Engor

Julien and the Nine Worlds

Book II
Julien the Emperor

Chapters 31-49

They threw a party. And what a party! The First Lady Alexia, Niil's mother, who had somehow come to hear about it, sent a present and paid for the feast. The present conformed perfectly to ancient traditions by being directly connected with the reason for the party: it consisted of a beautiful, and obviously very old, wooden box which contained a number of 'toys' made of precious materials, the mere sight of which sent Julien into a fit of blushes. It wasn't easy to work out what some of them were for, but others left nothing at all to the imagination, being anatomically correct in every particular. Niil himself became embarrassed when Dillik, who was always eager to learn, started asking him questions about the correct use of this item or that one, although the embarrassment only lasted until he realised that Dillik was winding him up: unlike Julien, the boy clearly knew exactly what each item was for. He had, of course, been raised in an inn and had run about the streets with the kids who hung about the harbour and who were consequently fully aware of what went where.

Ambar, sensibly, kept his mouth shut. He'd lived on the quays himself at one time, but he thought it would be better not to show off his knowledge.

Julien pointed out that nobody had thought, or perhaps had dared, to give him a present like that, and he wasn't sure if he ought to feel jealous or relieved. Once again it was Dillik who gave the game away.

"We wanted to give you one," he explained, "but Subadar said it would be a bad idea, because you don't have this sort of celebration on Earth. That's a shame, I think."

"It certainly is," agreed Julien.

"They're a bit primitive, I reckon," Dillik went on. "It's like in some of the archipelagos on Dvârinn. My father says they don't even celebrate the Kouwa Djoung Neh at all. They have some sort of tradition, with some ancient gods or something, that says it's dirty! Can you believe that? It's like saying it's shameful to… I don't know, eat, or something! And they're not allowed to have either the Garland or the Garden there, either. They're banned! It's not as bad as that on your world, surely?"

"Well, maybe not everywhere, but in most countries, yes, it is."

"What, it was like that where you lived?"

"Yes."

"That must have made you really miserable!"

"Not really. I didn't really think about it much."

"What?!?"

"Well, I mean… yes, I thought about it, but… that's how it was. We just didn't talk about it. And I was an only child, so I didn't have any brothers to talk to about it."

"But… didn't you know any other boys?"

"Yes, of course, but…"

For a while now Niil had been looking serious again. Obviously he wasn't happy with the way the conversation was going and he thought that Dillik was scratching away at a wound which would be better left undisturbed to heal over time.

"Dillik," he said, "you need to go and get ready for the party."

"It's all right," said Julien. "He's right, and anyway, I live here now. I have no intention of going back to Earth ever again."

***

Once the party got going Julien quickly realised that this one was a lot more… well, spicy, than his own had been. It took place on the First Trankenn of the Ksantiris, and although it was a private affair there were a good fifty guests there, all male (as was proper for such a party), including Lord Tahlil and two of his sons, Dillik's father Master Dendjor, and a few of Niil's cousins, distant or not so, all of whom were delighted to have been invited to take part in the frivolities. Nobody was bold enough to suggest anything to Julien – not that he would have accepted, anyway – but the younger boys saw Ambar as fair game, and he had to use a lot of tact and diplomacy to turn down a number of invitations, not least a persistent one from Lord Tahlil's youngest son, a charming, doe-eyed boy who thought it might be fun if he and Ambar went off somewhere to compare certain aspects of their anatomy. And when the boy took Ambar's hand and guided it to the front of his laï, where it encountered a projection that was perhaps not particularly large but was incontestably very hard indeed, Ambar's resolve was close to breaking. He was saved by the sudden appearance of Dillik, who was swaying slightly (he'd been at the dregs in the glasses again) and who insisted on examining for himself the projection under discussion. He slipped a hand inside the laï's large pocket, giggling as he did so, and proceeded to explore the item at great length. Satisfied by his exploration and with Bacchus helping him to overcome any of the few remaining social constraints on the evening, he checked that Ambar wasn't intending to accept the invitation himself and then guided young Yendhil towards one of the numerous unoccupied cabins which had been set aside for exactly this purpose.

Niil, on the other hand, had no reason to pretend to excessive virtue, particularly not at a party of which he was the guest of honour. His bond with Julien was primarily one of friendship and did not in any way prevent him from sampling other possibilities whenever he felt like it. So when Tengtehal, Lord Tahlil's eldest son, suggested that they should perhaps retire to a private kang to get a little peace and quiet, Niil didn't hesitate for a second. Tengtahil was around fifteen cycles old and definitely worth getting to know a bit better, and once they were in the private kang Niil was delighted to discover that the young man's Victorious Sword was definitely big enough to keep him happy.

Tannder had clearly recovered from the worst of his injuries and so was being watched closely by Karik, who fended off with exceptional skill the attentions of anyone likely to prove a temptation to the Master Warrior. Tannder found this quite amusing and so made a point of talking to the most flirtatious of the young men present – after all, he thought, it wouldn't do for Karik to get bored… Of course Tannder would never have accepted any invitation from anyone here, not least because he would never do anything to hurt his apprentice, but Karik wasn't to know that.

When the party had been going for long enough Julien went up on deck with Ambar. The sky was clear and the air was almost warm. The huge ship was steadily making her way beneath the stars, and Gorkar, Dvârinn's only moon, was just a hand's breadth above the western horizon. They spread out the blanket they had brought with them on the polished boards of the deck and settled down on it to watch the sky turning gently above them.

***

When they woke up next morning they found that someone had placed another light but warm blanket over them. Tannder was crouched beside them, gently shaking Julien's shoulder.

"Excuse me, My Lord," he said. "It's time to head back to the Burrow."

Shivering a little in the morning air the boys pulled their blankets around them and, after a last glance at the slate-blue waters of the ocean, headed towards the ship's target-klirk where Aïn was waiting for them. Without thinking, Julien said 'Tchoktseh' to himself, and to his immense surprise he immediately found himself, with Ambar (whose hand he had been holding), in a totally unknown landscape.

"Where are we?"

It might not have been the most original question in the world, but it was appropriate.

"I don't know," said Julien. "Not where I wanted to go, anyway."

"Isn't Aïn here?"

"No, and nor is Xarax. I'm a complete moron."

"You didn't do it on purpose."

"No, but I wasn't paying attention. I should have grabbed Aïn's fur, and I should have waited until Xarax was with us."

"I expect he's with Dillik."

"Probably."

"Can you take us back?"

"I hope so, but I need to stop and think about it first. I don't want us to end up in some random place."

"Haven't you ever been here before?"

"No. I don't even know which world… bloody hell!"

"What?"

"We're on my world, the one where I was born."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely."

"How do you know?"

"The grass, the flowers, those trees over there… the grasshoppers – everything. It even smells like Earth."

"So you know where we are?"

"That's not so easy, I'm afraid. I recognise the landscape, more or less, but I can't say exactly where we are."

"It's a bit chilly. It's a good thing we have our blankets… so do you think you can get us back?"

"I honestly don't know."

"Maybe Aïn will come and find us."

"I'm sure he'll try, but he'll have no idea where we are. With a bit of luck I'll have left some sort of trace in the Outside for him to follow."

"Then what should we do? Should we just stay here and wait?"

"Yes, I think so, at least for a bit. If he can find our track we don't want to make things harder for him than necessary. I think it's still fairly early here, so we'll wait here until midday. The weather looks good, so it should warm up fairly soon."

"What if he doesn't come?"

"Then we'll have to come up with a plan on our own – probably I'll have to try to get us home. Oh, and I think it would be a good idea if you kept hold of my hand."

"What, all the time?"

"Yes. I don't want to suddenly find myself travelling again and leaving you stranded here. I don't think I'd be able to find you again if that happened."

Ambar went pale and grabbed at the hand Julien was offering him.

"Now I think I'm starting to get scared," he said.

"I'm not sure if it could happen – after all, I was actually trying to jump to the Table when I brought us here. But it's better to be safe than sorry."

"I think you're right. Are you sure you don't know where we are?"

"I think we're in France, because that's my country and if I was travelling back to Earth it seems logical that I'd head for my own country. And there's a sort of… I don't know, an ambiance, or something."

They were in a fairly flat meadow halfway up the side of an otherwise wooded valley, at the foot of which ran a river, or at least a stream. There were no fences or wires to be seen, but something about the place suggested that it was sometimes used to graze animals. There were some rock outcroppings here and there, and also a few large boulders that seemed to have been scattered about at random. Anyone who knew a bit about geology would have been able to recognise the sort of place it was, but geology was something Julien knew almost nothing about.

"It's a good thing we didn't get here in the middle of the night, isn't it?" commented Ambar.

"Well, it wouldn't have made a lot of difference, but at least now we know it's going to warm up fairly soon. And we can see where we are, of course."

"I'm getting hungry. Aren't you?"

"I'm afraid we're going to have to skip breakfast, and possibly lunch, too."

"Perhaps there are things here we can eat."

"If you're thinking about berries and things like that, I don't think so. It's not summer here yet. Perhaps we could catch some fish by hand if there's a proper river down there, but there's no way for us to light a fire, so we can't cook anything."

"So what are we going to do if Aïn doesn't come?"

"I think we'll have to find a town. It shouldn't be all that hard if this is France. But we'll have to stay hidden."

"Why?"

"Because I can't see myself being able to explain to someone, and especially not to a cop, that we come from another world. With a bit of luck we might find some clothes hung out to dry – at least with normal clothes on we'd be a bit less conspicuous. As for food… I suppose we'll have to try to steal some."

"Why can't we just ask people to give us some?"

"I don't think we should do that. Someone would be likely to call the police."

"What's the police?"

"It's like our Guardians."

"Why would they call them? It's not like we've done anything wrong."

"Kids our age aren't allowed to wander about on their own without their parents. People would think we'd run away."

"Couldn't we go and find the First Lord and tell him what happened?"

"Trust me, that's a really bad idea."

Ambar was about to launch into another string of questions when they heard the sound of voices – juvenile voices, at that. He closed his mouth at once and squeezed Julien's hand even more tightly.

The voices came from the far end of the meadow, and the two boys dropped down and tried to melt into the long grass.

"This is it – we're here!"

"About bloody time too – I'm knackered."

"Why are you complaining? You only had to carry the ground sheet!"

"Yeah, and the sugar, and the oranges, and three tins of ravioli!"

"Rapha! Where the hell is Rapha?"

"He stopped for a piss."

"So where's Nono, then? Did he stay to hold it for him?"

"Here I am – don't get your knickers in a twist."

"Good. Stick your packs down over there and get the kit out. We'll put the tent… over there should do. Greg, as soon as Rapha finally honours us with his presence…"

"Calm down, I'm here. Can't we even have a pee in peace now?"

"You took long enough. Are your sure the two of you were only having a piss?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about. So where are we going to put the bloody tent?"

"The mallet – who's got the mallet? Don't say we left it at home again!"

"Greg, you and Rapha, get your arses in gear and go and find some wood!"

"Yes, O Great One! As you command, Commander! Whatever you say, Master!"

"Finally! Take note , the rest of you – that's how to talk to your PL. A bit of respect, that's what we need."

"Woodpecker, instead of talking bullshit…"

"Don't fucking swear in my presence, you tosser!"

"Forgive me, O Great Patrol Leader. Instead of spouting nonsense, please do you think you could be so good as to put the peg in at the correct angle? Because otherwise the tent is likely to fall on our fucking heads, begging your pardon, Milord."

"Most Honourable Assistant PL, please don't take me for an idiot. There's a stonking great rock under here, right where that peg needs to go."

"Far be it from me to exceed my authority, humble and subordinate as it is, but might I make a suggestion?"

"By all means, my d…"

"Hey! There's someone over there!"

"Where?"

"Over there! There are two people lying in the grass!"

The two people in question stood up, still holding hands. Julien thought that what was clearly a patrol of Boy Scouts was a far better choice for First Contact than a bunch of cops. The one who had found them, a blond, curly-haired boy of about twelve or thirteen in a standard French Scout uniform, was jogging towards them. He'd started to head towards them as soon as he was sure that he wasn't faced with a couple of dangerous perverts on the prowl, but – to judge from their height, anyway – a couple of boys of his own age who were wrapped up in blue blankets. But he stopped suddenly when he got close enough to see that their faces were covered in war-paint. Then he advanced again, but at a much more careful pace.

Julien hadn't realised why the kid had stopped all of a sudden, but he put on his most charming smile.

"Hello!" he said. "Are you Scouts?"

"It's pretty obvious, isn't it? Are you from round here?"

"Erm… no, not exactly."

"Have you been sleeping out? Where's your tent?"

"Ah… anyway, I'm Julien and this is Ambar."

"That's a pretty odd name. I'm Nathaniel, but they call me Natha. So what's the disguise about? Are you playing some sort of Wide Game?"

"Huh?"

"You know… why've you got paint all over your faces?"

"Oh, that… it's a bit of a long story. Is that your PL over there, the one who's signalling to you?"

"Yes, that's Woodpecker. We're the Jaguars."

"Can we go and talk to him? I mean, maybe it would be easier if I explained who we are to everyone at the same time, all right?"

"What's that you're wearing under your blankets – some sort of night-shirt?"

"Come on, let's go talk to the PL – like I said, there's no point in repeating the story over and over."

But Nathaniel seemed incapable of keeping the questions in check.

"Is he your brother?" he asked. "Only you don't look much like each other."

"No, we're not brothers. He's a friend."

"He doesn't say a lot, does he?"

"He's not from round here. He can't understand French."

"Oh. So where does he come from, then?"

"He's from Nüngen."

"Nüngen? Where's that?"

"It's another planet."

"Right. So where's his flying saucer?"

"He hasn't got one. He got here by teleport."

Julien was starting to enjoy himself: telling the truth to someone who was sure he was winding him up gave him a certain perverse pleasure.

"Julien," said Ambar, "kye nyi kan segui yoare? Nga kan yang agogui mindou!"

"Is that English?" asked Nathaniel.

"No, it's Tünnkeh. He wants to know what we're talking about. He says he can't understand anything at all."

"So they don't speak French on Mars, then?"

"It's not Mars, it's Nüngen."

By now they were surrounded by the entire Jaguar patrol, and the PL Woodpecker, a slim boy of around fifteen, took charge as soon as Nathaniel's garbled 'explanation' confirmed that their unusual appearance wasn't the only thing about the two boys that was strange.

"We'll finish the introductions later," he said, firmly. "Now get to work, the lot of you! Greg and Rapha, I want a fire going inside ten minutes, big enough and with enough spare fuel at hand for us to cook the damned ravioli. Nono, you and Natha can sort everything else out. And while you're doing that I'm going to have a chat with our visitors. Come on, you two, let's go and sit on that rock."

Once they were sitting down the PL opened his mouth to start asking the obvious questions, but Julien, who was still holding Ambar's hand, got in first, doing his best to sound persuasive.

"Before you start asking questions," he said, "please listen to me: there are two ways I can do this. I could make up a bunch of lies that you'd probably be able to believe, or I could tell you the truth, which you'll probably find it a lot harder to believe. Which would you prefer?"

"Tell me the truth," said Woodpecker. "I'll try to believe you."

"All right. That's not going to be easy for you, but I give you my word that everything I'm about to tell you is one hundred percent true."

***

To his credit, Jean-Marc Becquet, aka Woodpecker, knew how to listen. Not only did he not interrupt Julien's story with unnecessary questions, but he also gave all the verbal and non-verbal cues necessary to keep the story moving forwards. Better still, he arranged things so that the whole patrol was able to listen in without it disrupting their normal activities too much: they were able to prepare, share and eat a meal (Ambar had to make a considerable effort not to show his distaste for the infamous tinned ravioli) without causing the fascinating description of the Nine Worlds to be interrupted for any longer than it took to swallow a mouthful or two. Julien finally had to let go of Ambar's hand while they were eating: he sincerely hoped that he wouldn't suddenly be whisked away, abandoning his friend on a planet where he could neither understand nor be understood.

The afternoon wore on, and still Julien was getting nowhere near the end of the tale. By this time Ambar was getting bored. However, it was hard to miss the fact that Grégoire, a boy of around thirteen, with the sort of rosy cheeks and dark curly hair that would have had Caravaggio scrambling for his paintbrush, and who had taken it upon himself to look after him, making sure that he had everything he needed, was sitting right in front of him and almost staring at him. In fact Grégoire seemed far more interested in the silvery swirls that decorated all the visible parts of Ambar's body than in the ongoing narrative of Julien's adventures.

Ambar had a generous nature, and so he had carefully failed to adjust his laï, which like every other laï in the Nine Worlds had a tendency to creep slowly up every time its wearer moved in his seat, and even more so if he had no seat and were just sitting carelessly with one elbow resting on a raised knee in order to alleviate the discomfort of sitting almost motionless for a couple of hours. Consequently he was offering his admirer, in the light that filtered through the flimsy white material of the laï, a glimpse of the unique pattern of the Ksantiri Marks and, more importantly, of those intimate places the Marks were decorating. These places were all the more intimate because, unlike Julien, Ambar hadn't thought it necessary to wear any undergarment to the party.

In common with the rest of the patrol Grégoire, once the initial work of setting up the site was complete, had changed out of his heavy woollen navy-blue uniform shorts and into a much lighter and thinner cotton pair. This meant that he was much more comfortable, but it also meant that it was much harder for him to conceal the evidence of a certain emotion, evidence which, for all he knew, might well upset the delicate sensibilities of this strange, innocent child. He did his best by folding his hands in his lap and trying to find something a bit less stimulating to look at, but he was no match for the wiles of a specialist like Ambar, who had so often overcome the reticence of Julien, back when he still wasn't accustomed to the ways of the Nine Worlds. And nobody, not even the Caliph's Head Eunuch, could have failed to be moved by the little lizard with its silver tracing, stirring in the pale half-light – that timid little creature which seemed to breathe, at times inflating a little and lifting gently away from the soft cushion of the scrotum beneath it, while at the same time the two small eggs hidden within it were in turn moving slightly, as though awakening from sleep. The inexorable force which drags compass needles towards the north was insignificant beside the imperious power which dragged the eyes of the unfortunate Jaguar towards that which he refused to consider, even for a moment, as legitimate prey. But then there's nothing wrong with window-shopping, is there?

However…

However, it's possible to convey a great range of information without words, and the whole behaviour of the strange young boy made it absolutely clear that displaying himself the way he was was no accident, and that although the boy was clearly aware that Grégoire was eyeing him up he didn't mind in the least. In fact, he was entirely happy about it. He was signalling this every time he moved, and when he got up to go for a pee it was plain that he expected to be followed.

Grégoire was amazed – the idea of going to watch one of his friends having a pee had never before occurred to him. He wasn't completely ignorant of sex, but despite the significance of the Flower Power revolution he had so far done nothing beyond a little self-stimulation, and even that had been ruined by the guilty feelings which inevitably followed. He really didn't know very much else, and he took no part in the playground discussions at school on such subjects as French kissing and wet pussies. In fact, he thought that if that was what sex was about, he wasn't interested. On the other hand, he had sometimes felt a certain tenderness, or maybe even something stronger for which he had no name, for one or other of his school-friends.

But when Ambar stood up and spoke briefly to Julien, telling him where he was going, Grégoire decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and stood up as well.

"I'd better go with him," he said. "I could do with a pee myself anyway."

Which he hoped would give the impression that he was merely concerned for the safety of a boy who might otherwise find this a strange and hostile environment…

***

The laï is the fruit of several thousand years' worth of sartorial evolution, and one of its many benefits is the way it allows its wearer to have a pee in relative privacy, provided that he takes care, when squatting, to keep its folds out of the way of the stream. Ambar knew perfectly well how to do this, because he'd been doing it since he was old enough to stand on his own two feet. But he also knew how to pee against a tree while standing up, just like people who wear trousers and suchlike garments. And since the Earth boy had been brave enough to follow him Ambar thought that it would be only fair to reward him by choosing the upright stance, even though this meant holding the hem of the laï under his chin and thus uncovering his body as far up as his navel. Unfortunately he'd failed to notice (allegedly) a bramble next to the tree he had chosen as his target, and when he did spot it he was forced to step further away from the tree, leaving himself completely exposed to anyone who might happen to be watching – like the helpful lad who had come with him to 'protect' him, for example.

The helpful lad in question had taken up a position by the next tree along in order to keep up appearances, but he was having some difficulties because he was currently afflicted with an embarrassing erection. It wasn't very big, but it would be very hard to miss if he wasn't careful. Of course he couldn't turn his back on Ambar without missing out on what he had followed the boy to observe. Ambar, on the other hand, didn't seem to be at all worried about his own exposure and simply started to produce a golden arc which was backlit by the sun to look like a line of pure light.

This didn't help Grégoire at all: although his bladder was full, he found it impossible to pee through an organ which was now extremely hard – so hard, in fact, that only a few glistening drips escaped from it, strangely viscous, forming a thread that broke and was blown against his thigh, where it felt cold and unpleasant. This unpleasant sensation, coupled with his feeling of frustration, actually helped by softening him up a bit, and finally he was able to produce a flow which started erratically but soon became a deeply satisfying torrent.

When he looked up again he saw that the other boy hadn't straightened his garment – in fact he was still standing with it gripped under his chin, staring at Grégoire's equipment and grinning. It was odd: with his pulled-up laï, his blond hair and his smile he looked a bit like an angel. A mischievous angel, to be sure, but he didn't look like someone who is doing something that is wrong, or even inappropriate. He was, in fact, a picture of innocent mischief, and when he moved closer Grégoire didn't do anything to stop him, not even when he reached out and took hold of Grégoire's penis, as naturally as he would have taken his hand to shake it.

This was a shock! It wasn't so much the audacity of the gesture but the actual physical sensation of being touched there by someone's hand other than his own. It wasn't like the anonymous hand of a doctor carrying out a routine check of a soft penis that was entirely disinterested in the process – no, this was a set of agile fingers deftly taking possession of his organ, which was absolutely interested, being once again very hard and very sensitive, and clearly intending to explore and use it. Had his heart been caressed and gently squeezed by those delicate fingers the contact could not have been more intimate.

Ambar's eyes were dark brown in colour, dotted here and there with tiny specks of malachite dark green which could only be seen from very close. And Ambar was that close – close enough for his nose to touch Grégoire's chin. And by lifting his head just a tiny bit he was able to brush the swiftest and lightest of kisses on Grégoire's lips, which were still half-open in amazement.

Ambar had many qualities, but perhaps the most characteristic of them was his gentleness, and it was that gentle tenderness which was communicated by the contact of their lips. There was nothing torrid, or even sensual, about it: it was more like a calm reassurance that everything was for the best.

Of course, even a chaste kiss such as that had required him to lift his chin and so drop his laï back over his own body, and so he stepped back and, giggling, pulled the garment over his head and discarded it, thus revealing himself in all his glory, clad only in his Marks and a pair of sandals, a bit like the Indian ones which were starting to appear on market stalls in the Latin Quarter. And those sandals, even more than his Marks, made him look like something far more than a mere boy: it was as if the statue of one of those benevolent pagan beings Grégoire had sometimes secretly admired during his all-too-infrequent visits to the Louvre had suddenly come to life and was visiting him in this enchanted forest.

He was suddenly aware of how ridiculous he looked, his stiff pale shaft with its uncovered head that looked (he had recently thought) a bit like a big purple cherry jutting out of the open fly of his shorts. So he did what came naturally and soon he was as naked as the faun in front of him.

Ambar immediately jumped into his arms, clearly not aware of the maelstrom of emotions he was producing, and Grégoire quickly discovered the difference between bragging about sex while fully clothed and holding an actual naked boy in your arms – a boy, furthermore, who is rubbing against your erect penis with his own erection and clearly expecting you to do something about it.

Perhaps it was that excess of emotion that caused his knees to buckle, or maybe Ambar engineered it somehow, but either way they were soon lying on a hastily-improvised bed formed by their clothes, and after one thing had led to another for a while Grégoire found himself contemplating, from a distance of only a few centimetres, the object which would form the basis of most of his fantasies from that point on.

Ambar, as well as being the most attractive boy he had ever met, was also a genuine work of art: Grégoire was able to admire the calligraphic perfection made by the branching spirals of the Marks across the living silk of the scrotum, and the truly fascinating way in which a silvery tendril followed the line of the perineum, back along the raphe to decorate, without actually touching, the little wrinkled flower of the anus. He could see all this because Ambar, remembering what Julien had told him about the oppressive and restrictive upbringing suffered by boys in this world, had opened himself up completely, allowing Grégoire to explore parts of his anatomy that the French boy would never have thought possible in his wildest dreams.

However, since they both realised that if they stayed away from the rest of the patrol for too long someone might come looking for them, they moved quickly on to other things. In fact Ambar took the lead and, bearing in mind the likely limitations of a boy raised in a place such as Julien had described, he decided to keep it simple and not to go beyond the basic practice described in the Delights. So he stretched out on top of his partner, face to face, establishing a direct contact between their 'Pleasure Fountains', and allowing them at the same time to look at each other, which in turn led inevitably to further lip contact.

When Grégoire experienced, shortly afterwards, a still-dry orgasm it shook him like an electric shock that seemed to spread along all of his limbs. And afterwards, cuddling with the cuddliest creature in the universe had the effect of curing him once and for all of the poisonous sadness which had until then ruined his shameful pleasures.

When Ambar came back looking like the cat who ate the canary Julien wasn't too surprised to see Grégoire a few steps behind him. The Scout was trying desperately to look innocent, but actually he looked like a prospector who has found the nugget of the century and who hopes that nobody has guessed. Certainly this patrol seemed to have a rather different view of morality than the prudish Leopards, of which he had once been a member. Perhaps the Sexual Revolution had swept across the entire planet while he'd been away… Obviously he had carefully avoided saying anything about his own sexual adventures when telling them his story.

He was pulled away from his thoughts by a questions from Norbert, aka Nono. He was the assistant PL, fourteen years old and with straight black hair cut in the style of an Amazonian Indian.

"There's something I don't quite understand," he said. "You say that all of a sudden you've lost the gift of being able to travel through hyperspace?"

"That's right."

"How convenient."

"What do you mean?"

"Well we're given to understand that Milord is an extraterrestrial Emperor. He's crossed the galaxy, but he can't prove it because he's lost his powers, and so he needs a train ticket to get back home. Do you really think we're going to swallow that?"

"It's entirely up to you. But if you have an alternative explanation, I'm all ears."

"I reckon you're a couple of likely characters sent by Aurochs to try it on with us."

"I don't know any Aurochses, but if he's your troop leader, you're barking up the wrong tree. And anyway, if he had the imagination to dream up a story like that he'd have already got onto the Signe de Piste to get it published!"

"You really claim that you're telling the truth?"

Julien turned to Woodpecker and sighed.

"Told you they wouldn't believe me,'" he said.

"I never said we would," the patrol leader pointed out. "You have to admit it sounds a bit far-fetched. If you weren't sent by Aurochs, where did you come from? Did you run away from a circus? And even if I were to try believing your fairy-tale, how do you explain losing your gift?"

"Well… it seems to be because of puberty."

"What's puberty?" asked Rapha, the youngest boy in the patrol. He was Nathaniel's little brother and just as blond, and he was eleven and a bit, having only just moved up from the Cubs.

"It's when you stop shooting blanks," his brother told him.

"Shooting blanks?"

"Never mind."

"Oh, I get it – it's when you start producing jizz, like…"

The elbow that interrupted him was quite sharp.

"Hey, there's no need to hit me!" he protested.

"Shut up, both of you," ordered Woodpecker. He turned to Julien again.

"Puberty? Come on, that's utter bollocks, isn't it? I mean, the Emperor of the Universe suddenly stops working because he starts to shoot spunk? You must be having a laugh!"

"All right," said Julien. "Fair enough: if you don't want to believe me, that's your business. I can't stop people behaving like jerks. It's not like I'm asking for anything from you. We'll just go and sit over there while we wait for someone to come and find us."

"Hey, watch who you're calling a jerk!"

"Look, I've been telling you the truth for two hours now, and I'm a bit tired of being called a liar. Ambar, sho! Ngatso paghir drona mato, tab mindou. Nga kang senna, kontso dennpa mareh sammgui dou."

Ambar stood up with a look of shock, and Norbert felt a moment's doubt.

"Hold on," he said. "What did you just say to him?"

"Nothing. I was just speaking gibberish to try to con you into thinking it was a real language."

"Well, if that's your attitude, you can just fuck right off!"

"Oi!" interjected Grégoire. "Are you off your trolley?"

Of course he hadn't really talked with Ambar, but one thing he knew, and that was that he really liked the kid, and not only because of what they'd done together. He had no intention of standing by while he was kicked out of the camp.

"It doesn't matter a toss whether it's true or not," he went on. "Personally I think it is. But when did we start pushing people away when they've done nothing? Didn't they ever teach you about hospitality, Nono?"

"But he started it! He's the one who…"

"SHUT UP!" Sometimes Woodpecker really could exert his authority. "Please, Julien, tell your friend to sit down What did you really say to him, by the way?"

"I told him we had to go because you didn't want to believe me."

"Well… perhaps we did get a bit carried away. And you really do have to admit that it's not easy to believe."

"I'm quite happy to admit that. To be honest I don't have the remotest idea why we ended up here, as opposed to anywhere else in… well, there's no need to go through it all again."

"No, there isn't. And Greg is right: you're our guests – if you're still willing to stay with us, that is."

"Thank you. And I'm sorry I called you names."

"Forget it. We more or less called you a liar, so I suppose we're quits. So, this is what I can offer: we're going to be staying here anyway, so we can put you up until next Sunday. After that we'll have to decide what to do, but in any case we'll have to try to find a way of hiding those tattoos. They look pretty good, but they're a bit distinctive, and you'll get lifted by the first cop who sees you."

"They're not tattoos, and in any case I can hide mine. But Ambar can't: we'd have to go back to Nüngen for that, and if we could get back there he wouldn't need to hide them."

"He could try putting on some make-up, like women do," suggested Raphael.

"Yes – foundation cream!" agreed his brother. "I'm sure we could buy some!"

"Another thing," said Norbert, who thought he ought to offer an olive branch, "we could lend you some clothes. We won't need our sports stuff."

"We can't do much for a couple of days anyway," Woodpecker pointed out. "Tomorrow's Sunday, and then it's Easter Monday, so everything will be closed. We're here until the following Sunday, and we got permission to hold the camp so that we could survey the river down in the valley there. So we've got plenty of time to work out what we can do to help you."

"Thanks, that's very kind. But I hope we'll have found our own way back home before next Sunday."

"I hope you can, but if it doesn't work out you can depend on us. And if you want to come down to the river with us we'll be happy to lend you some clothes."

***

When Ambar stood up and removed his laï, quite unselfconsciously, he created quite a stir as he stood naked in the sunlight, all honey and silver. It was impossible to pretend to be uninterested in such perfection, and so the boys surrounded him and admired him, and it was clear that some of them were finding it difficult not to trace the complex maze of his Marks with their fingers, as Julien himself had frequently done in the past. It was little Raphael who asked the obvious question with a mixture of envy and delight.

"Does it stop there or carry on under the skin?" he asked, pointing at the little wrinkled spout of Ambar's foreskin.

"Rapha!" protested his brother, pushing him.

Ambar couldn't understand a word, of course, but it was obvious what the question was about, and so he smiled at Raphael and carefully draw back his foreskin, demonstrating to everyone that not only was he nice and clean under the skin, but also that the pretty decoration didn't continue beneath. Grégoire could of course have told his colleagues this without the demonstration, but perhaps he didn't feel the need to explain how he knew. However, he did contribute to his erstwhile partner's clothing by handing him, as a present, his favourite tee shirt, which bore on the front the picture of a huge tongue, a design that had become the universally-recognised emblem of a very loud but highly talented group of young men. It could be said that Ambar wearing that particular shirt, which was about three sizes too big for him, looked at the very least highly suggestive, and he might have been advertising the sort of den of iniquity which would be completely illegal except perhaps in remote corners of Afghanistan.

Julien took advantage of the distraction caused by his beloved's behaviour to pull a pair of beige shorts up over his underwear and to slip on a checked shirt provided by Norbert, and once he was dressed he joined the circle of admirers gathered around Ambar. Sadly for those admirers he was in the process of covering up those parts of his anatomy which seemed the most perfect: Raphael had kindly provided him with a pair of shorts and some 'Petit Bateau' briefs and was now looking pensive: perhaps he was thinking about what was now concealed by the clothes which had until recently covered his own intimate parts.

***

At the bottom of the valley was a stream that ambled its way through dense vegetation. It wasn't all that deep and could easily be forded in several places, which disappointed those of the patrol who had hoped it would be deep enough to swim in. At one point in ran through a large fault in the bedrock, and here it was possible to imagine that one was deep in an exotic jungle somewhere – indeed, some of the party half-expected to hear the growls of some large predator. However, the sudden appearance of a big multi-coloured lizard still came as a shock, particularly to Norbert, who was leading the party: he took a step back, slipped on some damp moss and, after some vain attempts to regain his balance, ended up sitting in a foot of very cold water.

"Xarax!" cried Ambar happily, partially drowning out the imprecations of Norbert, who really didn't appreciate a hip-bath of such Arctic temperatures. But he shut his mouth quickly when the haptir spread his wings and launched himself into a humming dance around his friends' heads.

"Flipping heck, that's beautiful!" exclaimed Nathanael, a boy who loved snakes and reptiles and would have sold his soul for a glimpse of a king cobra's tail.

Xarax flew around for thirty seconds or so and then resumed his rightful place on Julien's shoulders, at which point Julien felt that introductions were in order.

"Remember me telling you about Xarax, the imaginary, impossible and totally non-existent haptir? Well, this is him."

"So you really were telling the truth?" Raphael's surprise and joy at realising that the miraculous story really was factual warmed Julien's heart almost as much as being able to prove to everyone that he wasn't a liar after all. And Raphael's brother seemed to be almost desperate to come closer to this fabulous creature.

"Is it tame?" he asked. "Can I touch it?"

"If I ask him nicely he might let you get a bit closer," said Julien. "But he's not a pet. He's a person. And he's got a very nasty bite if he gets annoyed."

"I don't want to annoy him, honest!" protested Nathanael. "I'd just like…"

He fell silent because Xarax, who had followed the exchange through Julien, had jumped onto his shoulder. And whatever the Emperor's strange friend conveyed to Nathanael obviously pleased him very much, because the boy's face lit up with a radiant smile. And when Xarax jumped back onto Julien's shoulder a few seconds later tears of joy could be seen running down Nathanael's face.

"We should go back to the camp," said Julien. "Xarax is going to go and fetch someone and then he'll meet us there."

Nobody thought for one moment of disputing Julien's authority, which now seemed completely natural, and so they headed back towards the camp while the haptir flew off in another direction.

Scrambling back through the tricky rocks took a few minutes and conversation wasn't really possible while they were doing that, but once they were back on flatter ground Woodpecker felt that some sort of apology was called for.

"Well, Your Highness," he said, "when should I start eating my hat?"

"Mine, too," added Norbert.

"It's not 'Your Highness'," Julien told them. "People usually say something that translates as 'Your Lordship, but actually I hate all that stuff. If you'd just stick to calling me 'Julien' I'd be very happy indeed. But not 'Juju,' thanks."

"What's wrong with 'Juju'?" asked Norbert. "Everyone calls me 'Nono' and I'm perfectly fine with that."

"Yes, but you've got no class at all," said Grégoire.

"Just you wait till we get back to camp – I'll show you who's got class!"

"Promises, promises!"

"So your friends found you, then?" asked Woodpecker, making a deduction of Holmesian complexity.

"Apparently."

"But… you don't have to go just yet, do you?" asked Grégoire.

"Well, I'm sure everyone back there is worried about us," said Julien.

"Couldn't you stay a bit longer? Just for tonight, perhaps?"

Julien couldn't help smiling, because he was pretty sure that the request was motivated by Grégoire's desire to spend some more time with Ambar.

"Sorry," he said, "but we really can't."

"But if you're the Emperor, can't you do whatever you want?"

"Well," said Julien, "in theory, yes. And if I decided that I wanted to stay here, even if it was for a whole month, nobody over there would give me grief about it. I could even ask them to send me a tent and all home comforts with it. But that wouldn't be right. I have what you'd have to call a job to do, and people are relying on me. And it was probably very lucky that Aïn and Xarax found me at all."

"Who's Aïn?"

"He's a Guide. You'll see him shortly."

"Greg!" said Woodpecker. "Stop getting on Julien's nerves. We should all be happy that he's going to be able to get back home – even if it would have been nice if he could have stayed with us for a bit longer."

"There, you see?" said Grégoire. "You want him to be able to stay too!"

"We'd all like it if he could stay," contributed Norbert.

"Perhaps he could take us with him?" said Nathanael, hopefully.

"Yesss!!!" cried Raphael. "Go on, Julien, take us to your country – please? Pleeeeeeease???"

This wheedling tone often seemed to work when deployed against Raphael's parents, especially when he really, really wanted something.

Julien burst out laughing. Of course he didn't have a younger brother – or not yet, anyway – but he recognised the tone easily enough.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he said, once he'd recovered.

"Why not?"

"Just imagine if something happened and you got stranded on my world with no way back."

"But you've already managed to get from your world to ours, you and your mate both! And your haptir found his way here too!"

"Yes, but that was a rescue mission. We're not talking about a journey like a quick trip on the Métro, you know."

"So you don't want to take us with you?"

"I'd like to, but I can't."

"You're not nice!"

"I know, but there's nothing I can do about it."

"Just a quick visit," insisted Raphael. "We wouldn't have to stay very long…"

"Rapha!" shouted Woodpecker. "Leave him alone!"

***

"It's a blue dog!" exclaimed Grégoire.

Aïn was sitting quietly by the big patrol tent watching the small group come towards him. And then Ambar broke away and ran to him as fast as he could, hugging him with no thought at all for decorum.

"This is the Honourable Master Guide Aïn," Julien introduced him, laying a hand on his neck.

Aïn, he said silently, I'm so glad to see you! How did you find me?

I was terrified when you jumped, answered Aïn. But once we were sure that you weren't anywhere in the R'hinz – at least, not in any of the places you knew about – I thought the most likely answer was that you'd gone back to Earth. So I jumped to your parents' house by the sea, and once we got there Xarax was able to sense you – and here we are. I'm sorry it took us a while, but jumping in your country is a bit tricky if you're trying not to get noticed.

I was sure you'd find me eventually. That's why I didn't try to come back under my own steam.

I'm really glad you didn't, My Lord. But what happened?

I stupidly tried to jump to the Table, just like I usually do when I travel with you. But I forgot to grab hold of you first, and I'd forgotten to wait for Xarax, too. I promise I won't make that mistake again. And instead of the Table I found myself here in this meadow, which is weird, because I'm pretty sure I've never been here before in my life.

That's a mystery we'll have to try to solve later. But now, if you don't mind, I'm going to take you back to the Burrow. Your friends are seriously worried about you.

Julien turned to face the Scouts and Xarax settled back onto his shoulder.

"It's like I said," he told them. "We've got to go. Thanks for the meal, and for offering to help. We'd better give you back your clothes…"

"I don't mind Ambar keeping the shirt as a souvenir," said Grégoire, who was clearly still reluctant to part from the angel – or was it a young faun? – who had made such an impression on him.

"I'd better have my shorts back, though," said Raphael. "'Cos if I don't I'll be in hot water at home."

He got back not only the shorts but also the still-warm briefs, and later he surprised himself by sniffing them in an attempt – unsuccessful, sadly – at finding the fragrance of what they had briefly contained. And because the Rolling Stones shirt came halfway down Ambar's thighs he didn't even get a farewell glimpse of the boy's beautifully decorated little member. But he still wanted to make one last attempt at changing Julien's mind.

"Are you sure we can't come with you?" he asked. "Just for a few minutes…"

"Sorry," said Julien. "I can't ask a Guide to take risks just because I'd like you to come with me. And I really don't think you'd want to find yourselves stuck at the wrong end of the universe if anything happened and we couldn't bring you back. I'm truly sorry, but we're going to have to say goodbye."

So they all said goodbye. Grégoire managed to restrain himself from hugging and kissing Ambar, but he still managed to slip a little piece of paper into Julien's hand. This contained an address and phone number, 'Just in case you manage to come back one day'.

The actual departure was something of an anticlimax: there was no flash of dazzling light, no mysterious Twilight Zone music, no clap of thunder… one minute they were there, and the next they had gone. And as for the mysterious Guide, none of the boys could remember what he had looked like or even if he was actually human at all. It was really strange…

However, when Grégoire went to his rucksack that evening he got a surprise: at the bottom of it was a carefully folded white object, the texture of which he recognised immediately. He was sensible enough not to pull the laï out of the bag to show it off: instead he immediately stowed what was to become his most treasured possession in the plastic bag he had brought with him to hold his dirty laundry. And later, after he got home, he found a piece of paper hidden in the folds of the garment. The paper had been torn from his own notebook and bore a few words from Julien: 'Ambar thanks you for the tee-shirt and hopes that you will accept this little souvenir of your encounter together.'

Their return to the Burrow was greeted with joy, of course, but the episode had caused a lot of worry too: this time there had been a happy ending, but it could so easily have resulted in the loss of the Keystone of the Empire once more.

The younger members of the party soon started joking about Ambar's flamboyant New Look, and so Julien was obliged to explain the global success of the Stones. Actually he wasn't all that interested in them: he was much more a fan of the Fab Four.

***

When Subadar came to visit the following morning he had news.

"My Lord," he began, "Aïn went back to the place he found you and this is what he discovered there."

He handed Julien a small disc of grey metal, and Julien knew what it was straight away.

"A target-klirk?" he queried. "What was it doing on Earth? And whose is it? Aïn must know, surely!"

Aïn came close enough for Julien to be able to touch.

I couldn't understand why you jumped to that particular point, Aïn told him. Logically you ought to have gone back to your parents' house. There was no reason at all for you to go to that other spot. In fact, it would have been far more likely that if something went wrong with your Gift you'd have gone somewhere within the R'hinz. But you didn't, and nor did you go to the obvious place on Earth. Something must have taken you to the place you did end up at. So I found the exact spot where you arrived – which wasn't hard, because your scent was still fresh – and I started digging. Fortunately the layer of soil there wasn't very deep. And I found the target-klirk. There's no possible mistake: it's one of your own.

One of my own? But I haven't got any!

Yulmir had several. And Yulmir is you, My Lord.

But that makes no sense!

Perhaps, but those are the facts. There are only two possibilities: either Yulmir visited your world in the past, or someone else placed one of his target-klirks there. Anyway, that's why you ended up there, as opposed to anywhere else on the planet.

"What do you make of it, Subadar?" asked Julien. "I'm sure Aïn has already told you what he just told me."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Oh, stop calling me that, would you? It makes my skin creep."

"Sorry, Julien. Anyway, his theory holds water, and it starts to explain why you turned up outside the R'hinz. On the other hand it does raise some questions that we can't yet answer. As far as I'm aware the Emperor never proposed exploring your world, and there's no trace of it in the archives."

"Are you sure?"

"Something like that could hardly have passed unnoticed."

"Perhaps Xarax remembers something. I'll go and find him – he's probably with Dillik."

In fact Xarax was already on the way, flying quietly so as not to disturb those who were having a lie-in. He landed on Aïn's back for a moment and then moved to his usual place on Julien's shoulder.

I have never heard of a journey that went outside the R'hinz, he said. If Yulmir went to Earth he managed to do it without his haptir finding out, and that's practically impossible.

"Xarax knows nothing about it," Julien reported. "And he says it would have been almost impossible for Yulmir to have gone to Earth without Xarax's knowledge."

"Then we're left with the hypothesis that someone stole one of the Emperor's klirks – and believe me, that wouldn't have been easy – and took it to Earth, or gave it to an accomplice to take to Earth and to bury it in that spot," said Subadar. "And of course we've got no idea of when this might have happened: it might have been several centuries ago. There's nothing on the target-klirk to indicate when it was made, and the metal scarcely ages at all. What I can say, though, is that there must have been some sort of a return of your previous nature. Otherwise I don't think the klirk would have drawn you to it."

"To be honest, Subadar, I much prefer it when the returning memories are ones about you."

"I'm flattered, but I don't think there's much we can do to influence what comes back to you."

"So what should we do now?"

"I don't think there's much we can do right now. I'll start a proper search of the archives and I think Aïn ought to check the records of the klirk-makers, but to be honest I'll be surprised if we find anything. As for you, I suggest you take a few days off. Go and relax at Rüpel Gyamtso for a bit."

***

Subadar's exhortation to go and relax was sincerely meant, but it was impossible to relax completely while the Empire was still undergoing events whose outcome nobody could foresee, and so it didn't surprise Julien at all when Dennkar and Tannder came and interrupted his morning swim. At least it meant that this meeting could take place on a beach beneath the shade of some large trees.

"My Lord," said Dennkar, "we've found out a bit more about our enemies. We didn't find out a lot from the probing of that first agent, Yakder, because he was too junior to know very much. But he did help us to build up a bit of a picture of their culture and history.

"Originally their people, the Dalanns, are supposed to have come 'from the stars' and had settled on Talak, developing a culture entirely geared towards the discovery and conquest of more worlds. However, they weren't able to travel 'to the stars' because their ships, although capable of prodigious speeds, couldn't get past some kind of limit which is related, so far as we can tell, to light itself."

"Yes, the limit is the speed of light," confirmed Julien, happy to be able to put his passion for science fiction to some practical use. "You can't travel faster than light."

"So they had to settle for just visiting the worlds around Nyinka, their sun," continued Subadar. "And that's why they went on to develop a process they had apparently 'brought from the stars', which was something called a 'no-field generator', and which is a bit like a mechanical version of the Art of our Guides. Once they'd built it they started exploring the universe with it, and so eventually they found us. It took a long time – several thousand cycles, apparently. They stumbled on Dvârinn, and that led them to the existence of the Guides. That was a tremendously important discovery for them, because their no-field generator uses – or, rather, used – tremendous amounts of energy, while a Guide can do the same thing on virtually no energy at all."

"Do we know why that is?" asked Julien.

Wenn Hyaï, who had transported the two Warriors to Rüpel Gyamtso, moved close enough to establish contact with him.

We think it's basically a matter of sharpness, he said.

Sharpness?

Yes, My Lord. For example, if you want to sew a garment you use a needle that can slip easily through the material. If you tried to sew using a nail you'd need to exert a lot more pressure and you'd damage the cloth, too. Now try to imagine sewing using a tree-trunk, assuming for a moment that the cloth is big enough and strong enough: you'd have to exert a colossal amount of pressure. That's only a rough analogy, of course, but it gives you an idea of what I mean by 'sharpness'. The mind of a Guide – indeed, your own mind, My Lord – is like the finest needle imaginable and so it can slip effortlessly through the material of the universe. In contrast, their 'no-field generator' was an incredibly blunt instrument, and it also left great rips in the Outside that we were able to use to trace where it had been, once it occurred to us to start looking for them.

"As far as we've been able to make out," said Dennkar, "they had a very long-term plan to annex the Nine Worlds, and the plan had moved into an active stage of trying to destabilise our political system. We're sure to learn more about this before too long: so far a little over a hundred of their agents have turned themselves in and we've started to probe the ones who agree to it. However, it seems likely that the ones who chose not to surrender, for whatever reason, are likely to react violently and dangerously. And unfortunately those are likely to be the ones who know most about the enemy's plans."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" asked Julien.

"For the time being, the mere fact that you're back with us and safe is all the help we need."

"'Thank you, Dennkar. Now, perhaps Master Tannder would like to have his disciple back?"

"No, thank you, Julien," said Tannder. "I like Karik being with me very much, but right now there's no work that he's really suited for, and I'm happy for him to have a little break. Consider him to be officially on holiday."

"Now I'm getting worried about you," said Julien. "I'm not used to you being quite that generous. Are you sure you're not getting soft in your old age?"

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

Julien opened his mouth to answer, but then saw the glint in Tannder's eye.

"Don't worry," he said, "Karik hasn't been gossiping about you!"

Dennkar laughed and clapped Tannder on the back.

"That's you told!" he said.

It wasn't too long before duty called Julien away from his relaxation once more: as he was about to join Dillik on his catamaran and set off in pursuit of Niil he was intercepted by a messenger from House Bakhtar, who handed him a note from Lord Aldegard respectfully requesting an interview whenever the Emperor could find some time in his schedule. The mere fact that the messenger had been able to find him exactly here and at this moment indicated clearly that Aldegard knew precisely what he was doing, which in turn suggested that he thought Julien could easily spare him a little of his off-duty time. As he had no reason for wanting to annoy his senior Mirror the Emperor abandoned his planned catamaran race, rounded up his haptir and his personal Guide and headed for the nearest klirk.

After apologising for dragging him away and offering some refreshments Aldegard got straight down to the reason for his note.

"Ajmer, the traitor who dragged the honour of my House through the mire, has now told us everything he knows about the enemy and his plans," he said.

"I'd guess that didn't amount to much."

"That's true. So now he's of no further use to our counter-intelligence service."

"You're probably right."

"So now I'm entitled to demand justice with no further delay."

"Um… what exactly do you mean by that?" asked Julien. "Don't forget that I promised to see him dead only if Tannder failed to recover from his injuries. And I'm happy to say that Tannder is now in good shape."

"I haven't forgotten, My Lord. But two other men died and a third will never recover completely. Moreover, the honour of my House…"

"Aldegard, as far as I'm concerned the honour of House Bakhtar is still intact. If it wasn't, you wouldn't be my Mirror any longer."

Of course Julien wasn't completely surprised by the direction the conversation was taking: he'd known that this subject was likely to spring up sooner or later.

"Please believe me, My Lord, when I say that your trust is the most precious thing to me, and that your continued belief in me…"

As unlikely as it seemed, it looked as if Aldegard was on the brink of tears. He swallowed and got his voice under control and then went on, "However, it will be expected of me not to let his treachery pass unpunished."

"Does that mean that you're going to demand his exile to Tandil?"

"Well, I could do that, but I'm not yet so decrepit as to have to do things in such an underhand way."

"You mean, you want to fight him?!"

"I would like to have your permission to do so, My Lord."

"Suppose I refuse to give it? I'm sure I have the right to do that. After all, I don't want to let some pathetic little turncoat deprive me of both a friend and an indispensable ally. I'm not trying to disparage your ability with a sword here, but accidents do sometimes happen."

"If you refuse your permission, My Lord, of course I will obey you."

"Good!"

"But…"

"I knew it couldn't be that easy!"

"I would have to step down as Mirror, and probably also pass my duties as First Lord to someone more worthy. After all, nobody would expect the Emperor to be represented by someone who couldn't even…"

"Yes, I know – who couldn't even bathe in the blood of his foes, and so on, and so forth. You should try reading El Cid. I'm sure you would find it immensely appealing. Look, Aldegard, this whole business is just annoying. Heaven knows the bastard deserves to end up as a tak's hors d'oeuvre, and I really don't want to risk losing you. Why are all my friends so keen on getting themselves skewered? First Niil and now you…"

"Well…"

"Of course you have my permission! How could I refuse? But you'd better get some serious training in, because if I lose you…"

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be, My Lord."

"Now there's a surprise. So how soon do you want to do this?"

"I don't want to spoil your… the time you spend with your friends."

"Get to the point. When?"

"Tomorrow would be a good day for it, My Lord."

"I see. And I expect you'd like me to attend the performance?"

"Your presence would be an honour, My Lord."

"If you use the word 'honour' one more time I swear I'm going to kill you!"

"Well, My Lord…"

"So how does it work? At dawn in the garden of the Tower?"

"We can certainly do it like that if you want, My Lord. But it's more usual to do it shortly after noon, and in the hall of arms."

"Of course – how silly of me! There's nothing like a fight to the death to aid the digestion! Very well – I'll be there."

When he got back to the villa Julien had recovered his poise and was able to hide his worries to some extent. But there was no fooling those who knew him best, such as Niil and Ambar, and so he explained the latest developments to them.

"Don't worry about it," advised Niil. "We've always done things this way – and it's not as though Ajmer didn't ask for it."

"Obviously. I know he behaved like a moron. I just don't see why a decent man has to risk his own life just because one of his cousins acted like a prick."

"He wasn't just a cousin – he was his First Councillor, too."

"All right, but I just don't like a system where you only have to be better with a dagger or sword to kill good people legally. If I'm strong and I spit in your face, either you chicken out and lose your authority, or you fight and get killed. Oh, sure, you die with your honour intact, but you're still dead and your family and friends have to cope without you in future. And the fact that another champion can fight me later and kill me, or that I can get sent to Tandil, isn't going to bring you back from the dead."

"It's not as simple as that."

"I know that. I'm not completely dim. But I'd like to remind you that you were ready to go and get butchered by a piece of shit who had already murdered your father just because you were afraid that people would say you lacked balls if you backed out of it."

"That's not true at all – that isn't why I wanted to fight!"

"No, you're right. I'm sorry – maybe I'm being unfair. But there's still something seriously wrong with the system as it stands. And if one of your kin tried to plot against me in future I would refuse to risk losing you in such a stupid way."

Niil was ready to argue, but it was clear from Julien's tone that it wasn't an argument he could hope to win.

"All right," he said. "Perhaps I don't understand properly yet, but let's leave it: the man's done enough damage already without getting you and me to fight each other. I really don't want that to happen again – ever – so let's just change the subject, all right?"

"That's good advice. You can be a pretty decent Privy Councillor when you try, you know."

"I'm the best there is. And I think I ought to go with you tomorrow. I'd consider it my duty."

"I'm coming too," said Ambar.

The loud unison "NO!!" that greeted this suggestion persuaded him that there wouldn't be any point in asking again later.

***

Of course, Ambar's nature meant that he couldn't hold a grudge: he couldn't sulk for very long, and tantrums weren't his thing at all. Besides, he recognised that he'd been phenomenally lucky to get where he was now. He was still capable of flashes of anger, and could swear like a trooper when annoyed. He could still lie sometimes, too. But something in his make-up protected him from the worst of the base passions, and hatred, ingratitude and jealousy never entered his soul. Which is why a couple of minutes later he'd moved the subject on to happier matters and led Julien back to the beach.

The massive Hall of Arms of Bakhtar Tower had been laid out specially for the event. Tiered seating had been arranged on both sides of the hall to hold the members of the fighters' families, because although Aldegard and Ajmer were cousins, they were far enough removed for their kinsmen to form two distinct groups. Altogether there were around thirty people sitting on the polished wooden benches. At one end a dais had been set up with seats for Julien, Tannder and Niil, and to reach it they had to pass between the protagonists of the drama. Julien greeted Lady Delia and her daughter Izkya with a nod, and did the same for Ajmer's wife Heyni and his two young children Halda and Adjor.

Once Julien, who was dressed for the occasion in the dark-green hatik he now wore for all ceremonial events, had reached his place Aldegard got up from his bench and spoke in a voice that could be heard throughout the hall.

"I, Aldegard, seek restitution for the damage done to the honour of my house! I demand the blood of the traitor Ajmer, and am determined to take it, with the leave of the Emperor!"

He bowed to Julien, who acknowledged his request with a curt nod. Then Ajmer stood up and pronounced the ritual response.

"I, Ajmer, am determined to prevent it!"

With no further ceremony both stripped to the waist and moved to the fight area. There was no salute: they simply ran at each other and began the dance of death. Both had clearly had good teachers and both were at the peak of their fitness. Aldegard was visibly older than his cousin, but it was immediately obvious that this made him no less dangerous.

Julien wished he could have just closed his eyes and avoided having to watch, the way he had occasionally done at the cinema. But he knew that he couldn't: it was sure to be taken as an insult if he did. After all, two men were fighting for their lives, and one was one of his closest supporters.

The fact that he now had enough training himself to be able to follow the contest with understanding somehow made it worse: he almost lived through each attack, feint, parry and riposte as if he was making them himself. And he was afraid for both of them, anticipating continually the lightning bite of the blade into flesh.

And then Aldegard made the tiny slip which, sooner or later, decides every passage of arms, leaving a minuscule opening in the complex system of his defence through which Ajmer's blue steel djangtri plunged at once. A thin purple line was left as evidence. Technically Aldegard was dead – and yet he lived. Ajmer had held back the stroke.

Julien stood up, unconsciously unsheathing his own nagtri. He took the four quick steps needed to bring himself between the fighters, who stepped back, breathing heavily.

He turned to Ajmer and said, "Lord Ajmer, you will die with honour."

Then he turned to Aldegard.

"Lord Aldegard," he said, "your honour is restored, and I beg you to renounce your claim for vengeance on a man who, as a sign of his own repentance, has just given me your life."

He placed his forefinger against the scratch that Aldegard hadn't even noticed, and Aldegard stared in astonishment at the death-mark on his skin.

"Honourable Master Tannder!" said Julien. "Did I judge the stroke correctly?"

"You judged correctly, My Lord."

Julien faced the families sitting along the sides of the hall.

"Does anyone claim to have seen otherwise?" he asked.

But before anyone could answer Aldegard spoke.

"This is a dead man speaking," he said. "If Ajmer had driven the stroke home he would have killed me. My Lord, you judged well and I bow to your wisdom. Lord Ajmer has just presented you with my life, and for that he is entitled to my gratitude – not for having spared me, but for having chosen not to deprive you of a loyal servant."

"So your life is mine?" asked Julien.

"It has always been yours, My Lord."

"And your honour is yours, as it has always been. Can anyone here claim that Lord Aldegard did not act according to the strict rules of honour?"

There was silence.

"Lord Ajmer," Julien went on, "your lack of judgement and loyalty brought you to dishonour. It was me whom you betrayed when you betrayed the Empire. Can anyone here dispute my right to judge the one who wronged me?"

He was looking at Tannder as he said this, and so Tannder replied, "Nobody can do so, My Lord."

"Aldegard, will you abide by my decision?" asked Julien.

"If I am the Mirror of the Emperor, you are the Mirror of Honour, My Lord."

"Then I declare that Lord Ajmer of the Bakhtars has, by his generous gesture towards the Empire, made amends for part of the wrong against me. Clearly I can't restore a man who has shown such a lack of judgement to his previous position . But I declare that his honour is restored and will remain intact as long as he lives as he should.

"His deeds resulted in the death of two men and put a third into a serious condition. I therefore sentence Lord Ajmer to take care of their families exactly as he cares for his own House. He must also surrender the leadership of the minor branch of House Bakhtar of which he is head and see to it that the Lordship of that line is passed to whoever should take it over as soon as possible. Lord Ajmer, please approach."

Ajmer had the thoughtfulness to kneel before Julien, since otherwise he would have loomed over him by several inches.

"Ajmer," said Julien, "you see that my nagtri is in my hand? That blade was a gift from a powerful friend who, in his own way, served the Empire before leaving us. It is a blade that once drank my blood, and it will drink yours too if you ever again forget that you also serve the Empire."

***

"You don't look happy," commented Niil when they got back to Rüpel Gyamtso and were changing out of their ceremonial clothes and into much lighter laïs. "I don't know why not – I thought you handled that brilliantly."

"I'm not happy," said Julien. "I almost lost Aldegard there, and if it hadn't been for Ajmer's decency I would have done. That's why I insisted on thanking him, sort of. But it's all going to happen again somewhere else, and next time it might be a fool who decides he is going to kill someone I can't manage without. I'm not talking about you personally here, but sometimes I think you're a bunch of savages, the way you…"

"Of course you're right," said Niil. "We should take lessons from the wise Earthlings and settle our quarrels by bombing the shit out of each other. That's so much more civilised!"

"All right, I know it isn't. But I really wish I could do something to change things!"

"You've done plenty already. Simply ordering the closing of the arms dumps, for a start. Everybody resented it, including me, if I'm honest: you were taking our toys away, like we were naughty kids. All right, I suppose I am still a kid, but the others…! But now I can see that you had to do it."

"Thank you."

"And in Ajmer's case, too. I'm not quite sure what yet, but I'm sure you've effected a change of some sort, and it's going to get talked about right round the Nine Worlds, too."

"I hope it does!"

"I don't think you realise quite what you are."

"So what am I?"

"I'm sure that Subadar or Xarax could it explain it better than I can, but… you're the one who stops everyone from making monumental mistakes. Like the stupidity that destroyed Emm Talak, for example. That's a lesson that's lasted a very long time already."

"Yes, but you, at least, know that I'm not that Yulmir!"

"Julien, I know that you are that Yulmir, even though you're my friend too."

"But…"

"You might not realise it, but that's how things are. We've talked about it with Tannder and the others, and they agree that just about everything you've done since you got here confirms that you are Yulmir. The rest of what you are is only important to you and those of us who love you."

"That's not easy to take on board, you know."

"I know, and that's why we leave you in peace as much as we can. We don't see places like this as a luxury – rather this is just a little compensation that helps you to cope with things. The people of the Nine Worlds are not ungrateful, I promise you, and nor are they so naïve that they think you can solve everything with a click of your fingers. But there is a lot that depends on you – and of course there are people, quite a lot of them, who wouldn't be at all sorry if they could get rid of the person who stops them from doing whatever they want to."

"I can understand the way they're thinking. Perhaps I should finance a minor revolution."

"Don't make jokes like that. It has happened in the past, you know."

"What, Yulmir funded a revolution against himself?"

"No! At least, I don't think so. But attempts have been made."

"And what happened?"

"Each time Yulmir disappeared for a hundred cycles or so."

"And?"

"The memory of what happened last time is still so vivid, and so horrible, that nobody has tried it since. And that was eighteen hundred cycles ago."

"Perhaps next time there could be a better outcome?"

"That's what they said every time. And every time it worked out the same."

"So now nobody wants to try changing the system of government any more? Nobody fancies trying democracy, or something?"

"No, that's not it, and we have tried changing things from time to time – in fact I suppose we've probably tried just about every form of government there is. But the one thing we're agreed on is that we don't want to get rid of the Emperor of the Nine Worlds – who, let me remind you, doesn't actually govern us."

"Like the Queen of England."

"I don't know that lady, but I do know the Emperor."

"You lucky so-and-so! You're obviously really well connected!"

"I've even seen him naked!"

"No! Really? And is he good-looking?"

"Let me think for a moment…"

"Ever heard of a place called Tandil? It's a charming place to visit, so I'm told."

"Then let me say that the Emperor exceeds my poor self in every possible way. His Diamond Sceptre radiates power, and the very stones of the benches in the garden groan with pleasure when he sits upon them. He…"

But Niil's lyrical attempts were, perhaps fortunately, cut short by the arrival of Ambar, who was keen for them to get back to sailing the little catamarans across the lake.

Gradually Julien's dark mood lifted: it was hard not to be affected by Ambar's constant good humour or Dillik's antics. Karik, too, seemed to have recovered from his recent adventures, and although he seemed more mature now, probably as a result of his relationship with Tannder, he was once again the kind and thoughtful boy he had always been.

So when they responded to Lord Tahlil's invitation to take part in the maiden voyage of his new First Trankenn they did so happily, almost like a loving family. Only a few invitations had been issued, and that meant that it was possible for Julien to walk around the vessel without constantly coming face to face with people who would want to talk to him.

The atmosphere on board was almost like that of a pleasure cruise, and although a constant flow of messengers came and went bearing news of what was happening throughout the Nine Worlds Tannder made sure that Julien was only consulted about those matters for which his authorisation was essential. This meant that he only had to sit through a one hour briefing a day to keep up to date with whatever was being done in his name.

The ship lived up to expectations. Smaller than the huge monstrosities that were more common on Dvârinn she was really built for speed: the arrangement of sails and the shape of the hull were designed to allow her to sail very close to the wind and to out-race just about every vessel afloat except for the ultra-light boats designed purely for sport. Master Dendjor was clearly delighted to find himself captain of such a magnificent vessel, and Dillik, as his son, was given the immense privilege of being allowed to spend two hours a day at his side, wearing his own naval uniform, to soak up the atmosphere and act as runner for the ship's officers. At times this meant climbing high into the rigging, watched from a distance by an anxious haptir and from much closer by an experienced topman who had been detailed to teach him some of the tricks of the trade.

A number of balls were held, though these were kept fairly low-key and lacking in protocol, and as a result Julien felt justified in staying away from them, although Niil attended them quite happily. There were also visits to a number of islands whose populations greeted them enthusiastically, not least because they generally became richer by entertaining the new Mirror and his guests.

Of course the purpose of the voyage wasn't simply to entertain a lot of idle high-ups. It was partly to make sure that the most powerful people on Dvârinn recognised Lord Tahlil's new status and respected him accordingly, and partly to make a point to the various pirate brotherhoods that there was a new broom around – and it was clear from the speed and power of this vessel that the old ways were coming to a swift end: there would be no more graft, no more little gifts slipped to officials to look the other way. Instead the sea brigands were going to have to think seriously about giving up piracy altogether: they would either have to find legitimate ways to use their talents or face up to the fact that they were now faced with a powerful, implacable opponent. It helped that the imperial civil service had also had it spelled out to them, in graphic terms, what the consequences of accepting bribes might be, and they had quickly recognised that the new Mirror was disconcertingly keen on respecting the rule of law. There was even a rumour going around that the Emperor had presented his Mirror with a sheath of one-way tickets to Tandil to use as he saw fit. There was no truth in that particular rumour, but Julien had been happy to approve its promulgation via the network of Tahlil's agents. Of course, he and Tahlil both recognised that they couldn't hope to extinguish the old ways at a stroke and for all time, but they thought it was well worth spreading the message that things had changed and that lawlessness with impunity was a thing of the past. And the insincere smiles of some of the nobility, whose purses had benefited from piracy in the past, suggested that they were doing the right thing.

***

All the same, Julien wasn't fooled by the good mood which seemed to have affected his closest advisers. He was still very worried about the off-world agents who had apparently decided to remain underground instead of turning themselves in: there was clearly good reason to worry about what desperate people, cut off from their base and surely in possession of dangerous weapons, might be planning to do.

So on the eleventh day of the voyage they put together a plan and immediately set it into action. Dennkar was given the responsibility of assembling a unit of men whose only task would be to locate the Dalanni agents who were still at large and either capture or kill them. It was also decided that the unit should be armed appropriately – you don't send archers out against machine-guns, after all – which is why Julien had had once again to open the Der Mang secret weapons depot in order to arm Dennkar's men. He wasn't at all happy about it: he recognised the need, but he hated those who had forced him to open the proverbial box once more.

***

However, as the voyage went on, now threading its way through the archipelagos of the tropics, Julien was able to relax enough to enjoy what was still more or less a holiday before he undertook the arduous task of recovering the status of Emperor of the Nine Worlds. Every day he wanted that to happen less, but it was clearly something he was destined to suffer.

The most important humans of the Nine Worlds made short courtesy visits to the trankenn. These allowed them to get to know Lord Tahlil and also to pay their respects to the one who they were now starting to see more easily as their Emperor. This was because, while Julien remained his courteous and charming self, he was gradually coming more and more to assume the role of Emperor, and he was able to project the feeling that he was determined to remain the guardian of the laws, rules and customs which allowed the Empire to flourish.

But he also knew how to keep his private domain safe from outside interference, and his large private apartments had become almost a small independent state free of any other authority but his own. Of course he managed never to exert that authority at all: he was happy just to see his little band of friends enjoying themselves.

The few adults who held the position of teachers were, to their surprise, regularly invited by their students to bestow those treasures of knowledge and wisdom which are supposed to come with advancing age. Subadar, for example, had the privilege of spending long hours alone with Julien, instructing him on such esoteric matters as the transfer of the power to open the Gift of the Guides or Healers, or a whole host of other aptitudes and abilities connected with the various guilds of the Major Arts. Obviously it wouldn't be possible for Julien to undertake any practical training until he had recovered the stability that had been temporarily disrupted by the physical changes he was undergoing, but there was an important body of theoretical knowledge that needed to be assimilated.

The fact that these interviews usually took place on deck under an awning, which gave them all the benefits of a summer's day with a nice cool breeze without risking any damage to Julien's milky skin was seen by the Grand Master of the Circle of Major Arts as a fringe benefit which went a long way towards compensating him for the amount of effort required to concentrate on purely academic subjects. This difficulty in concentrating wasn't helped by Julien's choice of garment: His Lordship had chosen to 'cover himself' with a very thin, almost diaphanous, baggy undergarment which had a tendency to float about as the wind eddied back from the sails. It was actually considerably more erotic than it would have been if Julien had chosen to wear nothing at all, since this appalling garment offered fleeting glimpses of what was already suggested by the way the material tended, in a most disturbing way, to cling to what was beneath it.

Of course it would only have taken a word from Subadar to put a stop to this distraction, but he was naturally reluctant to deprive Julien, who was already overburdened by the worries of an Empire, of the freedom to wear whatever he wanted. And of course Subadar could always tell himself that this way he could check daily for a glimpse – well, all right, a few glimpses – of the evolution of the process which was interfering with Julien's ability to do his duties without having to ask embarrassing questions.

Denntar was one of the architectural wonders of Dvârinn. It was on the summit of an island which was almost exactly on the equator, and it consisted of a large park containing an open-air observatory of the type that had existed on Earth at the peak of the Mogul or Mayan civilisations. But, unlike those weather-beaten and decrepit monuments which were now visited only by tourists, the Denntar observatory was still in use, and so was regularly maintained and, indeed, improved. The great green granite blocks, laid out in circular arcs and inlaid with engraved crystal bands, looked freshly polished, and the movable sighting instruments showed not the tiniest sign of rust. And a hundred metres away from the stone observatory was a dome of polished metal which housed an instrument whose technology was in no way inferior to the most up-to-date Earth telescopes, descriptions and photographs of which Julien had seen in popular scientific journals.

"I don't understand, Subadar," he said. "You have this powerful modern telescope, but you still use the old open-air observatory?"

"You have to understand," Subadar told him, "that the Science of the Sky is also an Art, and a lot of people take great pleasure in practising it. For a lot of purposes you don't need to use instruments like the Deep Eye. There are even some people who think that you can discover your own destiny by studying the course of the stars."

"On Earth that's called astrology. My mother says that she doesn't believe in it, but she still read her horoscope in the paper every morning!"

"Well, some of the people who come here do so for precisely that reason. But some just like to observe the stars the way their ancestors did. Others come here for religious reasons. They could simply use the tables and ephemerides published by the observatory, but they're very attached to the idea of seeing the constellations for themselves. In any case it doesn't do any harm, and it's a way of ensuring that the observatory is well-maintained."

"Can you see the other worlds of the R'hinz with a telescope?"

"We have no idea where they are. We don't even know if they're all in the same galaxy. But it really doesn't matter, because the Guides simply don't see distance like that. Which is a good thing, because it's practically impossible to travel between worlds using any other means."

"And if the people we met recently are anything to go by I should say that's a jolly good thing. But, still… on Earth we've just started flying to the Moon, and people think it's the start of a huge adventure which will eventually take us to the stars."

"Well, that's apparently what the Dalannis did. But they realised that they weren't actually going to be able to get very far like that – which is why they developed their no-field generator, of course."

"So you don't think that space conquest is possible?"

"I don't know. I think you can stumble across interesting things in the process, if you insist on pushing technology further and further. But it's a totally inefficient method of visiting and exploring other worlds. And you only have to look at Emm Talak to see what happens if you push technology too far."

"That's not exactly reassuring!"

"No, it's not. You could say that's one of the main reasons for having an Emperor of the Nine Worlds."

"You're not leaving me a lot of choice, are you?"

"You know perfectly well that it isn't my decision. Believe me, Julien, if there was a way to free you from this burden I'd take it like a shot."

"I do believe you, Subadar, and thank you. But I'd sooner not spoil our visit here by worrying about stuff. I think I'll go and join the others in that pleasure garden place they were talking about."

"You mean Ob Talaam Garden. It's not very far – just follow the path of pink stone and it'll take you straight there. I think Aïn should go with you, but I'm going to have a chat with the Chief Archivist of the observatory before I join you."

***

The path meandered through relatively sparse vegetation which had been specially chosen to offer the visitor an evolving mixture of colours and scents that turned the walk into a sort of show. Julien kept his hand lightly on Aïn's neck so that he could have a conversation with him while the walked, and at the same time he tried to keep track of Xarax, who was having a lot of fun trying to remain hidden in the background.

Aïn, said Julien, it's really kind of you to accompany me everywhere I go. I feel bad about imposing on you like this. I know you see it as your duty and that you're happy to serve the Empire, but I'm sure you have plenty of other things to do. I could find another Guide if you like…

No, Julien, for now you'll have to put up with me. I know I might not be the ideal companion, but still…

I didn't mean that at all.

I know. I was just joking. I know I'm utterly charming. But, seriously, until you get your powers back properly I'm not going to let you travel with any other Guide. And now that you're wearing my target-klirk on that chain round your neck I'll be able to follow you wherever you go even if you do suddenly disappear unexpectedly again.

I'm sure that's a good thing. But I don't think you have to worry just yet. Every time we go anywhere I try jumping, but nothing ever happens. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but at least it should mean I don't suddenly vanish again.

I'm not worried. Your Gift will return, I'm sure, and then we can get back to your tr…

The Guide's head disappeared in an explosion of red mist, and at the same time a loud bang echoed through the trees. At once Julien felt the familiar weight of Xarax landing on his shoulder, and that contact immediately set him ready to fight. The universe suddenly seemed to slow down, and he heard Xarax's voice in his head.

Jump! it said. Anywhere, but go!

"Tchok…"

***

…tseh!"

It was night-time, it was raining, and he was alone

He knew where he was. The desperation that had enabled him to summon the Gift which had been consistently avoiding his control had sent him here, to exactly the same place as last time. The smell of the wet meadow confirmed it, and he knew that if he crouched down he'd be able to feel the grass for himself.

He was deeply shocked. Not only had Xarax failed to jump with him, but Aïn was certainly dead.

The light rain was making his hair wet and starting to trickle down his back. He raised the hood of his abba. He wasn't yet cold, although this place was considerably less balmy than the tropical island he had just left. His eyes were slowly adapting to the dark. There was a feeble light filtering through the clouds, but without a flashlight walking wouldn't be easy. He had no idea what time it was, and so he didn't know how long the darkness would last. He had to find some sort of shelter as soon as possible. His abba offered good insulation and it was waterproof, but it had no built-in heating. Still, at least he hadn't left the trankenn wearing no more than a laï!

But… Aïn was dead! He had actually seen his head explode! Slowly the horror was starting to take hold of him again. Someone had killed the Guide in cold blood, almost certainly to prevent him, Julien, from escaping from those who wanted to abduct him – because obviously if they had wanted to kill him, they'd have shot him instead of Aïn.

He started to walk carefully in what he thought was the direction of the woods. It might not be dry there, but at least the trees could offer some shelter from the wind and the rain.

But… why wasn't Xarax with him?

This time he was truly lost, stranded in a world which was no longer his. As he walked across the uneven ground he realised that nobody was going to come and rescue him this time: in losing Aïn, he had lost not only a true friend, but also the only Guide who knew how to find the path to Earth.

He started to cry, heavy, uncontrollable sobs. The shock had caught up with him, submerging his mind beneath a mixture of sorrow for Aïn, retrospective terror and self-pity.

***

He soon reached the edge of the wood and, after a few minutes during which he managed to calm down a little, he finally found the start of the path he had seen during his previous visit. It did indeed offer some shelter from the worst of the weather, and although it was darker under the trees his night vision was now fully active and he could at least make out the path without too much difficulty. He decided to keep walking. He had nothing with him that he could use to light a fire, and he figured that if if he didn't keep moving he would, to quote his mother, 'catch his death of cold'.

Fortunately his sandals were of the highest quality, and although they were open to the wind they were perfectly adapted to long journeys on foot. By now the path was climbing quite steeply and frequently looped back on itself. There were gaps in the vegetation which would have afforded him views of the surrounding landscape on a clearer night, but as it was they only exposed him more to an unpleasantly chilly breeze.

As he walked along, trying to avoid stones and puddles, he considered his predicament. He didn't want to wander too far from the place where he had arrived, at least for now, because it would be there that anyone launching a rescue attempt would be likely to start looking for him. Although Aïn wouldn't be able to make the journey, he was sure that any number of other Guides would make the attempt. And if they could reach Earth Xarax would then be able to tell them which direction they had to take to find him – provided, of course, that Xarax hadn't been killed too, in which case he'd be left to his own resources, which were, he thought, pretty meagre. He supposed that eventually, if nobody came to find him, he would have to try jumping again. But he didn't know if he would be able to do that at all, and even if he could there was no guarantee that he wouldn't end up somewhere a lot worse than this.

Inn the meantime he would have to take steps to prevent himself from dying of hunger or exposure. He would also have to make sure that he dodged the police, because he was sure he wouldn't be able to offer them any sort of explanation as to who he was and where he had come from.

First he would have to steal some clothes. His bronze-green abba was certainly an elegant garment, but it was distinctly exotic, and hardly the thing he needed if he was to pass unnoticed. He would need to find an unwatched clothes-line, but there would be no chance of any housewife hanging out her laundry unless it stopped raining. He'd also need to steal some food, and he thought that would be even more difficult. He had no idea what might be growing in vegetable gardens at that time of year, but unless he found some lettuce or radishes he had no idea of what might be edible. Perhaps the first cherries might be ripe, but he didn't think he could live on hypothetical cherries for very long. And the idea of killing any chicken that was stupid enough to let him get close was a complete non-starter: he certainly didn't fancy eating it raw, and he had no means of cooking it. He'd tried the usual stone-age methods of making fire while he was in the Scouts and the results had simply been pathetic. And then there was the question of his Marks, which he would certainly have to lose, because even if he could get hold of a pair of shorts and a checked shirt…

He finally reached level ground. Large boulders lay scattered across the landscape and the trees had given way to low scrub, gorse and bramble which provided almost no protection from the wind. Fortunately by now the rain had eased, and so now it was only the wind tormenting him by sneaking through every little opening in his clothing.

The path became smoother, eventually opening out into two parallel whitish tracks which indicated that vehicles came this way quite regularly. Eventually this led to a narrow tarmac road. Having nothing to indicate which way went where he chose to go right, hoping that eventually it would lead him to a village, and preferably before too long. After all, this was France, not the middle of the Gobi Desert…

All the same he had been walking for almost an hour before he reached the entrance to a little lane, next to which was a sign informing him that the road was private and that it lead to the M… Holiday Centre which was run by the Council of works of the L… Group. He hesitated only for a few seconds before deciding to try his luck down the lane.

As he had hoped, the buildings of the holiday centre were deserted. Shutters covered every opening and the doors were locked. However, he found not only a large covered playground which offered shelter from the wind, but also an unlocked shed. There was a light switch inside the door of the shed but it didn't work: obviously the power had been turned off when the centre had been closed up. However, in the dim light filtering through the door and a cobweb-covered window he could see that the room was completely empty, which explained why it had been left unlocked. He looked around in vain for a sack, a piece of cardboard or some discarded plywood, and in the end he had to sit on the bare concrete floor. He was in shelter, but it looked as if it was going to be a long night.

***

Julien hardly slept at all. Cold concrete doesn't make the best bed in the world, or the best chair either, although in his exhaustion he did manage to doze for a couple of hours sitting in a corner of the room.

He got up as soon as dawn started to lighten the sky. He was cold and his bottom was sore, and he felt worse than he had for a very long time. His morale was extremely low. He was terribly aware of the mess he was in, and the death of Aïn was weighing heavily on his heart: this was the first time death had ever taken someone really close to him.

He was hungry, too, and thirsty, and he really felt the need to get something hot inside him. Outside the shed he found that it wasn't raining, but the overcast weather gave him little hope of an early appearance from the sun. He decided that the best thing to do would be to conduct a full exploration of the site in the hope of being able to find a way into the main building.

The place wasn't exactly fortified: there were several shutters worn enough to allow his hand to slip past if he cut the weakened wood a bit. He thanked Tannder's insistence that he should carry his nagtri at all times, and in fact he doubted whether even a brand new shutter could have withstood the bite of its blade for very long. He cursed himself for not having thought of it before settling into his bleak night in the shed.

Five minutes and a broken pane of glass later he was inside a large dining-hall whose long lines of tables were covered in upside-down chairs, as is usually the way with this sort of place. In the semi-darkness he could make out, not only a serving-hatch, but also a door which could only lead into the kitchen. The door was unlocked, and although it got darker as he went further into the interior of the building, he was still able to make out, beyond the gas range in the centre of the room, the door of a storage room which proved to contain, not only an open and empty refrigerator, but also a veritable treasure-house of large catering-sized cans and an impressive array of non-perishable food items.

Now he knew there was food available he went looking for the main electrical fuse box, which he found in a wide corridor. Back in the kitchen he found the valve that connected the gas cookers to the storage cylinder outside, and after a certain amount of fumbling around he finally managed to light one of the gas burners.

Never had tinned ravioli tasted better, and the apricots in syrup were almost as good. Once he was full he decided that he could probably treat himself to some proper sleep, and so he cleaned the saucepan and the plate he had used thoroughly and then started looking for somewhere to sleep.

Dillik was just about to climb the impressive series of ladders which led to the top of the steepest and most terrifying of the five slides when he heard a kind of hoarse whistle that he recognised immediately. Xarax was calling to him, and he was somewhere among the flowering bushes a dozen paces away. But Xarax never called except to startle him when they were playing and Dillik was the hunter and Xarax the prey. As he walked towards the bushes he thought that this was very strange, but if Xarax needed to speak to him it was logical that he would prefer not to be seen out in the open if it could be avoided.

As he got closer he heard the call again, even quieter, and with a weird resonance to its tone. He checked that nobody was watching him and then ducked into the bushes.

Xarax was lying on the ground with his torn wings partially extended and a great tear in his abdomen. Dillik froze for a moment in horror but then dropped to his knees and put his hand on his friend's head. Xarax's voice, together with a chaos of confused images, entered his head.

Dillik, I'm dying, said Xarax. Aïn is dead. Julien is safe but he had to jump. I don't know where he went. Tell Tannder.

A picture stabilised itself in Dillik's mind: he was just above Julien and Aïn, and then the Guide's head exploded. Then he was on Julien's shoulder, urging him to jump. And then he was brutally hurled away, unable to hold on. He collided with something and fell to the ground.

Xarax! cried Dillik. Stay with me!

I can't.

Yes, you can!

I must go.

Xarax! Don't leave me! I…

Xarax's presence vanished from Dillik's mind like a flame leaving an extinguished candle, and the boy felt himself slip irresistibly into absolute darkness.

***

He came to with a terrible sense of urgency. He had fallen to the ground, his head a few centimetres from the martyred body of his friend. But he couldn't stay there – it wasn't yet time to take care of his friend's remains. He had to do what Xarax had told him to first. He got up and ran to find Tannder, who had established his temporary headquarters in the nearest refreshment stall.

As soon as he saw Dillik rushing towards him the Warrior knew at once that something was seriously wrong. Without waiting for explanations he took hold of the boy and led him away, only allowing him to deliver his message when they were in an area of relative isolation.

"It's Xarax," gasped Dillik. "He's dead!"

Dillik flung himself against Tannder's chest and burst into tears, but he struggled to control himself long enough to go on.

"Aïn is dead too. Julien jumped, but Xarax didn't know where he went. He told me to tell you. But now he's dead…"

"Where is he?"

"Over there, near the slides."

"Take me to him."

Tannder spoke quietly to one of his men who were waiting for his orders, telling him to get everyone together and to head back to the trankenn.

Xarax's body was still where Dillik had left it. Tannder crouched down and examined it carefully.

"He's not dead," he said. "Not yet, anyway."

"What?!"

Dillik didn't dare to believe it. He couldn't allow himself to hope, knowing that it would probably only lead to another heartbreak.

"It's not easy to kill a haptir," said Tannder.

He took a small shiny metal tube from a pocket and set it to his lips, emitting a very high-pitched whistle. Then he carefully wrapped Xarax in the wide sash of his abba. He was just finishing the job when a Guide appeared at his side, panting.

"Honourable Wallai, please take Xarax directly to the main Health Centre of Bakhtar Tower. We'll join you shortly."

Wordlessly, and before Dillik could utter a word of protest, the Guide and the haptir disappeared.

"I know you want to be with him," said Tannder. "But we're not finished here yet. Do you know where Aïn is?"

"No, I don… wait – yes, I do. Xarax showed me. It's on a pink path."

Tannder had of course committed the map of the entire island to memory before leaving the ship, and so he was able to take Dillik straight to the path, emerging very close to where the attack had taken place. They found the Guide's headless body lying a few metres from where he had died, barely hidden in the bushes.

"Hardik!" called Tannder.

A man appeared suddenly from the wood – he had clearly been following them.

"I'm taking this boy to Nüngen," Tannder told him. "Do what has to be done for the Guide's body and then join us. Have the park surrounded and searched first. I don't suppose it'll do any good, but we probably ought to try."

"Hey, come and have a look at this! There's a busted window in the dining hall!"

Julien jerked into wakefulness. He sat on his bed, which was one of two that had been shoehorned into a tiny room – the only other furniture was a small locker. He couldn't see a lot because the shutters were closed, but he could make out a little in the gloomy light filtering between the slats.

"The shutter's been vandalised! I reckon we've had burglars!"

The voices came from the dining hall, men's voices with a trace of an accent that Julien vaguely recognised but couldn't place. He supposed that it had to be local, though.

"Burglars? Why would they bother? There's bugger-all to steal here!"

"True, but we'd still better call it in. We're only here to fix the boiler – I'm not getting involved with security. Look, I'll go to the office and call the manager, and while I'm gone, see if you can get the sodding boiler to start."

Julien got dressed in a hurry. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, but he did feel a bit fresher. But it looked as if he was going to have to leave his refuge a lot quicker than he had hoped. He opened the window and then the shutter as quietly as he could, cursing himself for not having foreseen the possibility of someone visiting the site. He particularly regretted not having had the foresight to prepare a box of food that he could have taken with him, and nor had he taken the opportunity to go looking for a change of clothes. A sweater would have been particularly welcome. He decided to take one of the blankets he had found in the locker. Rolled up tightly in the military fashion it wouldn't be too cumbersome, and it might definitely come in useful.

Because the window was on the ground floor it was easy for him to slip outside and then run towards the shelter of the woods that weren't too far away. He decided to go back to the place where he had arrived, but he thought it would be best not to spend too much time walking around in the open. This was all the more important now, when there was a good chance that the cops would be alerted to his little bit of breaking and entering.

***

When he finally reached what he thought of as 'the camp' he wasn't too surprised to find nobody waiting for him. Only a blackened circle on the ground bore witness to the Jaguar Patrol's visit, and thinking about his encounter with them somehow made his present situation seem all the more bleak.

He had no food. Due to his immense stupidity he still had no means of lighting a fire. He didn't have a tent, or even a bit of plastic sheeting that he could use to make a shelter. He didn't even have a water-bottle. He could only hope that it would be safe to drink the water in the stream.

He had to be honest with himself and admit that he wasn't going to last very long as he was. He would either have to risk jumping or surrender to the authorities. He had actually memorised the phone number that Grégoire of the Jaguars had given him, but he didn't have any money to make a phone call from a public call box. And of course he hadn't thought to look for a phone while he was in the holiday centre. But even if he had, what could a boy who lived hundreds of kilometres away in Paris do to help him here?

His initial challenges were to find food and a shelter for the night. As far as food was concerned, that was simple enough: he'd have to manage without. As for a shelter… he'd already been on a couple of so-called survival training camps in the Scouts, but even when issued with a ball of string the shelters he had managed to assemble, and the ones he'd seen others put together, were pretty pathetic and wouldn't have offered genuine shelter from even a brief shower of rain. Sadly, European woods were light on banana trees, the wide, waterproof leaves of which could provide a decent shelter for anyone who knew how to use them. And in any case he didn't even have any string. The only equipment he had was, as the saying goes, his knife and his todger, and while that was better than nothing, it still didn't allow him to view the future with any optimism. So he decided that the only thing he could do was to try a jump.

"Tchok…

***

… tseh"

He had jumped!

Yes, but only to the exact spot in the meadow where he had landed a few hours previously.

Dillik was asleep. The Health Masters had finally agreed that he could stay in Xarax's room, but they had spiked his drinking water with a harmless sleeping potion. The haptir was being kept unconscious in a sort of box in which the damaged parts of his anatomy could be fixed in the position best likely to aid their healing.

The fact that the haptir was unable to take any food except his master's enriched blood was an additional, and difficult, problem, especially since they knew he couldn't live for too long without a substantial input of energy. On the other hand, the fact that his digestive system was more or less unused made his abdominal wound a great deal less serious than it would otherwise have been.

Niil did his best to comfort Ambar, but he was finding it hard to hide his anger. He blamed himself almost as much as Tannder did for allowing such an attack to take place in an environment which he had thought secure, and he found it insupportable that one, and possibly two, of Julien's closest friends should have died as a result.

The Guild of Guides had been alerted and all of the greatest Master Guides had embarked on the search for the Emperor. The best of them were looking for a way to get to Earth, which seemed the most likely place to look.

***

Lord Aldegard, Lord Tahlil, Master Subadar, Tannder and Dennkar held council in the navigation room of the trankenn. The two Mirrors didn't blame the Warriors for what had happened, even though security was their province and the enemy had obviously managed to outwit their precautions.

"I'm sure he'll come back on his own if the Guides don't manage to find him," said Subadar. "I'm much more worried about Xarax. The Emperor's Haptir is no mere companion."

"We know that, Subadar," said Aldegard. "But our first priority still has to be to find Julien."

"I don't think you've quite grasped the situation," replied Subadar. "Xarax holds a large part of the Imperial memory, and he's also key to some of the Emperor's powers. And, as you know, he has no successor: the haptir egg kept in stasis at the Palace is dead. This is extremely serious: such a thing has never happened before. If he dies…"

"Do you mean that Julien will be unable to recover all his abilities?"

"To be honest, I don't know. There's a lot about the relationship between the Emperor and his haptir that I don't understand."

"Do we know yet who attacked them?" asked Tahlil.

"Well," said Tannder, if we go by their weapons we'd have to assume they were Dalannis. We assume that the ones who haven't turned themselves in are probably quite high up in the pecking order. People like that are likely to be ambitious and determined, and completely unscrupulous if it gets them what they want. It seems likely that they wanted to abduct Julien and negotiate with us for his release. That's why he's not already dead."

"That makes sense," agreed Dennkar. "They killed the Guide because they knew they wouldn't be able to capture Julien otherwise, and they tried to kill Xarax because they would know he was a dangerous bodyguard. But apparently they didn't know that the Emperor doesn't need a Guide with him to travel. Of course, hardly anyone knows that."

"Are we sure Julien really did escape?" asked Aldegard. "His Gift has been very unstable recently."

"Yes. It was the last thing Xarax told us before he lost consciousness," said Tannder.

"When he comes back I'm afraid we're going to have to tell him to stay away from public places again," said Aldegard.

"I'm fairly certain he'll tell us to find the people who are after him."

"I'm sure you're trying to do that."

"Of course. To start with we're probing every member of the trankenn crew, because I'd be amazed if there weren't at least one or two conspirators on board. The operation was too well-planned: they must have known our schedule in advance. Of course, if we're to probe the passengers as well we'll need permission from the Emperor's Mirror on Dvârinn."

"You've got it," Tahlil assured him. "After a murderous assault like this, of course you do. And I don't mind being probed first in order to set an example to our guests."

Naturally they decided not to submit the younger members of the party to probing, but Niil insisted that as First Lord of the Ksantiris he ought to set an example, too.

"Besides," he said, "for all I know I might have inadvertently opened my mouth in front of the wrong person. We shouldn't risk missing any opportunity to get some information, even if it doesn't seem likely."

***

There was no way that Dillik was going to leave the haptir's bedside. His friends took turns to stay with him for a while so as to give him a bit of company, and they did their best to remain upbeat despite the Health Masters' gloomy prognosis. His father even left his place on the bridge of the trankenn to visit and to assure him that he understood what he was going through.

His mother had visited, too, and she proved far more sympathetic than he would have thought possible, because she had never approved of her son's strange relationship with his dangerous friend. She was even less happy about the way he now lived a completely independent life, in which she was merely on the sidelines. But Dillik's obvious distress simply dissolved her resentment, leaving only unconditional love, which was exactly what he needed in his present situation. Furthermore, while Mistress Nardik had always felt a certain dislike at the sight of the haptir, seeing him as he was now, broken and powerless, made her feel a surge of compassion for him. Dillik felt it at once and that, more than anything else, made him feel a lot better.

Dillik had asked the Health Masters if it would be all right to hold one of Xarax's claws in order to try to communicate with him, and since receiving their permission he had tried it regularly. And when he fell asleep at the end of a day of watching anxiously over his friend he had a dream that would finally help him to do something about the fate which hitherto had seemed determined to crush them all.

He found himself flying, as he so often did in these dreams, and he was acutely aware of being both himself and Xarax. And as they whirled around the turrets of the Imperial Palace he heard the unmistakable voice Xarax used to speak to him, even though he could simply have shared his thoughts.

You must find Julien, it said. I'll show you how. I can't go with a Guide – I can't even wake up properly. But I'm going to print the map and instructions in your mind. I'm sure Wenn Hyaï will be able to use them to find him.

A few seconds later Dillik woke up, and immediately he started looking for someone who could find the Guide for him.

Julien decided that the teachings of the church were wrong: actually, Hell was cold and damp. Despite the remarkable qualities of his abba and the additional cover provided by the blanket, made of something described on its label as 'Synthetic Pyrenean Wool', he had hardly slept a wink during the night. Furthermore, he was hungry. Really hungry. Until now he had led a fairly sheltered life and so had only experienced appetite, the sort of appetite normal for a healthy, growing boy. But what he was starting to feel now was something very different: it was a kind of obsession which refused to leave his mind, and which grew even stronger when he considered that he wouldn't be able to find anything to eat unless he went back to an inhabited area.

He was hungry, and growing increasingly so. And there was nothing to eat. He'd been down to the stream to drink and found the water clear and with no particular taste, but he knew that water alone wasn't going to solve his problem. He didn't really want water – what he wanted was a ham sandwich with butter and pickles. A whole, crunchy demi-baguette filled with tasty ham, and maybe a few slices of Gruyère cheese…

In fact if the opportunity were to present itself he'd even settle for a large plateful of the magnificent canned ravioli he had stuffed down his throat the previous day. Followed by apricots in syrup. Even without bread he thought it would be a meal fit for a king – or even an Emperor…

A bit of sunshine would be nice, too. The weather was still thoroughly miserable. It hadn't rained for very long, but he still felt as saturated as an old floor-cloth. He was sure that if things went on the way they were he would die of exposure.

A cup of hot chocolate! With croissants – a heap of freshly-baked croissants…

He had tried jumping several times, but every time he ended up in exactly the same place, bang in the middle of that bloody meadow. He had also tried, unsuccessfully, to get rid of his Marks.

Eventually he decided that he couldn't just hang around here waiting for someone to come and rescue him. For a start, he was too hungry. The only option seemed to be to try his luck at the holiday centre again. Even if the police had been alerted it still seemed unlikely that they would go to the trouble of stationing men around the place to keep an eye on it – after all, he'd heard one of the plumbers saying that there was nothing worth stealing. And even if he was caught he would be fed, and as soon as he had eaten he could jump back to the meadow.

He set off, wishing he was wearing socks: his feet were cold, and the damp grass wasn't doing anything to help.

Maybe it would be better not to get caught. The way things had been going lately he might discover that his Gift had packed up on him again, leaving him to rot in a cell until Social Services came and took him off to some ghastly orphanage.

A steak! With chips – lots and lots of chips! And a chocolate cake. A Black Forest Gateau would do nicely. There was no chocolate in the R'hinz, which was a pity. Perhaps he could take some cocoa seeds back with him?

Bloody hell, he was hungry!

Xarax must be worried to death. And if he'd managed to get to the ones who had killed Aïn, they were dead meat: even without his venom a haptir was still one of the deadliest creatures in the Nine Worlds.

Perhaps a roast chicken, its skin crisp and golden, with chips and chips and more chips… and mustard. Proper mustard, not that insipid stuff you sometimes got in little packets…

Of course, maybe Xarax was dead too, because otherwise he would surely have found a way to get here by now. Dillik would be distraught…. No, surely he would feel it if Xarax was dead? The link between them was so deep that he thought it would be impossible for the haptir to disappear without him being aware of it.

***

He was careful not to approach the holiday centre from the lane: instead he went into the bushes and made a great detour around it so as to approach from the other side. He hadn't seen any parked vehicles, and the one or two cars that had sent him scurrying into the bushes on his way here were just innocent private vehicles.

However, when he got close enough to see the main buildings he saw that the shutters were now open and there was movement inside. That meant that they were effectively out of his reach, and so, sadly, was the tinned ravioli, at least for the time being.

He didn't fancy walking into the nearest village, if he could find it, dressed as he was and decorated with white Marks that even the most short-sighted individual could hardly miss. This situation was looking more and more like a dead end. He decided that he would have to wait until nightfall, when presumably whoever was in the centre would go home – after all, this wasn't yet the holiday season.

His mother often made a delicious blanquette de veau. He could almost smell it. It was positively mouth-watering…

Oh, God – he had to think of something else. And if he was going to wait until evening, maybe it would be better to go back to the camp. True, he'd have to climb back up here later on, but in the meantime, if the weather stayed dry, he might at least be able to get some sleep without there being any danger of being discovered.

He jumped.

***

He still didn't reach the Orientation Table, but at least he had the satisfaction of still being able to jump, even if it was just back to the familiar meadow. There were now a few sunbeams filtering through the clouds, which seemed to be clearing a little, and that made him feel a little bit better, although it didn't make him feel any less ravenous.

He decided to try to get some sleep, so he found a spot under a tree where the ground was fairly dry, wrapped himself up in the purloined blanket and settled down. But sleep refused to come: even though he was really tired, an endless procession of gloomy thoughts whirled through his head, making sleep impossible.

He felt really stupid. Here he was, Emperor of the Nine Worlds, and he couldn't even find himself something to eat, and in his own country, at that.

Then he felt guilty: one of his friends had just died right next to him, and yet all he could think about was food.

And then there was another worry which he had been trying to keep at arm's length but which was now pushing its way to the fore: Xarax must indeed be dead. There was no point in fooling himself any longer: if the haptir had been alive he would have found a way to reach him long before this.

Then there was Ambar, who must be going crazy worrying about him…

***

He woke up with the sun in his eyes and a splitting headache. He went down to the stream to drink and to try to get rid of the headache by splashing cold water on his face, an operation which was only partially successful, but which at least had the merit of waking him up properly.

He decided to set out straight away. It was only mid-afternoon, but if he got there a bit early he would be able to see if the people at the centre really did go home for the night. In any case he was now determined to get inside the building, even if there were still some people inside: he couldn't go on without eating. And if he was caught, too bad. He'd decide what to do about it when and if it happened.

So he made one more attempt to jump, with the same frustrating result, and then set off on the climb which would bring him back to the plateau.

***

"Julien!"

It was Dillik's voice! It was faint, some distance away, but it was still clearly his voice. Dillik was there! He started running back down the path he had been climbing.

"I'm here!" he shouted. "Hold on, I'm coming!"

He had no idea how Dillik had come to be involved, but he didn't care: hearing his voice was the best thing that had happened to him in the past two days. And if Dillik was here there had to be a Guide with him. He slowed down a little: it would be stupid to risk a broken leg by tripping while running at full speed down the uneven path.

All the same he was almost bowled over by Wenn Hyaï who had been bounding up the hill to meet him, and a little behind the Guide came a very excited Dillik.

"Tannder," said Julien, "I need you to help me. Xarax is too weak to wake up. I can't contact him at all, and I'm afraid that he might have used up the last of his strength getting into Dillik's dream. It's essential that I feed him if he's going to have any chance of survival and recovery."

He had sent for Tannder as soon as he had seen what a desperate condition Xarax was in.

"The Health Masters say that giving him a transfusion of my blood won't work," he went on. "Apparently there's some sort of process that has to take place, and it's in his mouth. We've tried pouring some of my blood into his mouth using a pipette, but that doesn't work either – he doesn't even try to swallow it. I think the problem is that when he takes my blood normally he also takes in the Yel I've collected just before he bites me, and the Yel doesn't stay in my blood when it's spilt or taken any other way. So he's going to have to bite me for it to work, and the only way we'll be able to make him do that is if we put his jaws against my neck and hope it triggers a reflex. The Health Masters offered to help me, but I'd sooner it was you, because I really don't want anyone else to find out that Xarax isn't poisonous any more."

"Ah! That explains it… I've had my suspicions since he didn't kill that woman who attacked you at Bakhtar Tower. Now I understand how he managed to neutralise her without killing her."

"That's right. And I'd just as soon not let Dillik see this, either. So far I've managed to do this when he wasn't around."

"Sooner or later he's going to have to find out how his friend feeds."

"Well, he knows that I'm the one who gives Xarax what he needs, of course, but… and it would be better if it were Xarax himself who tells Dillik that he isn't poisonous any longer."

"And can I ask how that came about?"

"It was a present from the Neh Kyong Tchenn Ril. Xarax didn't like having to hurt me every time I fed him. Of course he didn't ask me what I thought first – I only found out about it afterwards. If he had asked I would have refused to let him go through with it. But I have to admit that I was impressed by his devotion. It's a pretty big sacrifice for him to have made."

"He must love you very much."

"It's mutual, you know. Anyway, it'll make things easier for us now: there's no danger of you poisoning yourself if you get a scratch while you're putting his jaws in position."

"Good. So when are we going to do it?"

"As soon as possible. Right now, if you're ready."

***

Dillik refused to leave his friend, and he presented his arguments clearly and forcefully.

"If you think I'm going to be shocked by what you're going to do, you're wrong. Xarax has already shown me how it works, inside my head. It's like I'd already done it with him. And that's how I know he isn't poisonous any longer. He hated having to hurt you so badly."

"What?!" exclaimed Julien. "You knew?"

"Of course I knew. We don't have any secrets. So I want to stay. Please?"

Julien thought that if Dillik believed Xarax had no secrets that he was keeping from him he was probably fooling himself, but he saw no reason now not to let the boy stay if he wanted to.

"All right," he said. "You can stay."

It wasn't easy: Tannder had to manoeuvre Xarax's head into position, which was difficult with the haptir stuck inside his box, and then Julien had to get close enough to offer his jugular vein – the only one, according to the Health Masters, that was suitable for the operation – close enough to the haptir's jaws. When they were finally in position Julien, thinking ironically of how much he had always hated needles, concentrated on drawing in the Yel from the surrounding area, and when he felt that he had drawn in enough of it he told Tannder to let go of Xarax's jaws.

He felt the sharp, familiar pain of the bite, which was now of course but a pale echo of the venom-charged bites that had accompanied the process before Tchenn Ril's intervention. For a few moments of anguish nothing happened, but then the bite became a little harder and he felt the haptir's tongue move, while at the same time he suffered the vaguely nauseous feeling that indicated that the process was under way. This time he hadn't picked up a piece of fruit or anything else that he could drop to tell Xarax when to stop, because this time he intended just to let Xarax go on feeding for as long as possible. And he was unafraid, even at the point at which he lost consciousness.

***

Before he opened his eyes he felt the reassuring presence of Ambar, who was asleep, snuggled up close to him. He felt fine, perfectly rested and with a clear head. He was also very thirsty, and he needed to pee. He opened his eyes and recognised that he was in his kang in Bakhtar Tower, and to judge from the grey light filtering through the curtains, dawn was at hand.

He wanted to get up, but he found that was impossible: just trying to sit up made his head spin. He felt absolutely fine as long as he didn't try to move, but the slightest movement made him feel sick. Xarax must have taken rather more than his usual ration, he thought.

As he tried once again to lift himself, Ambar woke up.

"Are you awake, Julien?" he asked.

"Yes. Good morning."

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, but I can't stand up. Can you help me? I need a pee."

Ambar turned on the bedside lamp and came around the bed to help Julien into the bathroom, where he soon felt the delicious relief of an emptied bladder.

"I'm starving!" he said.

"That's not surprising. You've been asleep for two days. Do you want to eat lying down, or do you feel up to sitting at the table?"

"At the table, I think. Two days, you said?"

"Yes. The Health Masters were going nuts. They reckoned you were almost dead. They really tore into Tannder – you'd have thought he did it on purpose!"

"It was nothing to do with Tannder."

"I'd guessed that. But we were still proper scared, you know. They stuffed you with Yel and then said to leave you alone and that if we were very lucky you might pull through. There wasn't anything else they could do for you. They were really angry."

"How's Xarax?"

"We don't know for sure, but he's been communicating with Dillik."

"I have to see him."

"He's in the Health Quarters. You can't walk there in your state."

"Then get me a Guide."

"What, now?"

"Yes, now, unless you want to carry me there."

"That won't be necessary," said a man's voice. "I'll deal with it."

"Tannder! You're still eavesdropping, I see."

"Actually it was Karik who told me that you were awake."

"And where is he?"

"He went to tell Dillik that you're back in the land of the living. Congratulations on making it."

***

Dillik didn't look good: he obviously hadn't eaten for some time and he had purple shadows round his eyes, which were themselves reddened by crying and lack of sleep. But he still found the energy to smile at Julien, who collapsed into the chair thoughtfully positioned under him by Ambar as soon as Tannder set him down.

"How is he, Dillik?" asked Julien

"I'm not sure. Sometimes he talks to me, but sometimes I can't feel his mind at all. Sometimes we dream together. Thank you for giving him your strength. I think he'd have died otherwise."

"Xarax is strong. You'll see – we'll get him well again."

"Like the boy in the story?"

"Yes, just like the boy who made kites."

"Julien, I don't want him to die."

Tears of despair ran from the boy's eyes.

"He won't die," said Julien. "Can you let me talk to him?"

Dillik moved his hand away from Xarax's claw, and for several minutes Julien tried in vain to establish contact. At that point one of the Health Masters came into the room and offered an update on the haptir's condition.

"The flesh is starting to mend, as are parts of the skeleton, and there is some improvement in the wings, too. Unfortunately the damage is so severe that it seems unlikely that he will ever fly again. But the abdominal wound seems to be healing nicely. The Honourable Xarax really is remarkably resilient. Even so, it's still too early to be able to be sure that he will heal, or even survive."

"Master," said Julien, "I'm grateful for the efforts you and your colleagues are making to save my haptir. I'm confident that with your help we will not only save him but get him flying again too. And if I can help by giving him more of my strength…"

"It would be useless right now, My Lord. First he needs to finish assimilating what he has already received – and in any case, if I may say so, I doubt whether Your Lordship could give any more without a lot more recovery time. I must warn you seriously not to try to give more than you already have: you were at the point of death last time."

"But I'm not dead, and if Xarax needs it…"

"Of course, although next time you really will have to limit yourself."

"Don't worry. I won't let it go too far again."

And neither will I, said a voice in his head.

Xarax! You can't imagine how happy I am to hear you!

I won't be able to stay awake for very long. Thank you, my friend – but I almost killed you!

But you didn't. And all that matters now is that you get better.

Dillik is being a great help to me, but I'm worried about him.

Don't be. I'm in charge now and I'll make sure that we take turns staying here beside you.

The contact was broken abruptly, but now for the first time Julien was starting to feel some real hope.

That afternoon, as soon as Julien felt up to resuming his duties, a meeting was held to decide what to do next. Subadar was concerned that the loss of Aïn, as well as depriving them of a close personal friend, had also left them with a worrying security problem.

"Until you have fully recovered your Gift," he told Julien, "you must have a Guide with you at all times, and you also need a Master Guide to help you get on with your training. I'll ask the Major Circle if they can recommend…"

"I want Wenn Hyaï," interrupted Julien. "As long as that's all right with him, of course."

"But he's not one of…"

"I don't care. I like him and get on well with him, and if there's stuff that he can't teach me himself I'm sure he can find another Guide who can. If I have to have a Guide at my side day and night I'd much rather it was a friend. Obviously it's a dangerous job, but somehow I don't think that will dissuade him."

"All right, I'll make the arrangements with the Guides. They might have to bump him up to a much higher rank, but I'll make sure they do whatever is necessary."

"I suggest," said Tannder, "that we go back to how we were operating before the conflict with the Dalannis was resolved – at least, we should do that as soon as Xarax's condition allows it. Somehow I don't think you'd agree to leave him until he's fully recovered."

"You'd be right about that," said Julien. "And even if I did agree to it, I very much doubt if Xarax would allow me to be separated from him."

"You're probably right," said Tannder. "Dennkar and I are supervising the probing of Lord Tahlil's crew and the passengers. We're also probing the latest Dalanni defectors in the hope of discovering information that might have been overlooked previously."

"I'm not entirely happy about that, but I suppose you know what you're doing."

"Yes, and we're already getting a few hints."

"All right. If there's nothing else I think I'll go and have a nap. Wake me up in time for dinner."

***

Dinner was served in their kang in Bakhtar Tower, and it brought together Julien's closest friends, a group that was generally referred to within the Tower simply as 'the boys'. Dillik was there because Xarax, in one of his few moments of lucidity, had insisted that he go and have a bit of a break – after all, the Health Masters were perfectly capable of looking after him without Dillik needing to be there.

Obviously it wasn't exactly a jolly gathering: Aïn's death was too recent for that. But just being together made them feel a little better.

Julien took the opportunity to tell them about what had happened to him on his most recent trip to Earth.

"Have you any idea why you jumped to that particular spot?" asked Niil.

"Not really. I'm just glad I managed to get back here. I was happier fighting the storm on Dvârinn than I was there."

"I don't know," said Ambar. "I thought the boys we met there were really nice."

"True. But, unlike someone I can think of, I didn't have anyone to seduce when I was there."

"I didn't 'seduce' him. It's not my fault if my laï was a bit too short. And I'm sure that you could have got around the men in that place you told us about if you'd put your mind to it. I'm sure you could have persuaded them to be friendly."

"What do you mean, 'if I'd put my mind to it'? What do you think I should have done – performed a belly-dance naked on a table?"

"Maybe. What's a belly-dance?"

"I'm not telling you – you're far too dangerous already!"

"Ah. I think I can imagine the sort of thing you're talking about."

"I'm sure you can!"

"At least you recognise my qualities. Seriously, though, do you really think they would have refused to help you? After all, you hadn't really done anything wrong, except taking a bit of food – if that nasty rubbery stuff can actually be called 'food', of course."

"It wasn't taking the ravioli that would have caused the problem. It would have been my abba and my Marks."

"Right… but you could always have taken your abba off."

"Well, yes, I suppose so."

"And the same with your Marks, no?"

"Usually, yes. But at the moment I don't seem able to."

"Oh, well… still, the boys we met liked my Marks. They seemed to find them very attractive. Perhaps the men you heard…"

"Trust me, stripping off in front of total strangers is frowned upon in France – unless it's a patrol of Scouts, perhaps. And even there I think we got lucky."

"Well, Grégoire didn't seem to be shocked. Nor did the others, come to that."

"That's what I meant about us getting lucky. Some other boys I used to know would have found your little game far less acceptable…"

"Hey, he followed me! I just gave the sign. I didn't do anything wrong!"

"You're the last person I would ever accuse of doing anything wrong. I wouldn't dare to even hint that sometimes you can be just a little provocative…"

Karik knew that this sort of banter could go on all night if left unchecked, and so he decided to butt in.

"There's still something I don't really understand," he said. "Don't they have any concept of hospitality on, that world?"

"Yes, they do, but people have different ideas about it. And although I don't like to admit it, people in my country are probably not top of the hospitality league. Still, if Dillik and Wenn Hyaï hadn't come to rescue me I would have had to give it a try. Thanks again, Dillik."

"Wenn Hyaï did all the work. And if it hadn't been for Xarax…"

"Of course. Anyway, we all have a new timetable starting tomorrow. I think the holidays are over. It's probably a good idea if we all get some sleep. Dillik?"

"Yes?"

"Would you like to sleep with us tonight?"

"No, thanks. I'm going to go back and stay with Xarax."

"All right. But tomorrow I'm going to get him moved here so that we can all stay together."

"I'm not sure if the Health Masters will agree to that."

"I don't care. The only one whose opinion matters is Xarax. If he's happy to be moved in with us, that's what will happen. Ask him next time he wakes up."

Dillik looked very happy.

"I'm fairly sure he'll want to do that!" he said.

"Me, too."

It would be something of an understatement to say that the Health Masters disapproved of moving Xarax into His Lordship's private kang. Like a lot of medical types, they seemed to believe that they owned their patients. However, His Lordship, who had obviously recovered his stamina, made it perfectly clear, without ever once leaving the path of polite urbanity, that nobody's feelings here mattered in the slightest except for those of Xarax himself. If the haptir wanted to be moved to Julien's kang, then moved he would be, regardless of what the Health Masters had to say about either his physical or his moral well-being.

In fact the inconvenience would be minor: there was plenty of room on the level of Bakhtar Tower that had been reserved for Julien's use for a few attendants to stay while they kept an eye on Xarax's progress and administered treatments as appropriate. And in fact those attendants were more than happy to escape the rather claustrophobic atmosphere of the treatment rooms and indeed of the senior Health Masters, and they were able to relax enough to smile or even – something normally unheard-of for them – laugh.

Wenn Hyaï, his silver-streaked dark grey fur impeccably brushed, joined the company as he took up his new role officially. They had had to push a little to get past past the bureaucracy of the Guides' Circle, but Subadar had actually encountered rather less resistance than he had expected as he conducted the negotiations. Unsurprisingly the abrupt ending of the unfortunate Aïn's career as Personal Guide and Instructor to the Emperor had dampened the enthusiasm of most of those who might have been considered as his successor. But Wenn Hyaï was not at all reluctant, and although he was very much aware of the honour that was being done to him, he was mainly interested in being able to go on serving the boy he had come to appreciate and sharing the company of his friends. He didn't care about titles or honours and the fact that he had been promoted into the innermost circle of the Guild of Guides didn't interest him at all. But he did feel strangely moved when he gave Julien one of his personal klirks to carry at all times and the boy tied it to the same string that still held Aïn's klirk.

Thank you for accepting the job despite the risks, Julien said to him. But I have a favour to ask.

It will be an honour.

Well… I'd like to do something that will pay tribute to Aïn. He was a really good friend.

I know, My Lord. He was my friend as well.

But I don't know what Guides do in this sort of situation.

He has already been buried and there was a banquet in his memory. But if you want to honour his family you could give your name to one of his children.

Is that really considered an honour?

It's a lot more than a mere gesture. Whoever you choose becomes part of your family, as well as remaining part of his own, and in a way the link extends to the rest of his clan as well. There would be no better way of bearing witness to your friendship.

All right, I understand what you're saying, but isn't it just a bit too easy? I'd like to do something a bit more than saying 'Look what a wonderful person I am – I'm actually giving you my name as a present, and you'd have to be really ungrateful not to acknowledge how generous I am.'

You don't understand. When I said it's a lot more than a mere gesture I meant it. Normally there are obligations attached. Of course in these circumstances and given who you are nobody will insist that you comply with them: the gesture will be plenty. But if you want to do the thing properly, of course you can.

What would that entail, exactly?

You could see to it that whoever gets your name also gets a first-rate education, assuming he's still young enough to be educated, of course. You could also personally initiate him into the various stages of his Art, and if he makes the grade and becomes a Guide you could perform the Opening of his Gift – obviously that's something the Emperor could do easily enough. You could also attend his family celebrations whenever you can, help them out if they need it, stand in for one of the family in their capacity of a Guide and pay the commission to the family… there are other things you could do too, but these are the more usual ones.

I see. They won't be offended if I can do only part of that at the moment?

Like I said, nobody will actually expect you to do anything. Anything that you are able to do will simply demonstrate further your respect for Aïn.

Do I get to choose who will take my name?

Of course. That's your privilege.

All right. I suppose someone will have to act for me with the family, so could you do that?

It would be a pleasure, My Lord.

It's Julien – call me Julien. We're going to be spending a lot of time together, and of course you're going to be my teacher, too.

All right. I think you've already met Aïn's family. Do you already have someone in mind, or do you want to meet them again?

I somehow got to meet a young scamp who would have been about five years old. I think the name was Lalil, or something like that.

Yalil, I think.

That's the one. I made the mistake of scratching his head.

Ah.

He had no idea who I was. He got a shock when he found out that I was one of his father's friends, not just a servant. But we parted on good terms. If he isn't too young I'd like to choose him – provided his family agrees, of course.

I'll convey your offer to the family as soon as you wish.

The sooner, the better. Seeing the way things are moving I don't know how much longer I'll be able to remain in charge of my own schedule. Deal with it however you think best, please.

***

Dillik looked a lot better and Xarax was actually awake. The medical attendant told Julien that it looked as if the wounds were going to heal, and as soon as the assistant had made his report and withdrawn Dillik came up to Julien and hugged him.

"Go and have a bath," said Julien. "I'll stay here and keep Xarax company for a bit."

He sat down next to the haptir's box and took hold of his claw.

Xarax, he said, I'm happy to see you awake. They tell me that you've decided to survive.

I think I'm going to make that effort, even if I'm not sure that it's worth it.

Don't say that!

I'll never be able to fly again!

I promised Dillik that we'd fix you up, and I'll do everything in my power to keep that promise.

And just how are you going to do that?

I'm simply going to round up every expert in the Empire and put them at your disposal until they give you back your wings.

That might not be enough.

No. We need you to want to live, too. That's why I want your word that you'll fight as hard as you can to recover.

You have my word – although after what Dillik has already done for me I would in any case do anything to keep him from further misery.

Are you in pain?

It's not too bad. After all, most of the potions the Health Masters are using are made from plants that come from my own planet, so they're perfectly adapted to me. Come back when you…

Xarax had fallen asleep.

***

Tannder presented a man of about fifty with reddish-blond hair.

"This is Master Mirkham, My Lord," he said. "He is the current Grand Master of the Guild of Mechanical Arts."

"Honourable Master," said Julien, "we're faced with a problem involving mechanical flight, and I have been told that you are the foremost expert in the Nine Worlds."

"That might be a bit of an exaggeration, My Lord… what is the problem, exactly?"

"Have you ever seen a haptir?"

"Well, I've seen pictures, but so far I've been lucky enough not to have met one in the flesh."

"They're not actually as terrible as people make out, you know. I know of one at least who is completely respectable."

"If Your Lordship says so, who am I to disagree?"

"Do you know about the Emperor's Haptir?"

"Um… isn't that just a legend?"

"I know you shouldn't believe everything people tell you, but in this case it's true: the Emperor's Haptir really does exist, and in fact I'd like you to meet him."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Don't look like that. He won't harm you. Firstly because he's a thoroughly reasonable and well-behaved individual, and secondly because he's in rather poor shape at the moment. Actually I want you to help us rebuild his wings."

A gleam appeared in the man's eye.

"You want me to… Does Your Lordship mean that I'm going to be studying a haptir's flight system at close quarters?"

"Yes. You see, someone shot him with an illegal weapon, one that was powerful enough to kill anyone less resilient than he is. There's a lot of damage. The Health Masters are doing everything they can, but they can't replace the missing parts of his skeleton. They say that if you can reconstruct the bones they will be able to reattach the muscles. They think a titanium frame with a coating of coral should do the trick."

"Yes, that's what is usually used for human prostheses. But it's certainly never been tried on a haptir. There won't be any standard parts, so we'll have to start from scratch. We'll have to build joints, too, and that's particularly difficult. It's likely to be extremely expensive. It would probably be cheaper to build a small pleasure trankenn."

"I don't need a pleasure trankenn, but I do need my friend to be whole again. Please could you come with us?"

"Of course, Your Lordship."

Xarax was awake once more, his red eyes fixed on the newcomer.

"Xarax," said Julien, "the Honourable Master Mirkham will need to examine your wings in order to discover a way to repair them."

Dillik, who was holding his friend's claw, answered for him.

"The Honourable Emperor's Haptir offers you his greeting, Master Mirkham. He invites you to carry out any examination you think necessary and thanks you in advance for your endeavours to restore his mobility."

"Thank you. I'll try to be quick and to cause as little discomfort as possible."

Julien had had his reservations about Master Mirkham from the start: there was something about the man he instinctively disliked. But he had to admit that the man was clearly an expert in his own field: it only took him a few minutes to make a detailed, labelled sketch of Xarax's wings and to evaluate the damage from a purely mechanical point of view. He was also prepared to offer a first reaction.

"The usual techniques used for human prostheses won't work here," he said. "The human skeleton is a lot more rigid than a haptir's. As far as I can tell there needs to be a certain amount of flexibility in the bones that form the framework of the wing, which I imagine is because there are different techniques used in flying. I would think that some titanium alloys could do the job, but there's no possibility of using a coral-based organic coating. If money really is no object to Your Lordship I'll assemble a team of metallurgists and biologists in order to ascertain the best materials to use. We might also discover that the materials we need are only to be found in the Imperial stores."

"If that turns out to be the case you'll need to talk to Master Subadar or the Honourable Tannder. They'll be happy to supply you with anything you need."

Tannder, who had been following the exchange carefully, nodded.

"I imagine Your Lordship will want this to take precedence over my other work," Mirkham went on.

"The Honourable Xarax is keen to return to service as soon as possible."

"Delays to my other work are likely to incur certain expenses…"

"Master Mirkham, you will discuss your fees with Master Tannder. I assure you that your expenses will be met. However, I should remind you that the Emperor actually has no possessions, and indeed his own expenses are met by the population of the Nine Worlds. I am determined that everything possible be done to restore an important servant of the Empire to duty, but it is the Honourable Tannder's duty to see to it that the contents of the Imperial Treasury are not wasted. Do I make myself clear?"

The look of shock on the man's face was answer enough, but he still managed to whisper, "Yes, My Lord."

He wasn't the first person to mistake Julien's politeness and gentle manners for weakness. But Julien had no intention of being imposed upon. It wasn't so much the man's obvious greed that annoyed him as the rather condescending attitude displayed. Julien was happy to treat anyone as an equal, but he was almost allergic to being patronised. Still, he needed Mirkham on board for Xarax's sake, and he knew it was important to gain the man's support, to which end he went on to soften his previous comment a bit.

"Master Mirkham," he said, "I'm sure you have the skill to provide us with what we need, no matter how complicated it might be. And then I can assure you that you will have my absolute gratitude."

Yalil Wilah ek Aïn was not completely delighted to have to adopt someone else's name, even if that someone had been friends with his Akou Tangpo, the much-missed Aïn Zadilak Bilalil ez a Katak. The fact that this someone was also Emperor of the Nine Worlds didn't alter the fact that he was going to have to abandon his beautiful name of Yalil in favour of something that sounded so weird that they had needed to adapt it in order to make it possible for civilised people to pronounce it. Despite his grief over the loss of Aïn, who had always treated him with huge affection bordering on favouritism, he had sulked about it for half a day before finally giving in to his mother's orders and then undergoing a very thorough wash followed by a brushing session that had left his silver-grey hair crackling with static electricity.

However, none of that compared to the shock he felt when he recognised, beneath the shining white Marks, the human boy he had mesmerised into scratching his head for a ridiculously long time. He almost disgraced himself by losing control of his bladder and leaving a puddle in the centre of the Family Circle. Somehow he managed to retain his dignity and sit still, without even twitching an ear, his gaze fixed on the guest of honour, who sat watching him impassively in his dark green hatik.

"Yalil Wilah ek Aïn," started the guest, his voice strangely gentle for such a powerful being, "I was a friend of your father, your Akou Tangpo. He saved my life twice, and he was killed in front of my eyes while in my service…"

And then the unthinkable happened: the almighty Emperor of the Nine Worlds burst into tears, and it was quite a while before he was able to control himself and start speaking again.

"There was nothing I could do to prevent his death and we haven't yet caught those responsible," he said. "But I want to honour him, and I'm told that giving you my name was the best I could do. Come here – we need to have a little chat."

Yalil stood up and crossed the few metres of turf that separated him from Julien. Around them a score of family members sat under a spring-like sky in which a few fair-weather clouds drifted lazily.

Yalil, said Julien, putting his hand on the young Guide's neck, I chose you to take my name because I know you a bit and I like you. If you'd prefer me to choose someone else I won't mind. But you have to tell me now.

But while they were in direct contact like this Yalil could sense beyond the words, and he was able to feel Julien's sincere affection for him, and the grief he felt over the death of Aïn.

I will be proud to bear your name, he replied. And I like you, too.

Then we'll go ahead. Return to the centre of the Circle.

"As from now," Julien announced, "you shall be known as Yülien Yalil Wilah ek Aïn and I am your Akou Nyipa. I also pledge, in memory of my friend Aïn, to respect my obligation to the Katak clan."

After the ceremonial banquet which followed, Yalil approached Julien.

Akou, he said, Mummy says that, if you like, I can go with you for a little while to get to know your family.

Do you want to?

Oh, yes! I've never been to another world.

Then run and tell Master Wenn Hyaï that he has one extra passenger.

***

As can be imagined, the young Guide charmed the boys from the word go, and Julien had to issue some strict instructions in order to prevent him from being completely spoiled. Think of a young dog, but highly intelligent, always ready to play, cuddly, amusing and mischievous without ever turning mean and you have a good idea of what Yalil was like after a few hours of acclimatisation. He was dangerous, too, because he had – even though he didn't seem to realise it – powers of persuasion that bordered on the hypnotic.

The situation reached a critical point when they realised he had slipped away. After fifteen minutes of frantic searching they finally found their delinquent guest in the elevator nacelles of the Tower's lift system: he had mesmerised a young Guard into helping him to use them like a giant fairground ride. Wenn Hyaï, who had been called on to help with the search because of his understanding of the way a young Guide's mind works, took him off for a private discussion, the details of which weren't disclosed, but whatever he said had clearly had an effect, because after that Yülien's behaviour was still exuberant but remained within acceptable limits.

They had agreed that his first visit would only last three days, and he spent quite a lot of that time with Ambar, who was only too happy to take his strange adopted relative on a tour with him, showing him the wonders of Bakhtar Tower. They also took him on a brief visit to the lake at Rüpel Gyamtso, where he was introduced to the Lou Tchenns and was shamelessly petted by the staff of the house there.

But perhaps his strangest experience came when Julien took him to meet his parents. They were only too happy to welcome what they saw as a nice young puppy, while Gradik and Tenntchouk, who had finally accepted the Berthiers' offer of hospitality, performed a number of magic tricks in his honour which left the young Guide spellbound.

But when Julien introduced him to Aldegard it was Ugo who really won his heart. The young Guide didn't see Ugo as 'Yol the Intrepid', or 'Yol, Saviour of the Emperor', and certainly not as 'Yol the fallen Guide'. To him Ugo was simply an amazing, wonderful being who had lived through incredible adventures, and they immediately formed a close bond with each other. Ugo, during his life as Yol, had never had the opportunity to settle down and raise children, and so to have a youngster coming to join the family now was something he had dreamed of. This was instantly clear to both Julien and Aldegard, and accordingly they left the two of them alone together as much as they could.

When it was time to leave Yülien approached Julien and asked, in an uncharacteristically shy way, Please can I stay with Akou Ugo tonight?

Akou Ugo?

Well, yes. He's says he's sort of like your big brother.

I suppose that's true. And, yes, you can stay with him. But tomorrow morning we'll have to take you back to Hyaï Ho.

Although he was not yet completely out of the wood Xarax's condition was gradually improving and he was now staying awake for most of the day. He had been taken out of the box and was now just immobilised in his bed, having been strictly ordered not to leave it if he wanted to avoid further possible harm to his already severely damaged wings. Despite the surgeons' skill it was clear that his abdomen would carry some nasty scars for the rest of his life, but his vital functions were now fully restored. His friends took it in turns to stay at his bedside so that Dillik, who continued to stay with him every night, could have a little time to himself.

Master Mirkham was proving that his reputation was fully deserved: he had collected a brilliant team who had finally overcome the technical challenge of the unique task they had undertaken. They had developed a special alloy whose strength and elasticity mimicked as closely as possible a haptir's wing bones, and the framework was now in a deep-water tank on Dvârinn where a supple coating was being applied to each of the carefully-manufactured pieces by an enormous mollusc, rather in the way that an oyster produces a pearl around a tiny foreign body. Master Mirkham said that the process would require another month or so in order for the coating to be strong enough and to offer the biological compatibility needed to allow the medical team to build it into the haptir's body.

Master Mirkham's team had also successfully found ways to copy the complicated joints which had evolved across thousands of years, producing artificial replacements that were not only fully compatible but also absolutely reliable – because it was clearly going to be out of the question to call the haptir back for regular servicing and lubrication once the operation was over.

When Julien wondered about the cost of the whole project, which he expected to be astronomically high, Tannder told him that in fact it wasn't going to cost the Imperial Treasury anything at all: the Nine Mirrors had decided unanimously to pay for everything – research, construction, insanely expensive materials and medical expenses – out of their own funds. When Julien queried this generosity he was told that, despite his change in appearance, the Mirrors felt that he had amply demonstrated that he was sincerely committed to the good of the population and that, moreover, his creation of a trading company whose profits were destined for the welfare of the poor had not gone unnoticed. They had therefore felt honour-bound to contribute as much as possible to help restore the Emperor's right-hand man – or haptir – to full health. Tannder added that when Master Mirkham had heard about that decision he had immediately decided to forgo the handsome fee he had haggled for only a few days previously.

Julien promptly decided that an overdeveloped sense of honour was perhaps not such a bad thing after all, since apparently it didn't always result in blood feuds and deadly duels…

***

The enquiry continued to make progress. They hadn't discovered anyone amongst those who had been probed who was actively involved in the conspiracy, but they were able to find out how Julien's schedule had been revealed inadvertently to complete strangers during nominally harmless conversations. There was no point in blaming those responsible: the conversations had been directed so cunningly that they had no idea that they had been indiscreet. And, indeed, after the probing was over they were sent back to their previous occupations completely unaware that anything untoward had been discovered. This turned out to be an excellent move, as it led to a useful discovery: one of the spies made the mistake of trying to obtain more information from one of his victims, and in the process he brought himself to the attention of Tannder's agents. They thought that if they were careful they would be able to follow this lead up to a level high enough to provide them with some truly useful information.

In the meantime Julien resumed his training, now with Wenn Hyaï, in order to improve his efficiency as a Guide as soon as his Gift stabilised once more. A large part of that training was developing an extensive visual memory of the klirks to the major destinations which would help him make proper use of the Orientation Table – even though at this stage he was still unable to reach it. He argued that he didn't need to spend time on this because as soon as Xarax was well again he would be able to use his eidetic memory to provide him with an image of any klirk he needed, but Wenn Hyaï refused to let him stop, pointing out, reasonably enough, that Xarax might not always be around to help him. Julien also had to master a vast array of theory so complicated that it almost made him nostalgic for the simpler days of the school maths lessons he had once cursed so vehemently.

At the start he had the help of Ambar, who was extremely gifted, as well as being hungry for knowledge, but after a while the younger boy was sent, with the blessing of Sandeark his tutor, to Yiaï Ho, where Yülien's family were able to arrange for him lessons with (as Wenn Hyaï put it) real teachers, specialists in the topology of the Outside, a subject which finally gave Ambar a chance to make proper use of his burgeoning talent.

Julien could of course have asked for Ambar to be brought back to him on Nüngen every evening, and he did consider it quite seriously. But unfortunately the relative position of their residences on their respective planets, coupled with a small but cumulative difference in the planets' rotation periods, meant that there was a time-lag of more than a quarter of a day, and constant coming and going would waste too much time. It was better that they each stayed put and slept in their own, if sadly widely-separated, beds.

Fortunately Niil was frequently able to keep Julien company, and Dillik, who slept in the next room with Xarax, frequently joined them early in the morning in search of a nice cuddle.

As for Ambar…

***

Ambar found himself finding out things about the Guides that few humans ever got to know. When his adopted family had offered to let him stay with them he had expected to be given a room with the human servants, but Yülien had insisted, loudly, that he be allowed to share his own den, a small comfortable room which was his own personal space.

While Yülien had been with them on Nüngen Ambar, along with his friends, had realised that Guides and humans did not grow at the same rate. So although Yülien was only a little over five cycles old his physical and intellectual development were on a par with those of Dillik, and he also compensated for his lack of experience with his quick intelligence. He was also insatiably curious and completely uninhibited – so much so that he even managed to surprise Ambar, who was not exactly prudish in his views. While he had been on Nüngen Yülien had refrained from joining in with the various bed-games, simply sleeping at the foot of Julien and Ambar's bed, or on one occasion sharing Ugo's couch. But here in his own room he preferred to snuggle against his companion and establish with him the sort of full, totally constraint-free contact that normally only occurred between members of the same family. It was an experience a bit like the one between Dillik and Xarax. But Ambar wasn't Dillik and Yülien was no haptir.

Ambar was surprised when, after vainly resisting for a few seconds, he found himself wrapped into a kind of embrace that was both pleasantly physical and mental, in which he found himself experiencing a sort of blurring between what was Ambar and what was his companion. He was immersed in a sort of non-verbal communication in which they exchanged emotions, sensations, images and occasionally fragments of more or less coherent sentences. Ambar found that he liked this feeling of closeness a lot, and his body reacted in an unmistakable way. Yülien became aware of the erection at once and answered it with his own version of the phenomenon.

At that point Ambar remembered what little knowledge he had of the customs and nature of the Guides. He had been told that they were all males at birth, but they all retained a potential indetermination until some particular event caused them to adopt definitively one gender or the other. In other words a boy could become a young male adult and then, for some reason, 'determine' himself as female and bear one or several babies. Even the Guides themselves didn't fully understand the mechanism that caused the choice to be made. The only thing that was certain was that once the choice had been made it was irreversible.

Yülien might therefore turn female one day, but for now his virility, though not of a particularly impressive size, was clear, and Ambar, happy amateur of boyish pleasures that he was, was only too willing to demonstrate what an experienced pair of hands could do. And in due course his generosity was repaid, and he realised that until now he had been unaware of exactly what could be achieved by the careful application of an agile tongue.

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