Angel Isle

CHAPTER

13

The next five days, outwardly, at least, might have been any other uneventful five days in their long journey. Ribek, Striclan and Benayu kept the conversation going—though perhaps there was a difference, in that they stayed completely off the subject of magic. Saranja was very silent, but then she often was. Maja, with Ribek’s help, managed to keep her end up—awkwardly, she felt, but her feelings were confused by her knowledge of the inward awkwardness between the rest of them. Striclan seemed to feel it too. He was as helpful and affable as ever, clearly enjoyed his kick-fighting sessions with Ribek, saw that Benayu and Saranja practiced each evening with their quarterstaffs, made a wrist-sheath for Maja’s knife so that she could hide it up her sleeve, and taught her how to slip it out unnoticed and how and where to strike a stronger attacker. But he must have been aware that something had changed that evening, because he didn’t ask Saranja to tell him any more about the warlords—she was both relieved and hurt, and seemed to have lost all her usual confidence in dealing with him—and in general he asked far fewer questions and hardly produced his notebook at all.

On the fifth evening he said, “Well, it is only a couple of days now to Farfar, and we have encountered no demons. Perhaps the danger is less than I feared, and I no longer have my excuse for enjoying your pleasant company, and we should part there. I will have my report to prepare and send, which will take me a day or two, and you will be anxious to proceed on your journey.”

Ribek was about to say something when Saranja interrupted.

“Let’s get to Farfar and see.”

The sixth day was different. There was practically no one on the Highway, as most other travelers preferred to take the longer way round through Agadal, a small hill town which happened to be holding its famous seven-yearly firework festival. Magical fireworks were strictly against the rules, so Striclan decided he wasn’t interested. Thus it was that there were no other travelers in sight, either before or behind them, when they walked into the trap.

It was midmorning. The Highway wound between ragged hills, and they were walking five abreast along it, with Sponge at Benayu’s heels and the mule and horses quietly following, when four men rushed out from behind the broken wall of an old roadside shed and barred the way. There was nothing magical in their sudden appearance. Maja and Ribek had been telling each other a story, taking turns to carry it forward and picking up wherever the other one left off, so she hadn’t been paying attention to the little inherent magics in her surroundings.

The men were carrying short, improvised spears, or heavy, broad-bladed slashers and hatchets. They swaggered toward the travelers. Instinctively Maja turned to run, but three more men had appeared in the road behind them. She remembered just in time to slip her knife into her hand in the way Striclan had taught her, and hold it there, hidden in her clenched fist.

“Hands above your heads, then,” snapped the man at the center of the group in front. “No trouble, and you won’t get hurt.”

Ribek already had his arms raised and palms held slightly forward in a gesture of appeasement. He took a careless pace toward the men, as if he truly didn’t believe they meant him any harm. A pike lowered to point at his chest.

“Hold it there!”

He seemed to halt, but instantly sprang, too quick for the thrust, stooped, swiveled, his right leg swinging viciously to crack into the knee of the man next in line. Striclan was drawing his sword. Saranja had disappeared.

There were yells, shouts, hoarse coughing from someone with pepper dust in his face.

Maja was grabbed from behind, her arms pinioned, was dragged kicking and struggling, lifted like a sack, and slung across Levanter’s shoulders. Almost she managed to wriggle free as the man mounted, but his grip on her wrists was too strong, and then he was up and wrestling one-handed with the reins as Levanter skittered and shied, and with the other hand still round her wrists, forcing her hard down into the gap between Levanter’s neck and the pommel of the saddle.

Twisting her head sideways, she caught a glimpse of the struggle. One of the bandits was on the ground, one on his knees, retching and choking. Ribek and Striclan were engaged in individual duels, Saranja up on Rocky, her quarterstaff raised to strike at the man who had grabbed her bridle, and Sponge was leaping to attack the remaining man as Benayu stumbled back before him. Then Levanter wheeled and her captor’s knee blocked her view.

He was yelling at Levanter, urging him into a gallop. She could tell he knew about horses. Now she could hear two sets of hooves. He let go of her wrists. She shifted her knife in her fist, found the catch, heard the click as the blade slid out, raised her head to gauge how and where to strike.

In the instant he gave her she saw, close in front of her, his hand unhooking his slasher from his belt and beyond it Saranja bearing down on them, half standing in her stirrups, her hair streaming behind her, her quarterstaff raised two-handed, ready to strike. Then the butt of the slasher slammed into the back of Maja’s head.

Blindly in the roaring, agonizing dark her hand and arm finished the movement she’d begun, swinging up and round behind the man’s back. She felt the wicked little blade bite deep into the softness below the rib-cage. The man’s yell was cut short by the heavy thwack of Saranja’s quarterstaff. She grabbed the pommel of the saddle to save herself as he toppled, lost her grip and fell too, landing with a thump on top of him. His body juddered as a hoof crashed into it somewhere.

The jar of the fall half cleared her head. She staggered up, gasping, saw the man’s slasher at her feet and grabbed it. The man himself lay sprawling. The left side of his shirt was already soaked in blood. His other leg was bent sideways at the knee. Saranja was pulling Rocky out of his charge, turning him.

“I’m all right,” Maja yelled, though her head seemed ready to split with pain from the blow the man had given her. Somehow she hefted his slasher onto her shoulder, and held it there, poised to strike.

Saranja waved in acknowledgment and sent Rocky charging back, with Levanter now not far behind. The pure pain eased to a heavy throb. Maja shifted round the fallen man to where she could watch and still be ready if he tried to get up. Benayu was down, with Sponge standing over him, snarling and watchful, as the enemy’s spear-point neared. Ribek’s left arm was red with blood, but he was still dancing round his opponent, light on his feet as a fawn, feinting, dodging, looking for an opening while the man stood stolidly waiting, with his slasher held two-handed across his body, ready to swing to left or right. Striclan’s man had a pike, with which he could outreach Striclan’s sword. It looked like stalemate, but the man who’d been blinded by the pepper dust was on his feet and staggering toward them with his hatchet in his hand.

Only Striclan’s opponent saw Saranja coming. The distraction was fatal. Striclan’s blade was into his throat and his own blood stifled his cry of warning. As he toppled, Saranja drove Rocky straight into Benayu’s attacker, struck viciously down with her quarterstaff as he reeled away, and charged on. Ribek’s man turned to face her, but Ribek was in and floored him before she reached him. She reined to a halt and gazed around. Sponge and Benayu between them had their man down and helpless. The last man had turned to run, but Saranja sent Rocky hurtling after him, barred his way and drove him back, then circled menacingly, herding the men into a group round the man Striclan had killed. Maja lowered the slasher, knelt and plunged the blade of her knife several times into the dusty earth to clean the blood from it. She slid it into its sheath and then used the slasher to prod the man who had kidnapped her until he rose groaning to his knees and crawled to join the others. That done she gathered the dropped weapons, handed Ribek a long knife and piled the rest together.

Benayu was standing a little to one side, so she offered him another knife. He gestured it away. He was white and shaking—not, she realized, with shock, but with anger and shame.

“I could have stopped them,” he muttered. “I could have stopped them with a word. Look!”

He raised his right fist. For a moment something seemed to be struggling to escape between his fingers.

Just in time she snatched Jex out of her pocket, but still reeled as Benayu flung what he was holding toward the men. Wind shrieked from his opened palm, became a single, concentrated gust roaring out into the hot stillness of the day, picking the bandits up and whirling them away like chaff before the winnow.

He flipped his left hand dismissively toward the pile of weapons. The steel splintered, the wooden hafts crumbled to dust.

He bowed his head and stood shaking it slowly from side to side. She tried to put her arm round him but he pushed her away….

The Watchers! He’d been so angry with himself he’d forgotten about the Watchers! Jex had been growing stronger day by day, but she knew from the way that she had staggered that he’d nothing like absorbed the whole of the shock of power. Even now the force of the magic suddenly woken in Benayu came strongly through.

And Striclan too! He’d forgotten about Striclan! Striclan wasn’t supposed to know about…

She looked. Striclan was getting something out of a saddlebag. His mule was standing there stolidly, looking as if it hadn’t noticed anything unusual happening. So did Striclan when he turned and offered the bandage he was holding to Ribek. Ribek stared at him, for once at a loss for words. Saranja dismounted and joined them.

“Let’s get this over with,” she said quietly. “I think we’ve all just saved each other’s lives, and I can’t go on pretending. You’re a Sheep-face spy, aren’t you, Striclan?”

He blinked, that was all.

“Agent,” he corrected her, sounding as sad about it as she had. “But perhaps before we discuss it we should deal with Ribek’s arm. He’s losing a dangerous amount of blood in my opinion. Sit down, old man. I’ll need to cut the sleeve off.”

He eased Ribek onto the ground and knelt beside him. Only now did Maja notice how pale Ribek was. And he oughtn’t to need to be helped to sit down, for heaven’s sake! Anxiously she peered over Striclan’s shoulder as he peeled the sleeve away. The wound was right at the top of the arm, a deep, ghastly-looking slash, right to the bone, like a half-open scowling mouth turned down at the corners. Blood was still streaming from it. Striclan pressed the lips together. The flow weakened but didn’t stop.

“Trouble is, it’s too close to the shoulder for a tourniquet,” he said. “I don’t know how you kept going, fighting that chap—remarkable what adrenaline can do…”

He chatted on, not doing anything, just holding the wound closed, watching the blood-flow. Maja concentrated, and sensed that beneath the surface he was as anxious as she was. And there seemed to be only one inward Striclan now, all of him intent on Ribek’s wound. She nudged Saranja’s arm.

“Can’t we use Zald?” she whispered. “If you give me the healing stone, he won’t know it’s got anything to do with the demon-binder.”

Saranja nodded, slid her hand inside her blouse and felt her way over the surface of Zald. Her lips moved as she mouthed the simple release formula. She withdrew the jewel and slipped it into Maja’s hand.

Maja knelt to whisper into Striclan’s ear.

“It’s worse than you’re telling him, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

“There’s something I can do,” she said. “No, don’t let go. I’ll start at the edge. Please try not to watch.”

“Of course,” he said, and shifted to make room for her. A corner of the wound showed each side of his grasp. She put the ache in her head away, still there, but somewhere outside herself, and whispered to Jex to relax his shield. Naked to all the magic in the world she pressed the jewel to and fro around the right corner of the wound, feeling through the slithery blood for the torn edges and easing them together, above and below and back, above and below and back, again and again. Her hand and arm grew warm as the healing power flowed into them and on through the jewel. Ribek sighed and closed his eyes. She could feel his openness to what she was pouring into him, her whole life-force, all her love. The wound began to close.

“Where’s Pogo?” said Benayu suddenly. Vaguely, concentrating on what she was doing, Maja registered the change in his voice. On the surface, at least, this was the Benayu they had known before Larg.

“Stupid horse bolted almost at once, of course,” said Saranja. “Nobody’d even made a grab for him. Back the way we came, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll fetch her while Maja’s doing that. Come on, Sponge.”

Maja flinched to the shock of his changing, but her arm and hand kept their rhythm. By the time she recovered two identical dogs were loping away down the road. With her free hand she nudged Striclan’s fingers to the left to give her more wound to start on. Saranja appeared and knelt beside her with a water flask and a cloth and started to sponge away the blood from what she had already done, revealing a morsel of pink, new-healed flesh. Maja worked on.

“Perhaps it would help, while we are doing this, if I explained a little about myself,” said Striclan.

“I don’t know if it would help, but it would be interesting,” said Saranja.

“I hope both,” said Striclan, chuckling, though he must have noticed the dryness in her tone. “I am not by birth a Charargalid, though I was partly raised in Charargh.”

“Where’s Charargh?” said Saranja.

“Charar means ‘south,’ and Charargh is the South. It occupies the whole southern half of a continent on the other side of the world, and in fact dominates the northern half as well. Technically it is not a single nation, in the way that the Empire is a single nation, but a community of seven separate nations. Its full, formal name is Storgon Charargha, the Community of the South, but it acts and thinks like a single large nation. We speak of Southern Civilization, Southern Values.

“But as I say I am not a true native of Charargh. I was born in one of its dependencies because a generation ago the authorities decided that the time had come to deal with what they regarded as the problem of the Empire. For a great part of their early history the seven nations had been more or less at war with each other.”

Expertly, at Maja’s gentle nudge, he shifted his grip along the wound, but his voice didn’t falter. She stopped listening to concentrate on the healing. This was the difficult bit, where the slash was deepest, severing veins and nerves and sinews. She couldn’t reach in to touch them with the jewel, but she could reach through it to them and fill them with her own health and wholeness. She lost herself in a trance of healing. Striclan’s quiet voice was just a background to what she was doing, almost as meaningless as birdsong. A sharper interjection from Saranja broke through into her consciousness.

“You mean you’ve actually fought wars to persuade people to do things your way?”

“I’m afraid so. There was usually some kind of excuse, of course. And to the Southern way of thinking it would obviously be so much better for them in the end.”

“Not the ones who were dead.”

“No. And then they came up against the Empire. It was different from anything they had encountered before—so different and yet so obviously rich and successful that it seemed a threat to their whole way of thinking. They had known about it for centuries, of course, but…”

Maja moved Striclan’s fingers again and worked on.

Three miles to the south a traveling sandalmaker was riding a horse. He was drunk. Last evening, at a way station, he’d fallen in with a couple of friendly fellows and they’d wined and diced into the small hours, and he’d won heavily. But perhaps they’d drugged his wine, though they drank from the same flask, for he’d slept very late, and when at last he’d woken he’d found his companions gone along with his winnings and his mule and his stock of sandals and everything else he possessed. All they’d left him was a half-empty flask of wine, so he’d finished it off and started home, drunk again.

And then luck had smiled on him. He’d found a stray horse by the roadside, ready saddled and bridled. It was flecked with dried foam, so he guessed it had bolted from somewhere. It had skittered a bit as he tried to mount it, but in the end he’d hoisted himself into the saddle and persuaded the animal to move. He would sell it at the next market town he came to, he told himself, and if someone claimed it before then, well, maybe there’d be a reward.

Two dogs came loping up from behind him and started to pace along, one on either side. The one on his right raised its head and looked at him.

“That’s not your horse,” it said.

He blinked. He’d known he was drunk, but not this drunk.

“I’m taking him to his owner,” he said.

“That’s me,” said the dog.

“Don’t be stupid. Dogs don’t own horses.”

“You live and learn,” said the dog.

Both dogs loped forward, turned and barred the way. The horse stopped. The sandalmaker shook the reins and drummed his heels against the horse’s ribs, but it stayed where it was. It lowered its head. The dog licked its muzzle. The horse began to shrink.

In a moment it was no bigger than a pony, and in another his feet touched the ground. Two or three and more he was standing astraddle in the road with a child’s toy horse between his feet. The dog which had spoken to him picked it up in its mouth and winked at him. Both dogs trotted off the way they had come.

Distantly Maja felt the tremor of mild, almost playful magic, and recognized it as Benayu’s work.

“You can let go now,” she murmured, and moved to close the outer edge of the slash. She was swaying where she knelt, utterly weary, but at the same time wonderfully alive and fulfilled.

“But that’s absolutely appalling!” said Saranja. “You mean that because their own spies kept getting found out they kidnapped several hundred innocent people and took them to Charargh and bred them like farm animals so that when the kids grew up they could send them back to the Empire as spies! That’s quite as bad as anything I’ve heard about the Watchers!”

“In fact not many were kidnapped,” said Striclan. “Mostly we waylaid coastal shipping and persuaded some of those aboard to purchase men and women in the slave markets and ferry them out. They were then taken and established in a closed community on Palto, the nearby island which they already controlled, and there they replicated as closely as possible the conditions of the Empire. That is where I was born.

“The captives were not required to have children but were given considerable incentives to do so. I am the eldest of four siblings, not all by the same father, and my mother often said that as a result her life had been a great deal more comfortable than it would have been as a slave in Shankrili. She never expressed any bitterness over what had happened to her. Nevertheless, Miss Saranja, I am forced to agree with you that it was morally reprehensible, and even in my earliest childhood I was dimly aware that this was the case. I knew I did not belong on Palto.

“My mother spoke Shankri, a dialect of the Imperial common language, so that was what we spoke at home. She sang us the cradle songs and told us the nursery stories she had learned from her own mother. She was also encouraged to tell us about everyday life in the Empire. We played the games and ate the food we would have eaten in a well-to-do household in Shankrili—my mother was a very good cook.

“When I was five I was sent to school, where I was first taught formal Imperial and Chararghu as second languages, and then began to be inculcated with Southern values and Southern ideas. I was a ready learner, but at the same time a cautious and secretive child. I found it easy to please my teachers, but I did not reveal to them that I neither accepted nor rejected what they had told me about the superiority of Southern ways over the ways of the Empire. One day, I determined, I would go there and see for myself.

“I came to this conclusion well before I was taken to Charargh to finish my education and formally told that this was what had been planned for me all along. Even then I was careful not to sound too eager. I did not want them to suspect where my ultimate loyalties might lie. Since my earliest childhood I seem to have had a tendency to present a pleasant exterior to the world while concealing my inmost thoughts and feelings….”

Yes, thought Maja drowsily. Yes indeed. But he isn’t doing it now. She stared at her hands as they repeated and repeated the same hypnotic pattern, coaxing the clean new skin to cover the shiny scar tissue that closed the wound. Like rolling pastry further and further across the board, she thought.

There. Finished.

“See how it feels,” she murmured, and slipped the healing stone into her pouch. As she let go of it her hand and arm went numb.

Ribek rose to his feet and moved his arm around.

“Tingles a bit,” he said. “As if it’d been something that happened years ago. Thanks, Maja. That’s wonderful. You look all in.”

“I’m just tired. But it’s worth it.”

“Indeed it is,” said Striclan, who had also risen from where he’d been kneeling at Maja’s other side. “I did not like to say so earlier, but in my opinion you were likely to lose the use of that arm, if not the arm itself. May I see? Astonishing. Not even a scar.”

“And now you’re going to put it into your notebook and tell the Sheep-faces all about it,” said Saranja.

The sharpness of her tone silenced them all. Ribek bent to whisper in Maja’s ear.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“My arm’s gone numb. And my head hurts where the man hit it with his slasher.”

She felt his fingers gently probing the bruise, heard the hiss of his indrawn breath.

“Got anything for bruised head, Striclan? Maja’s got a lump coming the size of an apricot where that bastard bashed her.”

“I’ll get a salve.”

“My turn to do a bit of healing,” said Ribek, and settled beside her. He took her forearm into his lap, unstrapped her knife and gently began to massage the inert muscles. Almost at once Striclan returned and knelt behind her.

“Tsk, tsk,” he muttered. “You carry on with what you’re doing, old man. Take a sniff at this, Maja my dear—it’ll help with the headache.”

His hand appeared under her nose, holding a small pot containing a bluey-gray paste, reeking with a strange, sweet-sharp pungency. Even before she had drawn it into her lungs the headache was easing. She heard the snip of scissors and then he was deftly working the paste into the swollen flesh. His touch on the bruise made it feel almost pleasant.

“Where were we?” He sighed. “Ah, yes. I have in fact written nothing about any of you directly. Miss Saranja saved me from a hideous death. Ribek told me she was not at liberty to say how she did it. How could I not respect that, and apply it to the rest of your party? All that I have written in my notebook has been information you have given me that might have come from any fellow traveler. I have not ascribed a particular source to it. Miss Saranja’s account of the origins of the desert war is a good example. Chararghi intelligence has a wholly different take on that, claiming, and probably believing, that the desert chiefs were instigated by the authorities in Talagh to attack the Chararghi copper-mining concession.”

Dimly Maja heard a distant whinny, answered by Levanter, almost in her ear.

“Here’s Benayu,” said Saranja. “He’s got Pogo back all right. Stupid horse. Benayu’s looking pleased with himself, which makes a change. You mean you’re not going to say anything about him turning himself into a dog in front of your eyes, Striclan?”

“I see no need. I have already reported on consistent accounts of magicians being able to transform themselves into various animals. I shall simply add that I myself was a bystander at a similar event, and had no reason to doubt the evidence of my senses.

“As for the way in which he disposed of our assailants, which seemed to me, in my ignorance, a much more remarkable exercise of power, I propose to say nothing about it at all.”

Yes, thought Maja, as Benayu rode toward them, smiling and confident. Much more remarkable. And he’d done it as easily as flipping a coin. Well before he reached them she realized that he’d changed once more. The soundless hum that had come from him all the time, even when he wasn’t actually using his magical powers, until he’d lost the use of them at Larg, was back again. It was still quiet, still controlled and contained, but it was no longer mild. There was a depth and intensity about it, like the depths of a clear night sky before the moon has risen, going on for ever beyond the stars. The nearer he came the more it dazed her. She was going to have to learn to resist it, or she would need to wear Jex against her skin all the time, and then she would be no use to them at all. Not now, though. She was too tired.

Pogo was in a sulk, and halted untold the moment he reached them. Benayu dismounted grinning.

“We’d better move on,” said Ribek. “Somebody may have noticed you getting rid of those fellows.”

“As you wish,” said Striclan. “I suggest that for the moment I separate myself from you and follow a little way behind, so that you can explain to Benayu what I’ve told you and you can then discuss it among yourselves and decide, among other things, whether I can be trusted.”

“That’s all right,” said Benayu, smugly. “I’ve been listening. He was telling the truth.”

“You mustn’t do it!” said Saranja, instantly furious. “I said so right at the start! Looking into our heads!”

“I didn’t think he counted….”

“Well he does! And anyway I don’t need a mighty magician to tell me someone’s telling the truth! And what’s so funny about that, Ribek?”

“Just that it’s so wonderfully unfair.”

“Please,” said Maja, before she could blast him too. “I’m tired.”

Saranja sighed and turned to Striclan.

“Suppose we needed to talk to the Sheep-faces,” she said. “Could you fix that? What do you think, Benayu?”

“It might be useful. I don’t know yet. There’s a lot of stuff I can do now that I couldn’t before, but it’s nothing like enough even so.”

“I might be able to arrange something,” said Striclan. “I would need to give my superiors reasons why they should take you seriously. One of my briefs is to make contact with any groups resistant to the rule of the authorities in Talagh, and I have had to tell them that I have seen no sign of any such movement. Apart from yourselves, of course, and so far I’ve kept my own counsel about you. Everywhere else, as far as I can discern, the general mood seems to be a curious mixture of fear and contentment. The people, by and large, enjoy peaceful and prosperous lives, but at the same time live in terror of offending the authorities, or even attracting their attention. But I have gathered from things that you have both said and not said that, one, you have already jointly caused the offense and, two, that you are engaged on this journey in an effort not merely to escape but also to resist the vengeance.”

“Let’s get moving, anyway,” said Saranja. “I’ll explain on the way.”

“Tell her to be careful,” Maja muttered as Ribek helped her onto Levanter’s back. “That night in the desert, when you told us ‘The Miller’s Daughter’—just before that, you and Saranja were starting to talk about something, and I said don’t. Don’t even think about it. It’s still like that. And I can’t tell you whether we’ve been noticed all over again after what Benayu’s been doing—not with him so close. He’s changed.”

“I’ll tell her,” said Ribek, smiling. “Then we’ll drop back and you can see if that makes enough difference. If all’s well I’ll wave to Saranja and you can have a nap. You’re dead beat. All right?”

It came in her dream—one of those ones that you know are a dream because you know you’re lying in your own bed and you’re having a dream there, but at the same time you’re in that dream and somewhere else, walking, talking, listening. So Maja knew she was half-lying face down on Levanter’s back, with a strap round her to keep her from falling, but at the same time she was sitting upright in the saddle in the Council Chamber at Larg, watching Ribek explaining something to the Proctors behind the long table, only when she looked at them again she saw that they weren’t the real Proctors, though they wore the Proctors’ gowns and hats, but they all had the same expressionless smooth ivory face or mask that the Watcher had worn when he came to the way station all those weeks ago.

She was aware of an odd little buzzy feeling at the back of her mind. She couldn’t hear what Ribek was saying, but when he pointed at the corner of the room that held the hidden door to Zara’s chamber, the buzz instantly became louder, closer…

“Stop!” she shouted, shoving herself violently up. The strap bit into her shoulders. She wriggled herself out of it, sat up and stared round. Ribek had halted and was looking at her. The sun was high. They were alone on the Highway. There was a way station a little further on. The others were nowhere to be seen.

“Where are they all?”

Ribek gestured toward the way station.

“Gone on ahead to get some food ready. I was just about to wake you to see if it made any difference not having Benayu around. Well?”

“I don’t know…. Yes, I think so…. I had a dream…. Wait.”

She concentrated, focused back to that moment in her dream, the sinister buzz. She grasped it with her mind, let the real world expand around her, followed it as it faded off to the south. It didn’t dwindle completely away, but stayed faintly there, in the far distance, like the quiet tick of a clock somewhere in a house, a sound you’ve grown so used to that you never notice it. Only when you think about it, there it is, ticking endlessly away.

“I don’t think they’re actually looking for us now,” she said. “It’s like…sometimes when I went fishing with my cousins there’d be a man there. He used to have three or four rods sticking out over the pool. He didn’t hold any of them in his hands, but he watched the floats and the moment one of them bobbled a bit he’d know there might be a fish nibbling the bait. He just waited and watched until the float bobbled a bit more and then he’d know the fish had taken the bait and he’d grab that rod and strike. I don’t know, of course, but I’m scared that that’s what we’re doing when we start talking about…”

Even to name the city where Zara lay sleeping now seemed charged with danger. She jerked her head round toward her shoulder, indicating something behind them. Ribek nodded understanding.

“We’re nibbling the bait when we do that,” she said. “If we do it for more than a moment, they’ll start watching, ready, and as soon as we actually start talking about it seriously they’ll know where we are, and strike.”