rebuckled it around his waist, and grinned at her cheerfully. 'Skinny
little thing like you. Hop on my back.'
'You can't carry me up there.' She looked up the trail, steep as a
ladderway, and was aghast.
'It's the only train leaving from this station,' he told her, and
offered her his back. She crawled up on to' it.
'Don't you think you should dump the dik-dik skin?' she asked.
'Perish the thought!' he said, and started up.
It was slow and heavy-going. After a while he had nothing left over for
talking, and he trudge' upwards in dogged silence. Sweat drenched his
shirt, but she found neither the wet warmth of it that permeated her
blouse on to her own skin, nor the strong masculine odour of it
offensive. Instead, it was comforting and reassuring.
Every half hour he stopped until his breathing became regular and even
again. Then he opened his eyes and grinned at her.
'Hi ho, Silver!' He pushed himself to his feet, and bowed his back for
her to scramble aboard.
As the day wore on, his jokes became more forced and feeble. By late
afternoon the pace was down to an exhausted plod, and at the more
difficult places he had to pause and gather himself before stepping up.
She tried to help him by climbing down from his back, and supporting
herself on his shoulder as they struggled over the more arduous pitches,
but even with this respite she knew that he was burning up the very last
of his strength.
Neither of them could truly credit their achievement when they reeled
around another corner of the track and saw before them the waterfall,
spilling down like a white lacy curtain across the trail. Nicholas
staggered into the cavern behind the sheet of falling water and lowered
her to the floor. Then he collapsed and lay like a dead man.
It was dark when he had at last recovered sufficiently to open his eyes
and sit up. While he was resting Royan had gathered'some wood from the
monks' stockpile and managed to get a small fire going.
'Good girl,' he told her. 'If ever you want a job as a housekeeper-
'Don't tempt me.' She hobbled over to him, and examined the cut in his
scalp. 'Nice healthy scab,' she told him, and then suddenly and
impulsively she hugged his head to her bosom and stroked his dusty,
sweat-stiff hair off his forehead.
'Oh, Nicky! How can I ever repay you for what you did for me today?'
A flippant reply rose to his lips, but even in his weakened state he had
the good sense to bite it back. He was in no state to attempt any
further intimacy. So he lay in her embrace, enjoying the feel of her
body against his, but not taking the risk of scaring her off with a move
of his own.
At last she released him gently, and sat back. 'I very much regret, sir,
that the housekeeper cannot offer you smoked salmon and champagne for
your dinner. How about a mug of mountain water, pure and nourishing?'
'I think we can do better than that.' He took the drycell torch from his
burn'bag, and by its beam selected a round, fist-sized stone from the
floor of the cavern. With this in his right hand he turned the light
upwards, and played it over the cavern roof. Immediately there was a
