‘There’s no deceit on my part.’ Darrok gestured at his restive bodyguards, checking them. ‘All I’m asking for is the final payment.’
‘After dropping this on us? Forget it.’
‘I think you’ll find the pact we have stipulates no full payment, no deal. And I get to keep what’s already been paid.’
Disgleirio swung to Karr, red with anger. ‘You agreed to this?’
Before the patrician could speak, Darrok answered. ‘There isn’t exactly an abundance of islands for sale. Like I said, it’s a sellers’ market. Take it or leave it.’
‘Karr?’ Disgleirio pressed.
‘He’s right. We’re not in a position to dictate terms.’
It was Serrah who broke the ensuing silence, and in contrast to Disgleirio’s outrage, she seemed almost amused. ‘Well, you could cut the tension in this room with a knife,’ she said. Glancing at the surrendered weapons, she added, ‘Anybody like to try?’
Karr stood, signalling for calm. ‘All right.
Everybody.
Let’s keep things civil. We can sort this out.’
‘Always the conciliator, eh, Patrician?’ Serrah gave him a smile that fleetingly looked half demented.
‘He’s right,’ Darrok intervened. ‘You might have rivals for the island. So what? They’re small in number compared to you, judging by the set-up you have here. You can deal with it.’
‘You make it sound trivial,’ Disgleirio remarked, still seething.
‘No, I make it sound like it isn’t my problem. My only concern’s spending the money you’ll be giving me.’
‘So you can buy more toys like that?’ He jabbed a thumb at the hovering dish.
Darrok made it rise, lifting him to the height of a man standing. ‘This is more in the way of a necessity than a luxury.’ He rapped his knuckle against one of his legs, then the other. The hollow ring attested to their being artificial. ‘Kingdom Vance,’ he explained starkly. ‘That’s why it’s not my problem.’
When that had soaked in, Karr told him, ‘We have to think on this.’
‘I’ll be in Valdarr a few more days. You know how to reach me.’
Zahgadiah Darrok motioned to his retinue. The bodyguards came forward to collect their weapons, then gathered about their paymaster and followed as he glided to the exit.
The doors slammed resolutely behind them.
Karr turned to face the others. ‘We’re not going to let this get in our way.’
‘Really?’ Caldason said, making no effort to hide his cynicism.
‘Yes. Too many people are relying on us. We owe it to them.’
‘I can’t believe you struck such a deal with that man,’ Disgleirio complained. ‘Isn’t the task we’ve set ourselves hard enough as it is?’
‘It’s done, Quinn. And Darrok was right about it being a sellers’ market. We’re over a barrel.’
‘So what do you propose we do about it?’
‘For a start, the band Reeth’s leading with the consignment of gold needs to be beefed up.’
‘Just a minute,’ Caldason cut in. ‘Asking me to deliver the
gold’s one thing. Expecting me to take on a pirate alliance is a different proposition.’
‘Surely you can see-’
‘What I see is that I’m no nearer reaching the Clepsydra, despite your promises. Now you’re enlisting me for a war that’s none of my making.’
‘But the plan-’
‘Is your problem, Karr. Find yourself another dupe.’
He headed for the door, snatching up his blades as he passed.
‘
Reeth!
’ Kutch yelled.
‘Let him be,’ Karr advised as the doors slammed one more time. ‘He’ll come round. And if he doesn’t…’
‘Don’t look at me,’ Serrah said. ‘I can’t be trusted enough to go, remember?’
Kutch slumped, despondent. Disgleirio was buckling on his sword, still incensed.
Karr expelled a weary breath, shoulders sagging. He stared for a moment at the radiant map spread across the wall. Then he snapped his fingers. The map instantly compressed, became pearl-sized again and dropped to the floor. It bounced, just once but high, and arced his way, dropping into his outstretched palm.
He took the hope of the world and stuck it back in his ear.
7
There was only silence. A downy white haze enveloped him. He was cold, and felt weightless.
Slowly, he gained a sense of self. But there was no awareness of
who
he might be. Or where. Then he became conscious of rushing air. It prickled his skin and tousled his hair; it stung his eyes and made them water. A tingling rippled the pit of his stomach. Blood pounded in his ears.
He was falling.
The clinging whiteness disappeared. As he tumbled, he saw that it had been a cloud, high above him now. Then a glimpse, higher still, of blue velvet powdered with stars. Spinning, twisting, he caught sight of the earth, so far below he could make out its curvature. He plunged headlong, serenaded by the whistling wind.
He had no control over his descent, yet it seemed he began to move with purpose. No longer did he simply fall. He flew.
The land beneath him grew, its features becoming more distinct. Snow-dusted mountain peaks, silvery rivers and verdant pastures. Sweeping plains, lush valleys, the emerald froth of mighty forests. Diving ever lower, he saw, here and there, the hand of Man. Land ploughed and cleaved into meadows; granite farmhouses, wooden lodges, the scars of roads. A giddy swoop took him down to one
such track. Flying higher than the tallest trees, he followed it.
A large group of riders came into view. Armed men, galloping hell for leather. He shadowed them, negotiating the road’s bends and turns with no effort on his part. In this way he kept pace for many miles. Then it dawned on him that they weren’t the only ones travelling in that direction. Something else moved in the riders’ wake; something that flew as he did, but at a greater altitude and to his rear. It wasn’t chasing the horsemen. It accompanied and drove them.
Whatever it was that traversed the troubled sky could be sensed but not seen. Perversely, it was both a pack and a single intellect. He knew this, without knowing how he knew. As sure as he felt the malignant force it radiated. A wave of menace that beat at him and kindled the purest dread.
His fear acted as a spur. A swift acceleration took him forwards, outstripping the riders and the horror trailing them. He moved with jarring speed, the landscape beneath passing in a blur, a daze of green smudged with brown. Lakes like mirrors, patchwork fields, copses that drank the light. Until he came at last to a remote region where the land was untamed, and he slowed.
He hung above a clearing in a wood. It was occupied by four or five straw-coloured bubbles. A moment went by before he realised they were roundhouses, thatched and built of timber. A handful of people tended the camp. Somebody was hauling a bucket from the well, while another cut logs. Most stood guard. Some livestock was corralled, and several horses were hitched to a post. There was a nagging familiarity about the place. And when he started to sink down towards it, helpless to resist, his unease increased.
His coming to ground was gentle and noiseless. He expected to be challenged. But there was no turning of heads, no rushing guards. He could see, but not be seen.
The first thing he saw was that these people were of his kind.
A scream rang out. It came from a smaller hut, set apart from the others. No one in the camp looked that way. Instead, they
