernice Summerfield (aged thirty-some-

thing. And a half.)

Virabilis is a strange place. It‟s like an amalgam of lots of

other places I‟ve been to. The spaceport is like any other

spaceport, if a bit grubbier. Some of the facilities are a little

antiquated and I‟m told the coffee is awful. Actually, maybe

it‟s exactly like every other spaceport.

The journey to the hotel was a bit boring, though I can

probably put that down to being tired after the trip out here.

The skyline is interesting. Not least because Prevoria is so

low in the sky. It‟s a bit weird seeing a huge planet hanging

low above the city, especially as you can see the „Star Ferry‟

travelling between the city and another city on the lower edge

of Prevoria.

The high-rises and tower blocks are what you‟d expect. But

below, at street level, it‟s almost like a different world. The

streets are littered with rubbish and people milling about.

Everywhere seems to be quite dark, with the buildings being

so tall and so close together. They seem to sort of hang over

the narrow streets. You can go round a corner and suddenly

find you‟re in the middle of a street market that seems to

have just sprung up suddenly. That‟s great if you‟re on foot, I

guess. In the taxi it was a bit tricky at times.

It didn‟t help that Dent Harper kept shouting at the driver

and making him reverse rapidly out of the street, pulling the

equivalent of a handbrake turn and zooming off again.

Harper kept muttering warnings about setups, hit squads

and street scum. Didn‟t notice any myself, but it‟s to be

expected in this sort of place. I haven‟t seen any unpleasant

incidents as such yet, but Harper‟s whole demeanour

suggests it‟s only a matter of time. And not much time either.

Harper himself is almost exactly as I expected. I found him

in a coffee bar scribbling in a notebook. Probably some

philosophical musings inspired by the thought of meeting

someone famous like me. Maybe. He‟s tall, broad-shouldered

with a Kirk Douglas chin, and he has those eyes that sort of

smoulder at you. You know. I think I‟ll move on to something

else before I have to stop for a glass of water or open a

window or something.

I wonder how old he really is. I wonder how old I should be.

Maybe I‟ll pretend that I can‟t remember. If nothing else that

could be a cue for a description of my own latest daring

exploits - saving humanity, that sort of thing. Maybe he‟s read

my book. He didn‟t mention it, though. Maybe I should read

it.

He does go on a bit about his own experiences. But I

suppose that when you‟ve been through as much as he has,

seen as much as he has, that‟s natural. And I was tired after

the journey, so I expect I was a bit quiet from that. Not

overawed at all, mind you. Oh no. Not me.

(Later, after a drink of water.)

The hotel is typical of the mixture of old and new, ancient

and modern. The building is visible from a long way out. It‟s

distinctive as the walls are coated with some material that

makes them reflective. Like mirrors. So the shape of the

building is quite difficult to make out in among the other

high-risers. But when you get close you find there seems to

be a permanent impromptu market all around. There are

stalls set up in the streets, awnings draped over the make-

shift tables and wooden boxes where the locals ply their

trades for the tourists. I guess a place like the Xcelsior

attracts a lot of secondary industry. Like me.

Harper insisted we pay off the taxi a couple of blocks away

from the hotel. Something to do with throwing off any tails.

Then we walked the rest of the way to the hotel. He Insisted on

carrying my rucksack. Something about the pickpockets

having ideas above their station, I think. But I didn‟t notice

any trouble. Everyone seemed very friendly as we pushed

through the crowds. They seemed to step aside for us, which

was unexpected but nice. Probably in awe of n couple of

famous travellers and adventurers. To be expected.

The hotel‟s quite plush. There‟s a big foyer, and a few bars

on various floors. A sort of mezzanine area hangs out over

the foyer. That‟s where the main restaurant is, and some sort

of coffee lounge, too. There‟s an escalator up to it from just

inside the entrance. There‟s even something off the main

foyer that calls itself an Authentic Anglish Pub, whatever

they think that might be. No doubt we‟ll find out. Pretty soon

I guess. It‟s too late to go far exploring this evening.

Especially as Dent keeps giving dire warnings about the

dangers of being out after dark.

Yes, this pub is probably where I‟ll get my first real taste of

the frontier spirit. I hadn‟t realized how much I‟ve been

yearning for some good old-fashioned excitement. I mean,

cataloguing dear old Irving‟s collection and helping him

create a huge palace is all very well, but it doesn‟t offer quite

the same frisson as a good punch-up.

Our rooms are sort of adjoining. There‟s a single door and

we‟re both designated 1725, being on the seventeenth floor

Inside the door there‟s a lounge area that we share – couple

of sofas and a vidscreen. Coffee table, drinks dispenser, that

sort of thing. Then we each have a room off opposite sides of

that. Not bad, in fact. Bed‟s comfy enough.

Got to go now, time to dress for dinner. Let‟s see, maybe

the big knife and a shoulder holster to match the bulletproof

T-shirt. Actually, if I‟d brought more than two outfits I might

be worried about what to wear.

(Extract ends)

It had taken months of planning. All of which came to

fruition tonight. Which was a good thing as far as Nikole

Medak was concerned. She had coped with her employer‟s

interest - obsession even - during that time. She had run the

day-to-day business while Rula Winther had spent increasing

amounts of time and effort and money working out the

complex details of her convoluted plan.

But some good had come of it, Nikole admitted to herself.

She stood on the balcony of her room in Mrs Winther‟s villa,

looking out over Virabilis. She could hear the sound of the

waterfall on the other side of the building as the water

crashed down on to the rocks far below the fortress-like stone

building. It was typical, she reflected as she caught the

sound of an emergency vehicle‟s siren from the city, that she

had been given a view facing away from the rocky wilderness

and the impressive cascades of water. Overlooking the

sprawling, squalid metropolis that furnished their salaries

and Mrs Winther‟s wealth.

If nothing else, the last few months had convinced Nikole

beyond all doubt that it was time for Mrs Winther to

relinquish her hold on the Cartel and move on. Or be moved

on.

Not that Rula Winther had any inkling of her subordinate‟s

plans for her. She had no interest in anything other than

tonight‟s events, planned down to the last meticulous,

obsessive detail.

And for what? A curiosity, no more. A bauble, a bagatelle. A

piece of pretty glass set in an ornate clasp on a silver chain.

Yet for this Mrs Winther had neglected the running of the

street thieves, the income from the pushers and dealers, the

percentages from the pimps and the cut from the affiliated

armed gangs. She was losing it.

No, Nikole corrected herself, she had already lost it. And

noon, once everyone was focused again on the real

businesses, Nikole could begin to make it clear to the others

just how off the rails Mrs Winther really was. Just how in

need of a change in leadership they were. Just how qualified

Nikole was for the job. Oh it wouldn‟t be her doing, of course.

Far from it. She was merely the catalyst. But when they came

to her with an offer it wouldn‟t be fair or right to refuse them.

And she‟d get a room with a rather better view.

So tonight, for one of the last times, Nikole promised

herself, she allowed Rula Winther her indulgence. Her

obsession. Nikole pulled her jacket tighter about her against

the chill of the evening, and went back indoors.

It was not the best restaurant that Benny had ever been to.

But she could believe that it was better than most of the

choices available. Certainly, it was full. They had even had to

wait twenty minutes for a table. When they were eventually

seated, she found that the service was dire, but the food

seemed edible. And it was not far from the hotel, which was a

blessing since she was still tired from her journey. Looking

round at the other clientele, Benny was glad she hadn‟t

dressed up.

Harper had. He was wearing a dinner suit that seemed to

be bursting at the seams. He insisted on tasting the wine in a

grubby glass. Benny was afraid that he might send it back,

but he seemed to think it was up to scratch.

Benny thought it tasted of vinegar. And not a very good

vinegar either. But she smiled and sipped and said nothing.

„Quiet this evening,‟ Harper remarked as he attacked his

fish. It needed a steak knife to cut into it with any degree of

success. „Normally I‟d have expected a couple of fights by

now. Maybe a murder or two in the street outside.‟

Benny nodded. „Quiet evening, perhaps. All the muggers

and murderers having a night off.‟ She lifted her fork towards

her mouth. And was surprised to find it stuck halfway.

The reason it wasn‟t moving, she realized, was that Dent

Harper had suddenly leant across the table and grabbed her

hand. „Don‟t look now,‟ he hissed to her, „but that‟s Squeezer

Hedges behind you.‟

Of course, she turned to look. There was no problem

working out who Harper meant. An extremely large and

extremely ugly man was forcing his more than ample frame

through the doorway behind her. She turned back to Harper,

to find him sheltering behind the wine list.

„What‟s the matter?‟ she asked him.

„Don‟t want to make a scene,‟ Harper whispered loudly. „He

still blames me for his sister‟s wedding.‟

„Why, what happened?‟

Harper peeped round the wine list, then disappeared again.

„I didn‟t turn up,‟ he said. „Bit of a misunderstanding,

actually.‟

Benny looked round again. „I wish my ex-husband had

your sense of occasion,‟ she muttered. Squeezer was looking

round the room through narrow eyes that seemed almost

overwhelmed by his pudgy cheeks. A small, nervous waiter

sidled up to him and spoke a few quiet words. Then he

backed quickly away.

„No room?‟

Benny could hear his angry retort across the crowded

room. Conversations stopped. Several people seemed to be

reaching for pieces of cutlery for which they had previously

had no need. Knives, mainly. One man grabbed an egg whisk

from a trolley by his table. Then looked embarrassed.

„What do you mean, “no room”?‟

„I‟m sorry, sir. But as you see -‟

Squeezer pushed the waiter aside. „Perhaps some of these

people have nearly finished. Perhaps some are ready to leave

now.‟ He leant towards a booth near the door. „What about

you two?‟ His head disappeared from Benny‟s view as he

leant behind the screen.

A moment later it re-emerged. Squeezer stood absolutely

still for a moment, looking round the room. Then,

surprisingly quietly, he said. „So, no room tonight. No

problem, then. Perhaps tomorrow.‟ He coughed awkwardly.

As he coughed he seemed to catch sight of Benny, and took a

step towards her.

She leant back in surprise before she realized it was Harper

he had seen. „Oops,‟ Benny whispered.

Harper was looking over the top of his wine list. „No use

pretending,‟ he said to Benny. „Looks like he‟s rumbled me.

Apologies in advance for the mess.‟ He slowly stood up, laying

down his napkin carefully by his plate and unbuttoning his

suit jacket.

Benny looked from Harper, determined and resolute, to

Squeezer, huge and dangerous.

Squeezer stopped a few yards from their table. „Hello,

Harper,‟ he said. His voice was still quiet. „Having the fish, I

see.‟

Harper stared at him. „Yes,‟ he said slowly, hands tense at

his side.

Squeezer nodded. „Good choice,‟ he said. „I‟d join you, but I

see you have company.‟ He nodded to Benny. „Good evening,

ma‟am,‟ he said politely. Then he turned and walked away.

Harper stared after him in disbelief.

As he neared the door, Squeezer suddenly turned. At once,

Harper dived across the table, dragging Benny to the floor.

They rolled under the next table, and together peered

cautiously out from under the tablecloth.

But there was no sudden gunfire, no cough of a silenced

pistol, no flurry of knives or machetes as they whirled across

the restaurant. Instead, Squeezer had reached out and

patted the small waiter politely on the shoulder.

„Keep me a table for tomorrow, eh?‟ he asked. „If it‟s no

trouble, that is.‟ And with that, he was gone, heaving his

massive bulk back out through the doorway and into night.

Neither of them felt like sticking around for pudding and

coffee. So Benny agreed with alacrity to Harper‟s suggestion

that they take a short - careful - walk and end up back at the

hotel pub. He insisted on paying the bill, saying it was

coming out of Benny‟s travel fees anyway, then gently pulled

Benny‟s chair out for her.

The waiter arrived and helped her into her jacket, lifting it

off the back of the chair for her. He fumbled as he held it out

for Benny to slip her arms through the sleeves, apologizing as

he tried to unfold it.

„That‟s all right,‟ Benny told him. „Well up to the usual

standard of service.‟ She grinned as Dent laughed out loud.

What a nice man.

„Let me tell you‟, Dent said as they left the restaurant,

„about the time I took part in a Jawena hunt on Heyora

Seven.‟

„Please do,‟ Benny said, allowing his arm to take hers. She

pressed slightly closer, expecting to feel the slight discomfort

of the bulge of her purse in her jacket pocket. When it never

arrived, she leapt away from Dent. „My purse! That bastard. I

thought he was all fingers and thumbs.‟

„The waiter?‟ Harper nodded furiously. „Probably legged It

already, but we can see.‟ He whirled round and almost

collided with the small man behind them.

„Oh, thank goodness I caught you,‟ the waiter from the

restaurant said. „You dropped this, madam.‟ He was holding

Benny‟s purse.

She took it, surprised, and immediately started to look

through the contents.

„It must have dropped from your pocket when I was so

clumsy with your jacket. I am so dreadfully sorry.‟

„All there?‟ Dent asked.

Benny nodded. „Seems to be.‟

„I cannot apologize enough.‟ The waiter was wringing his

hands in an effort to try. „Since you paid in cash, I was afraid

I might not find you. Of course I did not like to look in the

purse for identification unless I absolutely had to.‟

„All right, all right,‟ Benny said. She held out a twenty-

dinari note. „Here, thanks.‟

The waiter stared at the note in apparent disbelief. „Oh no,‟

he said slowly, almost regretfully it seemed. „I really couldn‟t.

Thank you, but no.‟ Then he turned and walked quickly back

to the restaurant.

„How extraordinary,‟ Benny murmured.

„You‟re telling me,‟ Dent said.

It took them half an hour to make the leisurely journey

back to the hotel. It was without incident, apart from Dent‟s

occasional whirling round or lunging at shadows. Benny

watched with amusement.

„Are all these stories of yours true?‟ she asked as he paused

after giving an account of his perilous, enforced single

combat with a Marchioness of Mazzuuk. He looked hurt. „I

mean,‟ Benny said quickly, „I know we‟re in a relatively

civilized city here so far as the Rim is concerned. But it

seems so quiet.‟

Dent laughed. But there was a lack of mirth in the sound.

„Wait till tomorrow when we really start to see the sights,‟ he

said. „This place is full of cut-throats, drugs gangs, vicious

criminals armed to the teeth, to say nothing of the tongs, the

cartels and the different Masonic factions. Besides that, every

petty drunk carries a knife and if they can afford it a gun too.

And they have no qualms at all about using them. The locals

will kill you rather than step off the pavement for you.‟

As if to punctuate his words, a drunk lurched out of a side

alley and collided with Dent. A knife clattered to the

pavement, and the man scooped it up at once, turning to face

Dent and Benny. The hazy light from the street lamp glinted

in his eyes and on the blade. His mouth opened to reveal

broken, blackened teeth.

„Beg pardon, sir, madam,‟ the drunk said. „Got to look

where I‟m going. Accident, real sorry. Hope the knife didn‟t

frighten the lady. I use it to peel fruit I find in the bins. If I‟m

lucky.‟

Benny nodded. „And I bet you have no qualms about using

it,‟ she said. „To peel fruit I mean.‟

A single spotlight illuminated the surface of the desk. Rula

Winther sat staring into the pool of light. A few minutes

before, she had watched the team leave the villa, the pale

lights of their vehicles winding their way along the narrow

causeway towards the city. She knew every detail of the plan

they had spent the last few months working out. Tonight that

plan would culminate in the greatest achievement of Mrs

Winther‟s long career.

She had been in the business of crime all her life. From

being a pickpocket she had graduated to shoplifting and

raiding market stalls for food and valuables. The best thing

that had happened to her was being caught. The short spell

In juvenile jail had taught her the trade, given her contacts,

and brought her to the attention of the notorious Mrs

Maguyre. Rula Winther had fitted easily and quickly into Mrs

Maguyre‟s organization, and within just a few years she was

being groomed to take it over when Mrs Maguyre retired.

Though she had not realized that at the time.

Retirement had come rather sooner than planned or

expected, thanks to an Enforcement Agent‟s bullet in a

bungled raid on the villa. Rula Winther had found herself

propelled into a job she was hardly ready for, while still

mourning the death of the woman who had been like a

mother to her for so many years. Perhaps the saddest thing

was knowing Mrs Maguyre‟s plans for her future happiness,

knowing her intention to leave all the sordid businesses

behind and tour the central sectors. For most of her life Mrs

Maguyre had been the most powerful of the Cartel leaders on

Virabilis. For most of her life she had looked forward to the

time when she would at last be happy. But it had never

come.

As she had settled quickly into the routine of running the

Maguyre Cartel, Rula Winther had promised herself that she

would succeed where Mrs Maguyre had so tragically failed.

She would retire, when the time was right and she had a

suitable successor. When the time came that she was bored

with the business, she would leave it all behind. She would

take her accumulated wealth and leave the Rim for good.

Tonight was to be the culmination of her career, the crowning

crime. The way to boost her savings and the Cartel‟s profits

to the point where she could leave it all with something as

close to a clear conscience as a woman like Rula Winther

could ever claim. And the way finally to be happy herself.

Her only worry was about her successor. She knew who

would take over from her when she was finished. The

question was, were they ready? Did they have the necessary

killer instinct?

The knock at the door disturbed Mrs Winther‟s thoughts,

jolting her back to the present. „Yes?‟ she called out.

Nikole was carrying a thin folder as she crossed the room

and sat on the chair in front of the desk. She did not wait to

be told to sit, Winther noticed. That was good. She was

becoming more confident, more at ease in Mrs Winther‟s

company.

„Exactly on time, as ever,‟ Mrs Winther said. „I see you‟ve

brought the weekly results.‟

„Yes, Mrs Winther.‟

Winther smiled. „Still so formal. You may call me Rula, you

know.‟

Nikole nodded. „I‟m sorry. It seems... unprofessional

somehow.‟

„Well, we can‟t have that,‟ Mrs Winther agreed gently.

Nikole opened the folder and drew out several flimsy sheets

of printed paper. Her short, straight hair flopped forward

slightly as she did so, and she brushed it aside. Physically,

Nikole Medak was everything that Mrs Winther was not. They

both had dark hair, but Nikole‟s was slicked back and short

with a hint of red in it, whereas Winther‟s was grey and

curled with a tinge of blue. Nikole was slim with narrow

shoulders, whereas Winther was broad and big-boned. Very

big-boned indeed. Nikole‟s face was long with young,

innocent features. Winther‟s face was round and wrinkling

with age. Whereas Nikole‟s eyes were green and wide,

Winther‟s were dark blue, small and narrow and seemed to

be continually assessing and reassessing everything she saw.

„The takings for the week are up slightly on projections,‟

Nikole said. Her voice was quiet, refined, clear. „The income

from hard drugs is down a little because of the current

clampdown by the Enforcement Agency, but that‟s more than

made up for by the prostitution, gambling outlets and the

small amount of legitimate trade.‟

Mrs Winther waited while Nikole gave her report. She

wasn‟t really listening. Her mind was wandering as she

thought about how tonight‟s operation would be going; about

how long it would take to examine and duplicate the

technology; about how long before she would hand over to

Nikole and be free of this squalid business.

After the dim streets, the hotel foyer seemed incredibly

bright. Benny stood on the threshold for a moment, blinking

as her eyes adjusted. She was still holding her purse. Dent

Harper was still holding her arm. In the sudden bright light,

this seemed a little forward, and Benny shrugged out of his

grip.

„How about that pub, then?‟ she asked.

Dent smiled back. „We‟ll give it a go,‟ he said. His

expression hardened. „But expect trouble. Even in a relatively

respectable hotel like this, the bars are likely to be full of

scum and lowlife. Opportunists looking for anything or

anyone that isn‟t fixed down.‟ He nodded grimly. „I remember

once on Spectralux while I was staying at the Vacation Inn.

There was a sports bar -‟

Benny held up her hand to stop him. „I‟m fascinated,‟ she

said. „Really. But I‟ll be even more fascinated with a drink in

one hand.‟

They were both still smiling when they were hurled apart.

One moment they were leaning closer to each other, Benny‟s

hand still held up, her purse in her other hand, the next

moment she was sprawling on the floor. With no purse.

Dent was on his feet again immediately. „Didn‟t see him,

sorry,‟ he said as he raced after the thief.

Benny followed, back out into the night. Dent was standing

in the fine drizzle, a way along the street, looking all around.

He swore as he made his way slowly back to the hotel

entrance. „Could be anywhere by now.‟ He sighed. „Benny, I‟m

so sorry.‟

„Don‟t worry,‟ she said. „I‟m sure it happens all the time.

There was nothing important in it. Only some money.

Rubbish like that.‟

„Even so…‟ protested Dent.

„There is one tragic element in all this,‟ Benny agreed as

they went back inside.

„Oh?‟

„Yes. Now you‟ll have to buy the drinks.‟

CHAPTER 4

I‘m sorry. I can see that you‘re not interested.‘ Nikole tried

not to sound too annoyed with the old woman. She was

losing it - unable to concentrate on anything for more than a

few minutes these days.

‗No, no,‘ Rula Winther said. ‗It is I who am sorry. My mind

was on other things.‘

‗The business is suffering, Mrs Winther, I‘m sure. Because

of your lack of attention the last month or more.‘ She had to

be able to say she‘d told her. For all the good it would do.

Mrs Winther smiled. ‗But you tell me that takings are up

week on week.‘

‗But they should be up further.‘

‗I‘m sure I can rely on you, Nikole. You are more than

capable now of running the business.‘

Nikole smiled thinly. She knew that. She was surprised the

old hag had even thought it, let alone said so. ‗I do my best,‘

Nikole said. ‗But it is difficult keeping track of everything,

convincing everyone that I have your authority.‘

A nerve twitched under Mrs Winther‘s left eye. ‗If you have

trouble with anyone in particular, let me know and they will

be sorted out,‘ she said. Her voice was a husky rasp of

annoyance. ‗You have my complete confidence, Nikole. You

are in charge now, in everything but name.‘

Everything but name. Everything but name and position,

and cut of the takings. ‗We shall be glad of your renewed

attention after tonight, Mrs Winther.‘

Rula Winther looked at Nikole for a moment. Her eyes

seemed almost to narrow still further, so that there was little

but a glint of reflected light visible beneath the lids. ‗I know

you don‘t approve of my current... enterprise, Nikole.‘

Nikole said nothing. She put the papers back inside the

folder and sat quietly as Mrs Winther went on.

‗But, believe me, there is immense profit to be had from

tonight‘s work. And not just material wealth, either. Not just

the licensing of the technology.‘

Nikole sighed. She had not dared to voice her thoughts so

openly before, but now seemed as good a time as any. ‗But,

Mrs Winther,‘ she said, ‗so much effort. So much expense.‘

‗It will be worth it.‘

‗Will it? For what? A forgotten relic of a forgotten

civilization. Nobody knows anything much about it, after all.‘

‗I know.‘

‗Yes, madam. But for all your confidence in the value of the

thing, for all the careful planning, it is not itself deemed

specially important. The security measures are to protect the

other valuables in the collection, yet we plan to leave those

untouched.‘

Winther sighed. ‗Yes. We must make this seem like a

bungled attempt to steal something that has more intrinsic

wealth. We must make it seem like it went wrong, and the

thieves escaped with precious little.‘

‗But that‘s just it. Precious little.‘ Nikole shook her head. ‗I

mean, madam... A piece of glass.‘

Rula Winther seemed saddened by the comments. ‗Trust

me, Nikole,‘ she said quietly. ‗You of all people have to trust

me. Dorpfeld‘s Prism is far more than just a piece of glass.‘

‗A piece of glass with some vague ancient curse on it?‘

Nikole said loudly. She stood up. ‗A piece of glass so

unremarkable we are hoping that nobody will even miss it.

I‘m sorry, Mrs Winther. I don‘t see the point.‘

‗I‘m sorry too, Nikole.‘ Winther leant back in her chair and

closed her eyes. So far as Nikole could tell. ‗You may leave

me,‘ she whispered thickly. ‗I shall wait up for the team to

return.‘

‗Yes, Mrs Winther,‘ Nikole murmured as she let herself out

of the room.

As I was saying, it was on Spectralux. I think I told you that I

was staying at the Vacation Inn at the time. There was what

purported to be a sports bar on the top floor. It was in the

middle of a revolving restaurant. The restaurant‘s mechanism

had been broken for years, and so it was up to the sports bar

to try to convince the clientele it still worked. They did a good

job for the most part.

‗Why was it called a sports bar? As far as I could tell it was

because there was a spinball hoop in the middle. You could

pay for shots, and if you got three balls through the hoop in a

go, they gave you a free drink. A very small free drink. Apart

from that and the fact that the cocktail waitresses all wore

white shorts and long woollen socks...

‗Sorry, where was I? Oh yes. Well, I had just returned from

a foray into the Uncharted Isles. I don‘t know if you‘ve heard

of them. Probably not, since they had to change their name

soon after I went. I was with Matrik Ungeles, the famous

cartographer, and we stayed at the Vacation Inn on our route

back to the port.

‗Anyway, I asked for a couple of goes at getting the ball

through the hoop. There was some hilarity, and one guy on

the other side of the bar bet another that there was no way

I‘d get two in a row, let alone three. I didn‘t pay much

attention, not being a betting man. Probably they hadn‘t

realized that from my earlier observations I was well aware

that there was a small gravitic whirlpool inducer built into

the rim of the net. But I reckoned I could compensate for that

by spinning the ball ever so slightly anticlockwise and

bouncing off the backboard at a given tangent to the

generated field. You get the idea I‘m sure. But anyway, the

stakes got quite high, it seems, as I took aim for my first

throw.

‗While I was enjoying the free whiski-soda, I could hear a

commotion from where the betting men had been drinking. I

ignored it, and concentrated on getting the last drop from my

glass. That always seems more important when someone else

is paying. Then, of course, I needed another drink. So I asked

for another go at throwing the balls. It worked out just

cheaper than buying another whiski, though still a

horrendous price.

‗―What do you mean, can‘t pay? It was a bet!‖

‗Well, I ignored the noise from across the bar and settled for

convincing the barman that, yes, I could have another go,

but that really would be the last and I quite understood that

he had to make a living here. Whatever. It was hardly making

myself heard above the raised voices, shouts, and then cries.

The sound of metal meeting soft resistance was especially

distracting, but I did my level best to keep my mind on the

task in hand.

‗I suppose it was an instinctive reaction. I caught the first

ball as it was lobbed my way.

‗―Here, try with this.‖ The laughter was raucous and

unpleasant, but the sentiment seemed fine.

‗―Thanks,‖ I said as I caught the ball, already concentrating

on achieving a karmic moment ready for the throw. Even so,

it did occur to me that it was odd that a spinball should be

hairy round one side.

‗And sticky.‘

Harper paused. ‗Am I boring you?‘ he asked.

He tried not to sound miffed, but Benny could tell he was.

‗Sorry,‘ she said. ‗No, it‘s fascinating. I was distracted, that‘s

all.‘

‗Oh?‘

‗There was a guy...‘ Benny had caught sight of the man

ogling her from the other side of the room, and spent most of

Dent‘s narrative trying to avoid the man‘s eyes, trying to

pretend she didn‘t know he was staring at her.

‗Where?‘ Dent asked in a tone that suggested he had

already rolled up his metaphorical sleeves and was ready to

dive in and protect Benny‘s honour. And anything else that

needed protecting.

‗Well, that‘s just it,‘ Benny said. ‗He was making more eyes

at me than a bad potato with glasses. Then before I could

stop him, he... He just got up and left.‘ She shook her head.

‗I‘m glad my purse got snatched,‘ she said.

Dent stared at her open-mouthed. ‗Sorry?‘

‗Oh yes,‘ she said. ‗Things have been so quiet and ordinary

I was beginning to think that it was all made up by the

tourist Board or something.‘ She smiled and patted Dent‘s

solid shoulder. ‗No offence, but I was starting to wonder if all

your stories, your books and traveller‘s tales weren‘t just a

teency-weency bit exaggerated.‘

‗Exaggerated?‘ Dent‘s face was darkening, his eyebrows

creeping down low over his eyes.

‗So I‘m glad my purse got snatched,‘ Benny said quickly.

‗Restores my confidence in your veracity. Redoubles my faith

in the fundamental unpleasantness of human nature.‘

While she had been speaking, a thin young man with

greased-back hair had been standing politely beside them,

obviously waiting for an opportunity to say something

without interrupting or causing offence.

‗Excuse me,‘ he said sheepishly.

‗Yes, can I help you?‘ Dent asked abrasively.

‗Er, yes. That is...‘ The man shuffled his feet in evident

embarrassment. ‗It was wrong. I‘m so sorry.‘

Benny and Dent exchanged looks. Benny tapped her

temple with her forefinger. ‗The pub weirdo,‘ she mouthed.

Dent frowned, and she shook her head. Never mind.

‗Here,‘ the man said before they could do the whole sign-

language course. He thrust out his hand towards Benny. He

was holding something. She smiled sympathetically, and

risked a quick look. ‗I never...‘ the man said. ‗That is, I‘m not

a believer. At least I wasn‘t. But the Lord moves in

mysterious ways. I know I sinned. God knows I sinned.

Please...‘ His voice cracked under the emotion. ‗Please forgive

me.‘

Benny swallowed, and looked back at Dent. He stared back

at her, as incredulous as she was. ‗I forgive you,‘ Benny

mumbled as she took back her purse. ‗Now go forth and sin

no more,‘ she added.

‗Thank you.‘ The man clapped his hands together as if in

prayer. ‗God is good,‘ he said as he shuffled away.

‗Forgiveness. A second chance. I have seen his messenger

and been given a second chance.‘

‗You were saying,‘ Dent said, ‗about being glad you purse

was stolen?‘

‗Oh,‘ Benny said. ‗Nothing.‘ She blew out a long bread then

drained her glass in one. ‗Let me buy you another drink,‘ she

said.

Luggar was a big man. In his youth he had been fit and

powerful. Now he was pudgy and powerful. In his younger

days he had been at the sharp end, had led the most

important raids and put the squeeze on those who stood up

against his mistress. But now he knew he was past it. It was

good of Mrs Winther to keep him on, he knew. But he was

fiercely loyal, devoted even. He was never far from her side,

and he would die for her, for the Cartel. That was his job,

after all.

He sat outside the door to Rula Winther‘s study, arms

folded, staring at the far wall. There were several popular

magazines and a financial report on the low table beside him.

But he had already looked at all the pictures in the

magazines. He hadn‘t opened the report.

He stood up at once as the door behind him opened,

livening, Mrs Winther.‘

‗It‘s the middle of the night, Luggar. You needn‘t wait up,

you know.‘

‗I don‘t sleep ‗less you sleep, Mrs Winther.‘

She smiled and nodded. ‗We‘re getting old, Luggar,‘ she

said quietly. ‗We don‘t need so much sleep now. Yet we have

more time for it while the youngsters do the work. Strange,

isn‘t it?‘

Luggar didn‘t answer. He knew her well enough to know

she didn‘t expect him to.

Rula Winther crossed to the window, threw it open and

looked out. In the distance were the lights of the city. Luggar

stood behind her. They both stood in silence for several

minutes.

‗She doesn‘t understand, you know,‘ Winther said at last,

without turning. ‗Nikole doesn‘t understand yet. But one day

she will.‘ From somewhere in the distance the wind brought

the faint wail of a siren.

‗Then there‘s being able to relax,‘ Winther said. ‗That would

help. It‘s difficult to sleep when you know there are so many

people out there just waiting to knife you in the back. She‘ll

learn that. Just as I did. She‘ll find that there‘s no end to it.

No end to the cycle of violence and greed and blood. No end

except...‘

She turned suddenly from the window. The wind ruffled

her short hair as she faced Luggar. ‗Do you understand why I

want Dorpfeld‘s Prism so badly?‘ she asked. ‗Do you know

why I have to have it?‘

Luggar shook his head and shrugged. She would tell him,

whatever his answer.

‗It‘s the way to break out of the cycle. To escape the torture,

the maiming, the kidnapping, drugs, everything.‘ She gave a

half-smile. It did not reach her sad eyes. ‗Every job we do just

adds to the cycle. It increases the bounty on each of our

heads. Especially mine. I know you and the others see that

as a sign of success. But it‘s an invitation to an

assassination. Only a matter of time.‘ She shook her head.

‗And what‘s it worth after all? After the bribes, the kick-

backs, the expenses and everyone‘s cut, the take is so thin as

to be inconsequential. Just enough to carry us on the next

job. And so the cycle goes on. Until now.‘

‗Yes, Mrs Winther.‘ He had little idea what she was talking

about, but a comment seemed to be required. Luggar was

happy enough with his lifestyle and with the money he made.

And she was quite right: the more he was worth in terms of

bounty the higher up the criminal career ladder he reckoned

he had climbed. It was to do with respect. And it was to do

with pride.

‗This is the Big One, Luggar.‘ She nodded seriously. This is

it. With this one I can retire. Not grow old and die in the

business, or feel the knife as it goes into my sleeping back,

This is the way to break out of the cycle.‘ She turned away

suddenly, her voice breaking slightly as she said, ‗And I want

out, Luggar. Enough is enough. Just for once I want…‘ Her

voice dropped to a whisper. ‗I want to be happy.‘

The motion sensors were keyed to heat patterns. They said

the street was empty, and so was the surrounding area at

that end of the building. Powlo Vertutes gave the signal, and

his team started work. A pulse-router attached to the

communications line intercepted all impulses both in and out

of the building, while a software patch disabled the alarm

system by telling them they had already been triggered.

It took just twelve minutes to set everything up. Then they

were ready to go in.

Miklos Frunt stood in the shadow of a doorway and looked

up and down the street. It was empty, so he started work. He

pulled a pair of wire cutters from inside his trench coat and

severed the main communications link. If anyone noticed

they would blame the comms company, at least until the

morning.

The alarm was more tricky. He spliced a wire between the

two cables in and out of the main system, then cut the cables

above the splice. He kept his fingers crossed, which made it a

little tricky to squeeze the cutters.

It took just two minutes to sort everything out. Then he

was ready to go in.

A sonic influx pulser confused the main lock so that they

could open the door. They pulled night-vision goggles down

as they entered, not wanting any light to be seen from

outside. A wave-form digital-corruption inducer straight out

of the test labs at Mi-Tek meant that the images from the

cameras would be nothing but a blizzard of white.

The target was in the basement of the office building, in an

area reserved for the corporate collection of odds and ends

dredged up from various mines or donated by planetary

governments only too pleased to have some of their

unemployment assuaged by the arrival of the Davidia Off-

world Mining Corp. Some of the items were very highly

insured. It was because of them that the alarm system was

so advanced. These were not the items that Powlo‘s team was

after.

In case the elevator pattern was logged, they planned to

use the emergency stairs on the other side of the building to

descend.

A thin plastic card was enough to break the locking circuit.

The door sprang open and Frunt let himself into the building.

He had a small torch. If anyone from outside saw the light,

the chances were they would ignore it. If not, they would

assume it was a security guard making his rounds. Frunt

happened to know that the security company that organized

the guards was at the point of financial collapse where it

could not afford to pay the staff. Not that they had told their

clients that.

He also knew there were security cameras. That was why

he was wearing a large mask moulded into a caricature of a

prominent local politician. He waved cheerily to the nearest

camera as he passed.

He sauntered over to the elevator and pressed the call

button.

Powlo waited while his best technician checked the door at

the top of the stairs. It could be wired for tampering, or

microwave-linked directly to the fire alarm and emergency

services. The technician gave the thumbs-up and carefully

opened the door. They made their way slowly down to the

basement, keeping alert, listening for any sound.

The lift doors opened, and Frunt stepped out. He shone his

torch round the large basement area. On the wall nearby was

a schematic showing what each of the exhibits was, together

with a brief explanation. He ran his gloved finger down the

list until he found what he was looking for.

The display case was in a corner, close to an emergency

exit. A quick examination satisfied Frunt that there was no

laser cage protecting the exhibit. He hesitated for a moment,

peering into the display case at the exhibit inside. The clear

crystal in its silver mounting reflected the light from the

torch, patterns seeming to form and dance within. The chain

was looped round the case, so that it was apparent that the

jewel was intended to be worn as a necklace. It was all just

as it had been described to him.

They had discussed whether the sound of breaking the

cabinet would be a problem. That had been just about the

full extent of the planning - half an hour‘s hushed discussion

over a couple of beers. They had decided it would not.

They had been wrong.

Powlo pushed open the door at the bottom of the stairs, alert

for any movement or extra alarm circuits. Every move had

been planned down to the last detail. Months of meticulous

effort, three-dimension sim scenarios, what-if risk analyses,

extrapolation index mapping... Tonight‘s mission was the

culmination of the long and heated discussions about how

best to approach the problem. Powlo was as confident as his

hand-picked team that nothing could go wrong now.

He froze, halfway through the door as the basement

exhibition area echoed with the sudden sound of breaking

glass.

The necklace was heavier than he had expected. Frunt held it

for a moment, dangling at arm‘s length from the handle of

the wire cutters he had used to smash the top of the display

ease. He had been warned to keep the thing well away from

his body. Not that he believed any of that rubbish about

ancient curses. But, just the same, it was with a sigh of relief

that he dropped the necklace into a small bag surfaced with

a molecular lining of lead.

Then he heard the sound of running feet, and turned

quickly.

The small pool of light from his torch splashed across the

forms of the four black-clad figures racing towards him. Their

faces were covered with goggles, and, as he moved the torch

beam upward, they seemed to shy away, hands at their faces

in surprise and shock.

Frunt didn‘t wait to work out why. He ran.

Instinctively he ran back the way he had come, towards the

lift. The four men chasing him were far enough behind for

him to be able to get inside and close the door before they

caught up with him. He jabbed at a button at random,

praying they would not reach the lift quickly enough for the

doors to open for them. He let out a long breath as he felt the

elevator begin to ascend.

It stopped on the ground floor, the doors opening

lethargically to let Frunt shoot out as if under pressure. He

set off across the main foyer of the building at a terrified run.

Ahead of him, a fire door crashed open and a dark figure

appeared. Frunt spun in mid-step, changing course and

heading off deeper into the building. So far everything had

happened in near silence. The sound of the silenced laser

bolt smacking into the wall just beside Frunt‘s head was

hardly louder than the sound of his breath. But he ran all

the faster nonetheless.

He was barely thinking, just running. So it was as much by

luck as any planning that he found he had circled the block

where the lifts were and returned to the main-entrance foyer.

The doors were shut - heavy slices of clear glass through

which he could see the neon night outside. He raced towards

them, wondering what he would do when he got there.

As it happened, he did not have to worry. Detecting his

approach, and locked only against people trying to enter the

building, the door slid soundlessly open to allow him out. The

sound of the outside world was loud inside the building as he

approached the opening doors. Somewhere an emergency

siren was wailing. Litter was blowing across the street. In a

nearby building a child was crying.

And behind him the men were screaming and shouting now

as they followed him out into the light rain.

‗You know,‘ Benny said as she sipped at her beer, ‗I‘m not

convinced.‘

‗Oh?‘

‗This place - the Rim - it‘s not the new frontier at all, is it?‘

‗What do you mean?‘ Dent asked, frowning.

‗I think it‘s all some sort of publicity stunt. If I didn‘t know

you so well, I‘d begin to doubt the absolute precise truth of

the details of your accounts of derring-do and life close to the

edge.‘

He just stared at her, drink untouched.

Benny sighed. ‗Sorry,‘ she said. ‗But really. I mean...‘

Still he did not reply.

‗Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes... It‘s worse

than Samuel Beckett.‘ She shook her head and took another

swig of beer.

‗It‘s not usually this quiet.‘ He tried to keep from sounding

too miffed. ‗Really it‘s not.‘

‗Sure. Sorry.‘ She smiled at him. ‗Quiet day, I suppose. And

I‘m still tired from the journey. Tomorrow you can show me

what it‘s really like.‘

‗Yeah,‘ he said, attempting a smile in return. ‗Let‘s do that.‘

There was an awkward pause, then Dent said, ‗I‘ll be back in

a minute.‘ He smiled with good humour he did not feel, and

stood up from the bar stool.

‗Sure,‘ Benny replied in a casual manner that suggested

she knew where he was going.

But she didn‘t, Dent was sure. He made his way quickly

across the bar, glancing back to see if Benny was watching.

She wasn‘t, and he pushed open the door back into the main

part of the hotel. The door through which had recently

departed the wild-eyed lunatic who had snatched and then

returned Benny‘s purse.

Frunt‘s lungs felt as if they were about to burst out of his

chest. His throat was sore, and he was wet through from the

rain. His hand was caught inside his coat pocket as he ran,

trying to pull out the mobile comm. He had to find

somewhere to hide, to hope they would miss him in the

night. With something of a shock he realized where he was.

Frunt turned quickly into an alley and ducked behind a large

rubbish skip. He pulled open the lid and considered climbing

inside, but dismissed the idea at once. Once inside he might

never get out again.

He held his ragged breath as the four dark figures passed

the end of the alley. They paused for a moment, and Frunt

could see them clearly for the first time. They had removed

the goggles now, and were holding a small device, looking at

the screen.

‗Too much interference,‘ one of the men said, his voice just

carrying to where Frunt was hiding. ‗Can‘t make out a single

trace line in among everyone else.‘

‗Let‘s keep going this way,‘ one of the others said. ‗If we lose

him, Mrs Winther‘ll have our guts for harp strings.‘

He froze. Mrs Winther. Oh God, if the Cartel was after him,

he had no chance. Frunt looked round desperately. Inside he

was as cold as outside now. He realized his hand was inside

his coat pocket again, and pulled out the comm, hitting one

of the quick-dial buttons.

The call was answered almost immediately. ‗Is that you?‘

the man at the other end asked.

‗Of course it‘s me,‘ Frunt hissed back. ‗Who else would call

you at this time?‘

‗Where are you?‘

‗Right outside. But I can‘t come in. Listen, there‘s a

problem. A big problem.‘ He looked round warily, then

hissed, ‗The Cartel are after me. They were there, at the

building. I think they‘re after the relic.‘

‗Are you OK?‘

‗No, I‘m not. They‘ll kill me if they find me. You know that.‘

The voice was low and urgent. ‗Miklos, listen, I can‘t help

you -‘

‗I know that. And don‘t worry: I won‘t lead them to you.‘

‗I would if I could. If there was any way -‘

‗Rubbish,‘ Frunt snapped.

‗Well, there‘s no need to get -‘

‗You‘re trash,‘ Frunt hissed. ‗You hear that?‘ He didn‘t Wait

for an answer. ‗Got to go. If I manage to get away, I‘ll meet

you as arranged. If not... goodbye.‘ Frunt ended the call and

stared at the communicator for a moment. He had to get

somewhere he could lose himself. He needed lights, people.

Lots of people. He stuffed the comm back into his pocket and

peered out from behind the skip.

Just as a dark figure appeared at the end of the alley. With

a shout, the figure started down the narrow alley towards

Frunt.

The porter at the main doors remembered the young man,

and pointed out to Dent where he had gone. In fact, he had

not gone far. Dent found him wandering along the pavement,

ignoring the rain that had plastered his greasy hair across

the scalp. He was walking slowly, eyes raised to heaven and

hands clasped together. With his heavy, damp coat on he

looked like a monk on his way to matins.

Dent walked beside him for a few yards. The man ignored

him. So he stepped in front and put his hand on the man‘s

chest to stop him.

The man seemed surprised, but he made no attempt to run

away, and said nothing. He just stared at Dent, his eyes wide

and empty.

‗What‘s going on?‘ Dent asked. ‗Just tell me that.‘

‗I don‘t understand.‘

‗No.‘ Dent pushed his finger dangerously close to the man‘s

nose. A drop of rainwater detached itself from the end of the

nose and dripped on to Dent‘s finger. He shook it off In

annoyance. ‗It‘s me who doesn‘t understand. You‘re a petty

pickpocket. We both know that. I haven‘t seen you before,

but we both know you snatched Benny‘s purse, and we both

know that it wasn‘t the first purse you‘ve grabbed. Was it?‘

The man shook his head. ‗But that was before...‘ He raised

his eyes to the sky again. ‗Before I was... converted.‘

‗Oh come on!‘ Dent yelled. ‗Don‘t give me that. You bring

back the purse and gabble on about some miraculous

conversion. You‘re a street rat. Filthy scum like you don‘t just

get religion.‘

‗I thought not,‘ the man admitted. His voice was quiet,

patient. ‗But I have seen God‘s messenger. He told me to

return the purse. To go and sin no more.‘

‗Who did?‘ Dent demanded. ‗Who told you?‘

The man seemed bored with the conversation now, and

started walking again. He pushed past Dent and clasped his

hands together again as he answered. ‗An angel,‘ he said.

CHAPTER 5

The rain was getting heavier. Jason had to peer through the

murk of the night and the weather to see what Dent Harper

was up to. He watched as the man Clarence had scared half

to death an hour earlier pushed past Harper and headed off

up the street. Jason shook his head. The poor guy would

never be the same. They had deprived him of his only form of

income. Still, sacrifices had to be made.

He ducked back into the shadows as Harper returned to

the hotel. Jason gave him a count of twenty, then followed

him back in. Not that Harper would recognize him, but it was

as well to keep out of sight as far as possible. The restaurant

had been the trickiest - trying to arrange for a booth where

Benny couldn‘t see them, but they could peep out at her and

Harper.

Throughout the hotel‘s entrance foyer there were small

islands formed out of chairs clustered round low tables.

Jason chose a chair where he could see through the glass

pane in the door into the pub area and tell if Benny was

coming. He could also see Clarence. And Clarence could see

him.

After a few moments, Clarence got up from the corner table

well behind where Benny was seated at the bar, Harper once

more beside her.

‗Any problems?‘ Jason asked as Clarence joined him. The

angel was in disguise. His wings were folded inside his large,

full-length coat. He seemed to be wearing a rucksack, but in

fact this was an empty hollow over the bulge in his coat

where the wings were folded. So much for disguising the fact

he was an angel. Jason did his best not to laugh at the wiry,

curly, dark hair and the floppy black moustache that were

designed to keep Benny from recognizing her friend should

she catch sight of him. Given that Clarence had managed to

grow them out of his exterior body ‗shell‘, Jason reckoned he

could have made them more convincing. But getting him to

wear clothes even had been something of a battle. Explaining

why Clarence had to be disguised whew Jason‘s camouflage

amounted to a clean shirt and parting his hair on the other

side, not that anyone could tell, had been a diplomatic tour

de force.

‗He did not mention angels,‘ Clarence said in what was

intended to be a conspiratorial tone. ‗He seemed to be

claiming that he had been providing work for a plumbing

engineer.‘

Jason nodded. He was beginning to be able to decipher

Clarence‘s rather literal interpretations now. ‗So he told her

he‘d been for a leak. Makes sense. He must be pretty

bewildered by all this.‘

Clarence considered. ‗Should we not bring him in on it?‘ He

sounded out the words carefully.

Jason smiled at the colloquialism. ‗No, I don‘t think so. He

might let something slip. Or he might just tell her. It would

be difficult to think of a plausible justification for what we‘re

up to.‘ He checked through the door, and could see Benny

and Harper smiling at each other over their half-empty

drinks. ‗I have trouble thinking of one,‘ he added quietly.

‗It is for her own good,‘ Clarence reassured him.

‗Yes,‘ Jason said. ‗Of course it is.‘ He stood up. ‗Come on,

we‘d better get back in there in case anything unpleasant

looks about to happen.‘ He shook his head. ‗This place is the

pits. You can‘t walk the street safely in broad daylight.‘

Clarence shielded Jason from view as they slipped into the

pub. They resumed their place at the table in the corner,

several of the other drinkers shuffling uneasily in their seats

its they caught sight of the pair. Two got up and left quickly.

‗We should report back to Brax,‘ Jason said. ‗Let him know

how it‘s going.‘ He beckoned to a waiter, who came scurrying

over. ‗I‘m glad we managed to delay her flight at Bactural so

we got here first.‘

‗Yes, sir?‘ the waiter oiled.

‗Nothing for my friend,‘ Jason said. ‗I‘ll have water.‘

‗Yes, sir.‘

Jason caught his sleeve as he turned to leave. ‗Big one,‘ he

said.

They settled back to watch Benny and Harper. And then

leant forward again. There seemed to be some sort of

argument going on with the bar staff.

‗It‘s nonstop,‘ Jason said. ‗Not a moment‘s peace.‘ He waved

to the waiter heading their way with a jug of water and a

glass. ‗What now?‘ he asked.

‗Oh some minor trouble, sir.‘ The waiter poured water into

the glass. His hand was shaking and the ice clinked together

noisily in the jug. ‗Lady at the bar doesn‘t seem to be able to

pay her bill.‘

Jason and Clarence looked at each other. ‗What is it with

that woman?‘ Jason said to Clarence. To the waiter he said, ‗I

want to see the manager. Now. While you‘re still breathing.‘

It was the principle of the thing that got Benny. ‗Look,‘ she

said in what she considered to be an entirely reasonable tone

of voice, ‗I know I haven‘t got enough cash with me. But since

I‘m a guest at this excellent hotel, why don‘t we just put it on

my room bill?‘

Dent leant across, holding a wad on notes. ‗Here,‘ he said

gently, ‗let me.‘

She pushed his arm aside. ‗No way,‘ she said fiercely. ‗My

tab. I pay it. Right?‘

‗Wrong,‘ the barman said. ‗Very wrong.‘

‗Oh, and why‘s that?‘

‗Because your room doesn‘t have a credit facility here,

that‘s why.‘ The barman smiled as if he was imparting good

news. ‗It‘s the package you‘re on.‘

‗You‘ll be inside a package in a minute,‘ Benny told him.

‗You bill my room, I pick up the bill at the end of my stay.

Simple.‘

‗Sorry,‘ the barman said. ‗Cash only, Miss Summerfield.‘

‗It‘s Professor, actually,‘ Benny said through tightly

clenched teeth.

‗Then sorry, Miss Professor.‘

After that, things got noisy. Dent waved his wad. Benny

pushed it away. The barman tried to grab it, and Benny

stood up and almost grabbed him. They were all shouting.

‗I demand to see whoever‘s in charge here,‘ Benny

screamed eventually. She was tired of shouting at the

barman.

‗No way,‘ the barman shouted back. Nobody sees the

manager. Not even me. Nobody.‘

There was a moment‘s silence after this. It was interrupted

by a polite cough. ‗Professor Summerfield?‘ a calm voice

asked.

Benny turned. A thin man immaculately dressed in a suit

was standing behind her. He was wearing a bow tie and a

smug expression. ‗I‘m the manager,‘ he said. ‗And I have

some good news for you.‘

‗Oh,‘ said Benny, sitting down. ‗Right.‘

When the manager had gone, Dent and Benny stared at

each other for a while.

‗Bit of luck,‘ Dent said. ‗Congratulations.‘

‗Mmm,‘ said Benny. ‗One hundredth customer this evening.

As you say, bit of luck.‘

‗Does this happen every night?‘ Dent asked the barman.

‗I‘ve not come across it before. The free-drinks-for-the-

hundredth-customer thing, I mean.‘

The barman grabbed a clean glass and started polishing it

vigorously. ‗I, er, I think it‘s only on special occasions,‘ he

said indistinctly.

‗So what‘s the occasion?‘ Benny asked.

‗Excuse me,‘ the barman mumbled quickly. ‗Someone to

serve round the other side. Bye.‘

There was absolute silence for several moments after Rula

Winther broke the connection. Luggar waited for her to speak

before he ventured anything.

‗Those idiots,‘ she hissed at last. ‗Can‘t even grab a

necklace without bungling things.‘ She paced up and down

like a cat. A large, heavy cat. ‗Letting a petty thief beat them

to it. Letting him get away...‘ She was shaking her head and

bunching her hands into fists as she paced.

Luggar coughed politely. ‗Would you like me to sort it out,

Mrs Winther?‘ He might be getting old, but he wasn‘t past it

yet.

She stopped at once, and looked at him. Her round, red

face broke into a smile. ‗Would you? You‘re such a dear.‘ She

went over to him and patted his hand gently. ‗Lou, you‘re a

treasure. You know what this means to me.‘

Luggar smiled, or as close as he ever got. His cheeks looked

permanently bruised, and they shifted position slightly as his

teeth emerged from between his thin lips. ‗No problem, Mrs

Winther.‘

It was getting late. Or, rather, early. Benny had enjoyed

listening to Dent‘s accounts of life under canvas on

Chiropodie Seven and his daring escape from the ravening

hordes of Incumen on Ostrakovik Milonides. She was looking

forward to tomorrow‘s excursions and finally, she hoped,

getting to see some of the real action and excitement she had

come for. She was not quite sure what form it would take,

but she was certain she had not run into it yet.

The pub had filled up during the course of the night, and it

was now into the early hours. The tables were situate close

together, and people were standing between them now.

Benny dived in and forced her way through the crowd round

the bar. Dent was somewhere behind her - no doubt he‘d

catch her up.

As she pushed her way through the milling people with

shouts of ‗Excuse me‘ and ‗Gangway‘, Benny felt a sudden

pain in her thigh. Looking down and sideways she saw that

she had bumped into a table she had failed to notice. ‗Sorry,‘

she called and pushed on.

A hand grabbed her and yanked her back. ‗You spilt Mr

Canley‘s drink,‘ a rough voice coughed into her ear as she

was pulled down so her head was level with that of the

enormous gorilla-shaped man sitting on one side of the table.

On the other side of the table was another large man, his

huge hands clasped together in a pool of spilt fruit juice. His

face was darkening even as Benny watched.

‗I said sorry, didn‘t I?‘ she shouted at them. ‗If you stick

your table right in the thoroughfare, what do you expect?‘

She pulled herself free of the man‘s grip and pushed her way

onward.

‗Hurry up,‘ Dent‘s voice hissed in her ear. ‗That was Heath

Canley.‘

‗He didn‘t actually introduce himself,‘ Benny called back.

‗What‘s the problem?‘

Dent took her arm. ‗The problem is‘, he said, ‗that Canley is

the leader of one of the major drug gangs on the Rim. People

tend to disappear when he‘s around, and that‘s just people

nearby. The people who upset him...‘ He let the sentence

hang in the air.

‗Best to leave quickly with our dignity intact, then,‘ Benny

said. ‗He didn‘t look that dangerous.‘

‗He used to be a Quagmer wrestler.‘

‗Is that something impressive?‘ Benny asked as they

reached the door.

‗Have you ever seen a Quagmer?‘ Dent said.

As Canley‘s bodyguard rose massively to his feet, a hand

clamped down on his shoulder. He knocked it aside

instinctively and continued to rise.

‗I‘d wait just a moment if I were you.‘

The voice belonged to a tall scruffy man with dark-brown

hair that seemed to be fighting against the way it was parted.

He was wearing boots and grubby slacks together with a shirt

that had been a stranger too long to the ironing table. And he

was grinning in a way that suggested he knew something the

bodyguard didn‘t.

‗Why‘s that?‘ the bodyguard demanded, glancing across the

room to check that he could see where the woman who had

spilt his employer‘s drink was headed.

‗You see the guy at the table in the comer?‘ the scruffy man

said.

Both the bodyguard and Canley followed the man‘s

pointing finger.

‗That‘s Bruiser Mulrooney.‘

The bodyguard looked again at the man in the corner. He

was tall and thin and seemed to be sitting down with a

rucksack on his back so that he had to hunch forward

slightly. His hair was a mass of black curls and an obviously

false moustache flopped across his upper lip.

‗Bruiser Mulrooney?‘ Canley said. His face was darkening

still further. It was, the bodyguard knew, a bad sign.

‗Yeah. Bruiser Mulrooney.‘ The scruffy man looked at

Canley. ‗You know, runs the Assassination Bureau.

Amputations without anaesthetic a speciality. Amaze your

friends by having them dipped in cement and tossed over the

side of the Star Ferry so that they make a star-shaped splat

when they land and you can say, ―That‘s how it got its

name.‖ That Bruiser Mulrooney.‘

Canley and the bodyguard both turned back towards the

man with the floppy moustache. ‗I didn‘t recognize him,‘

Canley said. His voice was a coarse grating of sound.

The bodyguard had never heard of Bruiser Mulrooney, but

he did not think it helpful to say so.

‗Well obviously, he‘s in disguise,‘ the scruffy man said with

a hint of annoyance. ‗I mean, look at the wig and moustache.‘

‗So?‘ Canley asked.

‗So the woman‘s with him. The woman that your large

employee here was about to accost.‘

‗So?‘ Canley said again. But there was a trace on contrition

in his voice now.

‗So if your man was hurrying after her to apologize for the

table being in her way, then Bruiser thinks that‘s a fine and

courteous gesture and would like to buy you another drink.

Several drinks in fact.‘ The man leant a little closer. ‗But if

not then it‘s a free ticket on the ferry.‘ He winked. ‗Know

what I mean?‘

Canley stared back at the man for several seconds. His face

was still dark, and his lower lip was trembling slightly in a

way that the bodyguard did not altogether like. ‗I could use

another drink,‘ he said at last. ‗Thanks.‘

They all looked across the room to where Bruiser was

looking back at them. Bruiser smiled. And waved. The scruffy

looking man sighed and let out a long breath. ‗I‘ll get those

drinks,‘ he said. ‗Have a nice day.‘

They were waiting for the lift when the gorilla found them.

His suit seemed to be stretching dangerously close to

breaking point as Dent turned to face him.

‗Leave this to me,‘ Dent whispered to Benny.

‗I don‘t usually let people fight my battles for me,‘ Benny

said. She looked again at the huge man as he stood with his

hands clasped in front of him. ‗But OK, just this once then.‘

The massive man lifted a hairy paw and pointed it at

Benny. ‗You walked into Mr Canley‘s table,‘ he growled.

‗Did I?‘ Benny ventured. ‗Oh yes, slight collision. Bit of an

accident.‘

‗Too right,‘ the man replied. His eyes narrowed to

dangerous slits.

Dent was beginning to tense, hands already clenched into

fists.

‗Sorry,‘ the huge man said.

‗Yes,‘ said Benny. ‗Absolutely. Terribly and completely

sorry.‘

The man‘s head tilted slightly to one side as if he was

having trouble understanding the conversation. ‗No,‘ he said

at last, ‗Mr Canley‘s sorry. He sends his apologies. Won‘t

happen again.‘

Benny blinked.

‗He hopes‘, the man went on, ‗that your clothes did not get

wet due to his clumsiness.‘

Dent was standing with his hands clenched and his mouth

open.

Benny recovered first. ‗No,‘ she said. ‗No, no problem there.

Really.‘ She grinned at Dent. ‗Just send a bouquet of flowers

to my room and we‘ll forget all about it, OK?‘

There was a ‗ding‘ from behind them and both Benny and

Dent flinched. As soon as the lift door had opened they

tumbled inside.

The door opened into the small shared lounge area, and Dent

flopped down into a sofa once they were inside. ‗What were

you thinking of?‘ he demanded. ‗Flowers?‘ He shook his head.

‗Nice touch, I thought,‘ Benny told him.

‗I was amazed you got an apology rather than a steel spike

between the eyes, but then to make a crack like that...‘

‗Oh come on,‘ Benny said. ‗He was perfectly charming. To

come after us just to say sorry when really it was, I admit, my

fault

Dent was shaking his head. ‗He didn‘t come to say sorry.

There‘s something else going on. We were lucky the lift

arrived before we found out what it was.‘

Benny sighed and went over to the door into her rooms.

‗Look, Dent,‘ she said, ‗I appreciate your tales of danger and

mystery and intrigue, really I do. But everyone here is just as

nice as pie. There‘s no criminal element waiting to gun you

down round every corner. It‘s just your imagination. Now, I‘m

tired, and this place is not really what I expected. Let me get

some sleep and then you can show me whatever sights there

are and we‘ll see how much of the frontier spirit is actually

left.‘

Dent was staring back at her with a sympathetic

expression. ‗There‘s something up, something happening,‘ he

said. ‗I can feel it.‘

‗Look,‘ Benny said, ‗why can‘t you accept that sometimes

when people say sorry they really mean it?‘

Before Dent could reply there was a knock at the door.

‗Oh yeah?‘ Dent hissed across the room. ‗Leave this to me.‘

Benny shrugged. ‗Worked last time,‘ she muttered.

‗Room service,‘ a voice called.

‗Huh!‘ Dent said. He took up position behind the door, back

to the wall. His knees were slightly bent and he had produced

a small pistol from somewhere inside his jacket. He nodded

to Benny.

‗Yes, come in,‘ she called.

The door opened slightly. But it was enough for Dent to

grab it and wrench it the rest of the way. As the door opened,

Dent rolled across the carpet, leaping up into a classic

posture — gun raised, legs braced apart, leaning into the

recoil.

Then he put the gun away. ‗Thanks,‘ he said as he took the

huge bouquet of flowers from the surprised maid. ‗Thanks

very much. Sorry about the, er... You know. Just a

precaution.‘

Benny watched him for five minutes, carefully pulling apart

one flower after another as he searched for the concealed

bomb. Then she grabbed what was left of her bouquet and

stuck it in a vase.

‗Get some sleep,‘ she told Dent. ‗I‘ve a feeling tomorrow‘s

going to be another action-filled day of excitement and

intrigue.‘

Dawn was breaking over the city by the time Frunt decided

he had shaken them off. He was exhausted and hungry. He

had skipped dinner, he remembered, nervous before the job.

That was nothing to how he felt now, but his appetite had

returned.

He walked wearily through the throng of street traders

setting up their stalls, ignoring the calls to examine their

overpriced wares. A woman carrying rolls of silk bumped into

him, dropping several rolls, but he did not notice. They

splashed into a muddy puddle, and the woman swore after

him.

Frunt was almost there now. If he could make it through

the market to the end of the street, then he would be at the

ideal place to hide away for a while and get some breakfast.

Then he could call in and sort things out.

‗We‘ve got the ferry port covered,‘ Powlo said. ‗And he hasn‘t

left the city so far as we can tell.‘ They were standing in the

drizzle on a street corner. People were crossing the road to

avoid them.

‗What can you tell?‘ Luggar asked. He had listened for five

minutes to a catalogue of things that had not happened, and

places the thief had not gone. He was bored with it.

‗We think he‘s still in this area.‘ Powlo jabbed a finger at his

map. ‗Lost himself in the markets and back alleys as they

started to get busy.‘

‗So what have you done?‘

Powlo‘s gaunt face crumpled into a smile. ‗Fronz is the

expert on tracking,‘ he said, and nodded to a thin-faced

weasel of a man to come over. He was holding the tracker

device.

‗I‘ve been examining the log,‘ Fronz said as he held out the

tracker for Luggar to see. ‗We think he‘s this element here.‘

He pointed out a red dot on the map display. ‗We‘ve managed

to verify his movements this far.‘ The dot on the map moved

quickly round the display, doubling back on itself on several

occasions. Other dots were shadowy dark against the map.

‗But with so many heat images it‘s difficult to track his

progress after we lost him.‘

Luggar took the device and glared at it. Then he glared at

Fronz. ‗So this can tell you what we already know, but no

more?‘ he growled.

‗Er, well, yes. But if we can extrapolate from the topological

behavioural pattern of -‘

Fronz broke off as Luggar held up the device and clenched

it in his large hand. He squeezed it tightly, and a warning

chirp started to sound. It stopped as the device shattered.

Shards of plastic and componentry fell from Luggar‘s hand.

‗Useless thing,‘ he said.

Luggar dropped the shattered remains of the casing. It

landed in a puddle. Powlo and Fronz looked at it anxiously,

as Luggar lowered his foot deliberately on the largest

surviving fragment and ground it to pieces.

‗You say you lost him among the people?‘ Luggar asked.

‗Yeah,‘ Powlo said, still looking at the puddle.

‗Then ask them.‘

‗What?‘

‗Ask them. Describe the man, ask where he went. People

saw him. People round here see everything. Tell them that

any useful information gets rewarded.‘

‗What if they lie?‘ Fronz asked sheepishly. ‗To get a reward,‘

he explained.

‗Any information that is not useful also gets rewarded.‘

Luggar told him. ‗Explain that. Anyone not helping gets their

head ripped off. Understand?‘

‗Er, yes,‘ Fronz said. Powlo nodded vigorously.

‗And that includes you lot,‘ Luggar said. ‗You‘ve got an

hour.‘

Despite being tired, Benny woke early. She woke with a

pounding head and vague recollection that someone had sent

her flowers. She also recalled having won free drinks at the

bar, and wondered whether they had been worth it.

There was no sign of Dent. He was not in the lounge, and

the door to his room was closed. She decided not to disturb

him, and left a note on the table saying she had gone for

breakfast. Her head was telling her quite forcefully that she

was in need of the regenerative powers of orange juice. And

the calming effect of coffee. And if she could get a decent

bacon sandwich as well then she might, just might, begin to

feel human again.

She was feeling better by the time she emerged from the lift

into the coffee lounge that adjoined the restaurant. Her head

was clearing, and she was thinking about the day ahead.

She‘d been a bit rough on poor Dent about his war stories.

Today she would see how red in tooth and claw the Rim

really was.

The coffee area was a platform on the second floor among

lifts, a bank of escalators and the restaurant that occupied

much of the rest of the floor. There was a polished steel

railing round the edge of the area. Below was the open space

of the hotel foyer and reception area. Easy chairs and the

occasional small sofa in tasteful pastel shades were arranged

round the coffee area.

Slumped in one of the easy chairs was a man. He was

wearing a long, dirty coat, and he looked soaked through. His

thinning hair was plastered to his head, and there was a

soggy patch on the carpet round his feet. He was just waking

up as Benny approached, and looked startled, scared and

wary all at once.

Benny paused in front of the chair. ‗Are you all right?‘ she

asked.

The man looked back at her. He didn‘t seem so frightened

now, but the wariness was still there.

Benny smiled. ‗It‘s OK,‘ she said. ‗I don‘t bite. Well, not

often. Well, not people.‘

The man smiled thinly, but made no comment. Instead he

pulled himself wearily to his feet and stumbled away towards

the escalators. He almost fell into Benny as he went,

brushing against her. She took a step backwards, partly to

avoid being knocked over, and partly recoiling from the smell.

There was a real possibility, she thought as she watched him

blunder against the steel guard rail, that he had spent much

of the night sleeping in a rubbish bin. ‗And a very good

morning to you,‘ Benny called after him.

The man paused at the sound of her voice, turning to look

back at Benny. He leant back against the rail as he watch

her.

She smiled at him less than sweetly, then turned and made

her way towards the restaurant and the smell of bacon that

was beginning to exorcise the smell of the man.

The guns were loaded with anaesthetic darts. They wanted

him alive, in case he had ditched it somewhere. Powlo and

his team had worked their way through the market stalls one

by one demanding information. Grudgingly, Powlo had to

admit that Luggar‘s plan was yielding results. Before long

they had established the direction in which the man had

been heading. Several more enquiries and they were closing

in. A woman selling rolls of mud-splashed silk was more than

happy to point them along the street that led to the Xcelsior

Hotel.

‗Makes sense,‘ Luggar said when Powlo reported back to

him. ‗He would want to lose himself in the crowds. As people

leave the hotel for the day, he could slip out with them.‘

‗Maybe he already has,‘ Powlo suggested, his cheeks blue

with the cold as well as their normal discoloration.

‗It‘s early yet,‘ Luggar said. ‗Check the hotel.‘

It was the first real piece of luck they‘d had, Powlo

reckoned as he entered the hotel foyer and happened to look

up. There above him, walking along the mezzanine level close

to the railing and perfectly visible, was the man. He was sure

it was the man they had disturbed in the basement and then

chased half across Virabilis.

Fronz looked where Powlo was pointing and nodded. ‗That‘s

him.‘

Luggar was a few paces behind them. Powlo was

determined that he rather than Luggar would make the

capture. He wasn‘t about to screw this up or let Luggar take

the credit for everything. This was his moment. With little

thought for how anyone watching might react, he took out

the gun and aimed.

He was half expecting someone in the hotel to see him, for

there to be trouble. So, when Luggar shouted, Powlo paid no

heed. The man he was aiming at had turned and now had his

back to the railing. A large and easy target. He squeezed the

trigger.

A moment later Luggar snatched the gun from his hand.

‗Idiot,‘ he hissed.

The man made no sound. He was unconscious instantly.

The shot had taken him in the small of the back, between the

railings. The impact altered the man‘s position just enough to

change his centre of gravity. Just enough for his upper body

weight to lean back against the railings. Just enough for him

to topple slowly, almost gracefully, backwards.

Powlo watched, vaguely aware that his mouth was hanging

open, as the man fell. He smacked into the floor a few yards

ahead of where Powlo and the others were standing His eyes

were closed, and there was a pool of blood already forming

under his head.

Luggar recovered first. There was silence in the foyer.

People were turning, watching, standing in surprise as the

burly man pushed his way towards the body. ‗It‘s all right,‘

he said loudly. ‗I‘m a doctor.‘

Few people believed him. But everyone was happy to leave

him to it.

Powlo joined Luggar by the body. He knelt down beside it,

careful to avoid the mess.

‗You‘re a crazy fool,‘ Luggar told him. ‗You should think

with your head, not your trigger finger.‘

‗We got him, didn‘t we?‘ Powlo grumbled.

Luggar was patting the body, pulling the lining out of the

coat pockets as he searched. ‗It wasn‘t him we were after,‘ he

snapped.

Powlo could feel his stomach beginning to turn. ‗He hasn‘t

got it?‘

Luggar stood up and brushed himself down. He

straightened his jacket. ‗He hasn‘t got it.‘ He pointed across

the room to a hotel receptionist who was watching the

proceedings nervously. ‗You,‘ he shouted in a husky voice.

‗Yes, you. Call the morgue. Get this thing collected, it‘s in the

way.‘ Luggar turned to Powlo. ‗And so are you,‘ he hissed. ‗I‘ll

have to explain what‘s happened to Mrs Winther now. You‘d

better find out exactly where he‘s been, and start looking.‘

‗Yes, Mr Luggar,‘ Powlo said quietly. ‗I‘ll get on it right

away.‘

‗Where he‘s been, who he‘s spoken to, everything,‘ Luggar

said. ‗Mrs Winther wants Dorpfeld‘s Prism. And what Mrs

Winther wants, Mrs Winther gets.‘

CHAPTER 6

Jason and Clarence watched the body being lifted on to a

stretcher and carried away. They were standing at the edge of

the coffee area so that they could see both the foyer and the

part of the restaurant where Benny was working her way

steadily through a large pot of coffee.

‗That was a close one,‘ Jason said. He had watched the

man topple backwards over the rails just as Benny turned

away and walked obliviously into the restaurant.

Clarence had been keeping watch on the rooms, waiting for

Dent Harper to emerge. ‗If I‘d been here, I might have flown

down and caught him,‘ he said with a touch of regret.

Jason grunted. ‗That would have helped us stay

inconspicuous.‘

Further along, Dent was also watching as the body was

removed. He was not especially surprised at events, having

arrived in time only to see a body lying in a pool of blood on

the floor. Hardly unusual. He clicked his tongue and shook

his head.

Then, with the event dismissed from his mind, he

wandered into the restaurant to look for Benny.

On his way he glanced at a strange pair who had also been

watching the body being removed. One of them seemed to be

sporting a false moustache. Both turned away as he glanced

at them. Well, that was fine. Virabilis was full of people who

did not care to be recognized. Dent was just glad he was not

one of those people.

‗Morning,‘ he pronounced cheerfully as he sat down

opposite Benny.

‗Mmm,‘ she said. ‗You‘re bright and breezy today.‘

Dent poured himself some juice. ‗You have to get up

extremely early in the morning to get the better of Dent

Harper.‘

‗Is that so?‘ Benny asked. ‗Well, for what it‘s worth, I‘ve

done six impossible things already this morning. And that

includes getting the better of my hangover.‘ She poured

herself more coffee. ‗Almost.‘

‗If I‘m suffering,‘ Dent said matter-of-factly, ‗I just think

back to the time I was held for three lunar months by the

Gurbels.‘

Benny stared at him. ‗I can imagine that would be a

sobering experience,‘ she said. ‗Three months?‘ She blew out

a long breath. ‗Brings tears to your eyes.‘

She had felt sadder than she expected as she watched the

body of Miklos Frunt being carried away. There was no

chance of her being associated with him, she was sure. Just

another face in the crowd watching. Nevertheless, Linn Sekka

was also feeling nervous.

When Frunt called in the night before, he had mentioned

‗meeting as arranged‘. The arrangement was that in the event

of trouble he would be at the Xcelsior. Now she was not sure

whether waiting till the agreed time had been a good thing,

given that she was still alive, or a bad one, given that he was

dead. If she had come earlier, would they have got away? Or

would they have been ambushed?

She had arrived just as Frunt hit the hotel floor. That had

given her something of a jolt, though nowhere near as much

as it had evidently given him. She had hung back and

watched the heavies frisk his body. And she had noted that

they did not find what they were looking for. She was certain

they would have done had it been there. But even so she took

note of the company name on the side of the morgue truck

that made the pick-up a few minutes later.

Then she went back into the hotel. While she had been

watching, she had looked round, trying to spot all of the

thugs who were responsible for poor Miklos‘s death. She

recognized Rula Winther‘s bodyguard, Luggar. And she knew

his reputation. She wasn‘t surprised it was the Cartel that

had taken out Miklos. What had surprised her, though, was

a figure looking down into the foyer. She caught only a

glimpse, but she was sure she recognized the man.

So she made her way to the reception desk and made

enquiries.

‗Yes, indeed.‘ The young receptionist seemed keen to share

the secret, if it was a secret, with another young and

impressionable woman. ‗Dent Harper is working for a tour

company as a guide. Can you believe it?‘ She raised her

eyebrows and looked round as if to check nobody else had

overheard her indiscretion. ‗And his client is the famous

archaeologist Berny Summerton.‘ She nodded, pursing her

lips together.

‗Never heard of him,‘ Linn said.

The receptionist frowned. ‗Neither have I,‘ she admitted

after a moment‘s consideration.

Jericko Klench was acutely aware of his shortcomings. And

short was a good way to describe them. He was well below

average height, but made up for it by having a larger than

average girth. His head was balding in the middle in a way

that was impossible to disguise by combing across what

greasy lengths of dark hair were left. But he tried it anyway.

His bulging, pale eyes were too sensitive to wear contact

lenses, and the idea of laser surgery or lens implants quite

frankly made him cringe and squirm. So instead he wore

spectacles with thin steel frames and small, round, thick

glass

which

made

his

eyes

appear

even

more

disproportionately big. His ears stuck out like satellite

receiver dishes, and his neck was so short his shirt collar

was crumpled. When he was nervous, he sweated. Lots. He

was usually nervous.

But, while he knew he was in no great physical shape, his

mind he was sure was quick and alert. If his eyes bulged it

was surely with intelligence. If he was losing his hair, wasn‘t

that a sign of virility and wit? If he was a little tubby, then

that was because he chose to work out mentally rather than

in a gym.

In fact, the only regret he had about his appearance was

that if he were just a bit taller, if he were just a touch

slimmer, if he didn‘t have to wear his glasses quite all the

time, if he were - oh sod it - a handsome brute with biceps

and pecks rather than a short-arsed fatso, then perhaps (just

perhaps) Linn might take a bit more interest in him.

Against that, however, he had to balance the excellent

professional relationship he enjoyed with her. He just wished

she seemed to enjoy it a bit more. She was a clever girl. She

was intelligent enough to know not to judge by external

appearances and to appreciate the inner self, the quality of

the mind. Jericko was certain of that.

It was what kept him going. And it was how he justified

what he was doing.

When she called from the Xcelsior, Jericko experienced the

usual slight difficulty breathing. He could feel the tiny

pinpricks of perspiration under his arms as he dabbed at his

ample forehead with a damp handkerchief.

‗Miklos is dead,‘ she said.

Jericko stopped dabbing. As soon as his mind was properly

engaged, his gland problem seemed to go away. As soon as

he forgot he was nervous, he was focused on the problem in

hand.

‗How?‘ he asked at once. ‗Are we implicated?‘

‗The Cartel. I didn‘t see exactly, but he‘s dead. I don‘t think

they know who he was with, who he was working for.

Anything like that.‘

Jericko breathed out heavily. ‗That‘s something, anyway.

We should be safe. And did they - ?‘

‗No,‘ she said quickly. ‗He didn‘t have it on him. They‘re

looking for it now, I guess.‘

‗They‘ll find it before we do,‘ Jericko said. ‗They know where

he went.‘

There was a pause from the other end of the line. Then

Linn said, ‗Not necessarily. We might be able to get the drop

on them.‘

‗Oh?‘

‗Guess who‘s staying in the hotel.‘

Jericko‘s already high-pitched voice rose an octave to a

shrill squeak. ‗Staying in the hotel? Are you mad? We have

the chance to get our hands on one of the most underrated

and misunderstood treasures -‘

She cut him off again. ‗Dent Harper,‘ she said. ‗And some

archaeologist.‘

‗I don‘t care if it‘s ...‘ Jericko paused as he realized what

she had said. ‗Dent Harper,‘ he repeated.

‗That‘s right. And some famous archaeologist.‘ She gave

him a moment to reply. When he didn‘t she went on: ‗You

know, archaeologist. As in ―expert in old relics‖. As in ―finds

stuff that‘s lost‖. Valuable stuff. You know?‘

‗I know,‘ Jericko said. ‗I‘m thinking.‘

‗Thinking?‘ Linn said with a snort. ‗Dent Harper and this

guy - the perfect team. If anyone can get to it before

Winther‘s thugs and fight for it if they have to, it‘s these two.

What‘s there to think about?‘

‗I‘m thinking‘, Jericko said, ‗about what story we should

make up for them.‘

* * *

‗The heat was almost unbearable, and the mud was up to my

knees. I had to brace my feet against the dead bodies of Chas

and Ronan just to keep from falling down. If my hands had

been free I might have tried climbing out, but from the length

of time I spent falling when they pushed me in I reckoned it

was seventy metres to the top. Straight up.‘

‗Oh, I believe you,‘ Benny said.

‗No, I mean...‘ He broke off and grinned. ‗A joke,‘ he

realized. ‗I see.‘

She smiled back.

‗Shall I go on?‘

‗Do,‘ she encouraged. ‗Just as soon as the lady with the

hair has had a word.‘

Dent frowned. ‗What?‘ He turned to follow Benny‘s line of

sight. His view was blocked by the full chest of the young

woman who was standing close behind him. He gave a short

exclamation of astonishment and leant back to look up at

her. She looked to be in her late twenties, immaculately

dressed in a sensible dark trouser suit with a white blouse.‘

She was pretty without being beautiful, a scattering of

freckles across her nose. Her eyes were green and her hair

was auburn. It hung very straight and very long, reaching

almost to her waist.

‗Excuse me,‘ the woman said, ‗but aren‘t you -‘

‗Yeah,‘ Dent interrupted. ‗I am.‘

‗I thought so.‘ She sat down without apparently being

encouraged or embarrassed.

‗Bernice Summerfield,‘ Benny said, holding out her hand.

Dent glared at her.

‗Ah,‘ the woman said. ‗Would that be Bernie for short?‘

‗I hope not. Benny will do. And you are?‘

The woman smiled. When she did, her whole face seemed

to glow with happiness. ‗Linn Sekka,‘ she said. ‗I‘m sorry to

interrupt you both at breakfast -I know how busy you must

be. Archaeology and all that.‘ She poured some juice into a

spare glass. ‗May I?‘

‗Oh, be our guest,‘ Dent said, his voice dripping with

sarcasm.

She seemed not to notice the tone. ‗Thank you so much.‘

Benny and Dent exchanged glances. ‗So how can you help

us?‘ Benny asked.

‗I work for Mr Jericko Klench, the antiques and curio

dealer,‘ she said. She sipped at the juice, made a face, and

put the glass carefully down. ‗He sends his regards and

wonders if you could possibly spare him some of your

valuable time.‘

‗Well -‘ Dent started.

‗He has lots of things he‘d like to discuss,‘ Linn went on.

‗Including just how valuable your time is at the moment.‘

‗Can we discuss this?‘ Benny asked.

‗Of course.‘ Linn made no attempt to move. So Benny got

up and gestured for Dent to follow her.

They stopped a short distance away and whispered to each

other.

‗What do you think?‘ Benny hissed. ‗Could be interesting?‘

‗Interesting‘s an understatement,‘ Dent whispered back.

‗Klench is about the most unscrupulous businessman on the

planet. He keeps legal, just. But if there‘s any missing relic or

stolen artefact from an ancient civilization you can bet he

knows where it is even if he doesn‘t actually have it himself.

Anyone with any sense would run a mile from an offer to go

round for tea and biscuits.‘

Benny nodded. ‗Great,‘ she said. ‗Just what we need. Let‘s

go and find out what the man‘s offering.‘

‗Are you crazy?‘ Dent demanded.

Benny looked hurt. ‗Could be chocolate digestives,‘ she

said.

* * *

Benny enjoyed the short trip across town to Klench‘s office.

For the first time since she had arrived she was beginning to

feel that there was some action in the city – something

happening, something in which to get involved. She had no

idea what it was. But the streets looked rougher this

morning, the drizzle heavier, the look of the passers-by more

suspicious.

By contrast, Dent seemed in a quiet mood. As Benny

enthused about how great things had been, were and would

be, Dent grunted in a noncommittal manner and made

occasional comments about getting fingers burnt.

‗Oh, come on,‘ Benny said at one point. ‗You‘re the great

adventurer, so where‘s your sense of adventure?‘

‗There‘s some value in only planning to get involved in

things you understand,‘ Dent told her quietly. ‗Walk away

from the things that feel wrong from the start. This feels

wrong,‘ he added.

Benny shrugged. ‗Let‘s hear the guy out. Then we can

decide. Hey, no commitments, right?‘

‗Right,‘ said Dent. With heavy emphasis.

Klench had a small shop in an office building down a side

street in a quiet area of Virabilis. Linn Sekka let herself into

the shop, which did not appear to be open to the buying

public, with a card-key and led Benny and Dent through to

the back where there was a lift. It took a while as Benny

paused at almost every step to gasp in amazement at the

antiques and knick-knacks on display. Dent whistled at the

prices.

As they waited for the lift, Benny dived off to the side to

examine a vase standing on a plinth. ‗I don‘t believe it,‘ she

said out loud. ‗This is a second-dynasty Hydrogoor with a

glazed finish.‘ Her eyes were large as she lifted it very gently

from its position and examined the base. ‗These are very

rare,‘ she told Dent as he joined her. ‗Very rare indeed.‘

‗Probably a fake, then,‘ he said flatly.

‗Oh, it‘s easy to tell,‘ Benny assured him. ‗The genuine ones

are incredibly strong and emit a perfect C-flat when you tap

the lip of the opening on something.‘ She carefully lifted it up

again. ‗Here, like this.‘

The embarrassed silence was broken by the sound of the

lift arriving. Dent followed Benny in without a word.

Benny coughed. ‗Sorry about that,‘ she muttered. ‗Do you

have someone who clears up?‘

They went up to the sixth floor. Klench was waiting outside

the lift as the doors opened. Behind him, Benny could see a

monitor showing images from a security camera in the shop

below. Currently it was focused on a pile of shattered pottery.

The room was not big, occupied mainly by a desk with chairs

round it. A display case on one wall held various pieces that

Benny knew would be priceless if genuine. It also prevented

anyone from getting close enough to be able to verify if they

were genuine. Behind the desk, a large picture window gave a

view out over Virabilis and the rocky hills beyond.

There were brief introductions and shaking of hands. But

further discussion was halted by a sudden shriek from Linn

Sekka. Her hand went to her mouth and she blinked several

times.

‗Are you all right, my dear?‘ Klench was immediately

concerned.

She nodded. ‗Sorry. Yes. I - I thought I saw...‘ She walked

rapidly across the room and looked out of the window behind

the desk. After a moment she turned back to face them. ‗I

thought I saw a face at the window,‘ she said. Her voice was

calm again now. ‗Sorry, it must have been a reflection.‘

Dent nodded sympathetically. ‗Unless whoever you saw can

fly,‘ he said brightly.

* * *

The ground car was parked in the alley beside the building.

Next to it was a large rubbish skip. Litter was strewn down

the pavement. Drizzle peppered the greasy windscreen.

‗You placed the bug OK?‘ Jason asked as Clarence climbed

into the car.

‗I don‘t think anyone saw me,‘ Clarence said as he folded

his wings away and pulled on his rucksack. ‗It‘s at the edge

of the window, the reverberation of the glass will -‘

‗Yes, I know,‘ Jason said. ‗So what‘s happening?‘

Clarence cocked his head to one side. ‗Wait a moment while

I tune in to the frequency. Ah, that‘s it.‘ He listened for a

moment to the voices in his head. ‗Nothing much. Welcome,

nice to meet you, that sort of tiling.‘ He frowned. ‗Ah,‘ he said.

There was silence for a few seconds. ‗What did you mean,

―Ah‖?‘ Jason asked. ‗―Ah‖ with no further explanation is not

helpful. What‘s going on?‘

‗Oh,‘ said Clarence. He sucked in his cheeks. ‗Ooh.‘

Benny shook her head. ‗Dorpfeld‘s Prism? Never heard of it.‘

‗It is not archaeologically important,‘ Klench admitted.

‗More of a curio than an antique.‘

Benny smiled. ‗Like that Hydrogoor vase, then.‘

The slight smile on Klench‘s own moist face faded at once.

‗We can discuss how you intend to reimburse me for that

later,‘ he said sharply. Then, as if he had switched it back on,

the smile returned to his face. ‗Although your help in this

small matter would be more than adequate repayment, of

course.‘

Dent sighed loudly. He tapped his foot on the floor. He

avoided looking at Benny.

‗So what about this curio?‘ Benny asked quickly.

‗I would like your help in finding it. Or, rather, in

recovering it.‘

‗Why, has it been lost?‘

Klench thought for a moment. ‗In a manner of speaking,‘ he

said at last.

‗Meaning what?‘ Dent demanded. ‗If you think we‘re going

to steal some -‘

‗Steal?‘ Klench seemed scandalized. ‗Steal, Mr Harper? I

should hope not indeed. In fact it is I who have been the

victim of a theft. Or nearly so.‘

‗Oh yeah?‘

‗Yes,‘ Klench insisted. ‗Dorpfeld‘s Prism is in actual fact my

property. I recently acquired the piece from a private

collection. A courier was bringing it to me last night.‘

‗So what happened?‘ Benny asked. ‗Got lost?‘

Klench opened his hands in front of him. ‗Got mugged,‘ he

said simply.

Benny looked at Dent. ‗Sounds more like your sort of thing

than archaeology,‘ she said.

‗I don‘t think we‘re going to be able to help you,‘ Dent said

to Klench.

‗Let me finish, please. Then you can decide.‘ Klench raised

an eyebrow and looked from Dent to Benny. ‗My unfortunate

colleague who was bringing the curio here was attacked in

the street.‘ He shook his head. ‗Most unfortunate. Even in

our quiet and usually safe neighbourhood such tragic events

do indeed happen on occasion.‘ He broke off for a moment in

order to indulge in some serious tongue clicking and shaking

of the head. ‗But,‘ Klench went on after several moments of

suitable sobriety, ‗I believe he did manage to hide the piece

before he was caught by the despicable gang that was

chasing him.‘

‗And what happened to your unfortunate colleague?‘ Dent

asked.

Klench sighed, pursed his lips together, and shook his

head sadly. From across the room Linn gave a small gasp

and dabbed at her eyes with a hanky.

‗So how do you know all this?‘ Benny asked.

Klench‘s recovery was as instant as his assistant‘s. He

waved an index finger at Benny. ‗An excellent question, my

dear.‘

‗Half right,‘ Benny agreed. ‗I‘m not your ―dear‖ but it is a

good question.‘

Klench made a high-pitched, nasal clicking sound that

might have been laughter. ‗He called me,‘ he said when he

had finished the noise.

‗What did he say? Did he give you any clues as to where

he‘d hidden the thing?‘

Klench nodded to Linn. ‗If you would be so kind,‘ he

murmured.

Linn held up a small recorder and pressed a button

moulded into the casing.

‗Is that you?‘ Klench‘s nasal voice was clearly identifiable.

The voice of the man he was talking to was slightly less

clear. ‗Of course it‘s me. Who else would call you at this

time?‘

‗Where are you?‘ Klench‘s voice asked.

‗Right outside. But I can‘t come in. Listen, there‘s a

problem. A big problem.‘ There was a pause, then the voice

hissed, ‗The Cartel are after me. They were there, at the

building. I think they‘re after the relic.‘

Klench smiled, as if delighted at the evidence of his concern

as his voice said, ‗Are you OK?‘

The other man had obviously not been convinced. ‗No, I‘m

not. They‘ll kill me if they find me. You know that.‘

Klench‘s reply was surprisingly low as he said, ‗Miklos,

listen, I can‘t help you -‘

Klench‘s expression changed to slight embarrassment as

the other voice cut his off. ‗I know that. And don‘t worry: I

won‘t lead them to you.‘

‗I would if I could. If there was any way -‘ Across the room

Klench shrugged as if to reaffirm his good intentions.

‗Rubbish,‘ the other voice snapped.

‗Well, there‘s no need to get Klench‘s voice said. At the

same time, the real Klench put in, ‗He was a little upset,

understandably. But what could I do?‘

‗You‘re trash,‘ the voice hissed as Klench finished talking

over himself. ‗You hear that? Got to go. If I manage to get

away, I‘ll meet you as arranged. If not... goodbye.‘

There was a click as Linn turned off the recorder.

‗So what‘s this Cartel, then?‘ Benny asked brightly.

It was Dent who answered. ‗I don‘t think we want to get

mixed up with them,‘ he said grimly. ‗They control just about

everything illegal here. And that means just about every form

of business. An unpleasant lot, to say the least.‘

Klench was less concerned. ‗I doubt that you‘ll come up

against them. Even if they were after Dorpfeld‘s Prism, they

will have no idea where to look for it.‘

Dent was not convinced. ‗I‘m not sure that‘s very

reassuring. If they know you‘re involved, then they‘ll already

know we‘ve been here.‘

Klench was shaking his head. ‗There is no way they can

know of my involvement,‘ he said with apparent confidence.

‗Now, if I were to start hunting for the relic myself, they might

put two and two together...‘

‗Another reason for enlisting your help,‘ Linn said.

Benny considered this. ‗Tell us about the relic, then,‘ she

said. ‗What is Dorpfeld‘s Prism.‘

‗A bauble, no more,‘ Klench said. ‗He gave his peculiar

high-pitched wheeze of a laugh. ‗But one for which I have

paid a considerable sum. It has little intrinsic value.‘

As he spoke, Linn dimmed the lights. A holo-image

appeared in the air in the middle of the room. It revolved

slowly so that they could see it from every side. It showed a

necklace resting inside a display case. A large clear stone was

set in a silver mounting attached to the chain of the

necklace. The stone had been cut so that it was multifaceted.

The light source when the image was created made it seem to

glow with inner fire.

‗Pretty,‘ Benny commented. ‗What‘s so special about it?‘

‗Nothing,‘ Klench said. He said it just too quickly. Both

Benny and Dent picked up on it and looked at him.

Klench shrugged. ‗It‘s cursed, that‘s all.‘

Dent laughed. ‗Cursed? Great. The Cartel‘s going to be

chasing us down for a cursed relic that has no intrinsic

value.‘ He turned to Benny. ‗Is it just me, or are we on to a

loser here?‘

‗Who says it‘s cursed?‘ Benny asked. ‗And what form does

this curse take?‘

‗Oh I doubt that there‘s anything in it,‘ Klench reassured

them. ‗The crystal is a relic of some ancient civilization.‘ He

smiled thinly. ‗You know the sort of thing, I‘m sure.‘

‗Oh yes,‘ Benny told him. ‗I‘m sure I do.‘

‗There are various stories. The most common is that the

necklace was found by Andreas Dorpfeld, a great explorer of

his time.‘

‗And that time was?‘ Dent asked.

‗Several hundred years ago. Records are vague. The war,

you know.‘

‗And the curse?‘ Benny prompted.

‗Seems to stem from the fact that after its discovery,

Dorpfeld rather went to pieces. He was never the same again

apparently. Seemed unable to keep a grip on reality. If you

ask me, that sounds more like any typical eccentric explorer

coming to the end of his already dangerously frayed tether.‘

His smile faded as he realized what he had said. ‗Present

company excluded, of course,‘ he mumbled in Dent‘s

direction. He went on quickly, ‗When Dorpfeld was dying, he

gave the necklace to one of his colleagues, who asked him

what the necklace was. He said, ―My prism.‖ Hence the

name.‘

‗So,‘ Benny said slowly, ‗if you possess this relic, you lose

your grip on reality. Is that it?‘

‗It‘s just a story,‘ Dent said. ‗An old archaeologist‘s tale.

Superstition and nonsense. Even Klench here doesn‘t believe

it, do you?‘

‗Of course not,‘ Klench said with a nasal snort of mirth.

As he spoke, Linn handed Benny a bag. It was a plain, grey

drawstring bag made of what looked like a plastic material.

Benny took it, puzzled. And nearly dropped it. ‗That‘s heavy,‘

she said in surprise.

‗It‘s lead-lined,‘ Linn said. ‗A molecular coating on the

interior.‘

‗To put the necklace in when you find it,‘ Klench said in

response to Benny‘s puzzled look. ‗The curse is apparently to

do with close contact to the necklace. It affects the wearer.

Anyone who touches it.‘

‗I see.‘ Benny examined the bag. ‗And that would be the

curse that you don‘t believe in?‘ She nodded slowly. ‗Just

checking.‘

Klench‘s voice was lower than usual, and surprisingly quiet

when he replied. ‗Just because we don‘t choose to believe in

it, it doesn‘t mean that we shouldn‘t take precautions. I pride

myself on looking after those in my employ.‘ He smiled across

at Linn as he spoke. But she was busily inspecting her nails,

and did not notice.

‗So, we‘re in your employ, are we?‘ Benny asked.

Klench‘s head turned so that he was looking directly at the

security monitor. It still showed the shattered remains of the

vase in the shop below. ‗My employ or my debt,‘ he said. ‗The

choice is entirely yours.‘ He smiled again. ‗I offer a good daily

rate,‘ he said.

After he had made his offer, Dent and Benny looked at each

other. ‗That‘s the first thing we agree on, I think,‘ Dent said

to Klench. ‗It‘s an excellent rate. Especially for recovering a

near-worthless trinket with no personal risk involved.‘

‗Three days in advance,‘ Klench said by way of reply.

‗We‘ll need some out-of-pocket expenses too,‘ Benny said.

‗And you should know that, speaking for myself, I have very

big pockets.‘

‗They‘re leaving now,‘ Clarence reported. He had been

keeping Jason up to date on the discussions in Klench‘s

office.

‗About time too. Keep your head down.‘

‗Maybe things will get easier now,‘ Clarence said. ‗If Benny‘s

busy looking for this worthless trinket.‘

Jason coughed. ‗I doubt that it‘s either worthless or a

trinket,‘ he said. ‗She‘s too trusting, that‘s her problem. I

think things just got more difficult. She‘s going to be chasing

round all over this godforsaken place looking for a priceless

antique that has some sort of curse attached to it, with the

Cartel hot on her heels.‘

‗Do you think we need a plan?‘

‗I think we need help.‘ Jason thought for a moment. ‗We

need to follow them when they come out. And we need to find

out more about this Dorpfeld‘s Prism. And the Cartel. And

Klench and what he‘s really up to.‘

‗And we need to make sure Benny stays safe and bored,‘

Clarence added.

Jason sighed. ‗And in the afternoons we can take time off to

visit the local psychiatrist.‘ He edged the vehicle forward so

that it was nosing out into the main street. They could see

the front of Klench‘s building, and as they watched Benny

and Harper emerged. ‗Right,‘ Jason said, ‗we‘ll follow them for

a bit. Then we shall probably need to split up. One of us

keeps tabs on Benny while the other does some research.

Clarence was staring into space. ‗Klench and Linn are

talking,‘ he said. ‗I‘ll keep monitoring for as long as we stay

within range of the transmitter.‘

‗Good. That might tell us something at least.‘

* * *

‗So where do we start?‘ Dent asked.

‗Now that we have some cash,‘ Benny said, ‗we continue as

planned. I think it‘s essential to our quest that I get

acquainted with the local environment. We‘ll worry about

Dorpfeld‘s Prism tomorrow.‘

Dent nodded. ‗Good plan. If the Cartel are after it that‘ll

give them time to get there first and save us the trouble and

our necks.‘

Klench watched Linn as she poured the coffee. He could

watch her all day. Often he did. She didn‘t seem to mind. In

fact, she didn‘t seem to notice.

‗Do you think they‘ll find it?‘ she asked as she handed him

a mug.

Klench shrugged. ‗They are experts at finding things. That

gives us an edge over Mrs Winther and her illiterate thugs.

But they won‘t give up. They know the value of Dorpfeld‘s

Prism, the same as we do. From the same source.‘

‗And what is its value?‘ she asked.

Klench said nothing. He was sipping his coffee. He was

thinking about how things would be, when he had Dorpfeld‘s

Prism. When everything came right. When his life was

complete. ‗They‘ll find it,‘ he said. ‗I‘m sure they will.‘

Linn nodded. ‗If they live long enough,‘ she said. ‗If we live

long enough, come to that.‘

Klench frowned. ‗There‘s nothing to connect Frunt to us,‘

he said. ‗Nothing concrete anyway.‘

‗The Cartel doesn‘t need anything concrete,‘ Linn said.

‗Except to bury people in. What if they trace the call Frunt

made? Trace it back to us?‘

Klench shrugged. ‗Unlikely.‘

‗What if he has your number programmed into his comm?‘

Klench shook his head. ‗Hardly surprising, we‘ve done

business before.‘ But there was a note of worry in his voice

now.

‗What if they get his brain, and it remembers us.‘

Klench leapt to his feet. Coffee slopped over his shirt, but

he did not notice. ‗Do you think it might?‘ His voice was a

squeak of anxiety.

Linn shrugged. ‗There‘s only one way to make sure it

doesn‘t.‘

Klench put down what was left of his coffee. He rubbed his

chins. ‗I don‘t suppose we could get Harper and Summerfield

-‘ he began.

‗No we couldn‘t,‘ Linn said abruptly. ‗Just asking would put

them off helping us at all. And if we go to anyone else we

spread the thing wider, provide more ways the Cartel can

trace us.‘ She sighed. ‗I think we have to do this ourselves.‘

Klench dabbed at his brow with a desperate handkerchief.

‗Ourselves? You mean, us?‘

She patted his shoulder, almost tenderly. ‗Don‘t worry,‘ she

said. ‗I‘ll look after you.‘

CHAPTER 7

The stalls and tables spilt out from the shops at street level

so that the street was reduced to a narrow passageway

between them. There was just about enough room for the

people to push past each other as they moved from one

trader to the next.

Benny insisted on stopping at every other stall and

examining everything in sight, haggling over prices, pointing

out mistakes in spelling and grammatical errors in the labels,

then moving on without buying anything. Everything about

Harper‟s body language seemed to suggest he was finding

this tedious. But Jason was pleased with the situation, as it

meant it was easy to keep Benny within sight without being

seen himself.

As they followed Benny, Jason and Clarence talked. Or,

rather, Jason did most of the talking.

„We have several options,‟ he said counting them off on his

fingers. „First, we need to keep Benny within sight for obvious

reasons.‟ In the distance Jason could see rapid movement

between the stalls. He peered through the crowds, trying to

make it out as he spoke. „Second, it would be useful to know

more about this Dorpfeld‟s Prism thing. Not sure how we can

find out.‟ The movement was getting closer. Jason could see

now that it was someone on power blades. A young man.

Unshaven and grubby. Pushing his way through the

thronging people in the market.

„We could ask Braxiatel,‟ Clarence suggested. „If he doesn‟t

know, chances are he can find out for us.‟

„Good thought,‟ Jason said. He had just seen the power-

blader grab a bag from a young woman. He followed up the

snatch with an especially rude and unpleasant gesture with

his free hand. Then he scooped something off a stall. Jason

could hear the trader shouting abuse in ineffective response.

„We‟ll give him a call from the hotel.‟

Jason paused at a stall. It sold interesting-looking polished

stones and turned wood. He picked out a pale egg-shaped

stone with a blue marble effect shot through it. It was

incredibly smooth. The trader told him the price and Jason

grimaced as he tossed a few coins to the man.

„Three,‟ he said as he watched the power-blader closing in

on Benny and Harper. They didn‟t seem to have noticed him

as he glided through gaps in the crowd, pushing aside

anyone who got in his way. „We should find out what this

Cartel is up to. Maybe infiltrate it somehow.‟

Jason paused for a moment as he drew back his arm. He

took careful aim, then flung the egg-shaped stone in a high

arc above the crowd in front. An old woman glared, and

Jason smiled back.

„You can‟t do that,‟ Clarence said shaking his head.

„Oh?‟

The stone caught the power-blader on the forehead as it

arced down. He disappeared behind a group of people. For a

brief moment a pair of power-bladed feet appeared above the

group, then they too were gone.

„No,‟ Clarence went on. „If you say “first”, then “second”,

you have to say “third”. You said “three”.‟

Jason looked at Clarence carefully, examining him for any

evidence of intentional sarcasm. „Are you sure you‟re not

distantly related to Benny?‟ he asked. „At all?‟

They walked on in silence for a while before Jason said, „So,

what I suggest is this. You keep following Benny. I assume

you‟ve got the idea now about how to keep her out of

trouble?‟ He stepped over the prone body of a grubby-looking

man in bare feet. The marks left by the straps of the power

blades before they had been quickly and forcibly removed

were obvious pale lines through the grime.

„I think so,‟ Clarence said. „Excuse me.‟ He reached past

Jason to retrieve a local fruit from a startled thief. „Seems

easy enough.‟ He tossed the fruit back to the man behind the

stall, who caught it in surprise.

„Good. Then I‟ll get on to Brax and see what he can come

up with.‟

„And then?‟

„Oh after that I‟ll infiltrate the Cartel and discover their

plans, lead them away from Benny, and meet you for drinks

at the hotel pub. You just keep after Benny and her chum.‟

He slapped Clarence jovially on the rucksack. „Sound all right

to you?‟

„I suppose so,‟ the angel agreed. „But why do you get all the

easy jobs?‟

They had agreed that the rooms should be booked in false

names, and the only quibble that Jason really had with the

arrangements was that if Benny checked she might find it

odd that there was a John Doe booked into the room next to

Mr Fred Bloggs. Nobody else, of course, would see anything

significant in the unusual names.

Since Braxiatel had made the hotel reservations and was

paying the bills, Jason had no qualms about calling him up

on an encrypted supralight microwave link. The only problem

being, of course, that such a thing had not been invented yet.

At least, not by any race that supplied technology to the

Xcelsior. For Braxiatel this had been a minor problem, and

he had supplied Jason with a small, thin disc to clamp over

the standard satellite relay box in the hotel room. Jason was

not sure whether he was more impressed with the fact that

the disc converted a standard transmission into a faster-than

light wave without the relay satellites noticing, or by the fact

that the technology to do it was so small and bland. He

settled for just being impressed.

There was a delay of about five seconds while the

conversation was transmitted. This took a bit of getting used

to, and they both found themselves talking over each other,

and then saying sorry over each other. And then apologizing

about it and offering to let each other speak first. Then

waiting for ages in silence before talking over each other

again,

and so on.

Once they had mastered the technique, however, the

conversation proved instructive. While they talked, Braxiatel

was able to check several large databases of archaeological

and historical information to which he just happened to have

privileged access.

„Right,‟ he told Jason, „I‟ve got a few references here. From

the access logs I‟d guess that your friend Klench got his

information from the same source. Probably tipped off by

someone working for a certain Mrs Winther, who has also

looked through it. Who tipped her off is anyone‟s guess

though.‟

„Doesn‟t matter,‟ Jason said. „The important thing is that

we find out -‟

„But I‟d guess it was...‟ Braxiatel went on, oblivious to

Jason‟s comments. He paused. „Sorry,‟ he said.

There was silence for a while.

„So what can you tell me?‟ Jason asked.

„I‟ll tell you what I can,‟ Braxiatel said. „Dorpfeld‟s Prism

seems to be - I‟m telling you now, what‟s the point... Sorry.

Just got that.‟ There was another pause. Then Braxiatel

continued. „It‟s old. Very old. And Klench is right: it has little

intrinsic value. But it does have a rather chequered history.

Currently it is owned by a mining company that has its head

offices registered on Virabilis, but from the insurance data I

don‟t think they can know what they have. Or had, rather,

given what you‟ve told me. They probably don‟t even know

they‟ve lost it. And, if they do, I don‟t think they care. They

haven‟t filed a claim.‟

„So, what is it?‟ Jason asked. „Sorry, you‟ll get that in a

minute.‟

„They just think it‟s old and curious,‟ Braxiatel was saying.

In fact there‟s a bit more to it than -‟ He paused. „That‟s all

right. Anyway, it seems from putting a few references

together that Dorpfeld‟s Prism is actually a relic of the

Smermashi civilization. Once you know that, the curse thing

becomes rather more interesting.‟

„Oh?‟

„You probably don‟t know, but the Smermashi developed a

technology that enabled them to improve reality. Oh yes...

Sorry, that was from earlier, wasn‟t it? It didn‟t really improve

reality. It just made things seem better than they really are.

Something to do with modulating the alpha and beta waves

of anyone in direct contact with the focusing stone. It‟s trivial

stuff actually. Like putting on metaphorical rose-tinted

spectacles. The sun seems brighter, the weather warmer,

there‟s a pleasant scent on the breeze and everyone is

happier with their lot in general. But as an approach to life...‟

„Sounds like a good thing,‟ Jason said.

„It‟s terrifying,‟ Braxiatel finished.

„You‟re right,‟ they both said.

„What happened to these Smermashi?‟ Jason asked when

he thought it was safe to speak.

There was a pause before Braxiatel answered. „They died

out, of course. There were all sorts of minor environmental

difficulties on their world. Ozone-layer depletion, pollution,

mad-dodontorus disease, that sort of thing. But they just

didn‟t realize. They thought everything was hunky dory and

ignored it all.‟

Jason thought about this. „Sounds like what happened to

Dorpfeld,‟ he said at last. „Klench said he lost his grip on

reality. Went mad.‟

„We all need to keep a grip on reality,‟ Braxiatel said. „A

healthy dose of the real world is essential.‟

„We‟d better find this thing,‟ Jason said seriously. „I have a

plan.‟

„I think you‟d better find this thing, Braxiatel said grimly.

„Do you have a plan?‟

„But I‟ll need your help,‟ Jason admitted.

„Good,‟ Braxiatel said. „Can I help?‟

He let her rant and rave for several minutes. Just stood there

and took it. She would calm down eventually, he knew. She

always did.

„I‟m sorry,‟ she said at last. She sighed and smiled slightly.

„I know it‟s not your fault, Luggar. You did what you could.‟

„Thank you, Mrs Winther.‟

„But thanks to Powlo and those other idiots we do now have

a problem.‟

„Yes, Mrs Winther;

She stopped pacing up and down and sat behind her desk.

„What do you suggest?‟

„Powlo and his team are retracing the man‟s movements,

searching everywhere. We‟re trying to find out what we can

about the man. His name was Miklos Frunt, a petty crook

from a good background. Family had money, way back. It

didn‟t get as far as Frunt though.‟

Rula Winther tapped her fingers on the top of the desk.

„We‟re relying too much on luck,‟ she said slowly. „We need

more to work from.‟ She looked up at Luggar. „How did he

die?‟

„He fell,‟ Luggar said. „Powlo shot him with a sleep dart. He

was on a raised floor level, and fell over the edge.‟

„Was his head damaged?‟

Luggar considered. „No more than you‟d expect, Mrs

Winther. I didn‟t look too close. He was dead.‟

Mrs Winther sat back in her chair. „I wonder‟, she said,

whether we might get a nascent image.‟ She nodded to

herself. „Yes, it might be possible. Get me Doctor Creer. And

find out where the body has been taken.‟

„Yes, Mrs Winther.‟

When Luggar made no effort to leave, she asked him, „Is

there something else?‟

Luggar shuffled uneasily. „Yes, Mrs Winther. I don‟t know

how they knew we might be interested, but there‟s a

professor from some place here to see you.‟

„Oh?‟ She frowned, annoyed at the distraction.

„Some sort of expert in Dorpfeld‟s Prism, they say.‟

A few minutes later, Luggar showed in the professor.

„Thank you, Luggar.‟ Mrs Winther patted his hand. „Stay

with us while we talk, won‟t you?‟

„Yes, Mrs Winther. Doctor Creer is on his way over from the

city. Should be here soon.‟

Mrs Winther motioned for the professor to stand in front of

her desk. Luggar remained standing by the door, hands

clasped in front of him.

„It is very good of you to see me, Mrs Winther,‟ the professor

said. „I think I can be of considerable help to you.‟

„We shall see.‟ She smiled. „Those who are of help to me are

rewarded handsomely.‟ She leant forward, the smile freezing.

„As are those who waste my time.‟

„I quite understand.‟

„Good.‟ Mrs Winther examined the professor for a few

moments. „You‟re not what I imagined an expert on ancient

relics to look like.‟

„Appearances can be deceptive, ma‟am.‟

„Let‟s hope so.‟

The professor was young, perhaps in his mid-thirties. He

was dressed in heavy boots, grubby slacks and a heavy

denim shirt that was rather creased. He was a tall man, with

a mess of hair that looked as though it had once met a comb

But not recently. But, for all his apparent lack of care in his

appearance, there was an attractive quality about him. His

smile was especially engaging. He fiddled with his left ear as

he spoke, perhaps a nervous gesture.

„Let me introduce myself,‟ he said. „I am Professor Fred

Bloggs from the Archaeology Department of St Oscar‟s

University on Dellah. Until recently, that is. I‟m on a

sabbatical at the moment.‟ He paused before adding.

„Researching a relic that I believe is of interest to us both.‟

„Dorpfeld‟s Prism,‟ Mrs Winther said.

„Exactly.‟

„What a happy coincidence,‟ Mrs Winther said. „Let us

hope.‟

The professor grinned back at her.

„You won‟t mind if I ask you a few questions about the

Prism, will you?‟ Mrs Winther asked, her tone dangerously

reasonable. „Partly to satisfy my own curiosity on certain

points, and partly of course to evaluate your credentials.‟

The professor fumbled with his ear again. „Not at all, not at

all. Very wise, if I may say so.‟

„First of all, then, a brief summary of the relic‟s history.‟

Professor Bloggs nodded. „Without going into unnecessary

detail,‟ he said, „the relic known as Dorpfeld‟s Prism was

originally created by the Schemoozi as a focus point for a

technology -‟

„The Schemoozi?‟ Mrs Winther interrupted. „You mean the

Smermashi, don‟t you?‟ Her eyes flashed dangerously as they

caught the light.

But the professor seemed unimpressed. He waved a hand

in the air. „If you prefer, Smermashi,‟ he said. „I was using

their own local pronunciation as detailed by Chris Cwej in his

excellent analysis of their culture.‟

The fire in her eyes subsided and Mrs Winther nodded. „I

see. Go on.‟

„Oh nice one,‟ said the voice in Jason‟s ear. „If you‟re not sure,

wait for me to tell you.‟

It had taken Jason a couple of hours to find a market stall

selling the standard communications components he needed.

Then, following reassuringly precise and clear directions

Braxiatel had given him, Jason tried to assemble a tiny

supralight communication device built round the faster-than-

light disc. There seemed to have been some translation

problems relating to the way that Braxiatel‟s instructions had

been captured in Jason‟s hurried, scrawled and ambiguous

notes, but eventually he reckoned he had succeeded.

Finding a small but sufficiently powerful battery had been

the biggest problem. In the hotel, the disc drew power from

the communications system itself. Now it would be a

constant and heavy drain on whatever power supply Jason

used for the rest of the communications device. He was not

sure how long the battery he had eventually managed to

obtain would hold out. The bulk of the device was in his

trouser pocket, radio-linked to a tiny ear-speaker that kept

getting dislodged. He pushed it back into place, trying to

make it look as if he was just rubbing his ear.

The main problem was again the time delay. Braxiatel

could hear what they were saying, and prompt Jason. But

the conversation took five seconds to get to Braxiatel, and his

answer then took another five seconds to get back. That was

if he said something immediately. So Jason had to buy time

before saying anything.

„And when did Dorpfeld find the Prism?‟ Mrs Winther was

asking.

„Ah, excellent question.‟ Jason nodded enthusiastically. „Of

course there is some disagreement as to which sources‟ are

accurate, but most are agreed on the year. Now did you want

the year of his expedition, or when he actually found, I mean

discovered as it were, the actual Prism?‟

„Is there a difference?‟ Mrs Winther asked. She was looking

at him suspiciously.

„Twenty-three fifteen,‟ Braxiatel‟s voice said in Jason‟s ear.

„No matter,‟ Jason said quickly. „It was twenty-three fifteen

in any case, as I think you know.‟ He wagged his finger at

her, as if in admonishment. She did not seem to appreciate

the gesture. He stuck it back in his ear.

„And what did Dorpfeld initially think he had found?‟ she

asked. „When he first discovered the Prism, I mean.‟

„Ah,‟ Jason said. „An interesting question again. So many

interesting questions in fact. Very good. Yes.‟ He nodded for a

while as if considering. „Is this one you already know the

answer to, or are you genuinely curious?‟ he hazarded.

„Just answer the question.‟

„Right. Yes, of course.‟ That should be about long enough.

Jason held his breath, and almost sighed in relief as he

heard Braxiatel‟s voice.

But the voice said, „Hang on, I‟ll have to look that up. Might

take a minute or two.‟

„A minute or two?‟ Jason said out loud. He tried to turn the

words into a cough, but failed. „Excuse me,‟ he said. „A

minute or two was all that Dorpfeld needed to uncover the

relic when he found it. And of course his first question was:

what was it that he had found? The same question you just

asked of me, of course. In fact. And which I am now

answering.‟ Mrs Winther didn‟t look convinced.

„A piece of gear linkage from a space hopper?‟ Braxiatel‟s

voice said in surprise. „He must have been mad.‟

„A piece of gear linkage from a space hopper,‟ Jason said

confidently. „He must have been mad.‟

Mrs Winther stared at him.

„Probably just saw the chain before he unearthed it,‟

Braxiatel‟s voice said.

„My own theory,‟ Jason confided, looking round as if to

check they were not being overheard, „is that he uncovered

the chain first, and based his initial supposition on that. The

relic in its entirety would obviously not be mistaken for gear

linkage.‟ He crossed his fingers behind his back. Then,

realizing that Luggar was standing behind him, he uncrossed

them again.

Mrs Winther was rising to her feet, emerging from behind

the desk like a huge octopus pulling itself out of the water.

„Professor Bloggs,‟ she said seriously.

„Er, yes,‟ Jason replied. He coughed his voice lower again.

„Yes,‟ he repeated in a more masculine and assured tone.

„I‟ve wondered how Dorpfeld could have come to such a

conclusion.‟ She was smiling, coming round the desk to

shake his hand. „Your theory is of course most plausible. A

sensible explanation. And so obvious.‟ She nodded

enthusiastically. „You know, Luggar, I think that Professor

Bloggs could be of great value to us. Certainly once we have

retrieved the relic.‟

Before Luggar could answer, if indeed he was going to,

there was a bleep from the comm unit on Mrs Winther‟s

desk. The voice that spoke was female, slightly husky. „Mrs

Winther, Doctor Creer has arrived.‟

„Send him in.‟

Jason took a step away from the desk. But she held up her

hand to stop him. „No, Professor, you can wait while I have a

brief word with the good doctor.‟

The good doctor turned out to be thin to the point of

emaciation with small dark eyes, short blond hair and an

apparent inability to smile.

„I understand you have a candidate for nascent imaging,‟ he

said to Mrs Winther. His voice was clipped and his words

precisely articulated, as if he were speaking a foreign

language. „I should point out that the process is still very

much in the early stages of development. A clear imaging

solution is, alas, not always possible.‟

„I understand that,‟ Mrs Winther said with some

impatience.

Doctor Creer continued as if she had not spoken, and

Jason could see that she was bottling up her annoyance.

„Whether the process is successful will depend on the state

of the deceased. In particular the head, and neural ganglia.

Also, the time and manner of death is important, and the

state of mind of the victim in the dying moments. But we

shall do what we can.‟

„Good.‟

„The body is... here?‟ the doctor asked, clasping his skeletal

hands together as if in prayer.

Mrs Winther looked to Luggar for an answer.

„It‟s in a crypt,‟ he said. „Seems the... gentleman‟s family

owned a mausoleum on Benringer Heights.‟

Creer was astounded. He gaped and gawped to the point

that Jason had trouble keeping from laughing. „You do not

have the body under proper medical supervision?‟ he asked

eventually. „No nutrient tank, oxygenation, rigor-mortis

retarder?‟

„Oh please,‟ Jason said before Mrs Winther could answer.

„Who do you think you‟re dealing with here? You‟ll be

quibbling over the legality of it all next.‟ He tutted loudly and

sat himself down in a chair.

Creer stared at him for a moment. „No legal waiver or

consent agreement?‟ His voice was quavering slightly. Nobody

answered. „I may have to -‟

„Have to what?‟ Luggar interrupted, cracking his knuckles

like gunshots.

„Have to, er, impose a slight surcharge for working under

less than ideal conditions.‟

„I think you‟ll find that the remuneration is more than

sufficient,‟ Mrs Winther said coldly. „But bear in mind that I

reward results. Positive results.‟

Doctor Creer returned her hard gaze. He seemed to have

recovered something of his composure. „Then I suggest we

make a start as soon as possible,‟ he said. „I brought a

portable system with me. All I need now is the organic input

repository.‟

„And what‟s that in layman‟s terms?‟ Jason asked.

Creer, Rula Winther and Luggar all turned to look at him.

They looked at him for a long time. Long enough for Braxiatel

to tell him the answer over the supralight link.

„His brain. They want to see if they can resurrect the dead

man‟s final memories.‟

Jason smiled. „His brain,‟ he said with a nonchalance he

did not feel. „I knew that.‟ He swallowed as with a fizzing

sound the battery in the supralight link died. „Just kidding.‟

CHAPTER 8

„So,‟ Jason concluded, „I shook off the two goons they had

tailing me when I left, and came to find you. Meanwhile, the

less than delightful Mrs Winther has sent her minions off to

find the guy‟s brain.‟

They were sitting in a corner of the hotel restaurant.

Clarence was listening to Jason‟s account of the day and

watching him eat. Benny had turned in early for the night,

worn out from the day‟s hard shopping and intensive tourism

as well as belated fatigue from her journey. Dent Harper was

entertaining a growing crowd in the pub area with tales of his

exploits. Jason and Clarence were both glad of a break.

Clarence had already told Jason about how his day had

been. The way he described it sounded ordinary enough, but

it had been an effort to stay one jump ahead of the street

thieves and muggers, and to engineer a couple of road

closures to keep Benny from stumbling upon the after effects

of a gangland killing spree and a drive-by shooting.

Fortunately, Clarence told Jason, word seemed to be

getting around the criminal fraternity and the underground

that Benny and Dent were not good targets for any form of

illicit activity. By the end of the day, Clarence had seen

several people cross the street to avoid Benny, and a couple

of stallholders pack away their fake designer wares, hastily

correct the spelling on their hand-scrawled notices, and then

take the rest of the day off rather than risk selling anything

dodgy to her.

„Anyway, first thing in the morning,‟ Jason said as he

chewed on a mouthful of food, „I‟ll get back out to the villa

and see what their brain-scan thing shows. If anything. Just

in case. Try to make sure it‟s nothing of any use.‟

„And I shall continue to look out for Benny,‟ Clarence said

without enthusiasm.

„You got it.‟ Jason grinned. „Hey, you just told me it was

getting easier.‟

Clarence did not grin back. „Have you any concept of

relativity?‟ he asked.

When Virabilis was first settled and land was cheap, several

developers bought up huge parcels of real estate. One of

these had been Vaclev Benringer. But the foresight of these

pioneering individuals had been met with a certain lack of

appreciation by the first governing bodies, and a land tax had

seen to it that most of them were bankrupted by the very

investment they had every right to assume would make them

rich.

Benringer was the exception. He found the loophole. That

loophole was that consecrated ground was exempt. The

result of this was that many people and businesses found

that they were now paying rent not to Benringer and his

company, but to a church they had never heard of. Pretty

soon they were paying rent to another church they had never

heard of, as Benringer sold off his assets before the loophole

was closed. And closed it was. With the result that many of

these secondary ecclesiastical foundations were forced also to

close and cede their lands to the local authorities.

The loophole Benringer exploited this time was that the tax

relief on consecrated ground was deemed to apply only to

land that was used for legitimately religious purposes. The

intention was that this would put paid to Benringer‟s various

schemes and scams and put him out of business.

In fact it was the making of him. Within a few years, the

Benringer Cemetery Foundation (in association with

Mortuaries for the Masses) was a hugely successful concern.

Its business was fuelled by the spiralling murder rate, and

various tax breaks meant that cheap burials and grave plots

were an attractive commodity in the door-to-door salesman‟s

portfolio.

One of the more prestigious burial areas on Virabilis was

Benringer Heights. It was a huge area of rocky hillside

peppered with burial mounds and crumbling mausolea. In

the dark, picking your way along a narrow track overgrown

with weed grass and stumbling round the rocks and over the

hillocks, it was not an attractive place to be. This was an

observation not lost on Nikole Medak as she followed Powlo

and Fronz up the steep hillside towards a ruined building.

The moons were hidden behind a smog of pollution and

cloud. The planet above was in shadow, and the pinprick

lights of civilization on its lower surface were pretty but not

illuminating. So they were relying on Powlo‟s torch.

They seemed to have been walking for hours. Even if she

had agreed with Mrs Winther‟s suggestion that being involved

in this clandestine mission would be instructive, Nikole

would have been at the end of her tether by now. As it was

she was seething.

„How much further?‟ she demanded of Powlo‟s back.

She got an indistinct grunt for a reply.

„I think she‟s losing it,‟ Nikole grumbled. „Having us chase

round in the dark after a brain. I ask you. Whatever

happened to the good old days of smash „n‟ grab, drugs and

prostitutes? The old stand-bys of violence and robbery? This

modern stuff...‟ She waited to see if her words had any effect,

whether they struck a chord.

„She‟s desperate to get this Dor-thing, whatever it is,‟ Fronz

said, by way of explanation.

„I know. I know. But do you know what it is? I mean, what

it really is?‟

„Look,‟ Powlo growled, „if she wants it, we get it.‟

They stumbled on up the track in silence for a while.

„All right, what is it, then?‟ Fronz asked.

„Nothing,‟ Nikole said. „That‟s what it is. Nothing at all.

Worthless. Just a bauble. A fad. An obsession. She‟s got us

chasing round for nothing of value at all.‟ She paused to see

if Powlo objected to her words. There was silence. So she

went on: „Yet she seems to value the thing more than she

does us. I tell you, she‟s losing it.‟ She bit her lip, before

adding, slightly more quietly so they could always pretend

they had not heard, „Someone should do something about it.

Before it goes too far.‟

Powlo stopped abruptly. Nikole braced herself, ready to run

if need be. She could always claim she was upset by being

sent out in the middle of the night with a couple of cretins

who had totally misunderstood what she was saying. If she

could run fast enough.

Powlo turned. But his expression was thoughtful. Or as

close as it got. „Be careful who you say that stuff to,‟ he said.

Then, before she could comment, he pointed ahead.

Nikole and Fronz both leant forward to try to see where he

was pointing. Ahead of them was a building. It was

constructed of stone and had been grafted on to the side of

one of the huge rocks that jutted out of the broken

landscape. It was dark and forbidding, the central tower a

foreshortened ruin. What light there was in the sky shone

through a broken window high in the wall facing them.

„That‟s where we‟re going,‟ Powlo said.

The atmosphere in the pub seemed rather different from the

previous night. Dent had seen three serious fights, one of

which ended in two of the participants being carried out with

bits of glass lodged in places where glass was never designed

to be, and there had been any number of less enthusiastic

arguments and contretemps. This was, Dent decided, more

like it.

He signed a few final autographs, pushed aside a large bald

man who fancied himself and had taken a swipe at Dent, and

excused himself for the night. Tomorrow might be a long day,

especially if they were to get on with some serious relic

recovery.

With his mind on the task ahead, Dent made his weary way

out of the pub and through the hotel foyer. He paused to trip

up a lout who had lifted an old lady‟s bag as she waited at

the reception desk, and yawned. There were sirens and

flashing lights outside. Looked like three bodies laid out on

the pavement outside the hotel door.

Yes, he needed his sleep.

Never one to stand on formality, when he found the door was

locked Powlo kicked it down. Fortunately the heavy wood was

rotted and brittle and gave way easily. He shouldered aside

what was left of the door and squeezed himself into the cold,

stone building.

There was not much that Powlo Vertutes believed himself

to be above, but grave robbing was close to the point. He had

listened to what Nikole said on the way, though he wasn‟t yet

ready to commit himself to anything. But he resented the

way Luggar had been sent to take over the search for the

thief. An old man who had had his day. Out of touch with the

way things were done now. Good only for watching an old

lady‟s back, not for the sharp-end work, not for the streets,

not for the real job of keeping the Cartel going. Yet that old

man and the old lady had made it clear to Powlo that this

ridiculous errand was his chance to redeem himself.

As if he needed to.

What was there to redeem?

And it was hardly a challenge. Even then they had sent a

young woman along apparently to make sure he was up to it.

And she said it was all for nothing anyway. Powlo felt

annoyed, confused, insulted, aggrieved and rebellious. But

not to the point where he would admit it. Not yet.

The beam from the torch picked out the stone shelves at

the back of the building. A flight of steps led up one side of

the room, ending in space where the wall had collapsed.

Despite the lack of upper storeys and roof, the air was dank

and smelt of rot and decay.

„Which one, do you reckon?‟ Fronz asked. He was

whispering, though there could be nobody but themselves

within miles. Nobody alive.

Arranged on the shelves were the caskets. Plain wooden

coffins, devoid of adornment. Powlo crossed to them and

shone the light close on the top of each.

„Is there a name plate?‟ Fronz asked.

„No.‟ Powlo continued his search.

„He‟s looking for one that‟s not dusty,‟ Nikole said.

„That‟s right.‟ Powlo tapped the top of a coffin at the end of

the line. „This one,‟ he said. He tossed the torch to Fronz, who

caught it awkwardly. Then he pulled the casket out and

hefted it down to the floor.

„We should have brought a crowbar or something,‟ Nikole

said.

Powlo already had his fingers under the lid. His face

showed the strain as he pulled. Then with a creaking and a

tearing, he wrenched the lid of the coffin upward. He stood

over the casket for a few moments, drawing deep breaths and

smiling with self-satisfaction. „Who needs a crowbar?‟ he

said.

Nikole peered down into the coffin. Fronz shone the light

inside. „Is that him?‟

„Yeah, that‟s the guy.‟

The smell in the place had just got worse. It was at arm‟s

length that Powlo handed a small rolled bundle of surgical

instruments from his jacket pocket to Nikole. „You do it,‟ he

said. „You‟ve got more experience at this sort of thing than

me.‟

She took the package from him. „I didn‟t think subtlety was

a prerequisite.‟

She pulled a large scalpel from the roll. A moment later she

was standing astride the coffin. She leant down, reaching in,

and started work.

Since he did not sleep, it was Clarence‟s job to keep an eye

on Benny‟s room. He sat cross-legged at the end of the

corridor, his eyes fixed on the door into the suite that Harper

and Benny shared.

Imagination was not one of the faculties with which

Clarence was overimbued. But as he sat there, sad and

alone, he could imagine all sorts of things happening behind

the door. Most of them the logical reasoning systems within

his mind insisted were such a low probability as to be

impossible. Some were less improbable.

But, whatever was actually happening (sleep was the

highest-probability projection), Clarence felt guilty that he

was keeping a clandestine watch on his friend. There were

the whisperings of a nascent conscience suggesting that he

should let her see things how they really were, rather than

create a rose-tinted world in which she was safe and

oblivious to actual squalor and violence and heartache

outside the bubble Clarence and Jason had created.

But, while the reasoning side of his complex mind

wondered at the morality and predicted the reality, on an

emotional level Clarence worried about what might happen if

the bubble burst, if Benny lived the real life that was waiting

for her out here on the Rim. And if she liked it as much as

the projections said she would.

* * *

Jason was lying face down on his bed. He was fully clothed,

even his boots were still on. He was snoring, and he was

dreaming.

His dreams were not of the complexities of morality or the

ethics of lying. Jason Kane had no worries about either. His

fear was not of lying or cheating. He was afraid only of getting

caught.

Once they were through the rotted and broken door, the

inside was dark and cold and damp. And it smelt. Klench

wrinkled his nose and shone his torch quickly round the

interior.

„Over there,‟ Linn said, moving his arm back so the torch

beam came to rest on a set of stone shelves by the broken

staircase.

„Yes, that will be them,‟ Klench whispered.

„It‟s all right.‟ She seemed amused. „Nobody‟s going to hear

us.‟

„What about the Cartel?‟

„Looks like we‟re well ahead of them.‟ She was inspecting

the coffins arranged on the shelves. „We‟d see their torches.

Or hear them coming. They‟re not exactly subtle, you know.‟

She paused at the end of the shelves. „This one, I think. Bring

the torch over, will you?‟

Klench shone the beam of light on to the top of the coffin.

Linn took the torch from him and handed him a crowbar.

„You‟re not enjoying this, are you?‟ she said.

„Are you?‟ He pushed the crowbar under the lid of the

coffin, wondering if there would be room to lever off the lid

without pulling the casket off the shelf. He took a breath and

braced himself for the effort.

The coffin lid snapped up and Klench staggered forward in

surprise. „It‟s not fixed down,‟ he gasped. He dropped the

crowbar and pulled at the lid. „Everything‟s done on the

cheap these days,‟ he complained. „No pride any more. No

sense of a job well done.‟

Together they leant forward to see inside. The staring dead

eyes of Miklos Frunt looked back at them.

„Didn‟t even close his eyes for him,‟ Klench said. „I ask you.‟

„I didn‟t know he wore a wig,‟ Linn said. „Look, you can see

the join.‟

She reached inside, but Klench grabbed her hand and

pulled it away. „Have you no respect?‟ he hissed. Immediately

he was contrite. „Sorry,‟ he said. „It‟s just, you know - seeing

him...‟

She smiled. „I know.‟

She stood back to let him empty the contents of the metal

can into and over the coffin.

„What was that about respect?‟ she asked as he lit a match.

„This is different. It‟s what he would have wanted.‟ Klench

tossed the match into the coffin, and they both jumped back

as the tiny flames licked round the inside. „This is cremation.‟

The light from the flames flickered round the walls, sending

the deeper shadows shivering away. It took only a few

moments for the fire to catch hold properly. Smoke began to

fill the ruined building and Klench pulled Linn back outside.

„At least we got here before the Cartel,‟ he said. „Now we just

have to get away again before anyone sees the fire.‟

Linn stood watching for a while. She did not turn away

until Klench called out to her for the third time. By then the

flames were dancing out of the top of the ruins, feeling their

way through the windows, roaring with enthusiasm.

Creer had set up his equipment in the villa‟s laboratory. The

room was better suited to its main purpose of experimenting

with ways of hiding hard drugs within everyday, legal

commodities than to brain surgery. In fact, Creer was

convinced, everything about this setup was less than ideal.

A large bad-tempered-looking man who had been forcibly

inserted into a dark suit had delivered the brain to him.

Creer had taken the plastic-wrapped bundle from the man

carefully and set it down on a workbench.

„I was expecting to work from the whole body,‟ he

confessed.

„Too heavy to carry,‟ the man had said. „I was just told you

wanted the brain.‟ He jabbed a finger at the grey mass

swimming about in pink liquid within the transparent

wrapping. „That‟s a brain, isn‟t it?‟

Creer was tempted to ask the man how he would know.

But he restrained himself, muttered some thanks and shooed

him out of the room. It was going to be a long night. What

was left of it.

By the time most sane people began to think about getting

up, Creer was almost ready. He was just making final

adjustments to compensate for the fluid-level depletion

caused by the time since death, when a group of people

marched into the room. They were led by Mrs Winther. Close

behind her was the large man with wrinkled face, grey hair

and dangerous eyes. There was also a young woman with

short, straight, dark hair, and the man who had brought the

brain.

Creer held his surgically gloved hands up and tried to push

the air back by way of telling them not to come too close.

„Please,‟ he said, „this is a sterile environment.‟ Beside him

the pale brain nestled on a metal plate. Several probes and

electrodes stuck out of it so it looked like a child‟s potato

hedgehog.

At this moment the door opened again, and another man

walked in. He stopped on the threshold, suddenly caught in a

fit of coughing. Creer dived in front of the brain, as if he

could prevent any bacteria from seeing it. „Please!‟ he pleaded

again. „Professor Bloggs, please.‟

„Sorry,‟ the professor mumbled through a grubby hanky.

„Must be the pollen. Or something.‟ He took a few steps into

the room, then suddenly jabbed a grimy finger towards the

grey mass. „Is this the brain?‟

Creer intercepted the finger and pushed the professor

away. „Please,‟ he said yet again. „Anyone would think you

were trying to ruin this venture before we‟d even started.‟

Professor Bloggs seemed astonished by the suggestion. „My

dear Creer,‟ he started. He frowned. „Dear Creer. Hmm. Yes.

No, I mean. Nothing could be further from the truth. Ha!‟ He

laughed suddenly and stepped back to join the other

onlookers. „What a thought. Terrific sense of humour, old

Creer, don‟t you think?‟ he confided in the others. „No?‟

Nobody answered.

„So what exactly are we going to see?‟ the woman with dark

hair asked. „I‟d like to know that our little expedition was

worthwhile.‟

Creer pointed to a video monitor which was attached to a

small control box. The control box was wired to the setup

attached to the brain. „On there,‟ he said, „assuming that the

brain is not too damaged either by the length of time since

death, or by the manner of that death, we should be able to

replay the last few moments of the, er, the donor‟s life. Actual

events, memories, that sort of thing.‟

„How many moments?‟ Mrs Winther asked. „How long a

time will we see?‟

Creer shrugged. „That depends on the condition of the

relevant areas of the brain, and also the strength of the

impression those events left. It could be several minutes, or

perhaps just a few seconds.‟

„And this, you think, will provide clues to help us find

Dorpfeld‟s Prism?‟ Professor Bloggs asked.

„It had better,‟ Mrs Winther said.

The man with the floppy moustache worried Dent. He knew

he had seen him somewhere before, but he couldn‟t place

him for the moment. It was distracting, watching the man

sitting alone at a table in the corner of the hotel restaurant at

breakfast. He seemed to be wearing a rucksack, which meant

he had to hunch over the table. And he seemed to be

deliberately avoiding looking at Dent and Benny. And he

didn‟t seem to be eating anything. His coffee was untouched.

Benny had her back to the man, so she was not at all

distracted. Dent found it difficult to pay attention to what she

was saying. But some of it went in, and he found himself

frowning as his brain struggled to process what he had half

heard.

„I‟m sorry,‟ Dent said. „Run that by me again.‟

„I said‟, Benny said patiently, „that once we‟ve picked up

this Prism thing, it might be good to take the Star Ferry this

afternoon and travel a bit further afield. Then we can book

up a flight out to one of the less-developed worlds. You pick a

good one.‟

„Hang on, hang on.‟ Dent stared at her. „Just like that?‟

„Can‟t you just get on?‟ Benny was surprised. „I didn‟t think

you needed to book for the ferry.‟

„No, no. Not the ferry.‟

„Oh.‟ Benny smiled as she seemed to understand. „Well, if

we have to hang around for a few days to get a flight, that‟s

fine.‟ She shrugged. „I guess there must be something to do in

this place.‟

Dent was shaking his head. „That‟s not what I was

meaning,‟ he said. „Tell me again about the Prism thing, as

you call if

„Oh well -‟ she sipped at her coffee „- we have to pick that

up first.‟

„Just like that?‟

Benny set her coffee cup down on the saucer. „I‟m sorry,‟

she said. „You were there yesterday when we heard the

recording of that call.‟ She poured more coffee. „It seemed

fairly clear-cut to me.‟ She set down the coffee pot and

grinned at him. Annoyingly. „So we know exactly where the

thing is. Let‟s just finish our breakfast before we go and get

it, shall we?‟

The image on the screen was a blurred mess of white. Like

standing in a snowstorm at night while wearing sunglasses,

Jason thought with relief.

„What is this?‟ Luggar growled.

„Dreams,‟ Creer said. „He is asleep. This is as far back as I

can go. There are no strong images; he is dozing rather than

in deep sleep or REM.‟

„Useless,‟ Mrs Winther snorted. „Completely useless.‟

„Did he die in his sleep?‟ Jason asked.

„He was anaesthetized,‟ Powlo mumbled.

„But only seconds before he died,‟ Luggar explained.

Creer shook his head. „This is several minutes before. In

that case he will wake up soon.‟

As if in answer, the screen cleared. The image was still

hazy and broken up, but it was at least possible to make out

what it was.

„No sound, unfortunately,‟ Creer said quietly. „The aural

centres are too far gone.‟

Jason leant closer, as, he noticed, did everyone else. Such

interest in a pair of shoes standing in a puddle on a carpet.

As he watched, the point of view shifted. The man was

looking up. He seemed to be in a lounge area - tables and

chairs dotted about. A railing round the edge. A doorway into

what could have been an indistinct restaurant.

He was looking at a woman. She was the only person

within sight. She was pausing in front of the man, who,

judging by the angle, was sitting down. Jason could judge the

angle as he knew exactly how tall the woman was. The

woman was Benny, and she was saying something.

„Oh bugger,‟ Jason said.

Creer touched a control and the picture froze. Everyone

was looking at Jason.

„A comment, Professor Bloggs?‟ Creer asked.

Jason gulped. „Er, yes. Actually. I said “lip-reader”.‟ He

swallowed. „We need a lip-reader, to see what B-, to see what

the woman is saying.‟

Mrs Winther smiled. It was the first positive emotion she

had shown during the meeting. „An excellent suggestion.

Professor. I can see that you are going to be a tremendous

asset to us.‟ She nodded to the woman who had earlier been

introduced to Jason as Nikole.

„Yes, Mrs Winther,‟ Nikole said. „I‟ll see what I can do.‟

Mrs Winther nodded to Creer, and the pictures began to

move again. On the screen Benny smiled. Jason shook his

head in disbelief. How did she do it?

Whether the man through whose eyes they were watching

answered, they could not tell. But the angle changed as he

stood up. Then the image lurched, and Benny loomed close.

For a moment her face filled the screen, then there was a

confused succession of images, followed by a pan round the

lounge area. Finally, the point of view resolved itself into an

escalator in the middle distance.

„Wait,‟ Luggar said urgently. Again the image froze. „Replay

that sequence,‟ he said quietly.

They all watched the confused succession of images again.

Again it paused on the shot of the escalator.

„Well?‟ Mrs Winther asked.

Luggar shook his head. „Difficult to tell,‟ he said. „But I

thought perhaps as they collided he passed something to the

lady.‟

Jason bit his tongue. „He was sorely tempted to reply,

„That‟s no lady: that‟s my wife.‟ But somehow that didn‟t

seem appropriate or helpful.

„Shall I keep going?‟ Creer asked.

Mrs Winther nodded. The escalator came shakily closer.

It was like watching news footage when the cameraman is

running towards - or away from - the action. Then abruptly

the movement stopped. The image panned again, and then

suddenly Benny was once again in sight. She was further

away now, her head slightly to one side. She said something,

then smiled. As Jason watched, she turned and walked

through the doorway.

Then the screen went blank.

„That‟s it,‟ Creer said, somewhat irrelevantly. „I have a

recording of course.‟ He pulled wires and connections out of

the brain until it was completely denuded. Then with a single

brisk movement he tipped it into a stainless-steel bin and

dusted his gloved hands against each other.

„Was that the point of death?‟ Nikole asked.

„Yes,‟ Luggar told her. „That was the coffee lounge outside

the restaurant at the Xcelsior. He fell from that level down to

the foyer.‟

„Then it‟s clear what we need to do,‟ Mrs Winther said. „Get

over there and find out who the woman is. Take screenshots

and see if the hotel have her registered, or if she was just

there for that morning.‟

„She‟s registered,‟ Jason said. There was no point in waiting

an hour for them to find out what he could get Brownie

points for telling them now. „Her name is Bernice

Summerfield.‟ His mind was racing now, working through

each possible course of action, trying to find the least bad

scenario. „She‟s a pro,‟ Jason said. Everyone was looking at

him now. „You need someone who knows her, knows her

modus operandi.‟ He caught sight of Powlo, watched him

blink. „How she works,‟ he added.

Mrs Winther was looking carefully at Jason. „Someone like

yourself, perhaps?‟

Jason shrugged. „I won‟t deceive you, Mrs Winther,‟ he said.

„A woman of your intelligence will have realized by now that

I‟m not just an academic.‟ He tightened his lips and stuck his

chin out, bracing his legs slightly apart and pushing out his

chest.

Mrs Winther nodded, a small smile creeping across her

face. „As I suspected,‟ she breathed.

It was infuriating that she seemed in no hurry either to

explain where Dorpfeld‟s Prism was hidden, or to get to it. In

response to Dent‟s increasingly impatient questioning, Benny

had merely insisted that he was aware of everything that she

was and could work it out for himself. He was not impressed.

They headed out towards the ferry port, Benny mentioning

more often than Dent believed was strictly necessary how

they could pick up the relic on their way. They paused to look

in a shop window. The glass was grimy and scratched. A

starburst of fracture lines marked one quarter of the pane.

Dent sighed. Benny smiled. They moved on.

Further along the street, Benny hesitated in a shop

doorway. Dent waited, and she eventually decided to go in.

She ducked inside quickly, just as a man pushed his way

out. Dent stood aside, and the man collapsed to the

pavement without a sound.

„I know how you feel,‟ Dent muttered as he stepped over the

body. It was hot inside - maybe the heat had got to him.

When they emerged from the shop a few minutes later, the

man was gone. „Hope he‟s feeling better,‟ Dent remarked.

„Who?‟ Benny asked.

„Oh, no one. Don‟t worry.‟ Let her wonder what he was

talking about for a change.

As they set off down the street, the shop window exploded

into fragments of glass. Benny seemed not to notice, but

Dent glanced back at the glistening, sharp mess on the

pavement. „I don‟t know where they get their glass,‟ he

muttered, „but it‟s not the absolute best, is it?‟

Ahead of him, as Dent ran to catch her up, Benny was

shouldering aside a large woman laden down with plastic

bags. The woman seemed to lose her balance as Benny

passed, her foot slipping off the pavement. In slow motion

she toppled sideways, the bags falling and spilling their

contents over the road. Fruit mainly. Dent paused to help her

up, but Benny was already disappearing into the distance. So

he settled for a quick „Sorry about my friend,‟ and ran after

her.

An orange ran slowly along the gutter and stopped in the

slats of a storm drain.

„Look,‟ Jason said exasperated, „will you stop shooting at her

and just listen to me for a moment.‟

„You got a better plan?‟ Powlo demanded as he lowered the

rifle.

„Actually yes.‟

Powlo waited. His expression had not changed. Beside him

Fronz stared back at Jason equally impassively.

„Look,‟ Jason said, „she‟s a pro. Right? You can tell by the

way she dodged into the shop, by the way she used that

woman as a shield without even seeming to notice us.‟

Powlo and Fronz exchanged glances as they considered

this. „So?‟ Powlo said. „We hit her with a dart, take her back

to the villa and find out what she knows.‟

„She won‟t tell you anything. Even if you can catch her,‟

Jason said. He tried to sound calm and in control. „It‟s better

just to let her go.‟

„Let her go,‟ Powlo repeated. „Let her go.‟ He sounded out

each word carefully as if searching within for a hidden

meaning.

„Yes. And follow her.‟

„Follow her.‟

Jason looked up at the smog-laden sky barely visible

between the high-rise buildings. „To see where she goes,‟ he

said slowly and clearly. „Wait for her to lead us to Dorpfeld‟s

Prism rather than stop her and upset her.‟

„Then what?‟ Powlo asked.

„Well, then we can go and get it off her.‟

„You could use the gun,‟ Fronz offered helpfully.

Powlo brightened at this thought. „Yeah,‟ he said.

„Yeah,‟ Jason repeated. „Well, let‟s just follow and wait till

she finds the thing first.‟ He crossed his fingers behind his

back. With luck Benny had no intention of finding the thing.

She would be happy just to let the expenses pay for her

holiday. Probably. Let‟s hope we don‟t lose her,‟ he

said, hopefully.

After dragging the unconscious body away from the shop

doorway, Clarence followed Benny and Dent at what he

hoped was a safe distance. The shooting seemed to have

stopped now, thank goodness. Jason must have managed to

bring his colleagues round to the way of thinking he and

Clarence had discussed.

They were close to Klench‟s offices now. As he watched,

Benny took Dent‟s hand and pulled him down a narrow side

alley. Clarence hurried after them.

„They‟ve ducked into an alley,‟ Fronz said. „What are they

doing? Is this it?‟

„I hope not,‟ Jason muttered. „Let‟s wait for them to come

out again,‟ he said out loud.

„What are they up to?‟ Klench said. He dabbed at his face

with a cloth. The heat was becoming unbearable and he

wasn‟t used to this exercise.

Linn had a pair of binoculars and was staring through

them. She was positioned so that she could see down the

alleyway. „They seem to be going through your rubbish,‟ she

said.

Dent cleared his throat. „Er,‟ he said, „could I ask just one

question?‟

Benny was leaning into a large rubbish skip. She had

pushed the lid back, then dived inside. Her bottom and legs

were sticking out, which was fine by Dent. But he would have

appreciated knowing what was going on.

The legs kicked in the air a few times, then slid back down

to the ground, the rest of Benny following. She looked

worried. Grubby, but worried. „It‟s practically empty,‟ she

said.

Not knowing quite what he was supposed to do about this,

Dent leant into the skip and checked for himself. „Yes,‟ he

agreed. „Not a lot in there. Apart from the smell of rubbish

past.‟

„Give me your communicator thingy,‟ Benny said.

Dent handed it over and watched as she pushed the

buttons. „Who are you calling?‟

„She seems to be calling someone,‟ Linn said.

„Sorry?‟ Klench‟s comm had started buzzing in his jacket

pocket. It drowned out Linn‟s voice.

„I said she‟s calling someone,‟ Linn shouted back.

„Shouldn‟t you answer that?‟

Klench shook his head. „It can wait. Can‟t be important.

What‟s she doing now?‟

„Still calling,‟ Linn said loudly over the buzzing. „Her lips

aren‟t moving, so whoever it is can‟t be answering.‟

They stood for a few moments without moving. The buzzing

continued. Then Linn lowered the binoculars and looked at

Klench. At the same moment Klench‟s mouth dropped open.

„Quick,‟ she said.

He fumbled and tugged in his pockets, eventually

managing to drag out the communicator.

„Act calm, be surprised,‟ Linn said as he answered the call.

„Hello, Professor Summerfield,‟ Klench said at once. „This is

a surprise.‟ His eyes widened as he realized what he‟d said.

„Oh, er, yes,‟ he stammered awkwardly. „Lucky guess.‟

Jason tried to sound disappointed and angry. „Oh, no,‟ he

said. „Really? Out the other end of the alley.‟ He tutted for a

while. „We should have thought of that,‟ he said. „Oh well.‟

„Mrs Winther won‟t be pleased,‟ Powlo said. He did not

sound altogether pleased himself.

Jason nodded. He would need a plan here. Something to

make it look like he hadn‟t just let them walk away. „What‟s

down that alley?‟ he asked. „I don‟t think they just used it as

a short cut. Too obvious. It‟s important. A clue.‟

Fronz shook his head. „Just rubbish skips,‟ he said. „That‟s

all.‟

Jason‟s eyes lit up. He snapped his fingers. „That‟s it,‟ he

proclaimed. „Of course.‟

„What?‟ Powlo said suspiciously.

Jason nodded, trying to sound logical and convincing as he

said the most outrageous and unlikely thing he could think

of. „They‟re after the rubbish,‟ he said. „Now where would it

have been taken, assuming they didn‟t find what they were

after?‟

„Landfill Major,‟ Fronz said.

Jason nodded as if he had been well aware of this all along.

„Gentlemen,‟ he said with passion, „that‟s where we have to

go. That‟s where Summerfield and her henchman will be.‟

Behind his grim facade, Jason was smiling. That should take

them well away from Benny and Harper. Clarence could

handle them from now on while Jason continued to lead

Powlo and his friends astray.

Powlo‟s suspicious expression had broken into a slow smile

as he deciphered Jason‟s words. He now seemed pleased. As

Jason watched, he pulled out a communicator and punched

in a number. „We got „em,‟ he said with evident satisfaction.

„They‟re picking up the goods at Landfill Major.‟

Jason said nothing. He was already working on the final

small piece of his plan. The staying-alive-and-getting-away

part.

„So where are we going now?‟ Dent asked as Benny waved to

a taxi. „More dumpster diving?‟

„Klench says the skip was emptied yesterday evening,‟

Benny said as she handed the comm back to Dent. „Does

Landfill Major mean anything to you at all?‟

Dent nodded. „And if you tell me what it means to you I‟ll

tell you what it means to me,‟ he said.

Benny grinned. „You‟ll show me yours if I show you mine,

eh? OK. That‟s where we‟re going.‟

„And why is that?‟ Dent asked.

„Because that‟s where Dorpfeld‟s Prism is.‟

„And how do you know?‟

„Because‟, Benny answered, „that‟s where Miklos Frunt said

it was. At least, he told Klench it was in the rubbish.‟

Dent frowned, thinking back to the call they had listened

to. „ “You‟re trash.” That‟s what he said.‟ Dent laughed. It was

pretty obvious put that way. „And everyone thought he was

saying to Klench “You are trash.”‟

„That‟s right,‟ Benny said. „He told Klench he was right

outside, then said “rubbish”. When Klench didn‟t understand

that, he said, “Your trash.” He was telling Klench where he‟d

hidden the relic.‟

„And Klench thought he was just being rude.‟

Benny nodded. „And now the trash has been taken away.

To Landfill Major.‟

As he thought through this, Dent glanced up. For a

moment he thought that the taxi driver was looking back at

him, thought he caught a glimpse of the man‟s eyes in the

rear-view mirror. But before he could think about this the

driver pulled out a communicator with one hand, and spoke

into it

„Picked up two at, er, in transit,‟ the driver mumbled.

„Taking them to Landfill Major.‟

There was a squawk from the handset. It sounded like a

distorted cry of „Oh bugger!‟

The driver smiled apologetically, and put away the

communicator. As he leant forward, Dent noticed that he had

a floppy, black moustache. Must be the fashion this month,

he decided.

Gunzo Macklin had little to do except watch the traffic. He

had lost a leg after being mugged three years ago. His

remaining joints were stiff with arthritis, and his hearing was

on the way out. But his eyesight was still sharp, for which he

gave daily thanks.

He sat behind his stall, hoping and intending to sell

enough to pay for a meal and rent that day and little more.

Few people stopped at the stall. Fewer bought any of his

dried fruit and flowers. So he watched the traffic.

He had once seen two hearses, one following the other. On

an occasion a year ago three ambulances had passed within

a minute and a half. His record was a succession of five red

ground cars.

But he could not recall ever having seen three taxis so close

together before. One was something of an event in this part of

the city. The first was driven by a maniac with a moustache

who seemed to have no idea of which side of the road he

should be on. Close behind him was another taxi with a

small rotund man sweating in the back, next to a pretty

young woman. And behind them was a third taxi, with a

large man leaning out of the back window. It was difficult to

see who else, if anyone, was inside, but the man looked

dangerous enough on his own.

Gunzo watched in increasing disbelief as each of the taxis

in turn took the narrow road leading to Landfill Major.

For a rubbish tip the place was incredibly well organized and

tidy. It seemed to be entirely automated. A line of standard

skips like the one Benny had dived into in the alley waited

patiently. A robot tractor picked a skip from the front of the

line and disappeared with it into the distance. When it

returned over the horizon, the skip was empty and was then

added to another line waiting to be taken away.

„No way,‟ Dent said as he paid the taxi driver.

„What do you mean?‟ Benny asked when Dent had finished

an involved conversation that seemed to revolve around

convincing the driver that he - the driver – should charge for

the journey.

„I mean‟, Dent said, still evidently distracted by the strange

conversation, „that if they‟ve emptied Klench‟s skip there is

just no way we can dig the thing up again.‟

„Then let‟s hope they haven‟t emptied it yet,‟ Benny said as

she started running towards the line of full skips.

They were still examining the first skip when the tractor

returned and grabbed it. Dent leapt to one side as the claw

attachment on the back of the machine lifted the skip on to

the tractor‟s back.

„That‟s it, look.‟ Dent pointed after the tractor.

„That one?‟ Benny asked. „How do you know?‟

Dent continued to point. „Because it has the address on the

back, see? Probably so they can bill for the collection service.‟

„Oh yes,‟ Benny said. They stood watching for a self-

congratulatory moment. Then they broke into a run.

„What are they doing now?‟ Linn asked. She was slightly

annoyed that Klench had taken control of the binoculars. She

was rather more annoyed that he wasn‟t telling her what was

going on.

„They‟re chasing the skip,‟ Klench said. He shrugged and

handed the binoculars to Linn.

She adjusted the zoom and watched. The tractor tipped the

skip up, emptying its contents next to a line of similar piles of

garbage. Further along the line a dozer was pushing the piles

together and then sweeping them into a huge crater in the

middle of the site.

„Rather them than me,‟ she said as she watched Benny and

Harper kicking and pulling at the pile of rubbish.

„Hurry up,‟ Benny shouted. The dozer was getting perilously

close now.

„You could be wrong,‟ Dent suggested. „Maybe it‟s not here.‟

„We won‟t be here if you don‟t hurry up,‟ Benny shouted

back above the noise of the approaching dozer.

„What did this thing look like again?‟ Dent asked.

„Piece of glass on a chain,‟ Benny said. „You‟ll know it.‟

„That‟s what I thought,‟ Dent said. The smugness was

obvious in his tone as he brushed himself down. He held up

his hand and from it dropped a large crystal of cut glass. It

was tarnished and had something unpleasant and dark

sticking to it, but it was definitely crystal. And it hung from a

silver chain.

Without comment, Benny grabbed Dent‟s hand and pulled

him out of the path of the dozer.

„What?‟ he complained. „Oh, thanks. You‟re so very

thoughtful, you know.‟ He took a deep breath. „Taste that

spring air,‟ he said as if entranced. „Listen to the birds

singing.‟

„Well,‟ Benny said, ignoring his words. She was laughing,

dusting herself down. „That‟s a relief. A job well done, I must

say.‟ She had the lead-lined bag out of her rucksack and

pushed it down over the necklace, pulling it away from Dent

as she did so.

Dent blinked. „Oh, God,‟ he said. „Let‟s get away from here

and have a bath.‟

Linn handed the binoculars back to Klench. „She‟s got it!

She‟s actually got it! Look.‟ She pointed across the landscape

towards where Benny and Dent were apparently dancing a

little jig.

But Klench was pointing the binoculars slightly away from

them. „I don‟t think so,‟ he said quietly. „Not for long, anyway.‟

Linn looked where Klench was pointing. She screwed up

her eyes, and could just make out the two large figures

walking slowly, purposefully, towards the oblivious dancers.

It seemed a long walk back. They trudged slowly across the

barren, rubbish-strewn landscape. Benny was still carrying

the bag. Dent had his hands behind his head. Behind them

Powlo and Fronz kept their guns steadily aimed at their

prisoners‟ backs.

„So where are we going?‟ Benny asked. „Just so we know

how underdressed we are, you understand.‟

„Mrs Winther wants a word with you,‟ Powlo said.

„Is that good?‟ Benny hissed hopefully to Dent.

He shook his head. „She‟s the head of the Cartel. It‟s a long

way from good.‟

„How far?‟

„As far as this place is from smelling of roses.‟

They were approaching a large black ground car. The glass

was tinted, but the side window was down and a corpulent

lady with permed grey hair and the suspicion of a blue rinse

was looking out.

„Not good at all then,‟ Benny summarized as they reached

the car. From the expression on the woman‟s face and the

way the men behind Benny and Dent were holding their

guns, that seemed to be an understatement.

Benny glanced round. There was nobody within sight to

call on for help. There was nowhere to run for shelter. Just

the car, and the men, and the guns.

„If we‟re dead,‟ Dent whispered to Benny, „then we can

count ourselves lucky.‟

CHAPTER 9

Mrs Winther‟s face was twisted into what seemed to be an

approximation of a smile. „I assume that you have Dorpfeld‟s

Prism in there.‟ She nodded her large head towards the bag

that Benny was holding.

Benny nodded back. „And I assume, given the men with

guns and other subtle clues, that you want me to hand it

over to you.‟

The smile froze on the old woman‟s wide face. It was as if

she had suddenly and unexpectedly been insulted by Benny‟s

words.

„No,‟ she said.

„The game‟s up, Benny,‟ Dent said. „Just hand it - what?‟

„No,‟ Mrs Winther repeated. Her voice seemed to have risen

slightly in pitch and her eyes had widened. It was as if the

very thought was enough to scare her. „No, I don‟t want it.

Not at all.‟

„Then why‟, Benny asked slowly, „are you here?‟

„And why‟, Dent added, „are we here? With guns pointed at

us.‟

„Well,‟ Mrs Winther said, „I just, that is... I wanted to

congratulate you on finding it. That‟s all.‟

Dent and Benny looked at each other.

„I‟m sorry,‟ Benny said. „My friend here is obviously

misinformed. He told me you were some sort of robber

baroness who would want such a valuable property for

herself with no regard for the legitimate ownership or even

the morality of finders-keepers. But‟, she went on, „you just

wanted to congratulate us on finding it. Is that right?‟

Mrs Winther nodded again, though she seemed to be

having some difficulty moving her head without discomfort.

„Yes,‟ she said through gritted teeth, evidently annoyed at the

implications of Benny‟s question. „That‟s it exactly.

Congratulations,‟ she ground out. „Well done. Now take it and

go.‟

The larger of the two armed men behind Benny and Dent

took a step forward. „Mrs Winther?‟ he said uncertainly.

„Yes, Powlo, let them go,‟ she said with a sort of weary

resignation. „You did very well to bring them here, though

perhaps next time a kinder, more verbal invitation would

suffice.‟ She looked at Benny. „Thank you for your time. Sorry

to have inconvenienced you.‟

„Oh,‟ Benny said brightly, „it‟s no inconvenience.‟

„Yes it is,‟ the woman said huffily. „Believe me.‟

„Whatever you say, Mrs Winther, er, ma‟am,‟ Dent said

quickly. Then he took Benny by the elbow and steered her

back towards the point on the horizon beyond which they

had left their taxi.

„What‟s the rush?‟ Benny asked as Dent hastened his walk

into a run.

„You want to be shot in the back?‟

„Oh lighten up,‟ she told him. „I don‟t know what it is with

you. Jumping at shadows, seeing danger round every comer,

suggesting kindly old women are mass murderers.‟

„They are,‟ Dent said as he dragged her along. „That is, she

is.‟

Benny shook her arm free as she ran. „It‟s just another

example of how kind and generous the folk out here on the

Rim really are. I think you‟re seriously paranoid,‟ she said.

„That‟s what I think.‟

„Are you getting at me?‟ Dent demanded as they reach the

taxi.

Linn put down the binoculars. „I just don‟t believe it,‟ she said

for the fourth time. „She just let them go. With the Prism.‟

„Never mind believing it,‟ Klench told her as she pack away

the binoculars. „Let‟s hope our taxi‟s still there.‟

„Why?‟

„Because I don‟t fancy a long walk home,‟ he told her. „And

because we‟d better be innocently waiting in my office when

Professor Summerfield and Mr Dent deliver Dorpfeld‟s Prism

to us. Come on.‟

Powlo and Fronz waited impatient and confused by the car.

Mrs Winther was still leaning out of the window, as if afraid

to move.

„When I eventually get out of here. Professor Bloggs,‟ she

said, her anger undisguised, „you are a dead man. Just as

soon as that knife moves from my neck.‟

There was no reply. She struggled to turn slightly, but she

could still feel the point of the knife jabbing into her soft

skin.

Powlo was leaning forward now, looking in through the

window. „Mrs Winther,‟ he said.

„Not now, Powlo. Can‟t you see I‟m talking to Professor

Bloggs?‟

„But Mrs Winther,‟ Powlo insisted, „there‟s nobody there.‟

She turned slowly, carefully. Out of the corner of her eye

she could see Luggar slumped unconscious across the

steering column of the ground car. She turned slightly

further; still there was no word from Bloggs.

Now she could see the knife. She reached round behind her

head, expecting at any moment to be told to turn back. But

there was no comment. She felt the blade of the knife,

grasped it, and eased it away from her neck. Then she turned

fully round.

And saw that the knife had been wedged between the top of

her seat and the headrest. The back door of the car was

open. There was no sign of Professor Bloggs.

The shop was open, although there was no sign of any

customers. Linn Sekka was at the customer-service desk,

arranging papers into apparently random piles. She looked

flustered and breathless, as if she had been running.

„Professor Summerfield,‟ she said brightly as they entered.

„And Mr Harper. How nice to see you again.‟

„Is Mr Klench available?‟ Benny asked.

„I‟m sure he will be,‟ she replied. „For you.‟ There was a

comm on the table, buried beneath one of the piles of papers.

Linn unearthed it and pressed a button. „Professor

Summerfield and Mr Harper to see you, sir.‟

„How very gratifying,‟ squeaked Klench‟s voice through the

small speaker. „Send them up right away.‟

Klench was waiting for them at the lift doors in his office.

The light glinted on the pebble lenses of his spectacles as he

greeted them and waved them to seats.

„Now then,‟ he said when they were arranged to his

satisfaction, „what can I do for you? More expenses perhaps?

Information?‟

„Dorpfeld‟s Prism,‟ Benny said simply.

„Ah, you have a lead.‟ Klench looked across at Linn and

raised his eyebrows as if impressed. „Very good. Quick work.‟

Before Benny could reply Klench‟s comm buzzed.

„Will you excuse me?‟ Klench said as he answered. „Jericko

Klench, antiques and curios for the discerning,‟ he said into

the communicator. „How can I -‟ He broke off abruptly, took

the communicator from his ear and looked at it. „Hmm,‟ he

said in annoyance before putting it away again. „I do

apologize. Now, where were we?‟

„Dorpfeld‟s Prism,‟ Linn prompted.

„Oh yes, thank you, Miss Sekka.‟ He turned to Benny again.

„You have a lead, did you say?‟

„No, no,‟ Benny said smiling. „We have Dorpfeld‟s Prism.‟

She held up the bag. „Here.‟

Klench pointed at the bag, astonished. „In there? Already?‟

He shook his head in disbelief. „What can I say?‟

„How about “Good work, here‟s your money”?‟ Dent

suggested.

If anything, Klench seemed more astonished at this than at

Benny and Dent‟s successful recovery of the relic. His mouth

opened and closed. He looked at Linn, then back at Dent.

„Well?‟ Benny prompted.

„Well, er, yes,‟ Klench agreed. „Absolutely.‟ He pulled open a

drawer of his desk and rummaged inside. „I‟m afraid you‟ve

caught me somewhat on the hop,‟ he admitted as he closed

the drawer and started on another one. „I‟m not sure I have

much petty cash lying around. And you were rather

dismissive of my suggestion of a money-transfer order.‟ He

closed the drawer with an air of finality and sat back in his

chair. „No,‟ he said simply.

„No?‟

Klench shrugged. „I‟m sorry, Professor, but I have to admit

that the speed of your success has taken me quite by

surprise. I was intending to go to the bank tomorrow morning

just in case you achieved an early result.‟ He threw his arms

open in a gesture that seemed designed to combine apology,

honesty and openness. „If you could call back tomorrow...‟ he

hazarded. „Around lunchtime?‟

Dent stared at him, poker-faced. „You are joking,‟ he said.

Klench gave a short laugh. „I am sorry,‟ he said. „But no, I

am not joking.‟ He leant forward across the desk towards

Benny. He reached out towards the bag. „May I?‟

„No, you may not,‟ Dent told him sharply, knocking his

hand away. „You get the relic when we get paid. Not before.‟

Klench was crestfallen. „Oh.‟ The dismay was heavy in his

voice. „Oh, well...‟ His face crumpled, and his top lip began to

quiver. He gave a quick sniff, and wiped a grubby

handkerchief quickly across his face, culminating in a loud

session of nose-blowing.

Benny sighed and tossed the bag on to the desk. It landed

with a heavy thump beside the blotter.

„Benny!‟ Dent said.

She shrugged. „We know where he is,‟ she said. „It‟s not like

he‟s going to do a runner, is it?‟ She nodded to where Klench

was hastily shaking open the bag. „I mean, you can tell he‟s a

decent and honest man.‟

There was a hint of doubt in her voice as she spoke. But

any doubts she actually had were dispelled immediately the

relic fell to the desk top and Klench picked it up. He held the

prism in his hands for a while, cradling it. The light reflected

off the facets as if it were actually glowing from within and

shone on Klench‟s face. His expression was one of pure joy.

His shoulders seemed more relaxed, his spectacles somehow

clearer, and the eyes behind were wide with amazement and

a kind of euphoria. There was suddenly an artless quality

about him that echoed Benny‟s words. He looked, in short,

like the most honest and trustworthy man she had ever seen.

Dent could see it too. Benny could tell. For one thing, he

wasn‟t complaining. „All right,‟ Dent said slowly. „Tomorrow,

then.‟

„Yes,‟ Klench said, his voice barely more than a whisper. He

had taken out his hanky again and was wiping some of the

grime of the rubbish dump off the silver chain. Then he

started to polish the crystal prism vigorously. He seemed to

be in a world of his own.

„With a bonus for efficiency,‟ Dent said.

„Of course,‟ Klench replied at once. „That seems very fair.‟

Benny and Dent exchanged smiles of satisfaction. Linn‟s

eyebrows rose up her forehead by an alarming amount.

„Well,‟ said Benny a little awkwardly, „until tomorrow, then.‟

She reached across the desk to shake Klench‟s hand.

„Professor Summerfield, Mr Harper,‟ Klench said as he

shook each of their hands in turn. „You are without doubt the

most gifted, talented, helpful, generous and -‟ he paused as if

running out of superlatives „- beautiful‟, he eventually

decided, „people I have ever had the great fortune to do

business with. If there is anything I can do to help you, ever,

please just name it.‟

Linn was still staring at Klench, her eyes wide and her

mouth open, when Benny and Dent entered the lift.

„We‟ll see ourselves out,‟ Dent said as the doors closed.

Benny was grinning widely. „Oh,‟ she said, „what a nice

man.‟

Dent‟s puzzled expression was the mirror of Linn‟s. „Yes,‟ he

said. „I wonder what he‟s up to.‟

Jason pulled open the door of the taxi and climbed inside.

„Thought I‟d find you here,‟ he said.

Clarence shifted position slightly in an effort to make his

wings more comfortable behind him. „They‟ve handed it over

and they‟re just leaving.‟

Jason nodded. „Everything OK?‟

„Klench says he‟ll pay them tomorrow.‟

„Oh, yeah?‟ Jason said with a laugh. „I‟ve used that one

myself.‟

From somewhere behind them came a thumping sound, a

steady rhythmic pounding. Both Clarence and Jason ignored

it.

„Still,‟ Jason went on, „it should just be a question of

keeping them out of trouble from the usual street rats and

environmental hazards again now.‟

The thumping sound was louder now, more insistent.

Clarence had to talk loudly to make himself heard over it.

„How did you get on?‟

„Oh, I don‟t think Professor Bloggs will be top of Mrs

Winther‟s Christmas-card list,‟ Jason shouted above the

hammering. He sighed. „I suppose we‟d better let him out and

then get after Benny.‟

Clarence waited round the corner while Jason opened the

taxi‟s boot. He helped out the infuriated driver and dusted

him down. „Good job I heard you,‟ Jason told the man. „Lucky

I managed to open the boot.‟

He rejoined Clarence and together they set off after the

dwindling forms of Benny and Dent Harper. „Miserable sod,‟

Jason muttered. „I know he‟d only just come round from the

anaesthetic, but even so... He could at least have said thank

you.‟

She said nothing for a long time. She had assumed at first

that he was simply overawed with the relic. But, after several

minutes of watching him staring at it in something close to

an uncharacteristic state of enchantment, Linn decided she

should say something.

„Are you all right?‟ was what she settled on.

„All right?‟ Klench mused. His voice had taken on an almost

musical singsong quality. „All right? I‟m marvellous.‟ He

looked up at her. His spectacles seemed to magnify the size

and depth of his eyes as he stared at her. His face softened.

„Isn‟t life simply wonderful, my darling?‟ he said dreamily.

„I‟m not your darling,‟ she said. „And things have been

better.‟

He did not seem to be upset by her sharp tone. „We‟re the

luckiest people in the world,‟ he said. „In the universe, even.‟

His face was now a huge, ridiculous smile.

Linn could not help but smile back. „What is it?‟ she asked.

„What are you up to?‟

Klench did not answer. He was staring out of the window

across the smog-drenched city. „So beautiful,‟ he murmured.

„Paradise made real. Olympus come to us.‟

„I appreciate that you‟re rather pleased with yourself now

you‟ve got the thingy,‟ Linn said, „but what do we do with it

now?‟ She sat herself down on the desk in front of him and

swung her long legs back and forth. „You still haven‟t told me

what it‟s for.‟

„For?‟ he said, his eyes becoming impossibly wider and

deeper. „Why, Linn my dear - it‟s for you.‟

She laughed out loud. „Now I know you‟re joking.‟

Klench was holding out his hands, the back of one in the

palm of the other like a communicant about to receive the

Eucharist wafer. Dorpfeld‟s Prism rested on the top palm.

„For you,‟ he said gently. „AH this has been for you.‟

Linn stopped swinging her legs and looked at him carefully.

Apart from the fact that his face was a lunatic mask of happy

dreaminess, he seemed serious. Tentatively, she reached out

for the necklace. Her hand stopped just shy of it, but Klench

nodded encouragingly to her. She took it.

„Whoa!‟ Klench said as the Prism left his hand. He blinked

and shook his head. „That‟s some technology you know.‟ He

rubbed at his forehead and looked up at Linn, aware that she

had not answered.

She was still sitting on his desk, Dorpfeld‟s Prism around

her neck. She was swinging her legs again. And she was

humming.

Klench leant back in his chair and watched her. He

watched her for a while, transfixed. She seemed so happy, so

contented, that it made his eyes water. He watched the shape

of each leg as it moved, watched the pattern it traced in the

air. He examined the curve of her body as it rose up from the

desk. He stared at the beautiful happiness on her face and in

every arc of her form.

After a while she seemed to notice he was watching her.

She fixed her eyes on his and smiled. Her face lifted, the joy

spreading still further across it. God, she was beautiful.

Klench loosened his collar and grabbed his handkerchief.

„Linn?‟ he said quietly, hesitantly.

„Yes, Jericko,‟ she said. Her voice was a lilting melody.

„You never called me Jericko before,‟ he said. Even as he

spoke he was aware that it was a silly thing to say. But she

seemed not to mind.

„Jericko,‟ she said again, rolling the name round her mouth

experimentally. „Jericko.‟ She nodded. „It‟s a nice name,‟ she

decided. „A nice name for a nice man.‟

Klench gulped. „Do you think so?‟ He stood up, reaching

out for her. „Do you really think so?‟ He pulled her blouse

gently forward so that the Prism dropped behind it, out of

view.

„Oh yes.‟

She did not object as he closed his arms round her, pulled

her towards him. Her body was warm and strong. He closed

his sweaty hands together behind her back.

„I‟ve always liked you,‟ Linn said as she nestled in. „Really I

have. Ever since I met you.‟

„Liked me?‟ Klench‟s voice was sticky. He had trouble

saying the words. „Loved me?‟ One of her breasts was pressed

against his glasses, pushing them up over his ears.

„Oh yes.‟ She seemed to curl up inside his arms, her head

resting on the greasy bald top of his own. „You‟ve been so

kind, so good to me. I was so young and naive when I met

you, but you were so... considerate. I think I loved you from

the first time we met.‟

Klench let out a long breath he did not realize he had been

holding. „Oh, Linn,‟ he murmured.

„Loved you,‟ she repeated as he held her even closer. „Loved

you like a father.‟

For a moment they were frozen together in tableau. Then

Klench abruptly sprang back, almost falling over his chair

„What?‟ he demanded in a breathless squeal of dismay.

„The gerontium miners of Baglingwort Minimus promised me

a small fortune if I would help them. The problem was really

quite straight-forward, though it had kept them perplexed

and in thrall for many years.

„The gerontium was mined in the old-fashioned manner -

traditional, I think they would have said. It was hewn from

the load-bearing rock with pick and axe, then shovelled in

small trucks that ran on narrow rails through the low

tunnels back into the daylight. The processing plant was a

more modern affair, and was owned by an ore dealer from

Mawaii. He was an unpleasant fellow, and he paid a basic

price plus a bonus calculated from the weight of refined

gerontium extracted from the rock that the miners delivered.

„Except, of course, that he didn‟t. And this was the

problem. The miners worked crushingly long hours in the

dark and the dust. They bled their lives away in that hellhole.

And the dealer from Mawaii paid them an insultingly low

base rate.

„But that was fine because the bonus he promised was

actually quite generous. Except that he never paid it.

Whenever the miners asked him for their bonus, he would

bluster and fuss and tell them he needed to check his sums.

„Tomorrow,‟ he would say. Always “Tomorrow.” And, as you

and I know only too well, tomorrow never comes.

„And so it went on. The miners, every week, went to the

dealer from Mawaii. And every week he paid them a

subsistence wage and told them, “Tomorrow.” For a long time

the miners believed him, gave him the benefit of the doubt,

expected that one day he would live up to his promises. Then

they fell into the habit of not getting the bonus. It became a

joke.

„Then, after a long, long while, it was no longer a joke. But

they were no longer strong or determined enough to do

anything about it apart from grumble and moan and deliver

the rock on schedule and hear him say, „Tomorrow.”

„Until I arrived.

„I was working on a tour guide for the frontier worlds. You

know the sort of thing, I‟m sure. Lots of glossy pictures and

equally glossy annotations. Throw in a few anecdotes, list the

restaurants and give them a random sprinkling of stars.

People lap it up.

„Not that Baglingwort Minimus merited a mention. But

since I was in the area, and any research is good research, or

at the very least is tax-deductible, I dropped in for a few

nights.

„I listened to the miners‟ story with increasing degrees of

disgust, anger and resentment. “So,” I said when they‟d

finished their bar room anecdote, “what are you going to do

about it?”

„There was a silence then. I don‟t think it had occurred to

them they could do anything. So I explained that the

gerontium was worth mining, and it was worth refining The

dealer from Mawaii was making a fortune out of them, and

they should get their share. If it came to it, they could

manage without the dealer and go straight to the

conglomerates of Hastavarian Four. After all, I told them as

they listened in amazement to my suggestions, you should

never trust anyone from Mawaii. The i‟s are too close

together.

„It started from there, from that bar-side chat over a few

beers after a grubby day‟s dusty labour. We hammered out a

deal, and they agreed to let me be their spokesperson. Off we

went the next night, the miners with their most brutal-

looking equipment - picks, shovels, laser probes and blasting

gel. We marched up to the processing plant and demanded to

see the manager.

„He couldn‟t really refuse to see us. He seemed remarkably

controlled about it all when I explained that he had milked

the miners for too long, and that now they had learnt from

him and from his methods. I suppose he did the sums, and

worked out that he‟d had a good long run and wasn‟t likely to

make enough profit for it to be worth hanging around now

he‟d been rumbled. He left the next morning, and the miners

took over the processing plant.

„I had a couple of free days before I needed to get to my

next interstellar connection. So I helped them get the plant

going and divvy up the various work so that things were

humming along quite smoothly.

„They all came to see me off. It was quite touching really.

There were the miners and their wives and families, A huge

ring of lines of grubby faces smiling through their dusty

countenances at me. The leader was a huge man called

Ginge. He swallowed my hand in his palm, and pumped my

arm up and down until the muscles ached. Mine, not his.

„And, as he held my hand and everyone waved and cheered,

I broached the subject of my fee. I mentioned the sum we had

agreed, and he smiled and nodded and patted me on the

back like an old drinking pal. “Of course,” he said. “Of

course.” And his smile cracked into a full grin as he added,

„Tomorrow.”

„They‟d learnt rather more from the dealer than I had

intended.‟

They were picking their way through the dry patches between

the puddles. The drizzle had stopped for the moment, but

there was no sign of sun. From the distance came the sound

of the Star Ferry lifting ponderously from its moorings.

„Do I have to guess the moral of the story?‟ Benny asked.

„I think you know the moral of the story,‟ Dent said.

Whether it is relevant to our own situation, we shall

discover.‟

Benny nodded. „Tomorrow,‟ she said. She grinned. „But I

live every day for itself.‟

* * *

Just as Jericko Klench was deciding that things could not

really get any worse, the lift arrived with a „ding‟. He had not

noticed anyone in the shop below on the security camera, but

then he had been staring into a space just in front of where

Linn was swinging her legs.

The lift doors slid open. And things got worse.

Clarence stopped in mid-step. „Oh,‟ he said. Then, as if that

settled it, he started walking again.

„Oh?‟ Jason asked. „What do you mean “Oh”? We‟re back to

“Oh” now, are we?‟

„I can still monitor the listening device on the window of

Klench‟s office,‟ Clarence said. „I haven‟t been listening, of

course. Now that we no longer have a professional interest, it

wouldn‟t be...‟ He shrugged.

„Polite?‟ Jason suggested.

Clarence nodded.

„So,‟ Jason said, „what is it that you haven‟t heard?‟

They had moved Linn gently to another table. Apparently in

the belief that she was either an imbecile or drunk, or maybe

both. The larger of the two extremely large men – the younger

one - had simply lifted her bodily from the desk and

deposited her on a side table. Her smile never faltered, and

her legs never stopped swinging. Dorpfeld‟s Prism remained

concealed behind the flimsy material of her blouse. Klench

tried to keep his eyes off it, which he found difficult enough

at the best of times.

This was not, he could already tell, the best of times. He sat

shaking silently behind his desk as Linn was cleared from it.

There were four of them: the two heavies, a young woman

with short, straight, dark hair, and Mrs Winther. Klench

shrank back into his seat as Mrs Winther sat down opposite

him. She was smiling. It was not pleasant.

„I think, Mr Klench, that you can help me,‟ she said. „I think

you have something I want.‟

„Oh?‟ He tried very hard to keep his voice level and calm.

The result was a noise like a pig in pain. But at least he had

the capacity to make some sort of sound. His confidence

boosted by this first minor success, he struggled on. „And

what is that, Mrs Winther? An antique for your collection?

Nice painting?‟

She had stopped smiling. Suddenly Klench appreciated her

smile, now that it was gone. „You know what I mean,‟ she

said.

He shook his head dumbly. She was bluffing.

„Er, is this because of those... those two loon-lunatics I just

threw out?‟ he stammered.

„They ain‟t lunatics, and you didn‟t throw them out,‟ the

older man said.

„But thank you for telling us they were here,‟ Mrs Winther

said.

Klench swallowed. He could hear Linn humming to herself

again. It didn‟t help.

„No,‟ Mrs Winther went on, „we found you from this.‟ She

snapped her fingers, though in fact they made a noise more

like jelly being dropped. In response the older of the two

heavies tossed something to Klench.

He fumbled it, nearly dropped it, caught it at last. It was a

personal communicator. It was Miklos Frunt‟s. Klench tried

to look confused.

„Now,‟ Mrs Winther said as if explaining to a child, „that

belonged to the man who stole the commodity that we – that I

- desire.‟

Klench was definitely not looking at Linn now. He was

certainly not staring at her blouse.

„There is only one number preprogrammed into that.‟ Mrs

Winther nodded to the communicator that Klench was

juggling between his sweaty, slippery hands. „It is an

unlisted, untraceable number.‟

„So?‟ Klench managed to gasp out.

„So we rang it,‟ the chief heavy said.

Klench gulped. „Oh.‟

„And you answered,‟ Mrs Winther finished. „Giving your

name and business. Did you want to change your plea at this

stage?‟

Klench did look at Linn now. He looked at her vacant smile,

her smiling eyes, her carefree swinging legs. He looked at how

young she was, at how happy she was, at how Innocent she

was. She stared back at him, apparently oblivious to any

problem. She smiled at him. And that did it.

„No,‟ he said. His voice was firmer, stronger now. He was

feeling more in control. They would get nothing from him.

Mrs Winther sighed. It was a sound of resignation rather

than surprise. „Time for you to explain things to Mr Klench,

Nikole,‟ she said to the young woman.

The woman was holding a briefcase. Klench had not

noticed it before. But his attention was fixed on it now as she

lifted it on to the desk - on to his desk. She opened it, and

swung it round just enough for him to see the array of

instruments and devices inside.

And his stomach turned to water.

CHAPTER 10

She had never noticed before how lovely the office was. She

had always treated it merely as a room, as a place where she

and Klench worked. But in fact there was a kind of beauty in

every aspect of it. The way the smudges on the windows

dispersed the light; the way the light shining through the

smeary windows caught the motes of dust as they spiralled

down; the way the furniture was so haphazardly arranged.

Everything.

Linn Sekka was happy to just sit and watch and swing her

legs. She hummed quietly, enjoying the sound of her own

voice - when she could hear it above the screams.

They were really very good screams. Obviously there was

nothing really wrong. They were cries, surely, of joy rather

than pain or discomfort. She could not see what the woman

was doing to Klench, but no doubt it was for his own good.

He was a sad man, she knew, and anything that could help

him was for the best.

One of the large men, the younger one that they had called

Powlo, turned to look at her. His expression seemed to be

puzzled. Linn smiled at him, and was pleased to see that he

smiled thinly back.

Such nice people.

They held a quick council of war.

„OK,‟ Jason summarized, „we can‟t really tell what the

situation is without seeing for ourselves. So you head back

mill have a shufty, while I follow Benny and Harper and keep

them out of trouble.‟

Clarence nodded. „I think I understand,‟ he said. „We are

swapping roles.‟

„Yes. Partly because Winther and her thugs know me now,

and we didn‟t part on the most amicable of terms. And also,‟

he said, „you‟re better equipped for looking into upper-storey

windows than I am.‟

Clarence thought about this. „Benny said to Klench that

they were taking the ferry to Prevoria,‟ he said. „Shall I meet

you there?‟

„It‟s a big place,‟ Jason said. „Better to meet at the hotel. If I

need help, I‟ll call the Xcelsior and leave you a message.‟

„Right.‟ Clarence smiled. „I must fly,‟ he said.

„Ah, humour,‟ Jason replied without smiling. „Good. Very

impressive. Very original. What are you tackling next?‟

„Sarcasm,‟ Clarence said. „Benny tells me it is the highest

form of wit.‟

„He‟s getting there,‟ Jason murmured to himself as he

watched Clarence push his way back through the crowds.

„Still a bit obvious, but he‟s getting there.‟

„He‟ll die before he talks,‟ Luggar said.

Mrs Winther nodded. She had come to the same

conclusion. Nikole hesitated, bloody scalpel in hand. Behind

her, Klench was slumped forward in his chair. His wrists

were strapped to the arms of the chair, his belt was wound

through the slatted back and tight round his huge waist.

„Shall I stop?‟ Nikole asked.

Mrs Winther considered. „If he isn‟t going to tell us

anything, there‟s no point in going on,‟ she said slowly. „But

equally there‟s no point in stopping either.‟ She turned to

Luggar. „What other options do we have?‟

Luggar nodded to the woman sitting swinging her legs on

the table. „She might know something,‟ he said. „But I

wouldn‟t bet on it.‟

„She‟s gone,‟ Powlo offered. „Tripped out.‟

„Or just naturally stupid,‟ Mrs Winther said. „No, leave her.

For now anyway.‟

Nikole set down the scalpel in a steel kidney dish. „What

about Doctor Creer?‟ she suggested. „Could he help us?‟

„Creer only works on dead people,‟ Luggar growled.

There was silence for several seconds, broken only by the

quiet humming of the woman and the barely conscious

moans of pain from Klench.

„That‟s easily sorted,‟ Nikole said. She picked up the scalpel

again.

„No, wait.‟ Mrs Winther held up her hand. „We need

everything. Every ounce of his memory. So his brain has to

be perfectly preserved.‟

„We bring Creer to him, bring him here,‟ Luggar said „And

don‟t kill him till Creer‟s arrived.‟

From the Journal of Bernice Summerfield

Since Virabilis seemed to be little more than a tourist trap

despite all Dent‟s protestations about how dangerous and

lawless it really was, I was hoping for a little more excitement

from Prevoria. Fat chance.

I think maybe they work on a different level in this part of

the universe. What‟s seen as a big deal here is small potatoes

back where I come from. A major hazard to life is comparable

to crossing the road back home. Actually, crossing the road

is one of the more adventurous things you can indulge in

here.

Even finding Dorpfeld‟s Prism turned out to be fairly

straightforward. I know Dent is always on about how

someone is after it, or after us, or after everything. But it

simply isn‟t like that. He‟s just paranoid. He sees danger

lurking round every corner and under every street lamp. I

guess it makes for an interesting new interpretation of his

books and traveller‟s tales.

But I‟m different. I pride myself on my ability to take things

as they are. As they really are. I guess after so many

adventures, Dent has had to create this sort of mythical

world in his head where men whisper of danger and

excitement. Unfortunately that‟s all they do.

So, anyway, a trip out to Prevoria on the Star Ferry looked

like the easiest, cheapest, quickest way to get to where the

action really is.

On the way Dent regaled me with various accounts of how

surly and insular the natives are once you‟re outside Prevoria

City. I was quite looking forward to wandering round a

shanty village with houses on stilts and children peering at

us suspiciously through windows their parents have told

them to keep closed on pain of, well, pain. He made them out

to be a reclusive people, not used even now to outsiders.

Natives of a bygone age who will slit your throat for the

clothes you wear or if they think you‟re looking at them in a

funny way.

It all sounded familiar, exciting and adventurous.

Because, at heart, that‟s what I am. An adventuress.

The Star Ferry was a less than auspicious start, which I

sort of thought probably boded well. It was run down, smelly,

slow and downright dangerous. OK, so I was longing for some

danger, but not of the „airlock cracks, atmosphere escapes

and we-all-die-gasping-horribly-for-breath-as-the-ship-break

s-apart‟ sort. Oh no.

I exaggerate. Slightly. In fact, Prevoria and Virabilis are so

close together that there‟s atmosphere all the way. It gets a

bit thin in the middle part of the journey, but it‟s there. You

don‟t need to be pressurized, and the ferry isn‟t. So there‟s a

ten-minute chunk of the journey where everyone sits down

and keeps quiet. The hard men try to keep on their feet to

show how macho they are. The result is, they faint.

Fortunately Dent didn‟t attempt this, though I bet he has in

the past. If I wasn‟t with him, I‟d have tried it. Maybe.

The view from the side of the ferry, what you can see of it

through the smog-haze that is, is pretty spectacular. There‟s

something awe-inspiring about the sight of Prevoria so low in

the sky above you from Virabilis anyway. As you get closer to

it, the sight is even more impressive. Until you get close

enough to make out the detail and can see that it‟s just

another smelly, dirty, overdeveloped city. But by then you

can look back at Virabilis and be impressed with that. Even

though you know what it‟s like down there really.

If you look sideways you can see the stars. At least, when

the atmosphere is thin they‟re just about visible. Stars in

daylight, now that is something.

But then you‟re back into the smog. Or at least, you‟re into

Prevoria‟s own smog. Not that there‟s any difference. The

stars dwindle and die and you immediately feel less poetic

and less impressed.

The ferry port was a riot. People milling about in their

hundreds if not thousands. Live animals, too. Thank

goodness they‟re transported below decks. The smell is bad

enough as it is, without coping with livestock and all their

associated bodily functions. Dent says there‟s a roaring trade

in animals between Prevoria and Virabilis. „Like lions, you

mean?‟ I said, but he didn‟t seem to get the joke. I thought of

taking him aside and quizzing him about whether he just

didn‟t notice it was a joke or whether he didn‟t consider it

funny. But that would have destroyed any possibility of using

it again later. Anyway, he was more concerned with finding

us a ride out into what he optimistically described as the

primitive outlands.

But I was taken in, of course. I anticipated the excitement

of the visit to a genuine native settlement all the way. It took

my mind off the condition of the ground car we hitched a ride

in and the general demeanour of the driver.

The journey was unremarkable, except that, although the

crazy who‟d given us a lift seemed intent on breaking the

sound barrier as well as driving through every rut and

pothole he could find, we were overtaken. On a bend, going

up u hill on what I would have sworn was a single-track lane

and with a sheer drop on one side, we were overtaken. This

ground car just streaked past. Big one, hire job. Whiz.

Just goes to show, there‟s always someone more crazy

about no matter how impossible that might seem at the time.

Our lift dropped us about two miles from the village, I

guess. So we had a short walk. Dent spent most of it

stressing how we had to approach quietly, keep our hands

visible, make no threatening gestures, and above all be polite

and deferential to anyone we did meet.

„Remember,‟ he said for the thousand and seventh time,

„they‟re a shy people, unused to strangers. They struggle to

survive out here so don‟t pick up anything, or even look at a

piece of food in case they think you‟re after it. They‟d kill you

for an apple.‟

By this time we could see the village in the distance. It was

built round the edge of a lake, which I presumed provided

water for the inhabitants. The houses were made of sheets of

metal, crude plasterwork, anything I guess that was to hand.

They came right down to the limit of the land, standing on

stilts over the edge of the water. They rose quite high above

the water level, so I suppose that the lake rises during the

rainy season. If there is one. At least we seemed to have left

the near-constant drizzle behind on Virabilis.

The houses were all square, I suppose because of the way

they were built and the materials used. There was not a soul

in sight and I believed Dent‟s story about the natives being

shy and retiring without a second thought. There was a

silence in the air which you could cut with a knife. Except

that would have made too much noise.

We made our way round the shore of the lake, the water

lapping gently at the stony beach. Something to do with the

gravitational effect of Virabilis being so close, Dent said. The

water was beautifully clear. We managed to get to what

seemed to be the main street of the village without seeing

anyone, or we believed being seen ourselves.

The streets were paved, after a fashion, with slabs of

concrete. Weeds grew through the cracks between the slabs.

The side of the road was edged with a low stucco wall.

Occasionally there were a couple of steps up to it. I could

imagine the village children climbing up and walking

precariously along its top while ignoring their parents‟ pleas

to be careful and come down at once before they fell.

Close up you could see just how ramshackle and makeshift

the buildings really were. Dent wasn‟t fibbing, it seemed,

when he talked about the poverty and subsistence-level lives

of the people here. I could believe that if we ever saw anyone

they would be emaciated, tired farmers and labourers,

fishermen perhaps, eking out a humdrum existence without

entertainment, art or any diversions except maybe rough

alcohol.

„It‟s so quiet,‟ I whispered to Dent as we turned a corner in

the street.

That was the point at which the band started up.

The noise was as sudden as it was unexpected. I suppose

we should have been grateful that it was produced mainly by

local wind instruments and home-made steel drums rather

than the full military brass-band job, but even so we were

startled, then amazed, then perplexed.

Dent was even more surprised than I was at this turn of

events. He stared at the thronging villagers saying

incredulously „I don‟t understand‟ over and over again.

The whole village must have been there, from babes in

arms up to the Oldest Citizen on gnarled sticks. They had

strewn leaves across the concrete pavement and were holding

out baskets of fruit and flowers. My first thought was that we

had strayed into the middle of some local festival, but this

was dispelled immediately.

He must have been the head man of the village - mayor,

tribal chief, whatever. He had several garlands of flowers

round his neck and he was the one who looked like he was

allowed decent servings at dinner. He strode up to Dent and

me. We shrank back, still on the oops-interrupted-religious-

occasion kick.

When he was just about within reach he suddenly dived

forwards and kissed me on each cheek. I was almost as

surprised as Dent was when he got the same treatment. Then

the chief took one of the garlands of flowers from round his

neck and put it over my head. Again Dent got the same.

After that we were led along the leaf-strewn path, waved at

by the local people, greeted enthusiastically by the local

dignitaries, and offered fruit by the children. They didn‟t

seem to speak a word we understood, everything being

conveyed in grunts and murmurs and nods and gestures.

But the meaning was as clear as if they had hung out

bunting and huge printed banners with the slogan, „OUR

VILLAGE WELCOMES BERNICE SUMMERFIELD‟.

„Have you ever actually been to one of these native villages

before?‟ I asked Dent as sweetly as I could as we sat on

wooden thrones watching a traditional dance by ladies of the

village who balanced baskets of fish on their heads and

wiggled their stomachs in ways that suggested access to a

fully equipped gymnasium.

He shook his head in continuing disbelief. „I don‟t

understand,‟ he said again. His voice was quiet and strangely

pathetic. I patted his hand and let him watch the dance.

„Not quite what I was expecting from your description,‟ I

confessed. „But I suppose it makes for an interesting

diversion.‟

The evening was drawing in when we left. It seemed to take

forever to say goodbye to all the people who lined the streets

to watch us go. Maybe they were never visited by strangers,

or perhaps they were just in a generous mood that day. I‟d

given up trying to figure it out. They must have seen us

making our cautious way round the lake and set up their

whole festival at a moment‟s notice. But, whatever was

behind it, I was again struck by the generosity and plain

friendliness of everyone.

And, after about ten minutes, by how boring it really all

was.

It was a long walk back. We were relying on catching a lift

from a passer-by, but we had to walk for several miles before

we were lucky enough to hitch a ride in a cattle truck. We

had been passed after only a short way by what looked like

the same hire car as had streaked by us on our way there.

Again it screeched past without even slowing down Dent had

been standing in the road waving for it to stop, but jumped

aside just in time.

(Extract ends)

They kept Klench barely conscious until Creer arrived. The

doctor was not impressed, but seeing what had happened to

Klench he did not seem inclined to complain too vociferously.

„This is highly irregular, you know,‟ he grumbled as he set

up his equipment. It took him several minutes to sort out the

cabling so that the images could be relayed to the security

monitor. „You won‟t get a terribly good picture on that, you

know,‟ he pointed out. „Everything done on the cheap these

days.‟

„I think it‟s a lovely picture,‟ Linn remarked to nobody in

particular. I‟ve always liked it.‟ She tilted her head to one side

and stared at the monitor.

„Who is this?‟ Creer asked, pointing at Linn.

„Ignore her,‟ Powlo advised. „She‟s wacko.‟

„Get her out of here then,‟ Creer snapped. „No wackos

allowed. This is a serious operation, not a circus show.‟ He

snapped the fingers of his surgical gloves and flexed his

hands. „Right, now let‟s be having that brain.‟

Nikole smiled. „With pleasure.‟

As the lift doors opened, Linn turned back just for a

moment. Her face became a picture of rapture, and Creer

looked round to see what she was looking at. There was

nothing, just the greasy window giving out on to the

uninspiring cityscape, and the body slumped forward over

the desk.

He took the brain from Nikole, feeling the warmth of it

through his thin gloves, and set it carefully on a steel plate

beside the monitor.

„Right then,‟ Creer said, „let‟s see what we have here, shall

we?‟

It was a beautiful day. Things could not be better. Linn

wandered aimlessly for several minutes, just enjoying being

alive, feeling the breath of the breeze on her face, basking in

the beauty of the day.

Klench was dead. She knew that. She had seen what had

happened to him, although the manner of it had rather

passed her by. But that was a good thing too. She did not

pretend to understand the man, but she had liked him. And

she had known him well enough to know that deep down,

fundamentally, he was not happy with life.

So being dead was really the best thing for him. It was all

so simple when you thought about it. He was in a better

place now. He was happy.

She was absolutely sure of that. After all, when she had

looked back into the room she had seen an angel at the

window. Watching over him. Ready to take his soul up to the

heavens while his worldly body enjoyed its well-deserved rest.

As she thought about this, Linn looked up at the sky,

shielding her eyes from the brilliance of the sun. In the

distance she could see the Star Ferry making its way

majestically down from Prevoria towards Virabilis. She

watched it for a while, a tiny dot, so far away. Who had said

they were going on the Star Ferry? she wondered.

Then she remembered, and for the first time a tiny niggle of

less-than-perfection edged into her way of thinking. Her hand

went to her throat and closed on the silver chain hidden

beneath the collar of her blouse. Professor Summerfield. It

was Professor Summerfield.

And Jericko Klench owed her money. And now he would

not be able to pay. That was wrong, Linn knew. It was unfair.

And she determined to do something about it, to restore her

world to the paradise of perfection it so nearly was.

On reflection, Nikole was not surprised that she was the only

one who realized what it was.

Creer was fussing round his equipment, making

adjustments and altering settings. But the image remained

the same.

„That‟s it,‟ he admitted at last. „That seems to be the single

image that he was concentrating on for a good while before

his death.‟

„But it‟s...‟ Mrs Winther waved a pudgy hand. „Apart from

Dorpfeld‟s Prism, what is it?‟

Powlo and Luggar were both shaking their heads.

Creer was staring at the screen, biting his lower lip. „Some

sort of fabric membrane?‟ he suggested. He traced the outline

of the grainy image. „I imagine you were asking him where

this Prism is. He is visualizing the hiding place.‟

„Two hills, covered in snow?‟ Luggar hazarded. But

Dorpfeld‟s Prism would be huge. And what‟s the raised area

round the edge of the chain?‟

„It‟s a collar,‟ Nikole said.

There was silence. Slowly everyone turned to look at her.

She sighed and traced her finger down the middle of the

screen. „Have you never seen cleavage before? It‟s a picture of

someone wearing Dorpfeld‟s Prism. Round their neck,‟ she

added. Then in case there was still any doubt: „A woman. A

young woman by the look of it.‟ She tried not to glance at Mrs

Winther‟s sagging but voluminous bosom as she said this.

„So,‟ Mrs Winther said, „we need to find a woman. Nikole,

you‟re a treasure.‟

„A woman Klench knew well enough to entrust Dorpfeld‟s

Prism to,‟ Luggar said.

„A woman wearing a white blouse,‟ Creer added

thoughtfully.

„With long auburn hair, by the look of it,‟ Mrs Winther said

as she stared sideways at the screen.

„Who also hums tunelessly and swings her legs about?‟

Nikole suggested. „Who Powlo just evicted on the advice of

Doctor Creer?‟

„Wacko,‟ Powlo said heavily.

But his comment was drowned out by Mrs Winther‟s shout

of anger and outrage.

„It cost me a fortune in fruit and veg,‟ Jason said ruefully.

„But they really went for the Princess Bernice of Dellah bit.‟

They stood in the shadow of a dilapidated office block,

watching the passengers as they emerged from the ferry

terminal.

„I could have bought the ground car for less,‟ Jason went

on. „They saw me coming, and I didn‟t have time to haggle.‟

„There she is.‟ Clarence pointed through the crowd to where

Benny and Harper were pushing their way forwards. Harper

was shaking his head; Benny looked less than enthusiastic

about life.

„Plum?‟ Jason offered. „I‟ve got a pocketful. One of the perks

of the job.‟

„Thanks, but no,‟ Clarence said as they started to follow

Benny and Harper. „What are the other perks?‟

Jason shouldered aside a beggar who was thrusting a rusty

tin under his nose and pushed past a woman carrying rancid

fish. „I‟ll let you know,‟ he said.

„I don‟t understand it,‟ Dent said as they made their way

through the crowds from the ferry.

„Look,‟ Benny told him, „will you stop saying “I don‟t

understand it” and just accept it. Your impression of village

life on Prevoria was slightly... awry. That‟s all.‟

„Yes,‟ he said. „And I don‟t understand it.‟

Benny ignored him and put her head down to push

through the mass of people. After what seemed like an age,

she emerged into daylight. Dent was close behind her and

pointed the way.

„We could get a taxi,‟ he suggested.

„I‟m less impressed with the taxis than with the local

knowledge,‟ Benny huffed as she set off at a brisk pace. „The

Xcelsior is this way,‟ she called over her shoulder to Dent.

„Excuse me. Professor Summerfield?‟

Benny paused. The voice was familiar, and yet strange. She

turned towards it, and found that Linn Sekka was beside her.

Her hands were clasped in front of her chest and she almost

danced for joy when she saw that Benny had heard her and

stopped.

„Oh, hello,‟ Benny said.

Dent had joined them. He looked suspiciously at Linn but

said nothing.

„What is it?‟ Benny asked when it became apparent that

Linn was not about to offer anything else.

„I‟m sorry,‟ she said, looking down at the ground. „I really

am. I feel so awful.‟ She sounded as if she really did.

She sounded so upset that Benny was tempted to put her

mm round her and lead her to the nearest seat. But she

couldn‟t see a seat. And she recalled how rude the woman

usually was to her. So she didn‟t. Instead she waited for

further explanation.

„Don‟t tell us you can‟t pay!‟ Dent said in obvious mock

surprise.

When Linn looked up, her face was actually streaked with

tears. „Oh, Mr Harper,‟ she sobbed. „I really am so sorry.

Really.‟

Really.‟ He did not sound so convinced.

„It‟s wrong, I know, and there‟s nothing I can do about it,‟

Linn went on, wiping her eyes. „I‟m sorry to have put you to

all this trouble for us, but there‟s only one thing I can do.‟

As she spoke she reached inside her collar and lifted a

silver chain over her head. She held out Dorpfeld‟s Prism to

Benny. It swung slowly in front of her, catching and reflecting

the light from deep inside the cut crystal.

„Take it,‟ Linn said as Benny hesitated. „It‟s yours really,

you know.‟

For a moment they both held it together. For a moment

they both smiled at each other - open, honest, completely

artless smiles of pure happiness and generosity.

Then Linn let go of the chain. Abruptly she blinked and

took a step backwards. Then her hand went to her mouth

und she gave a small choking sound. „Oh God,‟ she said, „he‟s

-‟ Then she turned, eyes wide, and ran.

Dent watched her go. „Strange woman,‟ he remarked. „Don‟t

you think?‟

„She‟s so kind and thoughtful,‟ Benny said dreamily. She

was wearing the Prism round her neck now, tucking it inside

her shirt. She looked round in apparent amazement as she

did. „Oh,‟ she said, „what a beautiful day. How absolutely

divine. Let‟s walk.‟

She reached out and took Dent‟s hand. Together they set

off through the litter scattered across the pavement, past the

beggars and into the thickening drizzle.

She was distinctive enough that, with a little persuasion,

Nikole and Powlo were able to track Linn Sekka to the Star

Ferry port. The place was teeming with people since a ferry

had just arrived. Their first thought was that the woman was

trying to escape in the outbound ferry to Prevoria. But, even

as they pushed through to the front of the queue, they

spotted her running in the opposite direction.

She had not seen them. She just seemed to be running

aimlessly. Running for the sake of it. For something to do

When they caught up with her, Nikole was struck by the

contrast with how she had been at Klench‟s office. She was

no longer dreamy, detached and innocent. She was wild-

eyed, scared and upset.

Powlo grabbed her, pinning her arms behind her back as

Nikole tore open her blouse. There was nothing inside. At

least, nothing they had been specifically looking for.

„OK, where is it?‟ Nikole demanded.

Powlo pulled her arms further up her back to make the

point.

Her expression showed it was a point taken. „I haven‟t got

it,‟ she said, almost in tears. „Let me go, will you?‟

„Maybe,‟ Powlo said in her ear.

She tried to pull away, but Powlo dragged her closer,

pinning her tightly to him.

„I said, where is it?‟ Nikole said fiercely, right into her face.

„And I said I haven‟t got it.‟

„Take her brain out?‟ Powlo suggested. „Like with her boss?‟

He stared down at her from behind, over her shoulder. „I

dunno where her brains might be, but I‟m happy to look for

them.‟ He guffawed with laughter at his joke.

Linn was terrified at the thought.

Nikole was unimpressed. „Grow up,‟ she snarled at Powlo.

She reached out and slapped the man hard across the face.

Then she turned her attention back to Linn. „Now,‟ she said,

almost gently, „where is Dorpfeld‟s Prism?‟

Linn said nothing. She stuck her chin out defiantly.

Nikole shrugged. „I am a frail young woman,‟ she said,

nodding at Powlo. „I cannot keep this animal‟s hands off you

for ever.‟ She leant closer. „Tell me what I want to know.‟

Linn stared back, her eyes narrowed. Then she sagged

slightly in Powlo‟s grip. „All right,‟ she said. „I don‟t want it

anyway. You‟re welcome to it. It‟s...‟ She struggled to think of

a description. „It‟s not a good thing to have,‟ she said at last.

„You wouldn‟t understand.‟ She made a brave attempt at a

smile. „But you will.‟

„So where is it?‟ Powlo grunted.

She twisted her head slightly in an effort to see him. „I said

I don‟t have it.‟

„Then who does?‟ Nikole snapped.

„Professor Summerfield. I gave it to Professor Summerfield.‟

Nikole looked into the woman‟s eyes, deep into her eyes as

if she could determine her veracity from within. She nodded

to Powlo, who let go of her.

Linn rubbed her arms, trying to work the circulation back

into life. „Thank you.‟ She gave a short sharp laugh. „I

thought you were going to kill me.‟

„We may yet,‟ Nikole admitted. „If you were lying.‟

„A strange way to behave,‟ Linn said with renewed bravado.

„After all, it‟s if I‟m telling the truth that I‟m expendable.‟

Nikole regarded her for a moment. „We‟re professionals,‟ she

said. „We reward those who help us. It means we can

continue to rely on them. But we punish those who are

against us. Remember that.‟ There was an edge to her voice,

a threat that Linn did not miss.

„I will,‟ she said. „I‟m a professional too,‟ she added. „You‟ll

find Summerfield at the Xcelsior.‟

CHAPTER 11

It was a long walk back to the hotel. By the time they reached

the market area, it was dark. The narrow streets were lit by

the startling, flickering neon of shop signs and the hazy fuzz

of the street lights battling through the heavy smog.

Dent was used to walking, and as ever there seemed to be

no trouble. So he was in a relaxed mood as they worked their

way past the first of the market stalls that sprawled out from

the central hub of the Xcelsior. Benny had laughed at his

joke, which was slightly unusual, and she had seemed to

appreciate his stories as much as she had when they first

met. It seemed as if he had known the happy, smiling woman

all his life despite the fact they had met only a couple of days

before.

But, however relaxed he was, Dent Harper was the sort of

person who noticed immediately when something was wrong.

And he did.

„What is it?‟ Benny asked as Dent stopped and looked

round.

„It‟s quiet,‟ he replied.

„Yes. Nice, isn‟t it?‟

„Mmm.‟ He wasn‟t convinced. „The stalls are all set out. It‟s

not that late.‟

„So?‟

„So where are the traders, the stallholders?‟ Dent looked

along the deserted street. „Come to that, where are the

customers?‟

Benny shrugged. „It‟s a lovely evening - perhaps they‟ve

gone for a walk.‟

„Yeah, right. Just left their wares and wandered off for a

quiet drink.‟ He was still looking round warily. „Very likely.‟

„Well there you are, then,‟ Benny said as if that settled it.

She put her arm through Dent‟s and led him onward.

He stopped again almost immediately. It was indeed

incredibly quiet. The only sounds were away in the distance.

Except for the rattle of a stone on the street off to their left.

Dent looked to where the sound had come from. They were

level with a side alley, and he could see along it. At the end of

the alley was parked a ground car. It was large and black

with tinted windows. As he watched, a small stone bounced

off the side of the car and clattered to the ground.

If Dent had been interested in the stone, he might have

wondered who had thrown it. It might have occurred to him

that someone had thrown it deliberately to attract his

attention. But he was staring at the ground car. He had seen

a ground car like that recently. He had seen a ground car like

that somewhere. Somewhere with Benny.

„Landfill Major,‟ he said out loud. And even as his mind

worked through the implications of this he was dragging

Benny after him. „Run,‟ he shouted, but his legs were already

ahead of his mouth.

„I like exercise,‟ Benny said as they ran. „Are we in a hurry?‟

„Yes,‟ Dent screamed back at her. He had to shout to make

himself heard above the sound of gunfire.

Chips of the pavement were flying up behind them as they

ran, edging their way nearer. Dent hurled himself down a

side street, pulling Benny after him. He pressed himself

against the wall and held Benny close to him. „We have to get

to the hotel,‟ he whispered.

„I know.‟ For once her tone was serious. „The pub‟s been

open for hours,‟ she explained.

„Come on.‟ Dent pushed himself away from the wall and

they were off again, running as fast as Dent could drag

Benny. Heading for the end of the street. Behind them the

area round the part of the wall they had been pressed against

exploded in a spectacular orange fireball. The flames chased

along the street, licking at Dent‟s heels as he dived forward,

pushing Benny ahead of him.

They both stopped abruptly. Across the road, past the

market stalls, was the back entrance to the hotel. The

doorway was lit by a neon sign. Some of the letter lights had

failed and it proudly proclaimed, „XCE S OR‟. Between them

and the doorway, standing beside one of the market stalls,

was the smaller of the two men who had led them across

Landfill Major to Mrs Winther‟s ground car. He was holding a

gun, and, as Dent watched, the gun was raised to point

straight at him.

A second later, he heard the sound of the shot.

In the hope that Benny would be less likely to recognize

Clarence, they had agreed that he should go on ahead and

wait in the hotel lobby for Harper and Benny to arrive. Jason

shadowed the two as they made their way back from the ferry

port.

Since he knew that Mrs Winther would be after Linn, and

that Linn would have no qualms about telling her where

Dorpfeld‟s Prism now was, Jason was expecting trouble. He

noticed as soon as Harper did that the streets were deserted,

and it was not an especially mind-taxing task to work out

what had scared the locals away. People with guns, at a

guess. Probably lots of people. Probably lots of guns.

Jason‟s problem now was to alert Benny and Harper to the

danger without giving himself away. When he found Mrs

Winther‟s limo, and saw that Harper and Benny were

approaching the alleyway it was parked at the end of, he had

the idea of throwing stones at it. It just might work, if the two

were on the ball. And, even if it didn‟t, he at least got the

satisfaction of chucking stones at Mrs Winther‟s car.

As it was, Harper seemed to realize the danger, and he and

Benny legged it just ahead of the bullets. They seemed to be

making for the back door to the Xcelsior Hotel, which was

not, Jason had to admit, a bad plan. By cutting through a

cross-street he got there just ahead of them.

And saw Fronz standing waiting, gun at the ready. He

raised the gun, pointing it at Benny and Harper. From where

Jason was standing he could see the thin smile of

satisfaction on Fronz‟s face as he took aim.

Jason took less time aiming. He was, after all close to his

target. A single shot to the head was more than sufficient and

Fronz was spun round by the unexpected impact before

spiralling to the wet pavement. His arm flailed out, catching

the side of a stall as he fell, sending a pile of metal pans

crashing noisily to the ground.

Harper looked round in surprise. Benny seemed not to

notice what was happening. In a moment Harper was

dragging her towards the hotel, pausing only to scoop up

Fronz‟s gun and stuff it into his jacket pocket.

„Over to you, Clarence,‟ Jason murmured and he watch the

door close behind them. He waited in the shadow expecting

at any moment to hear the sound of running footsteps.

The door opened into a corridor, which led past several

conference rooms and back into the hotel foyer. The

conference rooms were locked, so there was little choice but

to follow the corridor.

„You know,‟ Benny said pulling away from Dent‟s grip for a

moment, „I never noticed the pattern in this carpet before.

Isn‟t it pretty?‟

Dent did not reply. He was beginning to think she had

taken the „I‟m cool‟ act as far as it would sensibly go. And

then some. He grabbed her hand again and dragged her on.

They‟ll be after us in a moment,‟ he told her. „I don‟t know

who took out the guy at the door, but someone‟s on our side.‟

„Mmm,‟ Benny murmured in reply. „He looked so peaceful,

didn‟t he?‟

They paused at the end of the corridor. There was no door:

it just gave out into the central foyer. There were people,

though not many, which was a good sign, Dent reckoned. Not

enough to get lost in the crowd, but maybe enough to serve

as a distraction and a deterrent to the most extreme use of

force.

As he edged cautiously out of the corridor, pulling Benny

behind him, a man walked briskly past. He turned his face

away as he approached, as if not wanting it to be seen. But

Dent had already noticed the dark, floppy moustache.

„Wait here a moment,‟ Dent instructed Benny. He let go of

her hand and moved quickly after the man.

The whisper carried easily to Dent. The man did not slow or

pause as he hissed, „Two of them. One on the mezzanine floor

above us, the other by the main doors.‟

Dent whirled round immediately, turning a full circle, and

remarking the two men. They were easily spotted, once you

knew where to look. Dark suits, black ties, hands inside

bulging jackets.

„Thanks,‟ Dent said quietly.

The man had paused in an alcove where there was a low

table with a house communicator resting on it.

Dent blocked him in for a moment. „Who are you?‟ he

demanded. „I‟ve seen you several times.‟

„A friend,‟ the man said simply. „You‟d better get back to

Benny. Don‟t mention me.‟

Dent nodded. Then, as he turned to go, a thought struck

him. „I‟d ditch the obviously false moustache, if I were you,‟

he said.

The man looked hurt at the idea. Dent sighed, and reached

out. He was in the mood to make a point.

„I‟m terribly sorry,‟ he admitted a moment later. „I do

apologize. Really.‟

Dent edged his way back round the wall to where Benny

was waiting. They were at the periphery of both the gunmen‟s

view. With luck they wouldn‟t be spotted. But there was no

way they could stay by the corridor. There was no knowing

who might come along it at any moment. The dead man

outside certainly had colleagues who would soon be entering

the hotel to join their comrades inside. If they didn‟t move, it

would not be long before Dent and Benny would find

themselves caught between the two.

„This pattern goes right the way through, look,‟ Benny said

as Dent returned. „It‟s picked up by the marble tiles on the

floor across to the doors and the reception desk.‟ She smiled

in evident appreciation. „It‟s really neat. Clever. Don‟t you

think?‟

„What? Er, yes,‟ Dent admitted. „Look, can we talk about it

later?‟

„If you like.‟ Benny nodded. „I think our best move would be

the pub.‟

Dent considered. She was probably right. It was certainly

defensible, and there could be another way out. In the worst

case there would be people inside. „Good thought. But how

do we get there?‟ He pointed out the two hit men. „They‟ll see

us as soon as we break cover.‟

Benny shook her head. „You‟re so melodramatic at times,‟

she said. „Does it matter?‟

„It does if they can shoot straight.‟ He looked round. „We

need a distraction for a moment. Then we can run for it.* He

looked round. Through the main doors to the hotel he could

see that the rain had picked up. It was splashing heavily into

the existing puddles, making new ones, running away in little

streams towards the clogged gutters. „It‟s raining,‟ he said.

„Nice for the flowers.‟

Then he had it. Not the world‟s best plan, but it was better

than no plan at all. „I know,‟ he told Benny. „Pretend we‟ve

just dashed in from the rain.‟

She looked at him sideways, as if he needed humouring.

„All right,‟ she said in an I‟m-game voice.

„Pull your jacket over your head as if you‟ve just run in and

were using it as an umbrella.‟ He demonstrated, to Benny‟s

obvious amusement. „Like this.‟

„Is this the distraction you mentioned?‟ she laughed.

He almost laughed too. Then he saw what was happening

on the mezzanine. „No, he said. „That is.‟

The hit man on the mezzanine floor was leaning over the

rails. He had caught sight of them and was straining to see

Benny and Dent better. It was only a moment now before he

would raise the alarm. But that was not what Dent had

meant. Behind the man, as he leant forward. Dent had

caught sight of another figure. A moustachioed face turned

into the light for a split second. A moment later the hit man

gave a wild cry as his feet were lifted from the floor under him

and he pitched forward, scrabbling desperately at the guard

rail.

He was still scrabbling as he fell. It was as if he were trying

to swim in the air, pushing and struggling to grab the wind

rushing past him.

„Now,‟ Dent said. „Run.‟

„Must be the cabaret,‟ Benny mused as Dent grabbed her.

They sprinted across the foyer, coats pulled over their

heads, faces hidden within. Somewhere off to their left there

was a loud thud followed by screaming and running feet.

They paid it no heed. Dent shouldered open the door into the

pub area, knocking a young woman flying as he did so.

„I‟m sorry about my clumsy friend.‟ Benny helped the

woman back to her feet as the door closed behind them.

„I think we made it,‟ Dent said. He was looking back

through a crack in the door. With a long breath of relief he

turned back to Benny.

The young woman was dusting herself down. She was tall

and slim, with dark hair - almost black but with a hint of red

in it, cut quite short and slicked back. She was holding a

small handgun.

„I was going to apologize,‟ Dent said as he slowly raised his

hands. „Really I was.‟

„That‟s all right,‟ the woman said. „You can apologize to Mrs

Winther.‟ Her face broke into an unpleasant smile.

As she smiled, Dent was still raising his hands. They were

now level with his shoulders. Quick as thought, he lashed

out with his right arm, catching the woman‟s gun hand and

dragging it upward. The shot crashed into the ceiling sending

splinters of plaster spinning off into space. For a moment

they struggled, arms locked together.

„Open the door, Benny,‟ Dent shouted. „The lady‟s leaving.‟

„Of course.‟ With a polite smile, Benny pulled the door

open.

As soon as she did so, Dent flung the woman away from

him. She spun through the door, with a cry, collapsing in a

heap on the other side. Her gun clattered to the marble floor

and skidded away from her.

Immediately the door had swung shut. Dent grabbed the

nearest table and pushed it up against the door. He threw a

couple of chairs after it. Then he turned round and leant

against the makeshift barricade.

This position gave him a good view into the bar. It was as if

time had stopped. The barman was frozen in mid-glass-

polish. The drinkers were standing or sitting absolutely still,

glasses at mouths, en route to mouths, or resting in

disbelieving hands. Common to everyone was the open-

mouthed expression of surprise.

The silence was broken by a single voice. „Do you have any

Craxatonian Chardonnay?‟ Benny asked. „Oh, and those little

heart-and club-shaped biscuits that taste of cheese?‟

There was a limit to what Clarence could do. He wasn‟t sure

of the ethics or the morality of pushing a man over a balcony.

But he was sure about what would have happened to Benny

and her friend Harper if he hadn‟t.

As far as he could tell, the second of the gunmen had

rushed to his colleague‟s help and not seen Benny and

Harper dash across the foyer under cover of their coats and

the confusion caused by the man‟s fall. Clarence hoped that

meant they would be safe now. But even as he hoped this the

door to the pub area opened again and a young woman with

a gun was thrown out.

Clarence‟s first inclination was to rush down and drag her

away before she could raise the alarm. Since he recognized

the woman from his surveillance of Klench‟s office, he knew

she was with the Cartel. But before he could move the main

doors of the hotel opened and Mrs Winther waddled in.

Beside her was Luggar. They went at once to where the

woman was getting to her feet. The hit man joined them a

moment later.

Clarence

watched

the

hurried

gesticulation

and

enthusiastic arm waving. The woman was pointing to the

door of the pub. The hit man was pointing to the prone body

of his fellow. Both seemed to be talking at once.

The only thing Clarence was sure of now was that he

wanted to see Jason. But a few moments later he was not so

sure.

Fronz was down. Powlo could see that immediately he

approached the kill zone. He had been expecting to see the

Summerfield woman and Harper sprawled across the

pavement, Fronz standing astride his trophies. That had

been the plan - drive them through the side street with the

promise of a safe haven, straight to Fronz.

But instead Fronz was himself lying face down in the rain.

His cheek was pressed hard against the concrete, one eye

staring out across the road. His clothes were soaked and

there was a red-rimmed hole drilled in the side of his head

Even Doctor Creer, Powlo reflected, would have been

disappointed with him in this condition.

A quick inspection was enough to reveal that Fronz‟s gun

was missing. So, if Harper and Summerfield had not been

armed before, they certainly were now. Powlo nudged the side

of Fronz‟s body with the toe of his boot. Beside him, two other

large-built men in suits watched impassively.

As he was turning to talk to his colleagues, Powlo took a

step sideways. This was why the bullet missed him. It

whistled past his nose, and embedded itself with a healthy

„thunk‟ in the roadway beyond. The sound was deafening in

the still of the evening, deadened only by the persistent rain.

At once all three of them dived for cover. One of the men

pointed towards the doorway into the Xcelsior. „Over there,‟

he shouted. „Muzzle flash.‟

All three of them fired in the general direction. The side of

the hotel, in particular the area immediately round the door,

exploded in puffs of brickwork and paint. A single shot was

returned, from a way to the left of where they were aiming. As

they shifted their aim and fired again, a dark figure leapt out

of the way and dived through the door into the hotel.

„Wait,‟ Powlo shouted as the other two men made to follow.

„That wasn‟t Harper. There may be others.‟ He rose cautiously

from his hiding place. „Cover me,‟ he said, though he wasn‟t

sure what use that would be if anyone did shoot him.

It took Powlo only a few seconds to determine that he was

not about to be shot. Then the three of them were running

towards the door into the hotel. One of the men slipped on

the wet pavement, stumbling forward through the increasing

rain. The other one opened the door for Powlo. Guns at the

ready, they made their way along the corridor inside.

The public-address system in the hotel was good, Dent had

to admit. He could make out every word quite clearly. Not like

that time he had missed his connecting shuttle because he

could not decipher a single word the Actinian announcer had

said. And his Actinian was actually quite good. He had learnt

it doing a self-study course in the evenings while exploring

the desert region of Margoginus Three. No, he was forced to

admit, as PA systems went this one was right up there with

the best of them.

So it was a shame really about what was being said. Benny

didn‟t seem to care, sitting on a high stool at the bar with a

bottle of wine in front of her, sipping from a large glass. But

everyone else was listening with rapt attention.

„So,‟ the voice that recognizably belonged to Mrs Winther

finished by saying, „anyone who wishes to leave the pub now

will not be harmed. I repeat, you will be allowed to go. That

does not apply of course to Mr Harper or Professor

Summerfield unless they wish to surrender to me the goods I

require.‟ There was a pause - probably for effect, Dent

thought, since she would already know what she wanted to

convey in her message. „But regrettably, in two minutes I

shall be asking my employees to enter the pub and kill

anyone they find inside.‟ The words hung in the air, the PA

still hissing as if she were going to add something. Like an

apology for the inconvenience.

But she did not. And the hissing stopped.

„Now,‟ Dent said loudly. „Let‟s not do anything hasty here.

There‟s strength in numbers you know. I wouldn‟t be

intimidated by that sort of brash language if I were you.‟

There were stirrings, people fidgeting, moving, finishing

their drinks with some degree of rapidity.

Sensing some fellow feeling, Dent continued. „You know, I

remember once, I was in this chapel on Effilibus, and outside

were these tribesmen. About a hundred or so. Maybe five

hundred. Anyway -‟ He paused in order to step out of the way

of the people struggling to get to the foyer outside.

„Are you sure you‟ve considered all the options here?‟ Dent

asked.

But his words were drowned out by the sound of tables and

chairs being pulled away from the door.

When it was quiet again. Dent pushed them all back

against the door. „It‟s good to know there are some people

who you can rely on, anyway,‟ he said with more bravado

than he actually felt for once.

He sat himself down on the stool next to the one other

person left in the pub and pulled across an empty glass. „You

spare a drop of that stuff?‟ he asked Benny.

She nodded. „I think it‟s time for last orders.‟

Jason‟s shoes were wet from the rain. As he tried to stop, he

was just off the carpet and on to the marble tiles. His feet

skidded, flying away from under him, and he landed on his

back with a yell of surprise. Apart from the humiliation, he

reflected as everyone in the hotel foyer turned towards him,

this was not an especially safe position to be in.

He pulled himself to his feet. He had already seen Mrs

Winther, Nikole and Luggar together with an assortment of

other heavies standing over by the door to the pub area. As

he stood up, he could see Powlo and chums approaching

down the corridor.

Since there were several men with very obvious guns

between him and the main doors, that left just one direction.

Jason looked up, and saw Clarence on the raised mezzanine

level above him.

Clarence waved.

Not perhaps the most helpful thing he could have done,

Jason thought. But then it wasn‟t Clarence who had drawn

unwanted attention by falling over his own feet and yelling

like a maniac. So who was he to criticize?

Jason did have on his side both the element of surprise,

and a gun. With further wild yells and a couple of shots that

flew over the heads of Mrs Winther and the others, Jason

made a dash for the escalator up to the mezzanine.

Clarence was waiting for him at the top, but Jason loosed

off a couple more shots to show he was serious before he

spoke. „So how‟s things?‟ he enquired. „Keep your head down,

by the way,‟ he added unnecessarily as a bullet whizzed past

them and struck the restaurant wall.

„I think‟, Clarence said carefully, „that they can only get

better.‟

Jason nodded in agreement. „And where‟s Benny?‟ he asked

peering over the edge of the escalator and nearly catching his

nose in the movement. „No,‟ he said before Clarence could

answer, „let me guess.‟

Over the top of the escalator he had a good view down into

the foyer. He could see the heavies milling round the door to

the pub. He couldn‟t see exactly what they were attaching to

the door, but by the way they turned and walked quickly

away to take cover behind the reception desk, he reckoned he

could make an informed guess.

„Good news and bad news, then,‟ he muttered as he

watched. „Just the two of them in there?‟ Jason asked as the

charges detonated. The sound was deafening even at a

distance. Below them the door exploded into matchwood.

One chunk of wood still clung forlornly to a sagging hinge

close to the top of the door frame. Beyond, through the

clearing smoke, Jason could see a pile of broken tables and

splintered chairs.

„Everyone else left,‟ Clarence said.

„Figures.‟

„So,‟ Clarence asked as the noise and smoke died away,

„what‟s the good news?‟

Jason pushed his gun over the moving top step of the

escalator. „The good news is‟, he said as he aimed, „that we

have excellent cover up here, and a good angle on the

doorway.‟ He squeezed off a shot and immediately pulled

back from the edge.

From below came a cry, followed by running feet. When he

hazarded another look, the area round the door was clear. He

crawled slightly further out to make sure nobody was coming

up the escalator. They weren‟t.

But on one of the lower steps was a red canister. It was

being carried slowly but inexorably towards the top.

Clarence was kneeling beside Jason, also watching. „They‟ll

have watched how fast the escalator moves,‟ he said. „They‟ll

have set the timer exactly.‟

Together they watched the canister rising towards them.

„If we move away,‟ Jason said matter-of-factly, „that‟ll give

them a clear shot from below. And if we stay here...‟

„Could you shoot it off the step?‟ Clarence asked.

„Excellent thought.‟ Jason leant out slightly further. A

bullet just missed his cheek, but he ignored it. The trick, he

reckoned was in the timing. Let the canister get close enough

for a decent shot, but not so close it might go off. He braced

himself, let out his breath, sighted along the gun, and

squeezed the trigger.

You can tell a good shot as you make it. This one was great

all the way. Jason knew it even as he heard the sound. And,

he had to admit to himself, it was hardly his fault if the

equipment let him down, was it?

Click.

„Bugger!‟

Click-click-click-click-click.

„The sodding gun‟s empty.‟ The canister was rapidly

approaching now. In desperation, Jason hurled the gun at it.

And missed.

„What does EMERGENCY STOP mean?‟ Clarence asked close to

Jason‟s ear.

„What?‟

„It‟s just that it‟s printed on this red button beside you.‟

The escalator stopped abruptly. There was no slowing, no

grinding of the struggling mechanism as it braked. Just total

stillness. Instant.

The canister was jolted forward as the step stopped

beneath it. It bounced on the wall of the next step and rolled

slowly back again. For a moment it teetered on the edge of its

step, then it toppled over and bounced on to the step below.

As it fell it gained momentum, bouncing ever more rapidly

down the motionless escalator.

For what seemed like a long time the people in the foyer

below watched the canister‟s progress. Then, as abruptly as

the escalator had stopped, they moved. People were still

diving out of the way, scrabbling for cover, when the charge

went off.

Jason and Clarence both ducked down. The force of the

blast rocked the floor beneath them. A sudden brisk breeze

whipped at their hair. They felt the heat on their faces. When

they risked a look back down the escalator they saw that a

good portion of it close to the bottom was missing, blown

completely away.

Jason held out his hand, and Clarence shook it.

„Well, we need another plan to save Benny,‟ Jason

admitted. „But at least we‟re safe now. There‟s no way they

can get up here to us.‟

Clarence said nothing. He had let go of Jason‟s hand. Now

he tapped him on the shoulder.

„What? What is it?‟ Jason rolled slightly on to his back to

see where Clarence was looking.

Standing behind them, towering above them, was Powlo.

He was holding a gun that looked much bigger than the one

Jason had recently discarded. He was pointing it at them.

„How the hell did you get up here?‟ Jason asked in surprise.

„Easy.‟ Powlo was grinning now. Like a maniac. „I took the

lift.‟

The wine was really excellent. Could have been a little cooler,

but very good indeed. It was nice having the place to

themselves, Benny thought. Though the noise, she had to

admit, was something of a trial.

She swung round on her stool so she could see better what

Dent was up to. He was running from table to table near the

door, keeping low. Occasionally he popped his head up a

little and waved his gun about. Benny took another sip of

wine. Boys!

„Do you have to?‟ she shouted across the empty pub as

Dent fired another shot through the doorway.

„Sorry, but they‟re creeping closer again,‟ he called back. „I

just hope they didn‟t bring any more grenades.‟

„Such a fuss,‟ Benny muttered. She read the label on the

bottle again. She wasn‟t sure about the hint of gooseberry,

but the crisp dry finish was certainly there. She shooshed

some wine round her mouth and forced it through her teeth.

Gooseberry? Perhaps. Just a hint.

She returned her attention to Dent as he fired off another

shot. Honestly, she had been impressed enough before. Why

did he have to go to such extremes? He was so like Jason,

she thought. Had to make an impact, had to show he was

important and there to protect her. First the exaggerated

macho tales of derring-do, and now these antics with the

gun.

Another shot. But this time not from Dent. A bottle above

the bar exploded, collapsing in on itself as its middle

disintegrated. Liquid poured down from the shelf and

splashed to the bar surface below.

Benny frowned, and sighed, and picked a shard of glass

from her wine. She dipped in her little finger and teased the

tiny fragment out, shaking it off. Then she sucked her finger

and watched the puddle forming on the bar. Like the rain

outside, she mused. Drip-drip-drip. Such a pleasant sound.

A bit like a waterfall. They were relaxing. She could watch

waterfalls all day. Every day.

And rainbows, too, come to that.

The hotel foyer was like a battlefield. Several of Mrs Winther‟s

employees were sitting nursing wounds and pride. Two were

lying still on the floor. Most of the rest were clustered in

areas of cover close to the pub door.

At a safe distance and angle from the door, Powlo presented

Mrs Winther, Nikole and Luggar with his catch.

„How nice to see you again, Professor Bloggs,‟ Mrs Winther

oozed. „But I suppose that is not your real name at all.‟ She

waved her hand dismissively. „No matter. Just let me know

what you want on the headstone.‟

„I wouldn‟t kill us if I were you,‟ Jason said quickly.

„I‟m sure. And I‟m not you.‟ But she seemed intrigued

nonetheless.

Nikole leant forward slightly. „Kill them,‟ she advised. „Do it

now and get them out of the way.‟

„I am willing to bargain,‟ Jason said.

„With what?‟ snorted Nikole. „Your life? That‟s already

forfeit.‟

„Quiet a moment, Nikole,‟ Mrs Winther said. „You have

thirty seconds, she told Jason. „Then I kill you and your

friend.‟

Jason looked at Clarence. He drew a deep breath. „Here‟s

the deal,‟ he said. „You won‟t get Benny out of there, you

know.‟

„Oh?‟ Luggar said.

„No,‟ Jason insisted with more confidence than he felt.

„She‟s got possibly the most hardy and intelligent hunk of a

bodyguard in the known cosmos to protect her, and just

about an endless supply of alcohol.‟

„He‟s right,‟ Clarence chipped in. „Professor Summerfield

and Mr Harper have the upper hand at the moment.‟

From across the foyer a shot rang out by way of

punctuation. One of the men close to the pub door leapt back

with a cry, clutching his leg in pain.

Jason smiled and shook his head as they watched. „Believe

me,‟ he said, „I know Benny. And I know she‟s in there for a

while. Easily long enough for the authorities to arrive and

sort you out.‟ He made a play of looking at his watch.

„They‟ve already arrived,‟ Powlo offered. „The guys are

holding them at Whitaker and Fourth.‟

„But for how long?‟ Jason insisted. „Look, here‟s the deal: let

my friend here go - he‟s no good to you. If you have a score to

settle, it‟s with me, not him.‟ He held his hand up to stop

Clarence before he could argue.

„And what if I do?‟ Mrs Winther asked.

„If you let him go,‟ Jason said, „I‟ll tell you how to deal with

Benny. I can get you Dorpfeld‟s Prism without another shot

being fired.‟ He looked deep into the old woman‟s grey eyes.

„Deal?‟

CHAPTER 12

„So, there I was. Stuck in the middle of the swamp and

surrounded by the shnorks. I couldn‟t see them, of course.

For one thing it was getting dark. But I could hear them

slithering through the undergrowth and splashing through

the sludge. Getting closer every minute. They don‟t move fast.

In fact they‟re quite slow. At first I thought that would be a

benefit. But as I stood there, hardly daring to breathe, I

decided that the waiting was worse. Better by far for them

just to fly at me and finish it.

„They do everything slowly, you see. And that includes

eating. The more I tried not to, the more I couldn‟t stop

thinking about that

„I didn‟t actually imagine them eating me. Somehow it was

worse than that. I could remember the previous week I‟d seen

a stoporath caught in a mud pool. I guess it just hadn‟t seen

it, had blundered into it. Perhaps in the dark. Like me. But,

whatever the story, it was stuck solid. It was too tired by now

even to thrash about. Just lying there on its back, waiting to

die. Hoping to die.

„The mud wasn‟t so deep it had sunk, wasn‟t so deep it

would drown. But it was deep enough to keep it there while

the shnorks made their slow way across from the bank,

slithering and sliding through the dark viscous mud. I

suppose it had been stuck there for a few days. It was weak

with starvation, dehydration, and struggling. Too weak to

throw off the shnorks. There were several of them, their

heads already well inside the stoporath‟s hide. Burrowing

under its skin. Eating through the mass of meat and

crunching on die bones. Oh, so very slowly.

„And it was remembering that helpless animal, just lying

there, slowly dying, that was the most frightening thing. Not

being eaten alive - that‟s a sort of occupational hazard, as

you‟re very well aware. No, it‟s the thought of inaction, of

being totally helpless.

„That‟s why I wanted it over quickly.

„But, while I had the time, I waited. I suppose if I had really

wanted it over I could have just said to hell with it and struck

out into the swamp. I‟d have been over my head in a few

seconds. A minute if I was lucky. And there was just an

outside hint of a slim chance that I might actually manage to

find a safe route back to the trail.

„A dilemma. A dichotomy. I thought about it, of course. You

do, don‟t you? I thought about why I was waiting for certain

death, why inaction was somehow better than no action at

all. What was I waiting for? Was it the hope that someone

would find me? Or is it just that we don‟t like to do anything,

especially if there‟s a risk to it, until we absolutely have to? I

don‟t know. I didn‟t know then and I still don‟t know now.

„So there I was, afraid more than anything of being able to

do nothing. Yet choosing - actively — to do nothing. Maybe

that‟s the difference. Until you do it, there‟s always the

uncertainty. That‟s why we avoid it. Or sometimes, like then,

that‟s why we wait. Because we‟re betting on the risk,

banking on the high stakes paying off, depending on the

improbability of our actions succeeding.

„Another strange thing is that while there‟s sort of nothing

happening within you, you focus more clearly on what‟s

happening outside. I couldn‟t work out what it was I wanted

to do, what was for the best. But I could hear every sound

within the swamp. I could hear the jub-jubs calling to each

other, the spridors nibbling at leaves and pulling down

branches in the distance. And I could hear the ever-closer

slithering of the shnorks.

„There were smells I can still remember as clearly as when I

was there. They say smell is the sense most connected to

memory, so maybe that‟s why. It‟s a direct input through the

nose and into the base of the brain rather than filtered

through nerves and interpreted by organs. They weren‟t

pleasant smells. The marsh itself was a sickly, sticky, cloying

of dead animals and rotting vegetation. But sprinkled among

that was the scent of the voletta flowers and the pungent,

acidic sap from the bark of the codix trees.

„And the view was something else. If you‟re going to die, do

it at night with a full moon shining down at you through the

fronds of the codix. It‟s spectacularly indescribable. Magic. It

makes you feel so at one with the world. So free and light-

headed. So alive. Which is another irony.

„Stare at it long enough, though, and you reach a sort of

inner calm. A confidence in the world around you and then,

somehow, in yourself. Maybe that‟s what happened to

Buddha, sitting under that tree. There isn‟t some revelation

suddenly that explains everything. There isn‟t even a slow

realization about how things should be or ways to make them

better. There‟s just a moment when it dawns on you that

you‟re at peace. Serene. Calm. That death, and therefore life,

holds no real frights or surprises for you. An at-oneness.

With the world, yourself, everything.

„Now, I suppose some people stop at that point. They just

enjoy the moments and make the most of it as their own

personal shnorks creep up and slowly devour them. I didn‟t

though. Perversely, it made me angry. That‟s the sort of

person I was, I guess. It made me realize how much I wanted

to live. How much I wanted to go on discovering moments

like this. The “high” isn‟t in living out your life like that, it‟s in

knowing that you can achieve such a state, can aspire to it,

Somehow, some way, in the humdrum of everyday life,

there‟s more that you can achieve, can feel, can live for.

„That was why I decided to act. I decided to get out of it,

and if the shnorks went hungry then that was their problem‟

It had been quiet for a while now. But Dent was sure that the

danger was not past. They would be back. They would lick

their wounds, if they had any, and redouble their efforts,

But, in the meantime, why not sit with Benny, drink some

wine, and talk about past problems? „So,‟ he asked her, how

did you get out?‟

She shrugged, and made no answer. He waited while she

sipped at the wine, staring into space. He glanced toward the

barricades still holding, just, over the torn entrance to the

pub.

Benny sighed, recapturing his attention. „I don‟t remember,‟

she said quietly.

„Sorry?‟ Was she joking?

„I don‟t remember,‟ she repeated, louder. „Really I don‟t. But

I must have got out somehow.‟

„Evidently.‟ He smiled. „We have living proof.‟

„Mmm. I had this... problem.‟

„Oh?‟

„In my head.‟

„Oh.‟

„Yeah. Fine now. Bit worrying at the time. More than a bit.‟

She still seemed strangely happy and at peace with the world

- still in the swamp, perhaps, in her mind. „Anyway,‟ she

went on, „to cut to the quick of the story, when I got my head

sorted, I lost some of my memories.‟

Dent frowned. „How many?‟

She looked at him as if he were a child who needed gently,

nudging towards the obvious. Add these two fingers to the

two you‟re holding up, sort of thing. „How would I know?‟ she

asked quietly. „There are no gaps that I can discern, no edges

to what I do recall. Just a feeling of... being incomplete. Just

that sometimes when people say things they think I

understand I don‟t have a clue what they‟re going on about.‟

Dent feigned shock and horror. „I get that, too,‟ he said.

She laughed, actually laughed, though he could tell that

underneath it all the experience must be terrible. „Not like

this,‟ she said. „At first, I was afraid I‟d have forgotten how to

read or write or do sums or use a trowel. Stuff like that. But

it‟s more like life‟s a film and I had to keep stepping out.‟ She

laughed again. „A real pisser.‟

Dent glanced towards the door, then satisfied that all was

quiet - for the moment - he took her hand. „Benny,‟ he said

gently. „I‟m so sorry. It must be awful. I rely on my memories,

I think we all do. I write them up - OK, so I embellish a bit.

Occasionally. But I know, inside I know, what really

happened. What it was like. I was there.‟

Benny lifted her hand, still holding Dent‟s. She looked at

his knuckles. „I used to think that. It‟s why I came out here.

Partly. Get some new memories, sort of start again. I

suppose. I have diaries, I have some - maybe most even - of

my memories. But when I read about the bits I don‟t

remember, it will be difficult to believe they happened to me.

It will be impossible to peel away the embellishments. Oh, I

can do it a bit, read between the lines, see how I‟ve altered

what I wrote. But the gap between what happened in my

head and what I told my diary, that can never be bridged. I

did think that was terrible. But you know -‟ she looked up at

him, her eyes moist but smiling „- it isn‟t at all.‟

„No?‟

She shrugged and poured more wine. „No. I don‟t remember

how I got out of the swamp. But I did. I did it once, somehow.

That‟s what‟s important. Baron Munchausen told a story

about how he was stuck in a swamp once. You know how he

said he got out?‟

Dent shook his head.

„He said he picked himself up by his own bootstraps and

carried himself out.‟

They both laughed. Benny‟s laugh sounded genuine -

carefree and light. Dent‟s was heavy with the reality of the

situation outside.

„That‟s where the phrase “boots up” comes from, you know,‟

she said. „When a computer boots up, it‟s doing that - it‟s

starting the program that starts itself up. Picking itself up by

the bootstraps.‟

She paused a moment to drink again.

„Munchausen was never really in the swamp, of course,‟

she said. „But I was. And I got out. Not by some miracle of

gravity-defiance. But probably something quite simple or

incredibly lucky. If I knew how I did it, the story probably

wouldn‟t be worth telling. If I knew, it would likely be some

straightforward thing that a moron would have thought of at

once. If I knew, I‟d see the deficiencies in myself and the

weaknesses. I‟d be embarrassed by it, not proud of it. But by

not knowing I can see that my escape was a drawing on inner

strength. I can concentrate on the achievement, on the fact

that I did it then. And so I can do it again.

„It‟s sort of making existentialism work for you rather than

against you. I don‟t know, so I can assume the best Whatever

problem I have to solve, whatever situation I get into, maybe

I‟ve been there before and survived.‟ She nodded, lips pursed

together thoughtfully. „It‟s good,‟ she said with conviction.

There was an incredulous silence.

„I take it nobody thought of that,‟ Jason said. „Even the

cleverest people sometimes overlook the obvious, you know. I

wouldn‟t feel bad about it.‟ He waited a moment to see if

anyone was about to comment. When they didn‟t, he added,

„Can my friend go now, please?‟

Mrs Winther looked at him as if through a haze. „Say that

again.‟ Her voice was thick and husky.

„I said, “Can my friend go now, please?”„

„Not if you‟re going to act smart,‟ Nikole told him. She

nodded to Powlo, who twisted Jason‟s arms painfully behind

him.

„All right,‟ Jason winced. „The other thing I said was, “Why

don‟t you just ask her to give it to you?”„

Mrs Winther was still giving him the stare through her tiny

black dots of eyes. „And why would she do that? Why would

she just hand over Dorpfeld‟s Prism?‟ But there was a hint of

belief in her voice.

„Why wouldn‟t she?‟ Jason said. „I can‟t believe she really

wants it. Certainly no more than her life.‟

„And Harper?‟

Jason shrugged. Or as close as he could get with his arms

held tight behind his back. „Same goes for him. They

probably don‟t know what you‟re after. You‟re just some

crazies trying to kill them. Happens all the time round here.‟

For a while there was silence again as Mrs Winther

considered Jason‟s words. Then she nodded to Luggar. „Let

him go-‟

Luggar released his grip on Clarence. Powlo also let go of

Jason‟s arms.

„Not him,‟ Mrs Winther said pointedly. „He and I have a

score to settle still. No matter how this turns out.‟ She

stepped closer to Jason, as Powlo took his arms again. Her

face was thrust up towards Jason‟s so that he could smell

her breath. He could see the flabby, wrinkled skin on her

neck stretching like a turtle‟s as she looked up at him. „Take

him back to the villa,‟ she said. „We can deal with him there,

later.‟ She pointed to Nikole. „You go with them. Keep a close

eye on him.‟ She turned away, pausing to add, „Just don‟t kill

him before I get back.‟

Jason blew out a long breath. „Bye, Clarence,‟ he said

cheerily. „See if you can finish off what we started, will you?‟

Clarence nodded gravely. „I‟ll do what I can,‟ he promised.

Then Luggar dragged him across the foyer and flung him out

of the hotel doorway.

For a few seconds, Jason could see Clarence through the

glass of the door, standing outside in the rain. The water was

trickling down his face, like tears. Then Powlo dragged Jason

away towards the corridor down to the back entrance of the

hotel, and Clarence was lost to sight.

The shout startled Dent. He had been expecting shooting, or

explosions. Not a voice.

„What do you want?‟ he yelled back from just behind what

was left of the barricade.

„Just to talk to Professor Summerfield. One to one.‟ Mrs

Winther‟s voice was oily and trying to sound artless. Maybe

that‟s why she wasn‟t using the PA this time. The personal

touch.

„Just a minute,‟ Dent shouted back.

He turned to the bar, where Benny was holding up her

wineglass and watching the liquid inside slush against the

sides as she rotated it slowly by the stem. „What do you

think?‟ he asked her. „Do we want to talk?‟

Benny did not look at him when she answered. „Of course,‟

she said. Her voice had the dreamy quality again. „Talking is

good.‟

„Better than being shot at,‟ Dent agreed. He raised his voice

and called out, „All right, but just you, Mrs Winther. Alone. In

here.‟

There was silence from outside and he could imagine the

urgent consultations, the arguments and counterarguments.

Whatever they were up to, it was obviously important to them

or they wouldn‟t even consider talking. Let alone the old

woman coming in without guards and heavies. Maybe the

enforcers were right outside. Or maybe they were planning

something. Actually, Dent decided, he didn‟t care. They were

in the swamp, and, like Benny, he knew he‟d got out before.

He‟d do it again. Probably.

In any case, he was certain they wouldn‟t accept the

conditions.

„All right, we agree,‟ Mrs Winther‟s voice said. „Let me in.‟

Rather than invite Mrs Winther to perch her considerable

bulk on a bar stool, they had moved to a booth at the back of

the pub. It was quiet, it was cosy, the lighting was subtle and

the wine was good.

„It‟s nice of you to join us,‟ Benny said. She smiled at the

old woman. „I think we caught the place on a quiet day.‟

„This is not a social occasion,‟ Mrs Winther said. Her glass

sat untouched on the table in front of her. She glanced

furtively towards the broken door, where a cluster of faces

were peering into the pub, straining to hear what was going

on.

„Usually it‟s buzzing,‟ Benny went on, unconcerned. „I like

bars. And pubs. Real pubs. Not just because of the alcohol,

either. There‟s an atmosphere, a feel to them. Don‟t you find?‟

„What do you want?‟ Dent asked as Benny sipped at her

wine. He was sitting beside her, facing Mrs Winther across

the table.

„You know what I want,‟ the old woman said. Her voice was

a dry husk of sound. „Dorpfeld‟s Prism. That‟s why I‟m here.

That‟s why we‟re all here.‟

Dent nodded. „And what if I said we don‟t have it?‟

„Then my employees will have to torture you to find out who

has.‟ She leant forward, as far as her enormous bosom would

allow. „But I‟m sure that won‟t be necessary. Will it?‟ Her dark

little eyes seemed to be absorbed into the flesh around them

as she smiled.

„And why should we hand it over even if we do have it?‟

Mrs Winther‟s eyes emerged into the light again. „It‟s very

important to me that I have it,‟ she said. „You don‟t need to

know any more than that. I mean to have it, you know. And

what use is it to you? So many people have died already,‟ she

said, sounding almost sad. There was a cardboard drip mat

on the table in front of her and she picked it up. As she said

each name, she tore a strip from the side of the mat,

dropping the cardboard back on to the table. „Miklos Frunt,

Jericko Klench. Several of my own people. Your friend

Professor Bloggs - soon.‟ She paused, poised ready to tear off

another strip of cardboard. „Dent Harper and Bernice

Summerfield.‟ She tore halfway down the mat and then

stopped. „Perhaps...‟

Dent stared at her. Benny seemed more interested in her

wine, sitting back watching without comment. „I don‟t know

anyone called Bloggs,‟ she murmured with a slight giggle. „I

would remember that, I‟m sure.‟

„And consider,‟ Mrs Winther continued, „however much you

might want Dorpfeld‟s Prism, however much you think you

can understand it, or unravel its secrets, however much you

think you can profit from it, it will be useless to you if you‟re

dead.‟ As she finished speaking she completed the tear, and

another strip of cardboard dropped to the table.

„I think you‟ve made your point,‟ Dent said quietly.

„Obviously we need a moment to discuss this.‟

Mrs Winther waved an agreeable hand and made to get up.

„Oh please, stay,‟ Benny said at once. „There‟s really

nothing to discuss here.‟

Mrs Winther‟s eyes narrowed again. Dent stiffened.

„Are you sure you know what you‟re doing, Benny?‟ he

asked.

„Oh yes.‟

She pulled the silver chain over her head and held the

Prism up so that Mrs Winther could see it. The old woman

was almost salivating as the crystal caught the dim light and

reflected it. Dots of refracted yellow and pale blue danced

over the table and the side of the booth.

„It is so kind of you to come here and point out the dangers

of owning this relic,‟ Benny said as she held it aloft. „And to

offer to take on the curse that it seems really is attached to

it.‟

„You‟ll...‟ Mrs Winther paused to lick two fleshy lips with a

bloodless tongue. „You‟ll give it to me?‟

Benny leant forward. „Of course,‟ she said. „Since you ask.

You obviously want it more than I do.‟ She hesitated a

moment as she reached forward. „Pretty, though, isn‟t it?‟ she

said as she twisted it slightly to catch more of the light. Then

she dropped the relic into Mrs Winther‟s eager palm.

The change in the old woman was immediate. Her eyes

seemed to open and deepen, lightening to a dark grey. Her

sagging dewlap lifted slightly; her mouth twisted into a smile

more genuine than any she had practised for a long while.

She held Dorpfeld‟s Prism in her hand, outstretched before

her as she waddled towards the door. Benny walked beside

her, Dent following just behind.

„So, er, we‟re all friends now, then?‟ Dent asked. „We are

free to go, yes?‟

She paused as they approached the door and looked back

at Dent. Her features had settled into a relaxed, almost

dreamy expression. „Oh yes,‟ she said lightly. „Yes, of course,

my friend.‟ She turned to Benny, and said, „Professor

Summerfield?‟

„Call me Benny, please.‟

„I‟m sorry,‟ Mrs Winther said quietly. „I was wrong.‟

„Oh? What about?‟

Mrs Winther sighed. Behind her the several faces at the

door edged closer, listening to every word. „I don‟t really need

this.‟ She held up the chain, allowing the prism itself to

dangle between herself and Benny. „I thought I did, but in

fact I have so much. So much to give thanks for. And it‟s not

as if I can‟t afford to buy whatever I need. Except happiness,

of course.‟ She nodded, as if realizing. „You have to look

within yourself for that. It‟s not a question of money, or

power, or...‟ She held out Dorpfeld‟s Prism to Benny. Or

baubles,‟ she said. „Here, you have it. A gift.‟

Then she dropped Dorpfeld‟s Prism back into Benny‟s

hand. As she let go, her expression changed, slightly. The

trace of a frown appeared. But then she reached out and gave

Benny a sudden, stiflingly unexpected hug. When she pulled

back, the expression of happiness was restored. She nodded.

„Yes,‟ she said softly, „yes, that was a good thing to do I

think.‟

Dent stared in astonishment. Benny just grinned, her

hands thrust deep into her jacket pockets as she watched

Mrs Winther turn back to the door.

„Yes,‟ the old woman said as she left. „Yes, this is a nice

place. I must come back when it‟s a little busier. When I can

absorb some of that atmosphere you were talking about.‟

Then, with a trail of confused and silent followers, she

walked across the hotel foyer and out into the rain. From

somewhere close by came the sound of a wailing siren.

Dent watched in continuing surprise. „Well,‟ he said at last,

„what do you think of that?‟

„I think‟, Benny called to him from back inside the pub,

„that I‟m going to finish my wine. Care to join me?‟

Nobody spoke the whole way out to the villa. Jason made a

few attempts to engage Nikole or Powlo in conversation, but

without success. He decided after a while that Nikole just

wasn‟t interested in talking to him, and that Powlo perhaps

didn‟t have the ability.

The villa was visible through the tinted windows of the

ground car from a long way out. It was floodlit, standing

proud atop a shelf of rock against the night sky. The full

moon was behind it, and away from the smog of the city the

air was clear and crisp.

Jason had not been to the back of the villa before. All his

visits had been through the main entrance, and then in

rooms that faced back towards the city. So it was with a

sense of surprise mingled with awe that he stood and looked

out over the view.

The gleaming white exterior of the villa towered above him

as he stood at the corner of the building. The floodlights

made it seem even cleaner and brighter than the daylight. A

stark contrast to the deeds and thoughts that went on inside.

A whited sepulchre, Jason thought ruefully. And then it

occurred to him that pretty soon his own bones might well be

added to the others that had undoubtedly been housed

within it over the years.

The view out away from the villa was a welcome distraction

as Powlo pushed Jason forward. There was a staircase up the

outside of the building leading to a large balcony jutting out

from the second storey. The end of the staircase at ground

level was at the corner of the house where Jason stood, and

he started to ascend. Immediately the stairs were over open

space for the ground dropped away into the distance below.

He could not see how far the drop was, but the waterfall gave

a clue.

And it was the waterfall that was the most spectacular

aspect of the view. The streaming torrent of pale-blue water

gushed out from beside the villa, crashing down to the

hidden depths below. Several of the floodlights shone

through die water and the staircase went up through the eye

of the waterfall, coming out above it. As they ascended they

were level with the crescent of arcing water. From the top of

the stairs they would be looking out over the top of the

waterfall.

„Impressive, isn‟t it?‟ Nikole whispered in Jason‟s ear as

they went up the stairs.

He answered without turning from the view. „Yes.‟

„I always think‟, she said, loud enough for Powlo to hear as

well, „that this is the best view anyone could enjoy. As the

last thing they see, I mean.‟

Powlo guffawed with laughter at this. „Even if they see it

through their own blood,‟ he added.

Jason nodded and sighed. „Nice sentiment,‟ he told the ape

of a man. „Lacks the refined subtlety of Nikole‟s comment,

but a good try.‟ The weight of Powlo‟s hand on his back

propelled him up several more stairs. „Perhaps you should

get out more,‟ Jason hazarded.

The balcony was separated from the main room by a sliding

glass door. It opened automatically as Jason stumbled

towards it. He regained his balance inside the room and

looked round.

It was a large room, one half all but filled with a heavy

wooden conference table. The other half of the room was

empty, the floor clear. But the walls were not. It took Jason

only a moment to take in the manacles and shackles at

shoulder and ankle height along one length. Another moment

to notice the rack of sharp, unpleasant-looking implements

close by. On a third section of wall was arranged a display of

swords of varying lengths, together with several small round

shields and a couple of serrated daggers.

„This where the cabaret takes place?‟ he asked, his voice

shaking slightly.

Nikole was standing behind him. „That‟s right,‟ she said.

„Mrs Winther likes some distraction between agenda items

when she meets with her people. Helps to keep them focused

on the matters in hand, she says. Helps to keep their

attention and their loyalty.‟

„That figures,‟ Jason agreed.

„And the good news is‟, Nikole told him, „that tonight you‟re

the star turn.‟

Once Mrs Winther and her colleagues had left, a semblance

of normality returned to the Xcelsior remarkably quickly. The

hotel had been burnt, bombed and battered many times

during its life, so a quick firefight was not much of a

disruption to business. The loss of a single escalator and one

door did not deter the regular clientele from returning to the

bar in the pub area. As the enforcement-agency people

drifted away with the usual empty promises and vague

comments that something should and would be done, so

people drifted back to the pub.

Clarence was one of the first to enter, keeping his head

down and trying to avoid attracting any attention. He sat in

the next booth to where Dent and Benny were still situated.

This gave him the twin advantages of being at once hidden

from their sight but also being able to overhear their

conversation. Dent had taken the precaution of liberating

another bottle of wine before the staff returned and started to

sweep up the mess, so it looked like they were planning to

stay for the rest of the night.

Clarence‟s own plan, so far as he had one, was to establish

what Harper and Benny were up to, check they were safe and

sound and out of trouble for a while, and then try to help

Jason. If he needed it. He had risked flying up into the night

sky and watched the ground car through the streets of the

city and out into the barren countryside beyond.

He had watched for long enough to be sure he knew where

the ground car was headed - until he had seen it on to the

single road that led to a villa that matched Jason‟s

description of where Mrs Winther lived. Then he had hurried

back to the Xcelsior in time to hide away his wings and make

for the pub.

Now he sat alone and silent in the booth, his back to where

Dent and Benny were sitting on the other side of the padded

bench seat. In front of him was a glass of water, untouched.

The ice was beginning to melt.

„It was kind of her to take the time to come and talk to us,‟

Benny was saying the other side of the partition. „She must

be a busy woman.‟

„Oh yes,‟ Harper agreed. „People to kill, places to trash. Very

busy.‟

Clarence could imagine Benny shrugging, sipping at her

drink as she said, „Yes, but even so, to warn us about the

dangers of keeping Dorpfeld‟s Prism. That surely shows a bit

of consideration.‟

„She just wanted it for herself. That‟s why she was here.

That‟s why she had her thugs blow down the door and shoot

at us.‟ There was more than a trace of exasperation in

Harper‟s voice.

„Oh you‟re exaggerating,‟ Benny told him. „Why do you have

to be so macho and melodramatic? It wasn‟t like that at all.‟

„Oh? And what was it like, then?‟

„A misunderstanding, I expect. Look -‟ Benny was sounding

miffed now „- if she was really that desperate to get hold of

the thing rather than just warn us about the potential

dangers of keeping it - not that I subscribe to that curse

nonsense, you understand - but if that was the case, why did

she give it back? Eh? Tell me that.‟

There was silence for a while. When Harper answered his

voice was quieter and his tone more subdued. „I don‟t know,‟

he admitted. „I just don‟t -‟

„You just don‟t understand. I know. You keep saying.‟

„Well, I don‟t,‟ he snapped back at her. „This whole place

has become crazy lately. More crazy than usual.‟ He sighed

audibly. „I just can‟t believe she went away empty-handed

after all that. I can‟t believe she just gave Dorpfeld‟s Prism

back to you and left without it.‟

In reply Benny said something that Clarence did not catch.

But he did catch Harper‟s reaction: „What?‟ the man said

loudly. Then slightly more quietly, slightly embarrassed at

having shouted: „What did you say?‟

„I said she didn‟t go away empty-handed,‟ Benny said.

Clarence could hear her quite clearly now. „I thought she

deserved something for her time and trouble. So when we

hugged I slipped Dorpfeld‟s Prism into her pocket.‟ Clarence

could hear the smug expression in Benny‟s voice. „She got

what she came for, though she probably doesn‟t realize it

yet.‟

CHAPTER 13

The chains were fastened to the wall every bit as firmly as

Jason had expected and feared. He tugged at them anyway -

it was probably expected. Certainly Nikole and Powlo were

watching him with a shared air of amused satisfaction.

„Don‟t you think this is just a little extreme?‟ Jason asked.

Nikole shook her head. „I don‟t think so, Professor Bloggs.‟

„Look, Mrs Winther told you not to hurt me,‟ he protested.

„No,‟ Nikole corrected him. „She told me not to kill you. No

stipulation about hurting. I think our options are pretty

much open there.‟

„Oh, joy,‟ sighed Jason. „Can we talk about this?‟

„What‟s there to say?‟

„Scream about it more like,‟ Powlo said with evident glee.

„I‟ve been chained up before, you know,‟ Jason told them,

as if that made any difference.

Nikole seemed amused at the comment. „Then we shall

have to ensure that it never happens to you again,‟ she said.

„You may change your tune when Mrs Winther gets back,‟

Jason said with mock bravado. „When she has Dorpfeld‟s

Prism.‟

Nikole gave a short sharp laugh, half of amusement half of

annoyance. „That bauble. It‟s caused more trouble and

expense that you can believe.‟

Jason looked at her closely. „You don‟t know what it is, do

you?‟ he said.

„I don‟t care what it is,‟ she shot back. „A waste of time.

Needless expense and effort, that‟s what it‟s been.‟

„But if Mrs Winther thinks it is important...‟ Jason said

slowly. He sensed there was a feeling he could exploit here, a

division he could perhaps open. Just a crack.

„She‟s losing it,‟ Powlo said unexpectedly. „I‟ve been

thinking, Nikole. You‟re right, she‟s losing it.‟

„Be quiet, Powlo,‟ Nikole hissed at him. „We‟ll talk later.

When this is over. When we‟ve finished with him.‟ She

nodded at Jason.

„Oh I won‟t tell,‟ Jason assured her. „Don‟t mind me. Just

let me go before Mrs Winther gets back and you can carp and

complain with impunity.‟ He looked at Powlo. „Sorry, shall I

say that again in fewer syllables?‟ Powlo glared at him

dangerously. „Er, easier words?‟

Even though he knew it was coming, there was not much

room to roll with the punch chained up as he was. Jason was

sure he would have a hefty bruise across his chin and lower

cheek. But at least there was some dialogue with his captors

now. If only his jaw wasn‟t broken and he could talk. His

plan, so far as he had one, was to keep them occupied and

stay as intact as possible until Mrs Winther arrived. If she

had Dorpfeld‟s Prism, Jason knew she would be in a good

mood. She would be at one with the world, in an ecstasy of

positive vibes produced by the device. And, in such a mood,

how could she not pardon any prisoner who was charming

and polite and asked her nicely? Provided he was still able to

talk, still able to put his case.

As he was working through the idea again, looking for

loopholes and feeling as smug as, under the circumstances,

he could, Jason heard the door open. He could not see round

the „L‟ of the room to where the door was. If he strained

forward he could see most of the conference table, though.

And he could hear the voice of Mrs Winther almost

immediately.

„Ah, there you are, Nikole,‟ she was saying. She sounded

upbeat and happy. So far, so good. „How nice to see you

again. And you, Powlo. Well, I trust?‟

„Yes, Mrs Winther,‟ Nikole replied. Jason was pleased to

hear that she sounded slightly shaken by the tone of her

mistress.

Mrs Winther‟s more than ample form appeared in Jason‟s

peripheral vision and quickly moved to where he could see all

of her. The light seemed to dim as she moved. „And Professor

Bloggs. Comfortable, I trust?‟

„Hardly,‟ Jason managed to say. „I assume my excellent

plan worked and you have Dorpfeld‟s Prism?‟

„Yes and no.‟ She crossed to the big conference table and

settled herself into the huge armchair set at its head. Then

she gestured for Powlo and Nikole to join her. Luggar stood

behind her, hands behind his back and eyes wary.

„Yes and no?‟ Jason enquired.

„Yes, your plan worked,‟ she called across the room to him.

„Oh, good.‟

„And no, I don‟t have Dorpfeld‟s Prism.‟

„What?‟ Jason screeched, at roughly the same time as

Powlo and Nikole.

„I gave it back to Professor Summerfield. To Benny.‟ The

large woman folded her arms and looked at Powlo and Nikole.

„Now please be quiet, young man, we have things to discuss

here.‟

Jason sagged in his chains. He pulled himself back up as

he heard Nikole say, „We certainly do.‟ There was an edge to

her voice.

„The first thing‟, Mrs Winther went on, not seeming to

notice Nikole‟s tone, „is to discuss a redistribution of our

financial assets.‟

Luggar was impassive as ever, but Powlo and Nikole were

exchanging looks.

Jason strained to hear Mrs Winther‟s words. She was

speaking in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. Her words

were almost soft. „At present we make far more money than

we need to conduct our businesses and reward employees. I

think it is time we implemented some profit-sharing schemes

and employee benefits.‟

„I beg your pardon?‟ Nikole said in amazement. „The Cartel

is a crime syndicate, not a trust fund.‟

„A good point,‟ Mrs Winther conceded happily. „But there is

no employee better than a happy employee. And we have to

think of our customers too. I am thinking of healthcare and

medication for the girls, free needles and rehabilitation

schemes for those addicts who so desire -‟

„I am thinking you‟re kidding,‟ Nikole said.

„Absolutely, spot on!‟ Jason shouted from his wall. „I think

you‟re right, Mrs Winther. And I think I‟d add freedom for all

prisoners to your list. A noble and enlightened gesture if ever

there was one.‟

Mrs Winther seemed to ignore both Nikole and Jason. „We

are so lucky,‟ she said. „Life has treated us well, and it‟s time

for us to repay that a little. Protection schemes that actually

protect,‟ she added. „That‟s an idea.‟

„What‟s happened to you?‟ Nikole demanded. She was on

her feet, leaning heavily on the table. „You used to be so

sharp, so clever. You used to know exactly how to screw the

last drop of money and blood from people. You used to see

the importance of rule of terror to the Cartel.‟ She shook her

head. „But you‟ve gone soft. Healthcare, protection...‟ She

looked at Powlo. „You‟re right,‟ she said.

Powlo nodded. But even from where he was Jason could

see he was confused and troubled. Even Luggar was shifting

uncertainly on his feet.

„Nikole,‟ Mrs Winther said gently, „you‟re so good with the

figures, so adept with the implements of torture, but don‟t

you see the advantages of the business ventures I‟m

proposing? Putting the customer first, and respect for the

employees has to be top of our agenda. We have to make this

world an even more beautiful place to live in. For everyone.‟

Jason cleared his throat loudly. „Er, could you perhaps

start over here?‟ he suggested.

Mrs Winther looked across the room, then waved a finger to

indicate that Luggar should go across to Jason. „Sort him

out, would you?‟ she asked pleasantly.

„Of course, Mrs Winther,‟ Luggar said, cracking his

knuckles loudly as he crossed the room.

„No hurry, actually,‟ Jason said, drawing back into the wall.

„Any time will do in fact. When you‟re good and ready.‟

Luggar was close in front of him now, still cracking his

knuckles and flexing his fingers. He drew back his hand, a

smile of anticipation on his face.

„Wait,‟ Mrs Winther called across the room. „Don‟t hit him!

Let him down from there.‟

Luggar froze. His smile froze. There was silence for a long

while. Then, with what seemed like an effort, the large elderly

man said, „Yes, Mrs Winther. Whatever you say.‟ He reached

up and started to undo the manacles that held Jason‟s

wrists.

„That‟s it, isn‟t it?‟ Nikole said. There was anger and

defiance in her voice. „“Whatever you say, Mrs Winther.”

That‟s always it. You always get your own way, no matter

how ridiculous it is.‟

Mrs Winther seemed surprised, but not perturbed by the

outburst. „I‟m in charge,‟ she said simply.

Nikole was shaking her head again. „First this stupid chase

after a worthless old relic. Planning and investigation that

took so much of our resources for so long. Then you say you

just gave it away!‟ She was shouting now. „Well, enough is

enough. An old woman‟s dream of owning some trinket I can

cope with, I can forgive. But this!‟

She pointed towards Jason. Luggar was even now undoing

the second manacle as Jason tried to shake some life back

into his wrist.

„Sorry.‟ Jason shrugged and pulled his second hand free.

„Thanks,‟ he said to Luggar‟s impassive face.

„Do your own feet,‟ Luggar growled.

„You‟re not in charge,‟ Nikole was saying. „Not any more.

You‟re not fit to be in charge, and all this just proves what

we‟ve known for a long time.‟ She looked pointedly at Powlo.

He nodded. „A long time,‟ he repeated.

„I think your Mrs Winther may be in a spot of bother here,‟

Jason whispered to Luggar.

Luggar was watching the proceedings carefully. He gave the

smallest shake of his head. „She‟s planning something,‟ he

said.

Jason bent to undo the manacle round his left ankle. „I

wouldn‟t bet on it,‟ he said.

„Nikole, my dear,‟ Mrs Winther was saying. „You‟ve always

been like a -‟

But Nikole cut her off. „I‟m not your “dear”,‟ she shouted in

the old woman‟s face. Mrs Winther blinked with

astonishment. Powlo was on his feet in the same instant,

leaning across the table towards Mrs Winther. The intended

threat was obvious.

Nikole and Powlo both had their attention fully on Mrs

Winther now. But Jason was watching Luggar walking back

towards the table. He moved like a cat. An old, slightly stiff

cat, it was true, but he was silent and walked with a certain

fluidity despite his age. Jason tugged at the last manacle, but

it refused to budge. He had undone the catch, but the metal

was slightly bent and a little rusty. He pulled at it as hard as

he could as he watched Luggar.

Luggar had almost reached Powlo before the younger man

realized. It was Mrs Winther‟s ingenuous smile to her

bodyguard that alerted him, and Powlo turned quickly, his

hand inside his jacket pocket, reaching for his gun.

But Luggar already had his own gun out. He held it in his

right hand as his massive left palm slammed Powlo‟s head

down. The man sank to his knees in surprise and pain, the

side of his head smacking into the top of the table. Somehow

Luggar had already extracted the gun from Powlo‟s jacket,

removed the cartridge and tossed both away across the room.

Now Powlo‟s face was a squashed expression of pain, anger

and fear as the barrel of Luggar‟s pistol jabbed into his

cheek.

At exactly the same time as Luggar clicked the firing

mechanism of his gun to ready, there was a similar click from

behind him. Jason and Luggar both looked at Nikole at the

same moment. The click had been the laserblade of a flick-

cutter extending and locking into place. And now that blade

was held against the sagging flesh of Mrs Winther‟s neck.

They were both in that pleasant state of inebriation where

they knew they were edging on drunk and didn‟t care. And

they each knew that the other was in the same state. And

they each knew that they could remain on the brink for

another hour and another few glasses. It was warm, and

cosy, and friendly. Almost intimate.

„So what happened?‟ Benny asked.

Dent held up his finger while he drank. Then he wiped his

mouth with the back of his hand and continued. „Well, that‟s

about it really. I was free, but Gevlon was at the mercy of the

Klackers. I had a couple of options - run away or try to help

him.‟

Benny nodded encouragingly.

Dent shrugged. „I spent perhaps a few seconds thinking it

through. On the one hand he was a fellow human being, and

he had been instrumental in setting me free before the

Klackers closed in. But weighing against that was the fact

that he‟d chained me up in the dungeon in the first place. I

suppose I had some sort of fellow feeling towards another

human being. But I was also on a survival and self-

preservation kick of my own. I‟m not sure I made the right

decision in terms of morality, ethics or humanity. But it was

certainly the right choice in terms of survival. I suppose we

might have both escaped if I‟d gone to help him. But we

probably wouldn‟t.‟

„You ran,‟ Benny said, nodding. It figured. There was no

censure or criticism intended.

„I ran,‟ Dent confirmed. „And lived to tell the tale.‟ He picked

up his glass, looked at it for a moment, then set it down

again. „Do you think that was wrong?‟

„I think you have to decide at the time,‟ Benny said. „I don‟t

think it can be anyone else‟s call but your own. I don‟t think

anyone can blame you for the decision you had to make.‟

Dent nodded, tight-lipped. But he still did not drink. „I‟m

tired,‟ he said at last. „It‟s been a long day.‟

„It‟s been a long night,‟ Benny agreed. „I don‟t know where

the time‟s gone. I mean,‟ she said, „it‟s not as if we‟ve been

doing anything much.‟

Dent just stared at her. Then he picked up his drink and

downed it. „Bedtime,‟ he said. „Definitely bedtime.‟

„Is that an offer?‟ Benny asked quietly.

If Clarence had been drinking from the glass of water that sat

untouched on the table in front of him, he would have

choked on it. As it was he stiffened, and pushed himself

further back into the seat, as much as his rucksack would

allow, trying to hear better what was happening in the next

booth. His eyes were wide and his improbable moustache

was bristling at the edges.

In the glass on the table, the final remnants of the last

cube of ice lazily melted into the water around it.

* * *

With a painful wrench, Jason managed to rip the manacle

from his ankle. He breathed out heavily and surveyed the

situation across the room. Powlo was flattened against the

top of the table with Luggar‟s gun in his face, and Nikole was

holding a knife at Mrs Winther‟s throat.

Well, that was good. It meant he could just leave. The

sliding glass door out to the balcony was between him and

them, so he could make it without being stopped. The way

things were, probably nobody would notice. He stood up

slowly and carefully and made his way towards the door,

trying not to make a sound or a sudden movement that

might attract attention.

As Jason was edging towards the balcony, Nikole was

talking to Luggar. „Let him go,‟ she said. „Throw down the gun

or I‟ll slit the old bag‟s throat.‟

Luggar did not move.

„You know I‟ll do it,‟ Nikole hissed. „You think I care for the

life of that lout? Do you? Ask yourself who has the upper

hand here, who has the cards to play. The valuable assets.‟

Jason paused to watch. He was almost at the doors now.

Another step and they would detect his proximity and open.

They would let him out into the freedom of the night. But he

watched and waited.

Mrs Winther had said she did not have Dorpfeld‟s Prism.

There did not seem to be any reason for her to lie about it.

After all, that was a large part of what had got her into this

mess with Nikole. And it was not lost on Jason that another

large part was because she had ordered Luggar to set him

free. And, while she had been responsible for chaining him

up in the first place, that was because she didn‟t trust his

plan and because he had previously held a knife at her

throat.

Like Nikole.

It was a dilemma. A moral, ethical, humanitarian dilemma.

He could leave, safe and sound. Or he could try to help the

woman who had at last shown him a more human and

enlightened side of herself. But, if he did that, then in all

probability they would both end up dead. He had to make his

choice and live with it. Or die with it.

As Jason hesitated, Luggar slowly lifted his gun, made it

safe, and hurled it across the room. For a moment, as it flew

towards him, Jason thought that Luggar had thrown the gun

to him. But it was propelled with far too much force to be

caught easily, and was not aimed quite at Jason. It was

aimed at the glass door.

Obligingly, as the gun approached, curling through the air,

the door slid open. The sound of the water crashing down

outside was suddenly very loud. The gun spun out into the

night beyond. Jason caught a glimpse of it as it carried over

the edge of the balcony and fell in a long, low, lazy arc

towards the raging rapids below.

„Now let her go,‟ Luggar growled at Nikole as Powlo slowly

pulled himself up.

But the young woman was shaking her head. „No chance,‟

she said. „She‟s had her day. It‟s time for a new

administration. Tune the Cartel got back on track.‟ She

grabbed the old woman‟s grey-blue hair with her free hand,

dragging her head back and stretching the neck for the knife.

„Oh bugger!‟ Jason thought as he hurled himself across the

room.

His shoulder caught Nikole in the side, sending her

sprawling. The knife flew from her hand and clattered to the

floor, spinning under the table.

In the same moment, Powlo turned to see what was

happening. His eyes widened with surprise and anger.

Just as Luggar decked him.

Jason was picking himself up at the same moment as

Nikole was getting to her feet. The woman‟s eyes were

murderous, her face dark as she lunged at Jason with her

long fingers extended like talons. He grabbed her wrists and

they grappled.

Powlo meanwhile had wrapped his legs round Luggar‟s as

he fell to the older man‟s punch, dragging him down with

him.

Mrs Winther was sitting watching calmly. As Luggar again

smacked Powlo in the face, this time from a kneeling

position, she gave a little squeak of appreciation and clapped

her hands together. She rose to her feet to get a better view.

Jason managed to hurl Nikole away from him. He watched

with satisfaction as she crashed into the side of the table and

curled up in pain. He turned back towards the window, ready

to run.

To find Mrs Winther standing in front of him. She was

swaying precariously on her feet, one arm out in front of her

in an unmistakably threatening gesture.

„So much for doing the right thing,‟ Jason murmured, and

ran at her.

They met in a collision of arms and stomach. Both of them

crashed to the floor. Jason struggled to escape the stomach

and pull himself up, but he found that his right hand was

held firmly in Mrs Winther‟s.

„Young man,‟ she began in an accusing tone.

„Sorry,‟ Jason insisted, „got to dash.‟ He managed to drag

his hand free and stand up. As he moved, his other hand

became tangled in the woman‟s jacket and pulled it from

under her.

„You were trying to leave without saying goodbye. I just

wanted to say thank you,‟ Mrs Winther was saying. „You‟ve

been such a great help and inspiration to us all.‟

Jason paused, mouth open. Somewhere off to the side,

Powlo had his arm round Luggar‟s neck and was forcing the

older man to the ground. Powlo‟s own nose was bloody and

flat. Nikole was staggering forward from the table, holding

her side and limping. And something dropped from Mrs

Winther‟s jacket pocket as Jason pulled his arm free.

Everyone froze. Everyone looked down at the floor. Jason

looked back up at Mrs Winther. Her pupils were shrinking to

tiny black dots and the wrinkles on her face were setting like

concrete.

On the floor between them was Dorpfeld‟s Prism.

„Well, that explains a lot,‟ Jason said cheerily. And kicked it

past her and across the room.

The crystal and its attached chain spun across the floor

towards the balcony. The sliding glass door opened as it

approached, and it came to a stop on the threshold. The door

remained open, aware that there was an obstruction.

As soon as he kicked it, Jason realized his mistake. He

should have sent it flying the other way. Now everyone was

running the same way as he was. Mrs Winther was hurrying

after the Prism, just ahead of Jason. Nikole was charging

after her, or perhaps after Jason. Powlo was rushing to help

Nikole, and Luggar was crawling painfully to help his

mistress.

She was surprisingly fast for her size, and Jason could

hear Mrs Winther muttering to herself as he struggled to

pass her.

„I was happy,‟ she was murmuring between stentorian

gasps. „I want to be happy. So happy. I deserve it now. Really

I do.‟

Jason made no comment as he overtook her and raced for

the door.

„No!‟ the old woman screamed after him, and Jason realized

she thought he was after the Prism. Well, let her. He didn‟t

care. He was out of here. Fast.

When his legs left the ground it took him a full second to

work out what had happened. Incredibly, the enormous old

woman had dived full length across the floor in an effort to

reach Dorpfeld‟s Prism before Jason did. She had collided

with his legs and sent him flying too.

He landed on her back, in time to see her hand reach out

and grab the relic as they went sailing past. At once she was

transformed from an angry old woman into a barrel of

laughter guffawing loudly into the night air. Her huge bulk

made for tremendous inertia and momentum and once in

motion she was not easily stopped.

Initially, this was of some amusement to Jason as he was

carried out on to the balcony as if riding the back of a

laughing whale. But then, as the stone balustrades at the

edge of the balcony loomed closer, the full and terrible

implication of his predicament hit him.

Just as Mrs Winther hit the balustrade.

The stone crumbled and broke under the pressure. The

uprights were pushed away from the edge, out over the

waterfall. The lintel toppled over the brink and disappeared.

Mrs Winther came to rest right on the edge of the balcony,

where the balustrade had been. She was holding Dorpfeld‟s

Prism aloft and laughing like a hyena the size of a hippo.

For a moment Jason swayed on top of her. Everyone else

was grouped in the doorway staring out at them. Below,

Jason could hear the water smashing against the rocks. He

could see the foaming rapids and the plunge pool where the

waterfall entered at such force it turned the water white.

Away in the distance, dawn was breaking. The sun was

lipping over the horizon and it was going to be a beautiful

day.

It was a shock to realize that all these thoughts and

impressions had taken place in a single instant. What

triggered the realization was that they were swaying. Mrs

Winther‟s grotesque bulk was teetering on the edge of the

balcony, rocking gently back and forth in an increasingly

alarming manner, in time to her seemingly uncontrollable

laughter.

One last time the two of them rolled slightly. Then the roll

became a full loss of balance, and together they plunged over

the edge and down towards the jagged waiting rocks below.

Jason let out a scream of anger, surprise and fright as the

balcony disappeared above him.

Mrs Winther was below him, rolling, tumbling. Dorpfeld‟s

Prism was still held tightly in her hand as she turned end

over end. Not screaming but laughing.

CHAPTER 14

It really was a hell of a long way down. Jason was not at all

sure he wouldn‟t have preferred to have got it over with

quickly, rather than hanging around waiting for the rocks to

jump up and get him. Eventually. It did not help that there

was a fat old lady just below him who seemed to be enjoying

the experience no end. Her laughter was all around him, and

as he watched he saw her press Dorpfeld‟s Prism to her lips.

„Oh gross,‟ he muttered, his words whipped away by the

wind. He looked away.

Then suddenly the laughter was cut off. And a moment

later it was replaced by a scream of sheer terror the like of

which Jason had never heard before in his life. He twisted

round to see what was happening. Had she dropped it? He

could but hope.

But before he could see what was happening he felt himself

caught in strong arms, his progress through the air slowed

and stopped. A large moustache was tickling his ear and he

struggled to avoid it. Somehow the discomfort was worse

than the thought of impending death. Incongruously, the

angel was still fully clothed, his wings erupting through the

area usually covered by his rucksack.

As Clarence lifted Jason away, the screaming receded into

the distance. They both peered down into the foaming water.

They both winced as a large flabby body crashed into it and

was swept on to the rocks. Then Clarence was flapping his

magnificent wings and they were off towards the city, the

rising sun behind them.

„Thanks for that,‟ Jason gasped. „You‟re a lifesaver,‟ and

now he laughed. It was laughter of relief more than good

humour. „What happened to Dorpfeld‟s Prism?‟ he asked

when he had recovered a little. „Did you see?‟

„It‟s in my pocket,‟ Clarence said. „I didn‟t think it was very

fair that she should be oblivious to what was happening.‟

„Not fair?‟

„It somehow did not seem appropriate.‟

„Don‟t you...?‟ Jason asked. „I mean, doesn‟t it...? You

know?‟

„I don‟t think so,‟ Clarence said. „I haven‟t noticed. I assume

it has no effect on my biomechanical brain.‟

„Hmm. Good thing, too, from what I‟ve seen. Well, it‟s lucky

you were here,‟ Jason added. He couldn‟t think of anything

much else to say under the circumstances. Thanks.‟

„You may not be so pleased when I tell you why I came,‟

Clarence confessed.

Jason twisted to try to see the angel‟s face. „Why?‟ he

demanded. „What‟s happened?‟

Clarence quickly explained.

„What?‟ Jason bellowed. „He actually said that? And she...‟

He grunted in disbelief and annoyance, shaking his head.

„I‟m afraid so. And then...‟

„What? There‟s more?‟

„Yes. Then he asked her if she wanted to come back to his

room, I mean his room, not their little lobby, but his room

room.‟

„Oh, no.‟ Jason sighed. „Well, maybe it‟s not what we think.‟

Clarence sighed too. „Maybe not. He said something about

coffee.‟

„Coffee?‟ Jason exploded, twisted so violently that he almost

slipped from Clarence‟s grasp. „Can‟t you fly any faster?‟ he

urged. „Forget Dorp-thing‟s whatsit and cartels of hardened

criminals and murderers,‟ he said. „This is serious.‟

The pub was thinning out now that it was early morning.

Benny could hardly believe that she had been up all night.

Where had the time gone? That was what happened when

you sat and chatted and drank in good company.

She yawned massively, ending it with a smile. „Sorry, I‟m

whacked.‟

„Me too,‟ Dent agreed. „I just want to curl up in bed and -‟

„Quite,‟ Benny said. „Come on.‟

She linked her arm through his and together they walked

out of the pub area and back into the hotel proper. It was

pleasant, feeling the warmth of Dent‟s body close to her own.

Benny hugged his arm closer as they walked. She was tired

and muzzy and happy. Maybe this whole vacation wasn‟t

going to be such a boring waste of time after all.

They paused at the point where the bottom of the escalator

had used to be. The top section now jutted out from the

mezzanine into space, ending abruptly - ragged and broken-

toothed.

„Mice?‟ Benny suggested.

Dent laughed, as if he knew what had really happened and

thought Benny did too. He offered no explanation of his own.

„We‟ll take the lift,‟ he said.

There were three lifts, all grouped together in a comer of

the foyer. One of them had an „out of order‟ notice on it. It

was a simple piece of hotel notepaper stuck on with sticky

tape. The writing was in chunky black marker pen, a hasty

scrawl. More sticky tape was over the call button for that lift,

just to make the point.

Dent pushed the button on one of the other lifts. Benny

called the third. „Race you,‟ she said.

They chatted about nothing much for a minute while they

waited. The wine, the pub, where the evening and night had

gone to. How surprised Mrs Winther would be to find

Dorpfeld‟s Prism in her pocket.

The conversation died away. They shuffled their feet. Dent

pushed each of the lift buttons again. Several times.

After five minutes there were several people grouped round

the lifts. And still no lift.

„This is ridiculous,‟ Benny said. „What‟s going on?‟

„I‟ll go and find someone,‟ Dent said.

But Benny grabbed his arm. „Don‟t bother. It‟ll take forever

to get sorted out. Let‟s use the stairs.‟

Dent blinked. „We‟re on the seventeenth floor,‟ he pointed

out.

Benny raised an eyebrow. „Not up for it?‟ she asked

innocently.

„The stairs,‟ Dent said. „Good plan.‟

Leaning over the rails of the mezzanine, Clarence could see

Benny and Dent walking away from the lifts. He ran across to

the lift area on the mezzanine where Jason was waiting. Two

of the lifts were standing with doors open, unoccupied. The

reason their doors were open was because they were jammed

apart with chairs from the coffee area. The third lift was

working, but Jason had stuck tape over the ground-floor

button and a notice saying „For ground floor, travel to

Mezzanine and use stairs.‟ It seemed to work.

„They‟re going for the stairs,‟ Clarence said.

Jason nodded. „Figures. Come on, we‟ve got to stop them

getting to their room.‟ He paused to pull the chairs from the

lift entrances, and the door closed almost immediately.

But by then Jason and Clarence were both racing for the

emergency stairs on the other side of the hotel.

Dent pushed the door. It was heavier than he had expected.

So he pushed harder. But still the door refused to budge. He

frowned. It was a fire door, it couldn‟t be locked.

„I think it‟s stuck,‟ he said to Benny.

„Let me try,‟ she said. „You know, the female touch.‟

He shrugged and let her put her shoulder to the door.

Nothing. They both put their shoulders to the door and

pushed.

„I thought it gave a little then,‟ Benny said breathlessly. „It

was like it started to open.‟

„Maybe,‟ Dent conceded. „Let‟s try again. Ready?‟

But Benny was standing back from the door. „This is silly,‟

she said. „I‟m too tired for this. I think maybe I‟ll find a sofa

down here somewhere and just crash out.‟

On the other side of the door, Jason relaxed slightly and gave

Clarence a thumbs-up. They were both braced against the

door, using the bottom stair to push back against the door

and keep it shut.

„Don‟t give up so easily,‟ Dent‟s voice filtered through the

door.

„Give up, give up,‟ Jason hissed.

Clarence nodded urgently. His moustache wobbled up and

down in sympathy.

Then Benny‟s voice came from even further away. „Hey,

look. I think the lifts are working again.‟

Jason and Clarence looked at each other.

„Oh, bugger!‟ Jason exploded. „Come on. We‟ve got to get up

there before they do.‟

They started up the stairs two at a time. Jason was

breathless by the third floor.

„Only fourteen more floors to go,‟ Clarence reassured him.

„Hurry up.‟

There was a line of people queuing to get into the lifts now

that they were working again. Benny and Dent waited their

turn, which seemed to take forever. Each time the lift doors

closed, it seemed longer and longer before they opened again.

One of the staff from the hotel reception desk arrived to

apologize and mumble something about doors jammed open

on the mezzanine and not understanding how this could

happen and very sorry.

Eventually Benny and Dent squeezed into one of the lifts

together with what seemed like half the rest of the guests in

the entire hotel. At least one of whom Benny hoped was

heading back to their room for a much-needed shower.

They arrived at the seventeenth floor eventually, after

apparently stopping at about every floor on the way. Benny

sprang from the lift, Dent close behind. They let out a

collective sigh of relief and drew deep breaths of somewhat

fresher air. Arm in arm once more, they made their tired way

along the corridor towards their room.

It wasn‟t there.

They both turned at the same point, to face the same door:

1726.

Dent was actually holding the key card, ready to swipe it

through the reader when Benny stayed his hand. „We‟re in

1725,‟ she said.

Dent paused. „Must be more tired than I thought.‟

They moved to the next door. It was 1727.

„Hang on.‟ Benny walked back and read out the room

numbers. „It goes 1723,1726,1727, and then 1729.‟

Dent walked back and checked. „That‟s odd. So where‟s...?‟

He looked round. „Ah, here we are.‟

Benny frowned. „I was sure we were on this side of the

corridor. I could have sworn...‟

„It‟s the odd numbering that catches you out I expect.‟ Dent

was running the card back and forth through the reader

without effect. „That and being tired. You see, on this side it

goes 1724, 1725, 1728. Weird.‟ He held the card up to frown

at it. „Try yours,‟ he suggested to Benny. „Mine‟s not doing it.‟

She tried her card. Still with no result.

Dent sighed. „Back to the foyer and get help,‟ he said

without enthusiasm. „Unless there‟s a comm round here.‟

They couldn‟t see one.

But as they were looking the door to their room suddenly

opened. Out stepped a short, bald man. He glared at Benny,

who was standing in front of his door. „Can I help you?‟

„Er, well yes. You‟re in my room actually.‟ She made to

push past.

„I don‟t think so, young lady,‟ the man protested.

„One seven two five.‟ Benny pointed to the number.

„No,‟ the man said without looking. „This is 1726. And it‟s

my room.‟ He stepped fully into the corridor and slammed the

door shut behind him. „Good day,‟ he said curtly, and set off

towards the lifts.

Neither Benny nor Dent said anything. They were more

interested in the room number. It had dropped from the door

when the man slammed it shut. Benny picked it up,

examined it and handed it to Dent.

Without a word, she went to the next door along. The

number on it was 1724. She pushed at the number with her

finger. It was steady and firm.

Then Benny crossed to the room marked 1726. She

tentatively pushed at the number on the door. It moved away

as she pushed, swinging back like a pendulum when she

moved her finger. She watched it for a moment, then lifted it

from the door and tossed it away. Then she settled the 1725

number on to the tiny nail projecting from the woodwork and

stood back to examine her work.

„Who‟, Benny said with feeling, „would do a dumb thing like

that?‟

Just around a corner in the same corridor, Jason was talking

urgently into a house comm. Beside him Clarence was

making „hurry-up‟ gestures.

„Yes, really. Urgent,‟ Jason was saying. His voice rose an

octave. „Yes it is, madam. I have a cold. Urgent. Yes.‟ He

listened for a moment, then said, „Thank you,‟ and put down

the phone.

„Let‟s hope they‟re quick,‟ he told Clarence as they crept to

the corner of the corridor and peered round.

Further down the corridor, Dent Harper was just opening

the door to room 1725.

„Didn‟t take them long to work that out,‟ Clarence

whispered.

At that moment there was a bong from the address system.

„Yeah!‟ Jason whispered loudly. „Let‟s hope this does it for

us.‟

Dent paused as the door clicked open. They were both

surprised by the bong of the hotel address system.

„Probably about the lifts,‟ Dent began to say.

He was cut off by the loud, feminine voice. It echoed

slightly in the corridor.

„This is an urgent message for Mr Dent Harper,‟ the voice

said.

„What?‟ said both Dent and Benny together. Then: „Shh.‟

„I repeat,‟ the voice said, „an urgent message for Dent

Harper. Would Dent Harper please call Tabitha urgently on

555767.1 repeat

„Don‟t bother,‟ Benny shouted at the hidden speaker. She

pushed Dent roughly through the door into the lounge area

between their two bedrooms. Surprised, he tumbled forwards

and fell into the small sofa. Benny was leaning over him in an

instant, pressing him back down.

„OK,‟ she said with more urgency than the announcer had

shown, „who‟s Tabitha?‟

Jason clapped Clarence on the back as they watched Benny

push Dent into the room. Then he danced a short jig round

the angel, laughing.

„Yes, yes, yes!‟ he proclaimed. „Are we brilliant or what?‟

„What?‟ Clarence said.

„Brilliant,‟ Jason said again.

„So what happens now?‟ Clarence asked.

Jason stopped dancing. „Well, right now if I know Benny,

which I do, she‟s demanding to ring that number and find

out who Tabitha is. And Harper is denying he knows anyone

called Tabitha, or saying she‟s his mother, or some crap.‟

„So she rings the number,‟ Clarence said. „And nobody

answers.‟

„Oh no. Tabitha answers.‟

„Where does the number ring?‟ Clarence asked. „And who is

Tabitha?‟

Jason pointed to the house comm on the low table in the

alcove beside them. „That‟s the number,‟ he said. „And I‟m

Tabitha.‟ His voice became husky and breathless as it rose in

pitch. „Hi, fly boy,‟ he said. „Will you excuse me, handsome,

but I‟m expecting a call right about now from a Professor

Summerfield.‟

They both stared at the phone.

Nothing happened.

„No really,‟ Dent insisted, „I don‟t. Nobody. At all.‟ He

managed to struggle into a sitting position. „Honestly.‟

Benny looked at him. It was the sort of look that one went

out of one‟s way to avoid usually. Dent gulped.

„Look,‟ he said, „why don‟t you call the number? See who it

is? I mean, it‟s probably some fan who found out I was

staying here or something.‟

Benny nodded. „Good story,‟ she said. „That the best you

can do?‟

„Call, then,‟ Dent insisted. „If I wanted to make something

up, I‟d say it was my mother or some crap like that. Believe

me, I don‟t know this person.‟

„No, no,‟ she said lightly. „I believe you. You call.‟

„I‟m not calling,‟ Dent said. „Why should I?‟

Benny was at once annoyed again. „Oh, so now you‟re

trying to wriggle out of it, are you? Trying to pretend this

person doesn‟t exist? Well that won‟t wash with me, you

know.‟

Dent held up his hand. „Fine. Fine, I‟ll call.‟

„Oh great,‟ Benny said. She flopped down in a chair. „Don‟t

mind me, will you? Just call up this floozy whoever she is

and have a smooch on the phone, why don‟t you?‟ She got up

again. „I‟ll be in my room. Good night. .. Morning.‟ She waved

her hand in annoyance. „Whatever.‟

„Benny!‟ Dent called after her, exasperated. „Do you want

me to make the call or not? Or do you want to do it? I don‟t

care, really I don‟t. Whatever you like.‟

Benny paused at her door. „You don‟t know Tabitha?‟

„Never heard of her.‟

„And that‟s the honest truth?‟

„It‟s the truth.‟

Benny tapped her fingers on the door frame. „All right,‟ she

said. „Call and see who it is. I suppose it might, just might, be

important.‟

Clarence was shaking his head. „They‟re having coffee,‟ he

said anxiously. „I just know they‟re having coffee. I hope

they‟re not having coffee.‟

„I hope they are having coffee,‟ Jason said. „I mean really

having coffee rather than...‟ His voice tailed off.

The comm chirped. The sudden loud noise made them both

jump. They both looked at it. It continued to chirp.

„You want to get it?‟ Jason asked.

Clarence shook his head with moustache-trembling speed

and violence.

„Thought not.‟ Jason lifted the handset. He cleared his

throat, and affected a throaty, hoarse falsetto. „Well, hello

there, this is Tabitha here, darling mine. And why aren‟t you

here with me right now?‟ He put his hand over the handset

and nodded to Clarence. „It‟s her,‟ he mouthed.

Then he dropped the handset. He scrabbled to pick it up,

and hastily broke the connection.

„Some guy,‟ he explained to Clarence. „He was quite rude,

actually.‟

„Harper,‟ Clarence said.

Jason thought about this. „Yes,‟ he decided. „Bastard.‟

Benny walked back towards Dent. „I‟m impressed,‟ she said.

„If you did know her, you won‟t hear from her again after

language like that.‟

„Learnt some new words, did you?‟ Dent opened his door,

waiting just far enough outside his room for Benny to take it

as an invitation. If she wanted.

„A few,‟ she said. „You‟ve got quite a mouth on you, haven‟t

you?‟

„Come and find out,‟ Dent offered.

She hesitated barely a moment. Together they were inside

his room in seconds. He fell back on to the bed, Benny on top

of him. Slowly, almost cautiously, their mouths met.

Just as the comm beside the bed bleeped.

Benny froze in position. Her eyes had suddenly lost their

sheen.

„Now that,‟ Dent said, „that could be my mother.‟

She beat him to the comm by the smallest margin, and

pulled the handset to her ear. Almost at once she shoved it

across to him. „It‟s a woman,‟ she said. „But I don‟t think it‟s

your mother.‟

Dent put the handset carefully to his ear. „Yes?‟ his voice

was shaking slightly. A few seconds later, more confidently

now, he said, „Well, thank you. Thank you very much. No,

you wouldn‟t, she‟s here with me. We were...‟ He glanced at

where Benny was kneeling on the bed, her arms folded, but

her expression now more curious than angry. „We were just

having a conference.‟ He held out the receiver.

Benny took the receiver from Dent and put it to her ear.

„This is Professor Summerfield,‟ she said cautiously.

He had left everything to her. It had never occurred to her

that he had no family. But she had never heard him mention

brothers, sisters, parents or, now she considered it, lovers.

When she found out, she had wept.

Then she had pulled herself together and gone down to the

shop and the office to go through the books. The books of her

business. Such as it was.

In fact it was in pretty good shape, she found. Her duties as

an employee had not extended to any of the accountancy.

She was front-of-house, working with the clients, looking

pretty - for them and, she realized now, for Jericko Klench.

The last few days had been decidedly odd. But, despite the

death of her employer and her change in status, Linn Sekka

still remembered the odd way she had felt when he had given

her Dorpfeld‟s Prism. And, try as she might, she was unable

to escape from the fact that she had been happy,

indescribably happy. And that had been good.

She did not seem to be able to recapture the same extreme

of emotion and feeling, but she was finding that a positive

attitude to life, an optimistic outlook, and even just being

friendly and polite to people went some small way towards

achieving the same result.

So it was out of altruism as well as a sense of guilt that she

had called Professor Summerfield at the Xcelsior. It was

probably too late, but Linn felt she should check that the

woman was all right. After all, she had herself sent Mrs

Winther‟s thugs after the woman.

When there was no answer, she tried Dent Harper‟s room.

The call was answered almost at once, and she spoke briefly

to Harper.

When she heard Professor Summerfield‟s voice, Linn felt a

wave of relief and good will. „Professor,‟ she enthused, „how

splendid of you to speak with me. I just wanted to make sure

that everything was OK after, well, after – you know.‟ She

lowered her voice reverently as she almost spoke of the dead.

„Yes, everything‟s fine.‟ Professor Summerfield‟s voice

sounded a little bemused. Bemused and tired. „Thank you.

No problems at all. And you?‟

„Oh, you know,‟ Linn said. „Muddling through.‟ How kind of

her to ask. „Sorry to interrupt your conference.‟

„More of a congress actually. With a bit of luck.‟ There was

a pause, then: „Er, was that it?‟

„Oh, yes. That was it,‟ Linn confessed. „Thank you so

much.‟ And she broke the connection.

Benny shook her head and replaced the handset. „Now,‟ she

said as she rolled over on to her back, „if there are no more

interruptions...‟

„None.‟ Dent climbed on to the bed beside her. „I promise.‟

They reached out for each other.

The hammering at the door was so loud and sudden that

they sprang apart instantly in surprise. Each looked at the

other with a mixture of horror and indignation.

„Now what?‟ Benny said. She stifled a yawn.

Dent was buttoning up his shirt as a muffled voice called,

„Room service!‟ As soon as he opened the door to the lounge

area, a trolley pushed him back into the room.

„Here we are, sir, madam. Breakfast!‟ The man pushing the

trolley was short and thin with a tidy beard and short red

hair. He manoeuvred the trolley to a space at the end of the

bed. It was laden down with plates and covered dishes. The

man stood behind the trolley, apparently prepared to explain

at great length the contents of each dish.

But before he could start Dent stuffed a few ten-dinari

notes into his top pocket and bundled him out of the door.

He closed the door with relief and stood leaning back against

it for several moments, breathing deeply. „Did you order

breakfast?‟ he asked calmly after a while.

Benny was still lying on the bed, face down, looking at him.

She yawned. „No,‟ she said indistinctly round the yawn.

„You?‟

„Definitely not.‟ He crossed to the trolley. „Smells good,

though,‟ he admitted. „You hungry?‟

„Not as hungry as I was,‟ Benny told him pointedly. She

yawned again. „All right, what have we got?‟

Dent busied himself lifting lids and sniffing at the contents.

He described each dish as he went. „Visarian bacon,

scrambled jolyon eggs, devils on alpacaban backs. Something

that looks like muesli, we‟ll give that a miss. And...‟ He lifted

the final lid with a flourish. „Prunes!‟ He frowned. „Lots of

prunes.‟

He looked across to where Benny was lying. She had rolled

on to her back and was looking up at the ceiling. At least, he

realized, she would have been if her eyes were open. As he

approached, she snored loudly.

Outside the hotel, an angel flew, silent and majestic, into the

morning sky. Few people witnessed the event. Most were

more concerned with the life going on at ground level. And

the awnings and covers of the market stalls clustered round

the Xcelsior blocked much of the view of the sky above.

The angel was holding a man in its arms, firmly but not

close. Together the two of them rose to the seventeenth floor

of the hotel.

„Let‟s hope they eat so much of the breakfast they don‟t feel

up to doing anything much physical afterwards,‟ Jason said.

He tried not to look down.

Clarence slowed as they approached the window. „The

curtains are open,‟ he said. „I suppose that‟s a good sign.‟

„Unless they were just too involved to realize or care.‟ Jason

closed his eyes. „I‟m not sure I want to look. Tell me what you

see, will you?‟

There was silence for a long while, then Clarence said

quietly, „I think it‟s OK.‟

Jason opened his eyes and looked into the room. „I think

we probably have cause for a small celebration,‟ he said.

Inside the room, Benny was lying on the bed. She was

asleep. And she was fully clothed. Dent Harper, also fully

clothed, was flopped down on the bed beside her. He was

facing away from them, but everything about his position,

about the way he was breathing deeply and rhythmically,

suggested that he too was asleep.

Jason held his hand across his chest, palm open. „Put it

there,‟ he said happily. Then almost immediately, and with

some urgency, „Whoah, no, put it back, you‟re dropping me!‟

„Sorry,‟ said Clarence as he held Jason. „We did good here,

didn‟t we?‟

„Oh yes,‟ Jason agreed. „We did excellent.‟

At first she was disorientated. It was as if she were in her

room, yet not in her room. It took a few seconds before she

realized why this was. Everything was reversed. She was in a

mirror image of her room. Another second and she realized

why this was - she was in Dent‟s room. Lying on his bed.

She sat up immediately. From beside her came a grunt of

sound. Dent Harper was lying beside her, fast asleep. He had

a calm, almost serene expression on his face. His mouth was

slightly open and he was snoring gently.

Typical, Benny decided. She got carefully up from the bed

so as not to wake him. Typical. She had been prepared to

give her all, to allow herself to be smothered in a few hours of

innocent passion. And he had fallen asleep on her as she lay

waiting. What kind of person did he think she was to be

played with like this? What sort of person was he, if he could

fall asleep in preference to spending time with her? What sort

of value proposition was that? What sort of basis for a

relationship?

Typical.

She tiptoed across the room, let herself out as quietly as

she could, and then slammed the door shut behind her.

Dent woke with a start. A loud noise from somewhere had

startled him and woken him from a dream about people

wandering about being nice to each other. He lay staring at

the ceiling for a while. Then he remembered Benny.

He smiled and rolled over towards her.

She wasn‟t there. He stared at the place where she wasn‟t.

Then he leapt up and lifted the covers of the bed. Finally he

checked under the pillow. Nothing.

Typical, he thought. You rest your eyes for a few moments

and she ups and leaves without a word. Well, if that was all

he meant to her, then who cared? He flopped back on to the

bed and closed his eyes again.

She was packing when Dent finally knocked on her door. She

let him in, making no effort to disguise what she was doing.

„You leaving us?‟ Dent asked. There was enough sadness in

his voice for it to be polite.

„I think it‟s best, don‟t you?‟

„Well,‟ Dent said, „if you‟re not having fun, then stop doing

it. That‟s what I always say.‟

„Just because you say it, it doesn‟t make it true,‟ Benny

said, rather more sharply than she had intended. „Sorry,‟ she

added. „That was unfair. But this place hasn‟t really turned

out to be what I expected.‟

„What do you mean?‟

„Well, it‟s just so quiet. Nothing happens. Not really.‟

„No,‟ Dent was shaking his head. „I meant, what do you

mean about “Just because you say it, it doesn‟t make it

true”?‟

„Oh that.‟ She closed her rucksack and tried to fasten it. It

was too full and the straps did not reach. „Nothing. Really.‟

„If it was nothing, then why say it?‟ Dent persisted. He was

getting annoyed, she could tell. „You must have meant

something by it.‟

„All right.‟ She gave up on the straps. „Look, maybe I was

naive, but I thought that stuff you wrote in your books was

true. That‟s all.‟

It took him a moment to control himself before he answered

levelly, „Are you saying I lie?‟

„Well, no.‟ She closed her tired eyes for a moment and

rubbed them. „But you have to admit, life out here just isn‟t

like that. OK, so some exaggeration is good for sales, good for

the image -‟

„Exaggeration?‟ he exploded. „Exaggeration? Look, I can‟t

help it if you‟re the sort of person nothing interesting ever

happens to, can I?‟ He was advancing on her now, his eyes

ablaze. „I can‟t help it if you‟re so boring that life just sort of

passes you by. You want excitement? Well, you won‟t get it

swanning through life thinking everything‟s just cosy and

rosy and waiting for an adventure.‟ He stopped, his nose

close to hers. „I doubt you‟d know an adventure if you fell

over one. That swamp was probably a traffic island in the

Sangellides.‟ He stood bristling in front of her, his fists

clenched at his sides. His voice was quieter, sadder, as he

added, „I mean, any woman who can fall asleep in the middle

of a passionate encounter must have serious problems

relating to any sort of real life.‟

„Fall asleep?‟ Benny shouted back. „ Me fall asleep? What

about you, Mr Adventurer? What‟s the problem there?

Doesn‟t the macho, ready-for-anything image extend as far as

the bedroom, then?‟

„You fell asleep, not me,‟ Dent insisted. He turned and

walked back to the door.

„Oh, right,‟ Benny shouted after him. „So you usually snore

at women during romantic interludes do you? I bet that really

gets Tabitha going.‟

He turned back to face her. „I told you about Tabitha,‟ he

said more quietly, more upset.

„Yeah.‟ Benny was also upset, but determined not to show

it „Yeah, and I believed that too.‟ She turned away, pretending

to be doing up her rucksack. But in fact she could not see

the straps through the moisture in her eyes. „Stupid things,‟

she said, but it sounded more like a sob.

After a moment she dropped the straps in frustration. She

felt Dent‟s hand on her shoulders as he held her from

behind.

„I‟m sorry, Benny,‟ he said gently.

„I‟m sorry, too,‟ she mumbled. She did not turn to face him.

„I think...‟ He paused as if he really was thinking. „I think

we‟re maybe just not compatible,‟ he said. „One of us is by

nature an adventurer, has to be out there doing things,

making discoveries, leading an exciting life. The other one

just needs to dream about it.‟

„You‟re right,‟ Benny admitted with a sigh. „And we can‟t

even agree on which of us is which.‟ She did turn towards

him now.

Dent stepped back a pace and lowered his arms. „Friends?‟

he said quietly.

She nodded. „Come to the spaceport and see me off, will

you?‟

They were all there. The heads of each of the various groups

and business concerns. There were no spaces at the long,

coffin-shaped table. Despite the number of people, the room

was quiet, the atmosphere subdued.

When there was absolute silence, Nikole rose to her feet.

She stood at the head of the table and fixed each of them in

turn with her eyes. Behind her Luggar and Powlo stood like

twin sentries as she spoke.

„It is a loss we all feel keenly,‟ Nikole said. „Mrs Winther was

an incredible inspiration to us all. She led us by her example.

And to lose her to such a tragic accident...‟ She paused to

shake her head and bite her lip. She looked down at the table

for a few studied moments before continuing. „We will miss

her. I shall miss her. She was...‟ Nikole stared off into space,

as if seeing into the past, but in fact focusing on the swords

fixed to the far wall. „She was like a mother to me,‟ Nikole

said. Behind her, she knew, Luggar would be nodding in

sympathetic agreement.

Luggar listened to Nikole‟s speech with satisfaction. She was

making all the right points, hitting all the right buttons. Mrs

Winther had chosen her successor well. She had been

concerned, he knew, that her protégé lacked the killer

instinct. But Luggar knew that those fears could be laid to

rest with Rula Winther herself.

The Cartel was in safe hands once more.

Dent Harper whistled happily as he took a taxi back from the

spaceport. They had passed three wrecks so far. One of them

looked like a genuine accident, one was a shooting, one was

probably down to highway rage. He had counted seven bodies

in all.

The taxi swerved into the side of the road to allow an

enforcement vehicle to scream past. Somewhere ahead of

them was the sound of gunfire, and a pall of oily smoke was

rising above the freeway to the ferry. Several alarms were

sounding from various premises in the shopping area along

the side of the road.

Dent breathed a sigh of relief. Already life was beginning to

return to normal. What was it with that woman?

CHAPTER 15

The clear crystal caught the light as it spun within its

mounting. Clarence, now clean-shaven once more and

returned to his normal haircut, held the silver chain and let

it dangle in front of Jason and Braxiatel.

„Looks innocent enough,‟ Braxiatel admitted.

„We thought you‟d like it for your collection,‟ Jason said.

„Seemed as good a home as any.‟

„Better than most,‟ Clarence said. He lowered it gently on to

Braxiatel‟s desk, letting the chain coil up beside the prism.

„Well done,‟ Cwej said. „Great job.‟

„Yes, congratulations to you both,‟ Braxiatel said.

„Let‟s wait and see if they‟re warranted, shall we?‟ Jason

advised. „It was quite a rush to get back ahead of Benny. Her

shuttle could be here any time from -‟

Behind him the door swung open. „Hi, guys,‟ came Benny‟s

cheery voice.

„- now,‟ Jason finished. He turned. „Oh, hi, Benny. You‟re

back soon. Good holiday?‟

She dumped her rucksack on the marble floor and joined

them by the desk. „Oh, not bad. I could do with a drink,

though.‟

„Allow me.‟ Braxiatel headed for the drinks cabinet. „We

were just... um...‟ he said. „Er, weren‟t we?‟

„Yes,‟ Cwej agreed. „Just now. We were.‟

„Talking about the collection,‟ Jason said quickly. „How

much we were missing your help with cataloguing

everything.‟

„Really?‟ She looked at him slightly sideways. „I wouldn‟t

have thought that was your sort of thing really.‟

„Oh yes,‟ Jason said.

„He‟s been helping a lot,‟ Clarence added.

„Invaluable, I‟d say,‟ Cwej said.

„Taken to it like a duck to water,‟ Braxiatel confirmed. He

handed Benny a glass of wine. „Anyone else?‟

„Wouldn‟t say no,‟ Jason said.

„Just a small one for me. This body can‟t take it so well as I

used to,‟ Cwej confessed.

Clarence shook his head.

„No,‟ Jason went on, „it‟s really very interesting. Exciting,

actually. Wouldn‟t you say?‟

„Tremendously,‟ Braxiatel agreed.

„Stimulating,‟ Cwej put in.

„Nothing to the sort of excitement I expect you‟ve been

having, though,‟ Jason told Benny. „All that frontier-spirit

stuff. Derring-do. That sort of thing.‟

They all looked at her expectantly.

Benny sipped her wine.

Then she sat down on the large leather-upholstered sofa.

„Well,‟ she said slowly, drawing the word out, „I have to say

that it‟s not all it‟s cracked up to be.‟

„Oh.‟ There was a collective murmur of sympathy and

disappointment.

Benny held up her hand. „I mean, it was OK. But nothing

out of the ordinary. You know.‟

„Well, that‟s often the case with these things,‟ Braxiatel said

matter-of-factly. „You get there and you find that there‟s some

element of hyperbole. Or other people‟s ideas of a good and

exciting time don‟t quite match your own.‟

„Mmm,‟ Benny said. „Tell me about it.‟ She stood up. „Oh it

was all right. I had a few laughs. Met some really interesting

people. Really nice people, actually.‟

Jason and Clarence exchanged worried looks.

„But‟, Benny went on, „I wouldn‟t rush back.‟ She wandered

over to Braxiatel‟s desk and put down her empty glass.

Thanks for the drink,‟ she said. Then she stopped, her hand

still on the stem of the glass. „Good gracious,‟ she said.

Everyone else in the room seemed to have frozen too.

Braxiatel was the first to recover. He went quickly to his desk

and pretended to realize for the first time what Benny was

looking at.

„Oh, that,‟ he said. „Just a trinket. Should go back into the

archive, really.‟

Benny reached out and picked it up. She seemed not to

notice the gasp from Jason as she held up Dorpfeld‟s Prism

and examined it carefully. „I saw something like this recently,‟

she said. „Very like this in fact. How strange.‟

„Oh, they‟re ten a penny,‟ Braxiatel said lightly. „You find

them all over the place. I think there‟s some factory

somewhere in the Darkling Zone that turns them out by the

dozen.‟

Jason and Clarence had joined them. „He‟s right,‟ Jason

said. „I‟ve seen one of those before too. How about you?‟

„Oh yes,‟ Clarence said. „Me too.‟

They all stood round as Benny continued to examine it.

„Benny,‟ said Jason after a while.

„Yes?‟

„Do you, er... That is, do you feel any different?‟ He

shrugged. „I mean, after your holiday of course.‟

Benny looked at him. She was smiling. „No,‟ she said. „Not

at all.‟ She dropped Dorpfeld‟s Prism back on to the blotter.

„Why?‟

„Oh, you know. Just wondered. They say a change is as

good as a rest, after all.‟

„No,‟ Benny said again. „No change. And not much rest,

actually. It was a rotten flight back.‟

„I know,‟ Jason sighed. „Er, I know how you feel,‟ he went

on rapidly. „Had some bad flights myself. Not recently, of

course. Because I‟ve been here. All the time.‟ He looked round

at the others for help. He got none.

But Benny seemed not to be listening. She crossed the

room and picked up her discarded rucksack. „I‟m just glad to

be back with my friends,‟ she said as she hefted it over her

shoulder. „To be back home.‟

„And we‟re glad to have you with us,‟ Cwej told her.

„Thanks.‟ She hesitated a moment in the doorway. Then,

with a half-wave, she was gone.

„Well, I think we survived that more or less intact,‟ Braxiatel

said after a pause. He smiled broadly. „Well done, team.‟ He

nodded down at his desk. „And thanks for the holiday gift. It‟s

nice to meet it at last after reading so much about it.‟

„No problem,‟ Jason said.

„You‟re welcome,‟ Clarence told him.

„You know,‟ Braxiatel said as he peered at the crystal lying

innocuously on his desk, „its name was a misunderstanding

really. It destroyed Andreas Dorpfeld‟s life, as you know.

Perverted his perception of reality and upset his whole value

system. When he was on his deathbed, he asked his friend

Myerson to destroy the thing. I guess Dorpfeld finally

regained his purchase on reality.‟

„But Myerson didn‟t destroy it,‟ Jason said. „Obviously.‟

„What was the misunderstanding?‟ Clarence asked.

„Myerson asked what it was. He thought Dorpfeld replied,

“My prism.”‟ Braxiatel reached out tentatively towards the

relic. „In fact, he said, “My prison.”‟

Jason leant forward and caught Braxiatel‟s hand. „I

wouldn‟t touch it,‟ he said. „It could be the death of you.‟

Braxiatel withdrew his hand slowly, almost reluctantly.

„Yes, perhaps Clarence had better do the honours.‟

The angel lifted Dorpfeld‟s Prism, holding it up so they

could all see it.

„I may regret this, but, if everyone misheard what he said,‟

Cwej asked quietly, „how would you know that they

misheard? And how do you know what he really said?‟

Braxiatel shrugged. „Who knows?‟ he replied. „Perhaps I

was there.‟ He smiled thinly. „Or perhaps I‟m making it up. I

forget.‟

Document Outline

Front Cover

Back Cover

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15