Engor

Julien and the Nine Worlds

Chapters 35-50

Master Subadar, the Grand Master of the Circle of Major Arts, entertained Julien in a large, well-lit room whose walls were lined with bookcases. He himself wasn't much to look at: he wasn't particularly tall, his dark hair was starting to show signs of grey, and overall he looked like a kindly uncle getting ready to spoil a favourite nephew. He wasn't exactly in his prime, but then neither did he look particularly old, which came as a bit of a surprise to Julien, who had been expecting an octogenarian greybeard.

Don't trust your eyes, said Xarax, who was curled around Julien's neck. Master Subadar is a great deal older than he looks. The practice of the Major Arts can sometimes prolong the practitioner's life. And he's also a great deal stronger than he looks. Xarax knows him well. His loyalty to the Emperor nearly cost him his life.

"What we call the Major Arts, My Lord,"' began Subadar, "fall into three categories. There are the Outer Arts, practised by a great many people, which rely on external materials and objects. Skilled artisans use them to impart special qualities to their produce. For example, a blacksmith might be able to give his blades a sharper and stronger edge, or a sweet-maker might be able to create some surprising…"

"Yes, I think I know what you mean," interrupted Julien, remembering his first taste of sweetsnow.

"Unfortunately," Subadar went on, "not everyone is able to use the Major Arts. You have to have a gift for it. It's rather like having what it takes to be a great musician, or a great mathematician. Anyway, next come the Inner Arts. With those it's not just a case of reciting formulae, mixing ingredients or drawing diagrams. You need rather to understand the laws that govern the fundamental operation of the universe itself. The klirks fall into this category…"

"You mean that the Guides are Masters of the Major Arts?"

"Only the ones who are able to find new pathways, and that is a fairly small number. The rest just have the necessary Gift that allows them to use existing klirks and to wipe the memory of the path from those whom they transport."

"So… that makes Aïn a really good Master Guide, then?"

"Some say that he's the greatest of all, now that Yol the Intrepid has gone."

Master Subadar sighed and looked away, but not before Julien had seen the pain in his eyes.

"Did you know Yol well?" he asked.

"He was… he was my chenn-da, my other self. Forgive me, My Lord, but I'd prefer not to talk about it."

Julien nodded.

"The third category," continued Subadar, "is the Secret Arts. Very few people can master them, not least because first you have to be able to master yourself fully. The Secret Arts enable you – up to a certain point – to interfere directly with the thoughts of others, both human and non-human; but above all they allow you to relate to creatures who have very little connection to our own world. Some of these creatures can prove to be extremely efficient protectors. However, this is one of the reasons why only the very greatest of Masters can use the Secret Arts: not all the entities you might contact are benevolent."

"Are you talking about… well, demons?"

"Some of the entities are certainly malevolent, it's true, and we need to be extremely careful to protect ourselves from them. Are they demons? Well, that would depend on where they come from and what they really are.

"And that brings me to a fourth category of Major Arts. This one involves practices based on pain and terror, and it is precisely those entities that you call demons who give the practitioners of this branch of the Art their power. Those found using them are outcast for ever. I need hardly add that Your Lordship pledged long ago never to use this Art.

"Now, if Your Lordship would please follow me…"

Master Subadar stood up and walked over to a corner of the room. There was a round grey metal plate set into the floor there, and Julien recognised it straight away.

"That's a klirk," he said.

"Yes, My Lord, and it will take us to somewhere I'd like you to visit."

"Can't you use it yourself?"

"No, My Lord. I can only use it with the help of a Guide – Aïn, usually. But we won't need him today. It's the same type of klirk as the flagstones in Palace Square, so if you would just like to step onto it…"

"I suppose we'd better hold hands, then," said Julien.

As before there was no sense of transition. Before they could even blink they were in mid-air and completely surrounded by blue sky. It was the colour of the sky on a summer's day, but there was no sun – instead the light seemed to come from all around them. It had no visible source and they cast no shadow. Nor was there any ground, or indeed any reference point as to which way was up and which was down – and yet Julien didn't feel as if he was either floating in space or falling into an endless abyss. Master Subadar, who was still holding his hand, was smiling as if he'd just heard a good joke.

"Where are we?" asked Julien.

His voice fell flat, unpleasantly so. It was like speaking into a box lined with cotton wool.

"Ah," said Subadar. "I was hoping that Your Lordship would recognise the Narthex. He used to come here all the time."

"Who's 'he'?"

"Err… that would be you, Your Lordship. You used to come here a lot."

"Master Subadar," said Julien, sighing, "I'm already confused enough. Please could you just say 'you' when you mean me?"

"As you wish, My Lord. Anyway, this place is unique – in fact strictly speaking it isn't a 'place' at all. We're neither in the Known Universe nor Outside. The Narthex has no actual dimensions, but it also has no limits. Nothing can reach you here, and here anything is possible."

Suddenly walls appeared around them, and beneath their feet was a floor of alternating white and dark green tiles. High windows appeared in the walls and revealed a landscape of rolling green hills bathed in spring sunshine.

"Did you do that?" asked Julien.

"Yes, My Lord."

"And is it real? The land outside the windows, I mean."

"It's as real as anything else here – which is to say that it will continue to exist as long as my mind keeps it in existence."

"Is it magic?"

"It's an example of what the Inner Arts can do – at least while you're in the Narthex. Actually it's what the Narthex is for – it is used for training purposes. That's why you created it in the first place."

"You mean, that's why Emperor Yulmir created it. I'm not him – I'm Julien."

"You're certainly Julien as well, but you can't change what you are. You are and will continue to be Yulmir, whether you recognise it or not."

"It's weird… I feel…"

"Yes?"

"It's like I've been in this room before. But that's obviously not possible."

"I didn't explain myself very well," said Subadar. "What you are seeing is not just a figment of my imagination. Rather, it's reality – or a different version of it, anyway."

"You mean, it's another world?"

"Not exactly. What you can see exists for anyone who is able to perceive it, whether here in the Narthex, or in their own imagination, or even in their dreams. After all, who really knows what 'reality' actually means?"

"I'm sorry, I really don't understand that."

"Forgive me, My Lord. I tend to forget that…"

"That I'm not Yulmir, just a stupid kid?"

"You are Yulmir, but you're wearing the body and using the intelligence of a really quite bright boy. The only thing you're lacking is Yulmir's massive stack of memories and a little training. And I'm here to help. I'll start by telling you what you told me a very, very long time ago when you brought me here for the first time. I was just a little frightened kid, younger than you appear to be now.

"'Everything in the universe is linked together', you told me. 'Any action, no matter how small, can have incalculable consequences. A Master is really just someone who knows what he is doing and doesn't get distracted.'"

The room disappeared and they found themselves back in the all-enveloping blue they had found when they first arrived.

"Now, My Lord, I'd like you to make something appear. I'd suggest something simple to start with – a ball, perhaps."

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

"Just imagine it, and try to see it in your mind with as much precision as you can. Think about its weight, its size, its consistency, and try not to think about anything else while you're doing it. Once you get it clear in your mind it will appear."

After a few seconds a small steel ball appeared in Julien's hand. It was exactly like the one he'd been carrying in his pocket all through the previous term at school.

"Remarkable!"

Subadar looked delighted – obviously he hadn't expected his pupil to achieve a result as quickly as this. Xarax, on the other hand, showed no sign of emotion at all, merely remaining coiled up and apparently asleep around Julien's neck.

"All right," said Subadar. "Let's try for something a bit more complicated. Try to think about a particular place, one you know well – your bedroom in your previous life ought to work."

With a feeling of homesickness Julien pictured himself in his room, trying to remember the exact details – the blue bed-cover, the wallpaper with its cartoon characters, who had been with him since his earliest childhood…

"Oh, by the… !"

Subadar's strangled expression pulled Julien out of his reverie. When he opened his eyes, what he saw was something that neither he nor his instructor had expected.

"What's that?" asked Julien. "Where are we?"

"I've no idea, My Lord, but I'm glad to hear that you don't recognise it!"

"But… what is this horrible place?"

They were in a desert landscape, apparently at twilight. Around them was a circle of rocks roughly carved into twisted figures that seemed to be shrieking with hatred. In the centre of the circle was a large stone, more or less flat, that formed a table for some sort of hideous rite or feast. It was covered in deeply-carved symbols, and they could see that it was still sticky with what had to be blood.

"This horrible place, as you rightly call it, looks to me like the sacrificial altar of a coven of Dark Sorcerers," said Subadar.

"But I've never seen this place, so how..?"

"You mean, you don't remember seeing it," corrected Subadar.

"But you said that the Emperor never had anything to do with that type of magic!"

"I did, and I'm still convinced that it's true. But even though I've never taken part in this sort of abomination, I can still recognise what I'm looking at, simply because I've seen one of these accursed circles before. And I believe that this particular memory surfacing at this instant is no accident: perhaps a part of your memory that you can't directly access at the moment is trying to give us a warning. I think we should stop the training now and go back to the library."

The landscape disappeared, and a klirk materialised in front of them. Subadar took Julien's hand once more.

"Ready when you are, My Lord," he said.

"It's amazing," commented Julien. "You can make a klirk appear just by snapping your fingers, but you can't actually use it."

"I suppose it is amazing," agreed Subadar, "but that's the way it is. And on the subject of klirks, your next instructor will be teaching you how to use them."

"Yes. I asked for Aïn to take that on. I hope there aren't going to be any difficulties about that."

"The First Lord told me you'd asked for Aïn. He also said that you don't want any action taken against any of those who took part in the disastrous attempt to get inside your mind. That was rather an unusual request."

"I should hope so too – I wouldn't want to think that people have to go through that sort of thing every day!"

"No, I meant that it's unusual to interfere with the decisions of…"

"Yes, I know that's what you meant. But I hope they still do what I want, because otherwise I might start to get the wrong impression."

"My Lord?"

"Well, for example, I might start thinking they were taking me for a fool."

"My Lord! Nobody would dare to think such a thing!"

"Really? Look, Master Subadar, I'm quite happy to do whatever I can to help, and that goes for you, Lord Aldegard, and all the other people who keep telling me that the Nine Worlds need me. But it's got to be a two-way process, and if I ask for something reasonable I'll expect it to be granted. Otherwise we have a tradition, back in the world I come from: it's called 'Going on Strike', and it means that we simply stop working until we get what we want. I don't know whether there's any mention of that in the Great Book of Traditions, but I'll be happy to demonstrate how it works if that's what I have to do."

"I don't think that will be necessary," replied Master Subadar, with an amused glint in his eye. "Would you permit me to pass on your… what shall we say… your 'state of mind' on to anyone who might have expected you to be… well, excessively docile, perhaps?"

"I'd be delighted if you would, Master. So, shall we go?"

"Whenever you like, My Lord."

They stepped onto the klirk and found themselves back in the library.

"You still haven't explained how come I don't need a Guide to do that," said Julien. "Especially since it appears that nobody else can use a klirk without one."

"I expect Master Aïn will be able to do that far better than I could," replied Subadar. "Klirks are his province, after all."

It was still fairly early when Julien returned to his kang. Ambar was leafing through what looked like an atlas of Nüngen, while Niil was engrossed in a book which was definitely not the Delights.

"Isn't Tannder here?" asked Julien.

"No," said Niil. "He's gone to the quays to look for Karik, the boy I sent to find Ambar the other evening. I promised him a reward. I wanted to go myself, but it looks as if we're not allowed outside the Tower. Perhaps not even outside the kang."

"Why not?"

"Security reasons, apparently."

"I hope that doesn't mean they're going to keep us locked up?!"

"That's what I asked Tannder," said Niil. "He didn't seem very happy. He said that it was on the orders of the First Lord, and that it applied to all three of us."

"I see. And how does my Privy Councillor feel about that?"

"Who?"

"What do you think about it? You are still my Privy Councillor, I hope?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so, theoretically, but…"

"Niil, this isn't a game. If we don't do something quickly we're going to find ourselves with no freedom at all. I already started pushing back a bit with Master Subadar, and I got the impression that he didn't mind me doing it. All right, there aren't too many of us, but we can still stand up and show people that we're not prepared to be little puppets. And if that's going to work we have to start acting as if we had some real power – so I'm asking you to act like a real Councillor: what do you think about what's happening?"

"Well… I suppose I think it's really annoying to be stuck here in the Tower. On the other hand, someone is definitely trying to kill you, so maybe this wouldn't be the best time to go out for a walk. All the same, I think the First Lord ought to discuss it with you, not just order you about. Even if he is doing it for your own good, it's not… I mean, if he really believes that you're the Emperor, then he shouldn't be treating you like a little kid."

"Exactly!" said Julien.

The chime sounded and Tannder entered the room.

"I'm glad you're here," Julien greeted him. "Niil tells me that we're now Aldegard's prisoners."

"I wouldn't put it quite like that," said Tannder, uncomfortably.

"I don't care how you put it," said Julien. "As I understand it, we're not allowed to go out – or am I wrong?"

"Well, no, My Lord."

"Well, in my book, when you lock someone up it's called imprisonment. Isn't that true?"

"My Lord, it's just a security measure."

"So Niil tells me. And who decided on this particular security measure?"

"First Lord Aldegard."

"Did he ask for your opinion first?"

"I'm not on his Council any longer, remember?"

"So that's a 'no', then. And he didn't ask my opinion, either – or did he send a message that you forgot to give me?"

"No, My Lord."

"Good. So now we know where we stand. Anyway, Niil tells me that you ran an errand for him?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"Oh, stop all that 'My Lord' stuff, Tannder. And don't look at me like that, either – you know I don't blame you for this, and I'm not going to make waves with Aldegard either – at least, not yet. So just relax and tell us how your mission went."

"Well, I found Karik, and he was visibly delighted when I told him I was there on behalf of Lord Niil. He asked about Ambar straight away, and I assured him that he was safe, obviously without telling him that he was now a Ksantiri.

"And then I asked him for his own story, and it turned out to be rather sad. His father was a saddler, and he lost his wife when Karik was about five or six. It upset him badly – the father, I mean – and he made the mistake of using tchanag to try to forget his grief. Tchanag is a sort of infusion which does bring with it a sort of blissful peace, but the problem is that it's addictive: after a while you can't stop taking it, and then it starts to alter your character. You have to be very strong-willed to defeat the addiction, and Karik's father was no superman. And the other problem is that tchanag is very expensive.

"After three years of going steadily downhill the man was forced to sell his son's services to the innkeeper – and tchanag supplier – Dehart, and eventually his debt to Dehart grew so impossible that he signed an act of abandonment. He died less than a year later. And to cut a long story short, that left his son a virtual slave. I'd prefer not to talk about exactly what happened to him, except to say that it entailed a lot more than collecting empty mugs. Niil had given me a generous sum of money which had been intended as his reward, but I decided that simply to give it to him and leave would have been a fairly terrible thing to do. So instead I sent for the innkeeper, demanded to see the act of abandonment, and bought it off him for half the sum Lord Niil had intended giving to Karik as his reward."

He put a grease-stained document on the table.

"I brought the act back with me so that you can have the pleasure or destroying it yourself," he went on. "Then I asked Karik if he had any other family, or maybe some close friends, that he could live with. But it turned out that he was living at the inn, and Dehart had made sure that he didn't get a chance to make any friends. And I decided that just giving him the rest of the money, even though he was now officially free, wouldn't be enough to improve his situation very much.

"I wasn't with him for very long, but it was long enough to give me the impression that he's basically a decent kid, even though he'd certainly been damaged by what he'd been through. So I took him to a bath-house, and once he'd cleaned himself up properly I gave him the abba I'd bought on the way to the bath-house and then brought him back here with me. He's now in my kang. I hope I didn't overstep the mark too much, Lord Niil – after all, that wasn't exactly what you told me to do."

"Not at all – in fact I'd say you definitely did the right thing," said Niil. "We'll have to try to think up a permanent solution to his problems."

"Well, actually, I have had a thought about that," said Tannder. "If it's all right with you, My Lord," he went on, bowing to Julien, "I'd like to take the boy into my service."

"Why on earth would you think I'd object to that?" asked Julien.

"Well, to start with it might annoy the First Lord."

"So what? As you've pointed out, you're no longer in his service. Yes I can see why he might not be happy, but provided you're happy to take responsibility for Karik I should think we'll be able to convince Aldegard that his blessed security isn't going to be compromised. After all, the boy is deeply indebted to both Niil and yourself, and unless gratitude is a completely foreign concept to him I imagine that it's more than enough for us to be able to count on his loyalty."

"Yes, and, all right, I don't know him all that well," added Ambar. "But he's always treated me nice."

"There you are, then," said Julien. "If Ambar's prepared to vouch for him I'd say it's done and dusted. So, Tannder, in what capacity were you intending to use him?"

"I thought he could start out as my orderly. Later… well, it will depend what talents he has. In any case I'm intending to give him at least a basic education."

"Well, you'd better go and get him, then," said Julien. "It's not fair to keep him waiting any longer."

***

Tannder returned a few minutes later with Karik. Of course Niil and Ambar had only seen him dirty and dressed in rags, and so they could both appreciate the change that a long bath and some clean clothes – in this case a brand new abba in apple green – could achieve. Karik's dark brown hair was a little longer than was customary, but it shone healthily and provided an interesting contrast with his dark blue-grey eyes. He was scrawny-looking – of course he had been undernourished for several years – and he looked more like twelve than his actual age of fourteen, but he was well-proportioned, and despite a yellowing bruise on his left cheek he could still have been fairly described as handsome.

"Ambar!" he exclaimed as he entered the room. And then he jerked aside, as if fearing a blow from Tannder.

Tannder pretended that he hadn't seen the flinch. "You have to call him 'Noble Son Ambar' now," he pointed out. "He's now the brother of the Noble Lord Niil, of the Ksantiris."

"I don't care," said Ambar, blushing. "You can go on calling me 'Ambar' if you like."

"If that's what you want," said Tannder. "But outside this kang I'd prefer Karik to address you correctly."

Niil stepped forward, picked up the act of abandonment and slowly tore it into pieces.

"That's it, Karik," he said. "You're now free., and you can decide what you want to do with your life. Does this clear the debt between us?"

"Noble Lord," replied Karik, "you've taken care of Ambar, like you promised. As far as I'm concerned you've never owed me nothing."

"That's a noble thing to say," said Niil. "Now I'd like to introduce you to our Lord and Master, the noble Lord Julien."

Karik was unable to suppress an expression of surprise that this boy, who had no Marks and extravagantly long hair, and who was himself smiling modestly, could be introduced in such a way.

"Don't be fooled by appearances," Niil went on. "We all owe him our respect and obedience."

"It's nice to meet you, Karik," said Julien. "You don't realise this, but you helped me a great deal too, even though we've never met before. Anyway, I'm glad your troubles are over. I think the honourable Tannder has a proposal for you."

"Indeed," said Tannder. "The Noble Lord Julien has given me permission to keep you in my service. If that's all right with you I'll teach you everything you need to know and do my best to be a good master. Or, if you prefer, I can give you a sum of money that will be enough for you to settle wherever you want. But if you decide to enter my service you'll first need to swear loyalty to my Lord, and also swear to keep secret anything that you might see or hear while you're in my service."

"But it's you who will be my actual master?"

"Yes."

"And my duty would be to serve you – sort of like a valet?"

"To start with, yes. After that it'll depend on which way your talents lie."

"Then I agree."

"There's one more formality I'd like you to go through before we take a final decision," said Julien. "Tannder, I want to hear Xarax's opinion. In any case they'll have to meet each other if Karik is going to be working around here."

"Of course you're right, My Lord," agreed Tannder.

He turned to Karik. "You're about to get to meet a haptir," he told him.

Karik went pale and swallowed audibly.

"Don't be scared," said Tannder. "Yes, he's a dangerous fighter, but he's also my Master's friend. He won't hurt you."

Julien called and Xarax emerged from the bedroom where he had been waiting and hopped up onto his friend's shoulder. Karik took a step back. He'd obviously never met a haptir, but their universally accepted reputation for ferocity made them bogey-men to all kids.

Let the boy put out his hand, said Xarax. Xarax will taste him.

"Hold out your hand," said Julien. "And don't worry – nothing bad is going to happen."

Taking the two steps that brought him closer to the haptir was certainly an ordeal for Karik, but actually holding out his hand towards it demonstrated the trust he had in the people who were helping him. Even so, when the bright blue tongue curled around his fingers he was absolutely terrified.

You have nothing to fear from Xarax if your mind harbours no treason.

As these words sounded in his head he felt his fear melt away, to be replaced by a feeling of absolute trust. Of course, haptirs generally had no problem arousing emotions in people.

Know that Xarax will protect you to the best of his ability as long as you remain true to his friend. Know also that he will kill you if you should ever betray him. Do you understand that?

"Yes, Honourable… haptir," said Karik.

What is your name?

"I am Karik, son of Aldrik the Saddler, from Tanners' Village, Your Honour."

Well, Karik, son of Aldrik, from this moment you may consider yourself as protected by Xarax.

"Thank you, Your Honour."

The contact was broken. The blue tongue disappeared back behind the pointed teeth and Xarax hopped down from Julien's shoulder and went back into the bedroom. Of course, everyone except Julien had only heard one side of the conversation, but its meaning was nonetheless plain.

"I don't think any more pledges are necessary," said Julien. "If everyone agrees with that, maybe we could celebrate with some iced raal and perhaps a few sweets. Do you think we could do that, Tannder?"

"Of course, My Lord. I'll see to it straight away."

"And… do you think there's any chance of finding any sweetsnow in the Tower?"

Night had just fallen. The moon was rising, huge and red as it climbed above the horizon, its light strong enough to hide all but the brightest stars. It was almost full, and the strange patterns across its face reminded Julien – not that any reminder was needed – of just how far away he was from the Earth. There were a few thin clouds drifting slowly across the sky, high up, and here and there you could see the coloured orb of light that indicated a passing flybubble. The warm evening air carried a faint perfume of vegetation mixed with traces of incense. Julian could feel himself becoming melancholy, so he made a determined effort to shrug it off.

"Niil," he asked, "what do people do here in the evenings? Apart from re-reading the Delights, of course."

"I'm not re-reading it, I'm just admiring the artistry of the illustrations in your copy."

"Of course – I'm sure you never miss a chance to improve your understanding of culture. But, seriously what else do you do if you don't feel sleepy enough for bed? I don't suppose you've got a telly stashed away in here somewhere, have you?"

"No. What's one of those?"

"It's a sort of box with moving pictures. You can watch films – that's a sort of spectacle that tells a story… never mind. I'll tell you about it some other time. I don't really feel like it this evening."

"Well, we could always play cards, although I expect I'll have to teach you how. Or we could play Territories – that's a game you lay on a special board that has divisions on it."

"We've got something a bit like that. It's called chess. But I bet it's one of those games you can't learn in five minutes."

"I could always sing for you, if you want," offered Ambar. "And perhaps someone can play the yangchenn. Did you ever learn how, Niil?"

"Of course! I'll get Tannder to find us one."

Tannder soon returned carrying something that looked a bit like a lute. It was obviously a valuable instrument: the body was inlaid with complex patterns of beautiful marquetry that reminded Julien of the patterns of his friends' Marks. Niil picked it up respectfully and examined it for a moment or two before tuning the impressive numbers of strings with the ease of long familiarity. Tannder checked that everything was well and left silently.

Niil whispered something to Ambar and then started to play a slow prelude, playing the notes of a strange scale – at least, it didn't sound anything like the music Julien had heard on Earth, although as far as he could tell, Niil was playing very well. He supposed that music was a part of a Noble Son's education here, as well as martial arts.

In the soft light of the only lamp that was still burning the sounds stretched into long swirls, modulating here and there and lulling its audience into a state of contentment. Then, in an almost imperceptible whisper, Ambar added his voice to the melody. At first his voice was supported by the yangchenn like a piece of driftwood on a wave, but gradually it began to follow its own path, launching into a series of melismata that resembled sobs, and finally emerging into the deeply moving images of a poem in which the singer is a flower that has just begun to bloom, dying gladly in the hand of a boy who has picked it for his friend.

Nobody could have listened to it unaffected: the way Ambar's pure voice gave life to the simple words of the universal theme of love, beauty and death would have brought tears from a stone. And once again Julien was overwhelmed by a revelation of absolute but unutterably fragile perfection, ephemeral and lost the moment it appeared, but which was completely embodied in the unconscious grace of the young boy.

Ambar sang for a long time, sitting on a cushion. When he stopped singing he moved over to sit on Julien's lap instead, and together they listened as Niil went on playing, improvising on a slow nocturne of a melody, letting each note expand and vanish like ripples on the surface of a lake. Ambar's skin gave off a gentle scent that reminded Julien vaguely of cedarwood, and he thought that he could easily die here, just as he was, or else live this perfect moment for all eternity. Unable to put a name to this feeling of tenderness that was overwhelming him he stayed exactly as he was, with his arms around this warm, delicate being, occasionally gently brushing the boy's incredibly soft cheek with his lips.

The morning sun had long since cleared the overnight dew and its heat announced that another very hot day was under way. Julien walked along next to Aïn, keeping his hand on the Guide's neck so that they could communicate with each other. As was true of his entire species, Aïn was very sensitive about both friendship and rejection, and the way that Julien had stepped in to prevent any action being taken against him by the Council of Guides, as well as his insistence on working only with him, had completely won his heart. Julien didn't yet realise it, but he had made an ally of unshakable loyalty.

This was Julien's first trip into the grounds of the Tower since the attempt on his life, and for that reason Xarax was with him too – it had been decided that every time Julien left the kang he should take Xarax with him. The haptir was perched on his shoulder as usual with his tail wrapped around Julien's neck, and Julien wasn't sure if this was necessary to maintain his balance or simply a gesture of affection.

From time to time they passed one of the guards, who studiously ignored this strange trio, but before too long they left the well-trodden paths and ornamental shrubberies and headed instead into an area of untended growth, and after pushing their way through the bushes they entered a small clearing in a grove that looked no different to any of the others.

Here it is, My Lord, thought Aïn.

I thought we were going to a klirk?

Indeed we are, My Lord, but this is a secret one.

Aïn spoke in his strange falsetto voice: "Wahi!" he said.

The grass, which until then had just looked like ordinary grass, flattened in places to form the complex pattern of a klirk.

It took three Masters of the Major Arts to establish and hide this klirk, he explained. It will last for all time. It's one of the one hundred and eight resource-klirks on Nüngen. Only the Emperor or one of the Master Guides of the Upper Circle can use it.

So where does it go?

To the Orientation Table. That's where Guides choose their destination. The people they transport have no memory of it, just as they can't remember what we look like, either, except when they're actually in contact with one of us.

What do you mean?

If you ask someone to describe a Guide, they won't be able to.

But… I can remember you perfectly, and the other Guides, too!

That's because nobody would dare to interfere with the Emperor's memory.

So… you mean that normally the Guides wipe the memories of the people they transport?

Of course. It's something that we're allowed to do in exchange for our services.

But why? Why do you need to do that?

The guides are free to accept, or refuse, anyone who asks them for transport. Furthermore, they are not permitted to transport people in certain circumstances If just anyone could identify and recognise a Guide, some people would be sure to try to persuade them, or even coerce them. But the Guides are loyal only to the Emperor, because the Emperor is the one who gives them their privileges.

But apparently some of the Guides are working for the Emperor's enemies. They even transported those ghorrs, didn't they?

I don't know. Such a thing has never happened before, which is why the Guild of Guides is investigating it. The honour of all Guides is at stake.

Not to mention the safety of the Emperor…

That's true. But now I'm going to take you to the Orientation Table so that you can start to learn again how to use it yourself.

I hope it's not too difficult!

The only way is to memorize as many destinations as you can. That's why a Guide's training takes so long – it's not enough just to have the Gift…

Thanks for reminding me, Aïn!

No, that's not what I…

It's all right, I'm joking. But I suppose I was lucky I landed here in Aleth.

Luck had nothing to do with it, My Lord: it was down to the expertise of Yol the Intrepid. I've no idea how he managed it, but somehow he arranged for you to come back. I hope he manages to find his way back to the Nine Worlds himself… Anyway, now I'm going to activate this path.

They were standing side by side on the grass, and Julien could clearly feel Ain's mind tense up as he prepared to activate the strange magic of the klirk.

***

And they jumped straight into a nightmare.

The klirk was a trap! It was now an instrument of death designed to kill the person using it, and of course logically that person had to be the Emperor, as this was one of his special resource-klirks. That is why Aïn's brain was not instantly fried by the huge energy overload that the klirk generated: it had been prepared for the Emperor, and if Julien had activated the klirk himself he would certainly have died. But even though the trap hadn't been tuned to the Guide's mind, the massive shock still sent Aïn into a deep coma.

Julien survived only because, in the fraction of a second when he had realised that something was wrong, Aïn had torn himself away from Julien's grasp, thus breaking the link between their minds. However, the hole torn in the fabric of the universe lasted long enough to propel Julien into a place – or non-place – where nobody would ever willingly go: into the terrible chaos of the Outside.

Had he been alone, Julien would probably have gone insane through absolute terror in less than thirty seconds. But even as he opened his mouth to scream, Xarax instinctively took over his mind and closed down all his senses. And there, insulated inside a sort of cocoon and sheltered from the continual torrent of noise and images pouring from the entrails of the universe, the haptir worked to reassure and instruct his friend.

Don't be afraid, he said. Xarax is with you. The Outside is full of scary things, but they can't get at you unless you allow fear to control you. Chaos is terrible because anything can emerge from it: if you think about demons, they will appear and eat you. But if you think about the wonders of the Nine Worlds, they also will appear before you. This is the Outside, and all the paths to and from the klirks pass through it. Guides cross it all the time and are not harmed by it.

Aïn! What has happened to Aïn?

Xarax does not know. Aïn might be dead. Xarax thinks that the klirk was a trap designed to kill the one who used it. But now you must find your own way through the Outside. Xarax cannot do that. But Xarax will help you. You are a Guide: you possess the Gift. Aïn said so.

Julien was about to protest that he was unable to do anything of the kind, but Xarax stopped him even before the thought could fully take shape.

You are Yulmir! Xarax know this, and he will not allow his friend to hide in the attitude of a scared little child! Xarax now understands what happened to his friend: he was almost certainly a victim of a similar trap. That is why he has lost his memory.

Xarax, if I had been caught in a trap like that on my own I would be dead!

It is more complicated than that. Much more complicated. But now is not the time to discuss it. Now we must find a path. Otherwise Julien really will die, and Xarax too. Are you willing to try?

Quite apart from the fact that there was no choice in the matter, Julien also felt a new determination filling him, and he realised that Xarax had been unscrupulous enough to manipulate his thinking in some way. He wasn't terribly happy about that, but he realised that the urgency of their predicament was possibly a reasonable justification for it.

Of course I will try. What do I have to do? he asked.

Right now, nothing. First, Xarax will reactivate your senses, and you will once again be immersed in the Outside. Unfortunately there is no gradual way to do that. Just remember that Xarax is with you and that nothing can happen to you as long as you remain calm.

Immediately he was back in Hell. There is no way to describe the Outside. There was nothing to see, but nevertheless he felt he was drowning in both darkness and a light brighter than a lightning flash, a light which roared silently in his mind. At the same time he could hear whispers of revolting things, hiding, but really close, like the cellar-monster which he had been so frightened of when he was small, or the evil creature that he had been sure lived in the kitchen cupboard – hostile, slimy things, absolutely malevolent, and which only needed him to become distracted for a second in order to pounce on him and…

Everything stopped, and again he heard Xarax's voice in his head.

All is well. Be calm. There is no danger.

At the same time Julien was swamped in a wave of tenderness, making him feel like a little boy wrapped in his father's arms after a bad dream. Part of him knew that this was just the haptir manipulating him, but all the same he was grateful for the sense of relief it brought, grateful enough to cry a little.

Thank you, Xarax. I'm starting to see how it works. We can try again if you like.

Once again he was surrounded by chaos. He felt/saw disgusting things swarming around him, but he managed not to look at their centipede-like bodies. He managed not to listen to the threats whispered into the dark folds of the incandescent darkness. He realised, finally, that he was in no danger of falling into the abysses that gaped open at his feet and seemed to be trying to suck him down into their roaring depths…

It took him a long time and called for a great deal of help from Xarax before he was finally able to stand still in the middle of the Outside's fundamental instability. He needed countless attempts before he was eventually able to perform this miracle, and he thought he would die from exhaustion or terror before he finally discovered how he could draw energy from this same source that gave light to the stars. In this non-place it was impossible to measure time, and it seemed to him simultaneously that years had gone by and that he had been striving for only an instant.

Now you must find a path, said Xarax. Use your gift!

Using the Gift was no longer the problem: Julien had had ample opportunity to become familiar with it during his struggle to control his own mind and the chaos that surrounded him. The problem now was that the trap-klirk's energy, as well as killing Aïn, had thrown him a very long way – insofar as distance actually meant anything here – from the paths most frequently travelled by the Guides. Nor was there anything that Xarax could do to help as Julien tried to scan the non-space in search of a clue that might enable him to reach the Orientation Table.

I can't do it, Xarax! he said. We're too far away!

Near or far have no meaning here. We are nowhere.

You're right, but even so I should be able to find something – like a scent, or a feeling of déjà-vu. But there's nothing. We're lost, Xarax.

Julien, Yol the Intrepid managed to find you. He must have discovered some trace that led him to your world. If you cannot find the R'hinz, maybe you can find the path to your own home?

Xarax, you're a genius!

As soon as he had suppressed his memories of Aleth and replaced them with his memories of the coast of Normandy he perceived something that had not been there a second before. It had neither form nor colour, but he could feel it, like a hairline crack in a piece of glass – something thin, twisting and bright that sank through the abysses of the universe and led to Earth. He couldn't have said why he was so sure, but he was absolutely convinced that this was the path he had been looking for. Furthermore, he now knew what he had to do, and without any further delay he threw himself into the same fault-line that Yol had followed years previously.

Aïn wasn't found until the beginning of the afternoon. He was found by Waën, a member of the High Council of the Guides, whom Tannder had alerted when he started to worry about Julien's prolonged absence. He'd explained where Julien and Aïn had been intending to go, and Waën promptly went to the nearest resource-klirk and discovered the unfortunate Guide, unconscious and barely breathing.

The Health Masters immediately started trying to draw him out of his coma, and at some point during the night he was able to utter a few coherent sentences. What he had to say sounded like a death-knell to the hopes of the small number of people who were aware that the Emperor had returned, and it was Tannder who had the difficult job of telling Niil and Ambar about it.

"But there is hope," he added. "Aïn is almost sure that Julien didn't die. He thinks Julien was probably thrown off into the Outside, but he's fairly sure that he himself took most of the shock of the trap."

"But if the Outside is anything like what I've heard about it, Julien's probably gone insane even if he wasn't hurt by the trap!" cried Niil, furiously.

Ambar didn't say anything: he was just trying not to collapse or burst into tears.

"We don't know about that," said Tannder, "and Aïn is too weak to tell us much more. But we're fairly sure that Julien isn't alone: Xarax is with him."

"Can't we do something?" demanded Niil. "It must be possible to look for him!"

"If anything can be done it'll have to be the Guides that do it," said Tannder. "And in any case I'm afraid the First Lord won't let you get involved. In fact, he's already said that you should be sent back to Dvârinn for your own protection."

"Tannder, we have to stay here! When Julien gets back he'll definitely need us! And in any case the First Lord can't just order us about like that. You and me, we're both part of the Emperor's House now – and I've been emancipated, remember? He can't treat me like a kid and send me off to bed any more!"

"Technically, that's true," said Tannder. "But I really don't think it would be a good idea to butt heads with the First Lord over this."

"Well, what do you suggest, then?"

"I think you should thank the First Lord for his hospitality, assure him that you remain at his disposal if he can think of any way in which you could help to find Julien, and then take yourself and Ambar back to Dvârinn. I'll stay here and keep you informed about what's going on."

"And how are you going to do that?"

"I've got more friends than you seem to imagine. I know several Guides who would be prepared to make discreet trips between here and Dvârinn to carry my messenger; and as for the messenger himself, I think Karik would be perfect, because hardly anyone knows who he is. Trust me, Noble Lord, the less conspicuous you are, the freer you'll be to help when the time comes. And as for Ambar, as the Emperor's Pupil he'll need you to look after him."

"Even so, do you think I could go and visit Master Aïn? If he's intending to go looking for Julien maybe he'll agree to take me with him. I could be useful. After all, I'm sure I know Julien better than anyone else around here."

"I could take you to see him, but I'm certain that he would refuse to take you with him. And it would be sure to attract the wrong sort of attention."

"Well, then at least go and see him and tell him that I hope he gets well soon. Tell him I don't hold him responsible for what has happened, and that, if he will accept it, I'd like to offer him the friendship of a Ksantiri."

It was dark, and it was cold; too. Fortunately the material from which his lakh was made was proof against cold weather. All the same, it wasn't exactly what he would have chosen for a walk along a particularly blowy stretch of the Normandy coast; it left his lower legs bare, for a start, and it wasn't much good at preventing draughts from blowing up under the hem, either. But none of that prevented Julien from actually shouting for joy when he recognised the salt tang in the air and the prickly grass of the dunes. They were no more than a hundred metres from the door of his parents' holiday home, and even if visibility wasn't too good, the thin crescent moon peeped out from behind the clouds for long enough to enable him to get his bearings.

"Xarax, we made it!" he said. "We're back at my home!"

Xarax was sure you would succeed.

"Come on, let's go home. It's just over there."

***

Jacques Berthier came to answer the door. He looked a mess: although he was wearing blue pyjamas it was clear that it was a long time since he had slept properly. Nonetheless, although he had clearly been living a nightmare for the past five days he didn't hesitate for an instant, but swept Julien up in his arms and almost crushed him against his chest, which would have done Xarax no good at all if he hadn't had a good strong bone structure.

"My kitten!" cried Mr Berthier.

It was some years since he had last called Julien that, but the use of that nickname, coupled with the relief of finding himself safe at home again after the horrors of the Outside finally broke Julien's reserves and he started to cry.

"Duckling!" cried his mother's voice.

Normally he hated it when she called him that, and he was constantly terrified that she'd do it in front of his friends. But right now the only thing that mattered to him was hearing her voice again, which more than anything else confirmed that his nightmare was over.

But then his mother stepped back in alarm.

"What's that?!" she cried, pointing at Xarax.

"Um… it's a haptir," Julien told her. "Don't worry, he won't hurt you. He's not dangerous."

That was an absolute whopper of a lie, of course, but he didn't think they'd yet reached the point where he'd have to start going into details about what had happened to him. In any case Xarax quickly realised the effect he was having and jumped down from Julien's shoulder, scuttling away to hide under a piece of furniture as Ugo, huge, shaggy and black, came bounding into the room to be reunited with his young master, knocking over in his haste two chairs in the kitchen and the hat-stand in the hall.

Some five minutes of complete chaos later the family found itself sitting around the kitchen table, with a steaming cup of chocolate in front of Julien. He knew what was coming: it was Question Time.

"Julien," his father started, "we're obviously very happy to have you back, but we really need to know where you've been – especially since we had to call the police. They're bound to want an explanation."

"It can wait until tomorrow if you're feeling too tired now," offered his mother.

"And… well," his father went on, "the psychiatrist did warn us that there might be some things that you don't want to talk to us about… If you like we can fix an appointment for you with her just as soon as you feel up to it."

Julien sighed.

"Look," he said, "I don't need a head-doctor, thank you. Yes, I know I look strange and that I'm wearing weird clothes, but I haven't gone bananas, and I wasn't kidnapped by a pervert, either. Although I think you might have trouble believing what actually happened to me…"

He called in Tünnkeh, "Xarax! Could you come here, please?"

Once the haptir was once again comfortably ensconced on Julien's shoulder despite the obvious revulsion of Julien's mother, Julien took a deep breath.

"Right," he said. "You see this lizard on my shoulder? Well, it's not a lizard. He's a haptir, and he comes from another world."

His parents both stared at him in dismay.

"Don't look at me like that!" said Julien. "Just listen, and afterwards I'll be able to prove I'm telling the truth…"

He spent the next hour and a bit describing his adventures. He told them about the world of Nüngen and about Aleth and its towers. He described the horror of his crash into the lake. He tried to describe the ghorr. He found that he didn't really have a wide enough vocabulary to explain the surreal beauty of the Imperial Palace. His narrative took in Niil, Ambar and Izkya, and Xarax, too, and his voice trembled a little as he described how Aïn had almost certainly died to save his life. And when his story was finally over he looked up and met the worried gaze of his parents. Obviously, he realised, they couldn't accept that this fairy-story could possibly be true. Yes, they knew that something had happened to their son, but that was a very long way from admitting that he had travelled across the universe, and was – just to put the icing on this insane cake – the Lord and Master of a huge Empire. He supposed that such a thing was way beyond their imagination.

Julien felt exhausted. He couldn't raise the energy to go on trying to convince them. He decided that if his parents refused to believe him and instead came to the conclusion that he was mad, well, that was just too bad.

At that point Xarax spread his wings, flew once around the kitchen and then landed on a visibly alarmed Mr Berthier's shoulder.

Xarax show – hold mother hand, said Xarax in extremely basic and ungrammatical French. Obviously he'd never heard the language before this evening, but he'd managed to glean those few words from inside Julien's head. Mr Berthier did as he was told and took hold of his wife's hand, because the voice inside his head clearly wasn't to be argued with, and once the parents were connected to each other Xarax was able to share his story with both of them.

He didn't actually speak: instead he just shared his memories with them. They saw Julien standing, scared, small and powerless under the vast dome of the Oceanic Rotunda in the Palace, with one assassin already lying dead on the floor. He looked weak and helpless, the light glinting in his hair somehow emphasising how pale he was. They felt, as if they were actually experiencing it themselves, Xarax's surprise and fierce joy when he recognised the friend he'd never expected to see again standing there in the guise of a child. They shared with him his takeover of their son's mind and the activation of the knowledge, hidden away from his own memory, of how to draw energy from the Palace's bountiful supply. And they felt the same exhilaration when, speaking the Words of Power, Julien unleashed a devastating surge of fire which destroyed in an instant those who had thought that killing him and his companions would be a simple matter.

Then the scene changed, and for a brief but terrible moment they were immersed in the chaotic horror of the Outside. They watched as Julien struggled to hang on to his sanity and fought to find some point of reference and balance in a reality from which logic was entirely absent. They felt how the haptir tried patiently to bathe him in the sweetness and depth of the bond that linked them together, and they recognised in the haptir's feelings something of the love that they themselves felt for their son, understanding that he, like them, would gladly have given his life to save him.

Immediately, without even needing to discuss it, they reached their conclusion. How could it have been otherwise? Yes, there were certainly things about the story that they couldn't understand, but it was abundantly clear that their son's life had changed irrevocably. Their duty was to support him unreservedly, and if Julien had to face danger, they would face it with him. Nor would they make the situation more difficult for him by asking him questions that he couldn't answer.

Julien didn't know exactly what Xarax had done to his parents, but it was quite obvious that something had changed. No explanation was necessary: he just knew in that instant that they would help him however they could. For a few seconds time almost seemed to stand still – and then the moment passed and life began again. It was two o'clock in the morning, and Isabelle Berthier was a woman of solid common sense.

"We're not going to be able to do anything right now," she said, stifling a yawn. "Let's just go to bed. I think I'm going to sleep a lot better than I have recently, anyway."

"Er, Mum," said Julien, "do you think that Ugo could sleep in my room tonight – please?"

She might well have been a woman of solid common sense, but she also had some very firm views about a number of things, such as the fact that flowers shouldn't be allowed into a sick-room, and a dog sleeping in a bedroom was extremely unhygienic. It's hard to go against your own nature, and like a lot of mothers faced with silly requests from their children she answered almost without thinking.

"Certainly not!" she said. "You know how unhealthy that is! Ugo can sleep in his basket in the kitchen as usual."

"I know that's where he usually sleeps, but I really think he needs to sleep with me tonight."

"What?!"

Julien sighed. He was tired, and he was having to struggle to keep his tone respectful.

"Look, Mum," he said, "it's late. I thought I'd already explained that Ugo isn't really a dog."

"Well, what on Earth is he, then? May I remind you that I actually bought him for you myself when you were still just a baby?"

"I know you did, but all the same I'm virtually certain that Ugo is a Guide as well as a dog. Actually his name is Yol – Yol the Intrepid, in fact."

"Now listen…"

But Isabelle Berthier didn't get a chance to continue: Ugo parked himself right in front of her and started barking loudly, as if to confirm what Julien had said about him.

"Darling, I think the dog has something to say," commented Mr Berthier.

Xarax had already dropped to the floor and was approaching Ugo, who suddenly fell silent and looked at the haptir nervously. Then Xarax touched the dog's front paw, and they remained in silent communication for what seemed an age but was in reality probably no more than a couple of minutes. Finally Xarax went back to Julien's shoulder and the boy started to translate for him.

"Yol Ladilak Wondelil yin ek Brath, who is also called Yol the Intrepid," he began, "would like to thank those who have welcomed and sheltered him during the years when he was unable to explain who he was. He has been treated, fed and loved as one of the family, and he will be grateful for as long as he lives. He says that he doesn't mind sleeping in the kitchen as usual if that's what Mum wants, but that he'd also like a chance to talk to his friend Julien, who is also Yulmir, Emperor of the R'hinz ka aun li Nügen, Lord of the Nine Worlds and Sole Guardian of the Powers and Gifts. He says that he has been waiting for this moment for many years, even though he never dared to hope that I… Julien… would ever come back. He says he'll do his best to avoid leaving hairs everywhere and he promises not to jump on the bed. He also says that I should remind you that you disposed of the few fleas that were bothering him yesterday."

Isabelle Berthier was staring at both her son and his dog with a comical expression of disbelief, but at least her husband managed not to laugh. Instead he spoke to Julien.

"Of course we could never have guessed," he said. "But this is his home and he can do what he wants, so if you'd prefer him to stay with you I don't see why he shouldn't. And I hope that one day he'll be able to tell us his whole story."

"Thank you," said Julien. "I'm sure he'll be happy to do that."

"And… can Xarax understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, he sort of listens inside my head. He understands everything that I do."

"Then," said Mr Berthier, looking into the haptir's disturbing red eyes, "I'd like to thank him. Xarax, I owe you the life of my only child. There is no way I can ever repay that debt."

"He says," translated Julien, "that there is no debt. Thanks to you and Mum his friend Yulmir found a new body, and he, Xarax, has now found a new reason to live. He says that your honour is now his. Your friends are now his friends, and your enemies had better start running now."

"Thank you, Xarax. Actually we don't have any enemies… well, apart from anyone who tries to hurt Julien. But we appreciate the offer."

"He says that's what he does. And he'd like to talk to Yol about where we go from here. He says he'll teach me everything he can, but that there are some things that only Yol can show me. But first I need to rest. He wishes you a good night with sweet dreams, and as for us… I think bed would be a really good idea."

***

When Julien got to his bedroom he felt unsettled. He looked at his bed – a narrow, single bed, clearly designed for sleeping and nothing else – and it reminded him sharply of what he had lost. He hadn't cried when he had been separated from his parents, but the thought that he might never see Niil and Ambar again was intolerable. Especially Ambar: never before had he felt someone's absence so keenly. Ugo could tell that he was unhappy without understanding why, and he gave a little whine of sympathy.

As he sat at the breakfast table the following morning, idly dipping his bread into his bowl of milk coffee, Julien still wasn't sure of how he felt. Obviously he was happy to be safely back at home, but he couldn't deny that he would have willingly gone back to Nüngen in a flash, and not just to see his friends again, either.

"Doesn't your, er, lizard, eat?" asked his mother.

"Mum, his name is Xarax. And he's not a lizard, he's a haptir. More important, he's my friend – I wouldn't have made it back here without him."

"Sorry, I didn't intend to be rude. Still, isn't he hungry?"

"He doesn't eat very much, and in any case he needs special food." Julien had wisely omitted to explain Xarax's eating habits when telling his story the previous evening.

"And will you be able to find what he needs here?"

"Definitely. You don't need to worry about it."

"And does he always sit on your shoulder like that? I mean, he looks nice, if a bit colourful. But it might not be a good idea to go out for a walk with him sitting there."

"That's not going to be a problem, because he's quite capable of going for a walk on his own, and he knows how to make sure that nobody sees him, too."

"But if you go out without him, won't he get bored?"

Julien sighed and started to butter another piece of bread.

"I really don't need to go out at the moment, and in any case he can always talk to Ugo. They must have a lot of catching up to do. You haven't forgotten that Ugo is a Guide, I hope?"

"To be honest, I'm not completely sure that I understand that. I hope he won't be offended if I still feed him dog biscuits."

"I don't think so. He's still a dog too. But I'll ask him if you like."

Jacques Berthier burst out laughing, spluttering because he had a mouthful of coffee at the time.

"This is surreal!" he exclaimed. "Next you'll be telling me that we should ask the goldfish if he'd like a little Pernod in his water!"

***

Sprawled on the carpet with a multicoloured haptir and a black as the gates of hell dog, Julien, under the resigned gaze of his parents, organised a group telepathy session. Actually it wasn't really a group session: instead Xarax had to act as intermediary between Ugo, who was really Yol Ladilak Wondelil yin ek Brath, and Julien Berthier, who was also Yulmir, Emperor of the R'hinz ka aun li Nügen, Lord of the Nine Worlds and Sole Guardian of the Powers and Gifts. If Julien and Ugo had been able to communicate directly with each other things would have been a lot easier and a very great deal faster, but Yol/Ugo was trapped in the body of a dog and no longer had the power of direct communication with a human. Consequently Xarax had to act as his translator, and what Yol had to say was by no means straightforward.

When the Emperor disappeared, he began, all the Guides dropped everything to search for him. It took some time before we realised that he was nowhere in the Nine Worlds. The Emperor's Mirrors decided to keep it secret, at least until they had some definite information about what had happened, but it wasn't easy. Rumours soon started. Some people said that the Powers of the R'hinz were angry, that times had to change and that the old order was about to fall. They said that the Nine Worlds had to go through different ages, exactly as the worlds go through different seasons, and that the Age of the Emperor was at an end. Some went further and suggested that before long the Masters were going to lose their gifts, and that after that there would be no more Health Masters and no more Guides. These rumours spread into almost every tavern in every world, although nobody seemed to know how or where the rumours had started.

Gradually, though, people realised that nothing in their daily lives had changed, that there were still Health Masters to help if you fell ill and Guides if you needed to travel, and so the rumours began to die away.

Nonetheless, the Emperor's Mirrors and the Guild Masters knew that the situation was very serious. If the Emperor could not be found, then what had started out as just a nasty rumour would instead become a terrible reality: the loss of the Emperor was just the first step along a road that would inevitably result in the end of the Nine Worlds. Lord Aldegard was the most worried, and he was the one who pushed us Guides to go further and further afield in our search, so that we were soon looking in the most unlikely places. It would be fair to say that we left no stone unturned on any of the Nine Worlds.

Hold on, interrupted Julien. I don't understand this. Why was it such a disaster? All right, I can understand that it was a bit annoying when the Emperor disappeared, but surely this can't have been the only time? After all, the Emperor has to die sometimes. What do you do then?

The Emperor doesn't die! Never! Well, not really, anyway. He changes his body, that's all. There are always some spare bodies kept ready for him in the Chamber of Life in the Palace. They're bodies without a mind, without thought – really they're just a shell. They look exactly like the Emperor, because they're constructed from his own flesh. It's a bit of very old science that has been preserved, and it uses techniques like the ones that the people here on Earth are just starting to try.

Oh, come on! protested Julien. By Earth standards, Nüngen is primitive – they don't even have electricity! And doing the sort of thing you're talking about must call for a massive amount of complicated equipment…

Julien, you're confusing science with technology. There is always more than one way to do something. And just because you don't see us using electrical equipment on Nüngen it doesn't mean that we don't know about it. Don't make the mistake of thinking of Nüngen society as primitive. Our civilisation – of course, it's your civilisation too – is far older than even the oldest civilisation here on Earth. And for thousands of years the Emperor Yulmir has endured, passing from one body to another, so that he can remain the Guardian of the Powers and Gifts.

This is how it has always been, at least since, after facing disaster several times, the wise men who governed the Nine Worlds decided to put their trust in the wisest of them, and to hand him the key to their various Gifts.

Of course there has been conflict in the Nine Worlds since, from time to time, but nobody has the power to put the worlds themselves at risk. Since he took power the Emperor has ensured that nobody can use any science or technique to the detriment of others. Nobody can plunder a world for profit, and nobody can monopolise knowledge and use it as a tool of oppression.

The Emperor never interferes with the actual government of any of the Nine Worlds: he just watches over them and ensures that no vital balance is disturbed.

And then we lost the Emperor.

I think you were a victim of the same kind of trap as the one Aïn triggered. And those who designed it very nearly got what they wanted, assuming that they intended to remove the Emperor from the Nine Worlds. Killing you was obviously pointless, so instead they hurled you off into the Outside.

Finally my brother Guides came to the conclusion that you were nowhere within the Nine Worlds. But I was sure that you couldn't be dead – if you had died you would simply have moved into one of your waiting spare bodies and carried on as before. So it followed that if you weren't in the Nine Worlds and you weren't dead you had to be somewhere outside the Known Universe. So I started searching for you. And I went on searching for a very long time. I went further and deeper into the Outside than anyone had gone before, and I saw so many wonders, and so many horrors, that I had to stop several times and wipe my own memory so as not to go mad.

Finally I found something. It was just a faint vibration, like the echo of a cry, but it was enough: I knew that you had passed that way. I had a lot of trouble following the trail: I lost it several times. But eventually it led me here, to this unknown world, and here I found you. Identifying you wasn't difficult: your mind doesn't belong on this world, and it was the only thing that was familiar to me in the strange chaos of this world.

But my body had been through too much, and death was only a breath away, and at that point I did something which we are never supposed to do: instead of allowing myself to die and so to be carried away to the Blissful Fields – or maybe to the Great Formless Void – I looked for a new body.

That is where fate betrayed me – or maybe it was a punishment for not allowing death to take its course. I found myself inhabiting the body of a puppy. I suppose it is because a dog is the closest thing on this planet, physically, to our own form. And the dog was clearly very close to you. But a dog is a terribly limited form of life: it can't speak, it's dominated by its senses and by its instincts… and above all, a dog is never free. Either it has an owner, or it will be chased and locked away, and then killed.

That's almost the end of the story. Once I was close to you I found a way to establish contact by entering your dreams, and there I was able to reactivate a very small part of your memory. I knew that the one thing I had to do was to get you back to Nüngen, or to any of the other Worlds. Once you got back there I thought it would be easy for you to regain your identity – someone would surely recognise you, and even a chance meeting with a Guide would do the job, because any Guide meeting you would find you very strange and so would be sure to investigate further. Of course, if I'd been able to talk to you the way I am now, things would have been a great deal simpler.

When you jumped, for some reason your clothes stayed behind. At first I was just going to leave them and hope that the tide would carry them away, just as I was counting on it to erase the klirk. But then I realised that if they were found people would be sure that you were dead, and I really didn't want to do that to your parents. So I took them off into the dunes some distance from here and buried them before coming back home.

I didn't think I'd ever see you again. I knew you couldn't be expected to risk undertaking such a terrible journey just to rescue me, and I'm really sorry about what you had to go through to get back here. But I can't help being happy to have you back with me – and now that we've got Xarax to help us, it should be a great deal easier to get you back to the R'hinz this time.

Julien had been translating Ugo's story aloud for the benefit of his parents, and when the story ended there was a long silence as everyone tried to come to terms with what they had heard. Julien's mother was the first to shake herself out of her trance.

"We're going to need some time to think about this," she said. "Obviously I don't want you going back to that… that place. If I understood properly, it sounds as if there are some people there who seriously want to harm you. I understand that they need you, but I'm sure there must be someone else who could take your place. But if you absolutely have to go back, I hope you'll take us with you to… what was the place called again?"

"Aleth," Julien told her, surprised that his mother, whom he had always thought to be completely lacking in any spirit of adventure, should suggest such a thing. "But that might not be easy. Ugo… well, Yol… can probably draw a klirk for us – after all, he already did it once…"

The Guide pricked up his ears and wagged his tail. He looked exactly like the proverbial 'dog who can almost talk'. It ought to have been funny, but instead Julien found it terribly sad, so much so that he could feel his eyes brimming with tears: that a being as intelligent, refined and sensitive as a Master Guide could find himself trapped in the body of an animal, with no other way to express himself than barking or wagging his tail, was almost heartbreaking. He'd loved Ugo the dog just like children always love their pets. But this was Yol the Guide, who had never stopped searching for him and who had given up everything in order to find him. He'd had years of torture trapped in this inadequate body, and yet he had still been able to send him – even though he, Julien, had no memory of what he had once been – back to his destiny as Master of the Nine Worlds. Yol had sent him back with no hope of ever being rewarded for it. He had sacrificed himself for the Emperor he loved, and for the red-haired boy he had become. And what the boy felt for Yol now bore no comparison with the slightly condescending fondness he had felt for Ugo the dog.

"Mum," he said, after swallowing the lump in his throat, "it's very difficult to transport more than one person at a time. I don't know if Yol and I could actually do it. We'd certainly need to do some training. And even if we can do it… well, I don't know what might be waiting for me when I get back to Aleth. It could be a bit…"

"Dangerous?" completed his mother. "Is that it?"

"Well, yes. But," he added immediately, "I really have got to go back. They must be in complete panic back on Nüngen."

"Maybe they are, but you can't just rush off and throw yourself into the middle of a battle you don't understand! There are limits, you know!"

"Nobody understands what's going on," answered Julien. "And you and Dad have told me over and over again that it's not enough to stand up for your rights: you also have to do your duty. I have duties over there."

"Yes, I know, but… No, of course, you're right. It's just that I'm afraid for you. That's why I want us to go with you when you go back."

Up to this point Mr Berthier had listened in silence.

"Julien can't take us with him, Isabelle," he said. "He's trying not to hurt us, but he knows that if he goes it'll have to be without us. Hopefully one day, when everything is settled, he'll be able to find a way to let us know that he's all right. I don't think we can ask anything more of him now, and it's better for us to admit that here and now. If we can do that we'll be able to get through the next few days without making him feel guilty for leaving us behind."

"Thanks, Dad," said Julien. "In any case we can't go straight away. There must be loads of stuff Yol will have to teach me, and then we'll have to find a point on Nüngen to aim at – it would be stupid to arrive to find them, whoever 'they' are, waiting for us."

"We'll need to straighten things out with the police, too," said his father. "That might be a bit tricky… but one of the detectives suggested that you might have run off with a bunch of hippies, or something. Obviously I said I thought you were far too young to do something like that, and that such an idea would never have crossed your mind… but maybe if I go back to him, apologise and say that I was wrong and he was right, he might not be inclined to go digging. I'm afraid you'll probably have to come with me, and that'll mean letting them give you a lecture, but obviously we can hardly tell them the truth, can we? Maybe you could say that you took some LSD without realising it, and that's why you stayed with them for a few days before coming home. And of course if you were spaced out you wouldn't be able to remember any of their names, or what they looked like…"

As it turned out he didn't have to lie to the police. Julien had thought that there was no hurry and that it wouldn't matter if he stayed for a few days, but he soon had to think again. He'd noticed that Xarax's usual colourful appearance was steadily turning grey, and it didn't take a genius to work out that the haptir needed food.

He wasn't all that enthusiastic about feeding him. True, the pain didn't last very long, but it was distinctly unpleasant when it happened. But obviously he couldn't simply let Xarax fade and die, and so, on the pretext of wanting a bit of fresh air, he made his way with Xarax and Yol to a place he knew in the dunes, a sort of hollow that was sheltered both from the wind and from the view of anyone on the beach. In what now seemed to him to be almost a previous life he had gone there often to read a book in a place where he knew he wouldn't be disturbed. He was sure of that: in all the time that he had been coming on holiday to this area he had never seen a soul anywhere near this spot. People preferred the beach, or sometimes the rock pools, where they could look for crabs and shells.

Xarax hadn't been keen to do this, but in the end he had been forced to admit that he would be no use to his friend if he allowed himself to starve. Julien had brought a towel with him to soak up the blood – a necessary precaution, based on the amount that had escaped the first time he had fed Xarax – and because the weather was comparatively warm he was able to remove all his clothes in order to prevent blood getting onto them.

Now we're ready, he said to Xarax. At least this way I won't look like I've been visiting a slaughterhouse when I get back home, because I really don't want to have to tell Mum about this. And I can't help thinking that, considering how long this arrangement has lasted already, by now someone ought to have come up with a better way of feeding you.

Other methods have been tried, Xarax told him. They don't work.

All right, maybe we can talk about it later. Let's get this over with. I've got this big pebble, see?

Are you sure you want to do it now? Xarax can wait a little longer. Normally this would not have been necessary for several more months.

We've already discussed this. You must have exhausted yourself keeping me safe while we were crossing the Outside. And I need a fully operational haptir. So let's go.

Don't forget that when you drop your pebble you must say 'Xarax, enough!'

Don't worry, I remember.

Good. Now collect the Yel.

Once again Julien was aware in the change to his perception. But while the air on Nüngen had seemed to be full of swarming dots of light rushing towards his chest, here there were no more than a few feeble sparks.

What's wrong, Xarax? he asked. Why doesn't it work?

Xarax was afraid of this. He thought this might happen, and now he knows for sure. It would be pointless to take your blood. Xarax will explain while you get dressed.

But you need food!

Xarax cannot eat on this world. Humans have developed a technical civilisation using a form of the Yel that you call 'electricity'. This also exists in the Nine Worlds, but only in very small amounts. A very long time ago, long before Yulmir's time, the people on Tann Ling discovered that the big rivers of energy that ran through their metal lines also attracted nearly all the Yel around them. They did not realise until it was far too late how much damage this did. That, coupled with their unrestrained exploitation of the world's resources, is the reason why Tann Linn is now almost a dead world, poisoned and with hardly any life energy. It was decided to abandon it and hope that it would eventually regenerate, and now all human activity there is prohibited. The Emperor's Mirror on Tann Ling is an insect, because that is the only form of intelligent life that can still live there.

And you think the same thing is happening here?

Xarax cannot be certain, but it does appear that this is what is happening.

Then we must do something! I can't just stand back and watch my world being destroyed!

Xarax agrees, but first you need to consider the problems of the R'hinz. There is nothing you can do to help this world on your own, because nobody will listen to you. In this world you are not Yulmir, Emperor of the Nine Worlds.

Obviously that was true. Who was going to listen to a kid? Come to that, who would listen to anyone who stood up and called for a change to the way people lived, especially given that the major powers were engaged in a race of technology, with the world split into two camps, both of which were stockpiling atomic weapons.

Then there's nothing I can do, he said. How long before it's too late?

Xarax does not know. You would need to ask a Master of Science. Xarax can only hope that the humans will refrain from using the Starfire to settle their conflicts. That would be a very bad sign indeed.

If that is what I think it is, then they've already started to do that.

Julien can do nothing. Maybe Yulmir will be able to help. That is one more reason why you must return to the R'hinz.

You're right. And we need to leave as soon as possible, before you get too weak to be able to help. My parents aren't going to be happy… Look, you need to tell Yol about this. It'll be quicker for you to do it than if I try to explain it.

The haptir jumped onto Yol's back and explained the situation to him while they were on their way back to the house.

***

"Are you sure you can't stay for a bit longer?"

"Mum, Xarax will be too weak to help me if I wait. And I'm sure you don't want me to let a friend die, do you?"

Julien didn't bother telling this parents about what he had discussed with Xarax, because he knew it would do no good to worry them with news of catastrophes that they could do nothing to prevent. He simply told them that Xarax couldn't survive on Earth: he seemed to be allergic to something in the air.

"Of course not!" said his mother. "I haven't forgotten that he saved your life. But… it's really hard to lose you so soon after getting you back."

"At least this time you'll know where I am."

"If that's meant to make us feel better, I'm afraid it doesn't."

"No, I mean… well, last time you thought I'd drowned. This time you'll know I'm all right. And I'm not alone over there, either: I have friends, and allies. Even if Xarax didn't have this allergy I still couldn't stay here."

He couldn't tell his parents the rest of the story from the R'hinz point of view, either: he was sure that by now the alarm would have been sounded and everyone would be looking for him – and not just his friends and allies, either. Sooner or later someone would stumble on his track, the way Yol had already done thirteen years previously, and the idea of ghorrs loose in the Normandy countryside was unthinkable. The longer he stayed where he was, the more he was putting his parents in danger.

"We understand," his father told him. "We're not angry, even though we are very worried about you. Anyway, I bought a rucksack and I've packed it with the things you asked for: a sleeping bag, a waterproof torch, a knife, some water-purifying tablets, and everything else. And I put in a small pair of binoculars, too. And… I'm not sure if I should do this, but in the circumstances… I've got a pistol and some ammunition, too. You can have it if you want."

"Jacques!" exclaimed Julien's mother.

"Look, darling, we know he's not going to Scout camp. Someone is trying to kill him. He might need a weapon. It'll only take me an hour or so to teach him how to use it."

"No! You're out of your mind! You can't give him something…"

"Please don't fight," interrupted Julien. "In any case I can't take it. Xarax knows what a firearm is. From time to time someone reinvents them, but the Emperor outlawed them thousands of years ago, and the penalty for carrying one is exile on a very nasty world. I can't break my own laws – I'd look a complete idiot!"

"You're right," said his father. "I'm not sorry, to be honest, but I thought I ought to offer it to you, all the same."

"I'm not defenceless, anyway," said Julien. "Xarax is a really dangerous fighter – everyone in the R'hinz is afraid of him. He's not at his best right now, but I'm pretty sure he'll recover once we're back where he belongs."

***

Julien's last hours on his home world were as depressing and tearful as he had expected them to be, even though his father made a very brave attempt to treat him like an adult. A klirk was drawn on his bedroom floor using chalk, and his parents were told to wipe it clean as soon as it had been used. This time Julien was able to draw it himself, with the help of a precise mental image transmitted from Yol by Xarax.

It was a klirk of the same type as the one that had taken him to Aleth. The main problem was working out how to take Yol with him, as well as his clothes and equipment. This turned out to be a lot more difficult than he had expected, and he had to spend a couple of days of intensive, and very frustrating, training, with the help of Xarax and under Yol's supervision. The trick was trying to persuade himself that everything he wanted to carry was as much a part of him as his own body.

Finally he was ready, and in the event the transition went very smoothly, and without any disturbing views of the Outside, either. His bedroom disappeared, and in the same instant they arrived on Dvârinn.

It was vital to avoid anyone finding out that they had arrived, and so Yol had chosen a landing-klirk very carefully: it was close to a city that had been abandoned several centuries before. One slight drawback of this was the fact that the klirk was now in the middle of an extremely thick bramble-bush, but eventually they managed to fight their way out of it.

They started to follow the course of what had once been an important road, but which was now almost gone, with just an occasional slab of blue granite visible to show them where the road had run. It was late afternoon and the weather was overcast, with grey clouds covering the sky and a constant drizzle falling. Julien was glad he'd taken Xarax's advice to dress warmly, because the rain was very cold. But even though he was well-covered, the rain dripped from his oilskin coat and soaked the legs of his jeans, which made walking unpleasant. But at least his walking shoes were completely waterproof.

Yol led them across a bleak moor dotted with scraggy trees and bushes. They had decided to make for the relatively close coast of Djannak Island. There was a small harbour there where Julien would be able to obtain passage on a coaster to take him to Ksantir, the capital and seat of the First Lord of the Ksantiris. They hoped he would be there, rather than sailing on his trankenn: Xarax couldn't say for sure if this was the stormy season or not.

They came to the edge of a cliff that dropped a good ten metres, cutting cleanly across the course of the old road. It went on in both directions as far as they could see, though visibility in this sort of weather was poor. It looked as though there had once been an earthquake here, and the destruction of the road explained why it had been abandoned, and possibly why the town whose ruins they could see in places, where they weren't overgrown with vegetation, had been left to rot. There was a path of sorts leading down the cliff – at least, you might call it a 'path' if you were a mountain goat. It was also just about passable by an agile and careful boy, and so Julien began to make a cautious descent. He was buffeted by gusts of a freezing wind that not only lowered an already low temperature, but also blew the rain inside the hood of his oilskin, from where it trickled down and began to soak both his shirt and his sweater. Yol slipped several times despite his four legs, and Julien had to help him past the trickiest parts. Xarax had flown ahead to find out if the ruins could provide them with some shelter for the coming night.

The road began again at the foot of the cliff and led them straight into the middle of a chaotic area where the odd remaining pieces of architecture displayed both artistry and technological know-how. But sight-seeing was the last thing on Julien's mind, and his teeth were starting to chatter. He was therefore delighted when Xarax, surrounded by a mist of vaporised water, came back to tell him that he had found some shelter.

It didn't look like much, but there was a place where a large, half-shattered vault sheltered a wide paved area that was largely free of vegetation. Julien set up camp, although that simply meant unrolling his sleeping bag and going to look for some wood to build a fire. That was easier than it might have been: dry wood can usually be found if you know where to look, even in wet weather, and it's even easier in a place that has been long abandoned. Soon he had a fire going, radiating both heat and light, and he was able to get changed and spread his wet clothes out to dry. And once he'd eaten a couple of hamburger and pickle sandwiches his morale had risen a long way.

Yol had declined his offer to share his food. Instead he had gone off for a walk with Xarax, who could be a very efficient hunter when the need arose, and so when Yol came back half an hour later, he looked muddy and messy, but he was also clearly full. Julien didn't ask for details of their hunting expedition: instead he spent a good while trying to untangle the dog's fur and removing a lot of prickly burrs that were caught in it.

Julien treated himself to a cup of hot chocolate brewed on his little gas stove and then turned to Xarax, who was basking by the fire.

Xarax didn't move. His eyes were closed and he didn't seem to be aware of anything.

Julien got undressed.

"Stop pretending to be asleep," he said. "I need you in good shape, because we've got no idea what might be waiting for us tomorrow. I don't like doing this any more than you do, but you know it has to be done. Come on."

The haptir jumped up onto his shoulder, and this time everything worked properly: Xarax drank the Yel-enriched blood until Julien dropped the water-bottle he was holding, and once Xarax had gone to sleep and the terrible pain had diminished to a faint memory, Julien felt full of energy and well-being, and at the same time the erection which seemed to be an inevitable side-effect of the process manifested itself. Sadly there was nobody there who could help him to make proper use of it, and instead he had to settle, once he'd got into his warm sleeping bag, for a session of solo masturbation that was a lot less satisfying than the fun and games with his friends which he was starting to consider to be the normal way to deal with such situations. But at least afterwards he fell asleep straight away, rather than lying awake and missing his friends.

He woke up with a start. It was still dark and the fire had burnt down to a heap of ashes with one or two glowing embers. He was sure that something had entered their refuge, and from the way Yol uttered a low growl he wasn't the only one to feel it. Something moved by his head and he felt Xarax's scaly leg touch his face.

Xarax knows what has come. It's a Neh-kyong, a Site Guardian. Xarax cannot protect you from a Neh-kyong, but this one should not be hostile. Xarax cannot say for sure, however, because it is a long time since he was last in this place.

I suppose we'll find out soon enough, said Julien. And there's no point in just sitting here. Stay with me.

Julien sat up slowly and switched on his torch. It was set to throw the widest beam possible, but although he shone it into every recess of the floor and ceiling he couldn't see anything – which, Xarax explained, was not surprising.

You cannot see a Neh-kyong, he said.

Not with your eyes, anyway. He is both here and somewhere else. But Xarax can see him, over there next to the wall. If you don't try to look at him you should be able to get a sense of where he is.

It took Julien a good couple of minutes to relax sufficiently, but then he discovered what the haptir meant: he could make out a dark form a few steps away from him. It was more like the sort of visual echo you get when you've been looking at something which has just disappeared. The effect was even more disturbing because he couldn't actually recognise what shape it was. He knew straight away that it was a living creature of some kind, and that it had a definite form, but his mind refused to see it as anything recognisable.

"Emperor Yulmir, welcome. Your visit is an honour. Your appearance is a little surprising, as is that of the Guide trembling beside you. I see that your haptir is well. Hail, Honourable Xarax."

The powerful voice was also more like a memory of a sound just heard than a normal voice. It was distinctly unsettling, and Julien, who was shivering anyway because his bare chest was outside the warmth of his sleeping bag, had to struggle to compose himself before he could answer.

"Honourable Neh-kyong," he said. "You obviously know me, but I'm afraid I can't remember you. In fact, I can't even remember having been Yulmir. I was born outside the Nine Worlds and there are a lot of things I don't really understand, so I hope you'll forgive me for not knowing your name. As for the Guide, this is the Honourable Master Yol the Intrepid, trapped in the body of an animal. He is the one who found me and sent me back to the R'hinz."

"I have heard some of this. In any event, the custom is that a Neh-kyong is labelled with the name of the place he guards, and so you may call me Tchenn Ril, which is the name of the city where we are. As I understand it, you were cast out of the R'hinz because your opponents were unable to destroy you permanently. You seem to have made some dangerous enemies… But you still have allies, too. You may not be able to remember this, but I am one of them. I have a debt from which only you can release me. My influence is bounded by the limits of this place, and so I cannot travel with you. Nonetheless I think I may be able to offer you some assistance here."

"Honourable Tchenn Ril, you are kind to remind me of your debt of honour, but I imagine that that isn't why you're offering to help me."

"No. It would have been a good enough reason, but the real purpose of offering my help is this: the people trying to bring you down are endangering not just the R'hinz, but also the balance of other realities of which those fools are not even aware. So, how may I serve you?"

"I don't know just yet. I think I need to head for the seat of the Ksantiris, but Yol says that I shouldn't travel by klirk. He thinks it's likely that my enemies are aware that I have returned to the R'hinz, and they've already used klirks to try to kill me twice. Is there any way for you to let the First Lord of the Ksantiris know that I'm coming?"

"No. As I said, my influence is confined by the boundaries of this city and its environs. However, the sun will be up shortly. If you would come with me to the old citadel I think I should be able to find you some equipment that will help you to blend in with the people of this world."

Julien didn't hesitate: he got out of his sleeping bag, dressed and packed away his few belongings. Less than ten minutes later, as the sun was starting to lighten the sky on the horizon, he had made his way through the dripping bushes and rejoined the old stone road. At least it had stopped raining, but the pale stars seemed to radiate a bitter cold that announced frost on the way.

***

The city was larger than Julien had thought. It took them more than half an hour to reach what appeared to be the only intact building in an immense field of ruins. It was clearly heavily fortified: it had walls that were three or four stories high constructed of massive blocks of brown basalt, reminding Julien of the pictures he'd seen in his encyclopaedia of the huge temples of the Mayans. Every twenty paces or so were warning signs made of plates of the same grey metal as that used for klirks, announcing in Tünnkeh and a dozen other languages that, by Imperial decree, death awaited anyone stupid enough to enter the building. The warnings made it clear that neither the passage of time nor the apparent emptiness of the building would ever change that situation. Julien, who had read that charming announcement just as he was passing under the great vault that was the only entrance to the citadel, whistled softly.

"They don't mess about round here, do they?" he observed. "I suppose we're safe enough with you to guide us, but maybe you could tell me quite what the fuss is about?"

"The signs are there for the same reason that I am. You were the one, Yulmir, who asked me to watch over this place. I am here to make sure that the things that prowl around inside the citadel do not leave it. Actually this whole edifice is not exactly in the R'hinz any longer: like me it exists on two planes simultaneously, although this was not always the case. And you are right about needing me to guide you: if I were not here, you would be dead already, killed by the blind guardians that swarm through the building."

Julien looked around the vast parade-ground they were crossing. One barracks looks pretty much like any other barracks, and this one was no exception. There were rows and rows of windows and rows and rows of numbered doors, all in the plainest style and with no ornamentation at all.

"This place is cursed," the Neh-kyong told him. "It was cast from the Nine Worlds by your order. The Masters of this city had committed a major crime: they had tried to increase their power through the use of forbidden weapons. You no doubt remember that the law of the R'hinz does not outlaw war altogether – indeed, such a law might well be impossible to enforce. But the law of the R'hinz does forbid the use of firearms. The Masters of this city had not only developed such weapons, but were well on the way to learning the secret of the Starfire. It was not the first time it had happened, of course, but every time it does the Emperor's response is always implacable: the people responsible and their researchers are immediately exiled to Tandil, separated from each other and left to fend for themselves with basic weapons and equipment. The remaining population of the city is ordered to evacuate and emigrate to other places. And then an earthquake is triggered – by me, in the case of Tchenn Ril – reducing the city to ruins, with just the one building preserved to stand as a warning to anyone else who might be tempted to follow such a course."

The Neh-kyong led them to a staircase which went down to a network of tunnels that seemed extensive enough to cover the whole area of the building above. The lighting was dim but just about sufficient to allow them to see where they were going. He led them to a door that bore an inscription that Julien couldn't read, but which Xarax told him read 'Cadets' storeroom'. Inside the room was a long counter of polished wood and, behind it, an array of shelves laden with clothing and some other equipment.

Julien spent a while choosing clothes that were the right size for him, making sure that he avoided actual uniforms or anything carrying rank badges. The clothing here was rather different from that on Nüngen: there were no abbas or lais here, but rather clothing that looked a little more like what he was used to on Earth. He selected a pair of trousers made from some sturdy-looking cloth and a sort of hooded reefer jacket made of the same material. The shirts, socks and underwear were all of fairly thick material, suggesting that the climate here wasn't exactly tropical and that the cold temperature outside was not unusual. He dressed himself and then took a couple of spare shirts and a handful of socks and underwear and stowed them in a suitable rucksack. Reluctantly he discarded his sleeping bag, replacing it with a thick blanket. He found a water-bottle and some sort of tinder-lighter which Xarax said was easy to use.

He recognised that he would have to leave his Earth equipment behind. He wasn't happy about leaving his torch and binoculars, and particularly his brand new Swiss army knife, but he realised that it had to be done. The Neh-kyong assured him that he would be able to find replacements for the torch and the knife, although binoculars were not available, and the more common telescope was almost exclusively used by naval officers.

To that end he took them to another store-room, which turned out to be an armoury. There were several sealed boxes on the floor and a wide range of weaponry hanging from the walls: crossbows, sabres, various types of truncheon or club, nasty-looking maces – indeed, an enormous variety of tools designed for butchering your neighbour, from a distance or from close at hand, cleanly or extremely messily. One section was dedicated to bladed weapons, daggers, cutlasses, throwing knives and hunting knives, some of which were beautifully crafted with jewels and precious metals, and some were plain and looked far more businesslike. Julien contemplated a fairly short knife that looked a bit Japanese, the thick blade of dull black metal and plain handle of which immediately inspired confidence.

"Can I have this one?" he asked.

"That is an excellent choice. It is a nagtri from Renngor. You cannot have this one, because it has already belonged to someone, but you can certainly have one of its brothers."

Intrigued, Julien followed the Neh-kyong's instructions on how to open the complicated locking mechanism of a small chest, inside which he found five oblong boxes of red wood. He opened one of these and found a nagtri in a sheath of brown horn. Immediately Xarax spoke inside his head.

Be very careful! If you do not watch what you are doing you could easily lose one or two fingers here. These knives have a sort of life of their own. You have to adopt it gently to allow it to recognise you. Take it out of the sheath, but very slowly.

Julien pulled on the handle, which resisted for a moment and then slipped slowly from the sheath until the whole of the blade was exposed. Julien felt as if he was holding a dangerous animal that was ready to bite him.

Now brush your thumb against the blade – but very, very lightly! instructed Xarax. That weapon can slice through flesh and bone with no effort at all.

Extremely carefully Julien brushed the blade with his thumb. He applied no pressure at all, but immediately blood welled up and ran onto the metal. He pulled his hand away, instinctively putting his thumb in his mouth, and he was looking around for something he could use to wipe the blade when he saw to his amazement that the blade seemed to be absorbing the drops of blood like a blotter.

That's it, said Xarax.

Now that nagtri belongs to you. It will never again cut your flesh, and nor will it ever belong to anyone else. Try it: put it to your arm.

It's a measure of how much Julien trusted his haptir that he didn't hesitate, holding the dreadful blade of the nagtri to his forearm, and when it didn't cut him he pressed it down. The only thing that happened was that he felt the blade completely lose its edge, until it was like pressing a wooden ruler against his arm instead. But when he took the blade away and looked at it he saw that the blade was still sharper than anything any armourer on Earth would ever be able to produce. He turned to the Neh-kyong.

"This is a really valuable gift you're giving me here, isn't it?" he said. "Thank you. Thank you very much."

"It is certainly a weapon that is normally reserved for the First Lords of the Noble Houses. It is said that the secret of making them has been lost. Make sure you do not lose the sheath. It is made from the horn of a Tandil tak, and it is the only material, other than one or two of the hardest metals, that this blade does not go through at the slightest pressure. Still, this is only a small gift, and I would like to find you some more. But while we are here, pick out an ordinary pocket knife, too. You would attract a lot of unwelcome attention if you produced a nagtri to peel a garel with."

Julien also took a perpetual lamp, one that ran just using water – or urine, if no other water was available – and sugar or some other sweet substance. It worked on the same principles of bioluminescence as all domestic lighting in the Nine Worlds. He loaded the side pockets of his rucksack with combat rations that looked a lot like cereal bars – they were several centuries old, but Julien was assured that they were still perfectly edible. And the Neh-kyong had one further gift for him, but this one was a lot less welcome.

"Emperor Yulmir," the Neh-kyong said, "you cannot travel on Dvârinn wearing that hairstyle. It would make you far too conspicuous. Of course you could try to pass as a girl, but I would advise against it. You will find some poutris in that cupboard over there."

The poutri was a sort of combination razor and comb carried by all male humans on the Nine Worlds. Julien stuck one into his pocket, promising himself that if he ever properly became Emperor he would issue a decree forbidding the cutting of boys' hair above the shoulders.

"Now if we move on to the Treasury," said the Neh-kyong, "I should be able to find you some money that is still in use in this world. I might even have a present for your Guide, too."

The Treasury wasn't half as grand as it sounded. It was simply a room that held a row of grey strong-boxes and a small desk that had probably once been occupied by some minor clerk. The Neh-kyong indicated a chest whose lock clicked open as Julien approached it. Inside were a number of small cardboard boxes containing coins of bronze, silver and gold neatly stacked in compact rolls. They weren't new – in fact most of them looked very old. With some guidance from Xarax Julien filled a purse with a modest assortment of the most recent coins, and he also collected a reserve of gold coins that he intended to hide at the bottom of his rucksack in case of emergency.

In one corner of the room was a small door that opened into another room filled with boxes of valuables, but the Neh-kyong was looking for something in particular, and he found it in a cupboard of what appeared to be mostly scientific instruments. It was a necklace made of braided white metal threads and adorned with a turquoise the size of a walnut.

"This is my gift to your Guide," he said. "A First Lord had it made a very long time ago. In his old age he became very fond of an elak, a rare animal, graceful and affectionate, and easy to domesticate. He was convinced that the only thing that prevented this elak from being the perfect companion was the fact that it could not speak. Of course quite a lot of pet owners share this delusion, but he was rich enough to be able to make his wish come true. So he offered a fortune to anyone who could make the animal speak. And this is the result. This collar translates the thoughts of whoever is wearing it into sounds. I think it will enable your friend to speak to you direct, and I think he will like being able to do that."

"Did it work for the elak?"

"Oh, yes. However, elaks, despite being charming, are also rather stupid, and the collar never produced anything more than meaningless squeals. You will need to take it outside: you will have to allow the energy chamber to recharge – it runs on sunlight. It has not seen daylight for centuries."

"I'm sure Yol will be able to use it. Thank you again."

Julien took the collar to the dog/Guide and fastened it around his neck. A reflex made Yol wag his tail – after all, a collar always meant that a walk was coming!

They made their way back to the surface. In the courtyard the clear cold air of the early morning had been replaced with a thick freezing fog, and the few weeds that straggled their way between the paving stones were already white with frost. Julien was worrying about his ability to find his way, but the Neh-kyong reassured him.

"I will take you to the edge of my domain," he told him. "On the way we should create an identity for you that will permit you to field most questions. Do not try to remember all of it: your haptir will help you to deal with that. He will remember everything and feed it to you as you need it. Actually he should be able to implant it all in your mind for you."

Xarax! thought Julien. You've been keeping your talents a secret! Is there anything else you can do that I ought to know about?

Xarax has many abilities, but he would not want you to grow idle through relying on him. And besides, talents that you do not use regularly tend to weaken and fade, and your ability to use your memory is one such.

All right. We can discuss it later.

It turned out that Tchenn Ril the Neh-kyong actually knew a great deal about this world, even those parts of it that lay far beyond his own domain. He suggested that Julien should use the name Anhel, a name which indicated that he was a native of a distant island that was nonetheless still a part of the Ksantiri domain. This would explain away his accent and his unfamiliarity with the local dialect. Anhel, son of Hanbar, Master Blacksmith of T'aring (so their cover story went) was on his way back from a visit to the old Master Blacksmith Nalak, who had retired to an almost inaccessible hamlet in the mountainous centre of this island. He had made the visit in order to receive the transmission of a trade secret. He was now on his way back home and was hoping for passage to Ksantir, where he would be able to find a ship to take him back to his own island.

"Provided that you do not talk too much and keep to yourself," said Tchenn Ril, "everything should be fine. Now, obviously your companions cannot travel with you. A haptir and an exotic creature of the size of your Guide could hardly pass unnoticed on a ship, but they can make their own way to Ksantir by land. It would be difficult for you to make that journey: there is no road and the land is too mountainous, but they should be able to pass."

"That's what we originally decided," Julien told him. "Xarax is going to stay in touch with me. He says he'll be able to fly by night and locate the ship I'm travelling on without difficulty."

"Emperor Yulmir, I wish success to your enterprise. This road will lead you directly to Kardenang in a little under one day's walk. And do not forget to cut your hair!"

Shortly before midday the fog dissipated to reveal a cloudless sky. The sun made the frost-covered trees sparkle, creating a world apparently made of crystal. Xarax, who until now had simply flown around Julien's head, occasionally landing on his rucksack or on Yol's back, suddenly soared away into the clear blue sky with a triumphant whistle and embarked on a series of breathtaking aerobatics. The haptir was astonishingly good at flying: in addition to a pair of wide membranous wings that allowed him to glide effortlessly and cover great distances with minimal expenditure of energy, he also possessed two short chitinous wings that could operate at tremendous speed, producing a loud and distinctive humming sound. The skilful operation of both sets of wings, together with expert use of his long tail, made him incredibly agile in the air, which in turn made him a most deadly opponent.

After Xarax had swooped over Yol's back four or five times, getting close enough to ruffle his fur, the dog/Guide abandoned his dignity completely and began to play too, nudging Julien into joining in with a game of tag that ended with a final free-for-all that left them all feeling happy and relaxed, finally free from the tension that had come, even though they had not been directly aware of it, from being in the presence of a Neh-kyong. Julien sat cross-legged and idly scratched at the head of the dog who was drooling a little onto his trouser-leg, and then the stone on the dog's fine silver collar uttered a bizarre squeal.

"Wouiyen!"

"Hey, Yol, it's working!" cried Julien.

"U… yen!"

"Take your time. It'll come."

"Ju… lee… enn."

The voice was strange and artificial, but it was nonetheless a miracle.

"Ju-li-en."

"See? It's getting easier, isn't it? Try saying something else!"

"Yes. It is… not… too diff… difficult. I just… just have to think… nothing but words."

The dog had stood up and was frantically wagging his tail.

"Julien," he said. "That Neh-kyong… what a nice fellow!"

"I'm not sure that I'd have put it quite like that, but I know what you mean. You can't imagine how happy I am to be able to talk with you, especially after all the years we've been together."

"Yes. You were always nice to me, even when you thought I was just an ordinary dog."

"You were never just an ordinary dog. You were more like a brother. You still are, come to that. I find it hard to see you any other way. And I really won't mind if you go on behaving like a dog sometimes – in fact it'd be sad if we didn't go on playing with each other like we used to, and like just now, in fact. You can even lick my face if you want! But now I think we should get moving again. Do you want a ration bar? I've got loads of them, so we're certainly not going to starve."

Xarax, who had been coiled up on the ground by his feet, now jumped up onto his shoulder.

Don't forget your hair, he said. There is a small brook just up ahead, and you absolutely have to cut it before you run into any people.

Julien realised that he couldn't put it off any longer. He knelt down beside the stream, wet his head with the ice-cold water and began to sacrifice his hair. Fortunately the poutri, the razor-comb, was an easy instrument to use, and although he hated having to do it, at least it was painless and straightforward. Less than fifteen minutes later he was able to brush his hand across a strangely soft, velvety scalp, which reminded him strongly of the first time he had stroked Ambar's head in the same way. He was suddenly filled with longing: when would he be able to hold his friend close again?

They saw the sea long before they reached the outskirts of the little harbour-town, as they reached the crest of a semi-circle of steep hills that sloped down to the water's edge, forming a good, well-sheltered bay. Only a few boats could be seen tacking towards the shelter of the harbour against a strong south-easterly breeze that whitened the tops of the waves and hinted at a storm on the way.

Julien suggested that they should stay where they were for the night, mainly because he wanted to postpone their separation, but his two companions disagreed: they wanted to make use of the hours of darkness to cross this inhabited part of the island, after which they would be able to follow the jagged coastline northwards. Xarax assured Julien that he would be able to find him, no matter where the boy went. He just asked that a window should be left ajar so that he could get inside whichever room the boy was using.

A few minutes later Julien, now alone for the first time on a world which was completely foreign to him, was making his way down the long snaking road towards the first houses of the town.

***

He made his way without difficulty to the harbour itself, where the water was rising as the tide came in. The first thing he needed was a place to sleep, so he had a look at the various inns that catered for passing custom and selected one that looked decent enough. The slate at the door told him that there were kangs available and stated a price. Xarax had taught him carefully what each of the local coins was called and what it was worth, and so by now he knew how to use his collection of sangs, taleks, diraks, ngul tchoungs, ngul tchenns, ser tchoungs and ser tchenns. When he entered the inn he was greeted by a woman of about thirty who had a heart-warming smile. Apparently his face still made people want to welcome him, even though he had now lost what he had considered his best feature.

"Welcome, Young Master," she greeted him. "You look like you're not from around here, but I'm sure you'll find this house to your liking."

There were two sailors sitting at a nearby table with drinks in their hands, and they looked at Julien with some curiosity but no sign of hostility. Julien cleared his throat, quickly ran over in his head the instructions Xarax had given him on how to be polite and courteous, and smiled at the landlady.

"A very good evening to you, Mistress," he said. "I'm sure I'll be comfortable in your house. I'm hoping for a passage to Ksantir, and I'd like to rent a kang from you until I can find one."

"I believe the Star of Kenndril is due to sail tomorrow," she told him.

"'Twould be a shock ifn she daas," commented one of the sailors. "Whaat with thaat sou-easter a-blawin'. An' Oi reckon she'll blaw for'n good three days yet, warn't yer say, Gradik?"

"Aar, 'twill at thaat. Mebbe more – culd be ten, twaalve days. 'Carse, it culd laast through to start o' greeat staarms…"

Julien, who had managed to understand enough of this to get the gist, looked profoundly dismayed, but his hostess was quick to reassure him.

"Don't listen to them, Young Master," she said, firmly. "They're just pulling your leg. You should be ashamed, you two, for bullying a nice young man like this!"

"Yaang maan? Yaang maan?? Why, Mistress Nardik, 'e 'as no hair aan 'is chin yet, an' Oi'll wager 'e's not e'en got aany aan 'is…"

"Tenntchouk, that's enough!" she interrupted him. "Leave my guest alone!"

Julien raised a hand to calm her and offered his most charming smile.

"Don't worry about it, Honourable Mistress," he said. "I expect it's because they're thirsty that they're talking nonsense. Please give them each a tankard on my account so that they can quench their thirst while you show me to my kang."

"Aha!" said the sailor. "That's fair spoken, laddie! Yer faather, 'e raised yer roight praaper. Us'n be glaad to drink to yer heealth!"

The room was clean but lacked washing facilities, and apparently there was no bath in the house. The landlady told him that there was a public bathhouse at the end of the quay that would be open until late in the evening, and Julien decided to visit it before supper.

***

Kardenang was really only a small fishing port, though coastal trading vessels also put in there regularly. But it still had something of a night life: its quay became rather more lively in the evening and inns rather less respectable than that of Mistress Nardik offered the usual types of entertainment for sailors that can be found in similar establishments in every world. Julien managed to make his way along the quay without being propositioned by any of the young or not so young ladies of the night that he passed, though he did collect a number of inviting glances and whispered proposals from sturdy mariners in search of another form of congress. Nobody actually gave him any trouble, however, and he reached the public bathhouse unmolested.

The bathhouse was modest but scrupulously clean and it was run by a middle-aged man, plump, with greying hair and a jolly if slightly obsequious manner, who happily explained to Julien how to use the various facilities with which he was unfamiliar.

He was very attentive – in fact it would be fair to say that he was a little over-attentive, in a way that the old Julien, the innocent schoolboy from Paris, would have been ill-equipped to cope with. But he had learned a bit since his first arrival in the Nine Worlds, and so he simply smiled when the man, having helped him out of his jacket, came back to collect the rest of his clothes – "Yes, and your undergarment too, Young Master, thank you" – on the pretext of bringing him a soft bathrobe, which of course he insisted on helping his young customer to put on. There was no offer to scrub Julien's back in the shower, but as soon as he emerged from his bath the man magically appeared at his side to suggest that a massage would be an excellent way for him to ease his tired limbs. Julien declined politely, but he did allow the man to wrap him up in a large fluffy towel and to dry him gently with it. Afterwards he even stayed to accept a drink of some warm and delicious sweet beverage. And when he asked how much he owed, he was surprised by the man's answer.

"Young Master," he said, "you have made a poor old man's day. Money would destroy the memory of the moment."

And Julien was so affected by this pathetic declaration that he leaned in close and gave the man a kiss on the cheek.

"Bath-master," he said, "you clearly have the soul of a poet. But you must accept this small payment for your services."

Then he set off back towards the inn, happy to think that on this occasion he had definitely done the right thing.

***

The meal, which was simple but filling, consisted almost exclusively of the fruits of the sea. By now the room was full and there was a pleasant babble of conversation around him. A young boy and a little girl, both of whom closely resembled the innkeeper, were busy nipping between the tables and joking with the patrons, whom they seemed to treat almost like members of their family. In due course they reached Julien's table and began to besiege him with a barrage of innocent but indiscreet questions. And when he had finished his meal and was getting ready to go back to his kang for the night the boy, who couldn't have been more than ten, grabbed his sleeve in the way that children looking for a favour often do.

"Master," the boy said, "do you think I could keep you company tonight? Mum said it would be all right to ask you."

Somehow Xarax's crash course on the civilisation of Dvârinn had neglected to mention this point. He did of course know, because Niil had told him so, that the Precious Garland of Delights was a book owned by every single boy in the R'hinz from a very early age, and of course even complete illiterates could understand its illustrations. And Ambar, who was eleven, was scarcely older than the innkeeper's son. Even so…

"You don't mind, do you?" the boy went on. "Only Mum reckons that spending some time with a Young Master like you can only do me good. Mum likes you – she says that a boy as handsome as you could easily end up marrying a Noble Daughter."

Julien trembled briefly: him, marrying someone like Izkya? He didn't think so. Still, he thought it would be rude to disappoint a woman who held him in such high esteem that she thought his nobility might rub off on her son. And at least he wasn't yet old enough for her to be trying to pair him off with her daughter! He still felt vaguely guilty, even though he wasn't sure what he had to be guilty about, but in the end he went along with it.

"All right," he said. "I suppose you can sleep with me."

"Thank you, Master!" said the boy. "Don't go away – I'll be right back!"

"Take your time," said Julien. "I'm not going anywhere. But perhaps you could tell me who it is that I'm going to spend the night with."

"Well… with me, of course!"

"No, I mean what's your name?"

"Oh! Dillik, Master!"

"All right, Dillik. Do what you need to do. I'm heading for bed."

***

He'd only been in bed for about ten minutes when Dillik entered the kang wearing a beige lai and smelling nicely of soap and flowers. By now Julien had had time to think about it, and he decided that he had no right to spoil an event that the boy was clearly looking forward to, and so he held out his arms and Dillik jumped onto the bed and into his embrace.

"It's cold in here, Master," he said. "Why don't you close the window?"

"I like fresh air. Get in here under the duvet – it's a lot warmer. And call me Anhel, not 'Master', all right?"

The boy threw off his lai, burrowed his way under the bedding and snuggled up to Julien, who was wearing only his undershorts. Dillik promptly started undoing the drawstring that kept them up. Julien might still have been a bit unsure about the morality of this, but his body had no such inhibitions and immediately started to react.

"Oh!" exclaimed the boy. "It's bigger than Yarek's! He's my cousin. He hasn't got any hair yet, either. He comes round sometimes when his father goes fishing. He's twelve cycles. So how old are you? Me, I'm nearly nine eight."

The boy was kneeling up under the blanket, happily examining Julien's equipment in the dim light filtering into the bed from the small bedside lamp. He took hold of it and moved it about to make sure he could see it from every angle. And clearly he was one of those kids who never stop talking, although when Julien stroked his back for him he arched it like a kitten and actually remained silent for at least thirty seconds.

"Do you often sleep with the customers?" Julien asked him.

"Oh, no! One or two have asked sometimes, but Mum always says no. She doesn't want me sleeping with old men the way Yangden over at the Two Lanterns does. Dad doesn't want me doing that either. He's First Pilot on the Mar Tso. That's a trankenn, a really big one. Not as big as the First Lord's of course. It's a merchant trankenn…"

"I think your parents are right – it's not a good idea to do what Yangden does."

"I've got friends, though! Sometimes my mum invites them to stay over and then they sleep here. She says it's not good for a boy not to have some fun now and then. And there's Yarek, of course. His is almost as big as yours but he's got little balls. They're almost as small as mine. Feel them and you'll see what I mean."

Julien obligingly felt the two little beans that nestled beneath the small hard penis.

"They're pretty big for a boy of your age," he said.

"Do you really think so?"

"I'm sure. And your sang neh is really nice, too. Come closer so that I can see it better."

To be honest, it was a fairly ordinary sang neh: it was hard and nicely-proportioned, it had a little spout of foreskin at the end, and stroking it felt nice. It wasn't particularly long or particularly thick, but Julien thought that a compliment or two could do no harm.

"Wow!" he said. "Are you sure you're only nine cycles eight?"

"Well, yes."

"It has plenty of promise. I reckon that if I come back next year you're going to show me up!"

The boy laughed and pressed Julien's hand against the wonder in question. The invitation was perfectly clear, and so Julien pulled him against his own body, following the first-class method he'd learned from Ambar, and did his very best to satisfy the younger boy's nicely-presented request.

The outcome was so overwhelming and so completely satisfying that the boy fell fast asleep almost as soon as it was over, snuggled happily against Julien. Julien, on the other hand, felt slightly dissatisfied – one might even say frustrated – and would very much liked to have been able to masturbate. But he couldn't do that without disturbing Dillik, and so instead he settled for keeping hold of the younger boy's small organ. Even though it had lost its rigidity it was still somehow comforting.

Finally he fell asleep, and it was only because of a need to get up and pee in the middle of the night that he became aware of what was around him. Dillik was still deeply asleep beside him, the bedside lamp was still lit… and there was a haptir curled up on the second pillow next to his head, observing him with its big red eyes. Julien reached out and put his hand on Xarax's head.

How long have you been here? he asked.

You looked happy, and Xarax is in no hurry. That boy is really nice, for a human.

Erm… just so you know, he was the one who asked to sleep with me. He's the owner's son.

You did the right thing by agreeing. It does you good and you would certainly have disappointed him if you had said no. And it would have looked a bit strange, too.

That's what I told myself.

Xarax has never doubted your sense of duty.

Xarax! Was that a joke?

Just because some people are too stupid to see it, it does not mean that Xarax has no sense of humour.

How is Yol getting on? I hope he's not finding it too tiring. He's not used to walking long distances.

He is well. He is tired and his feet have bled a little, but he is happy to be here. He is even happier that he can talk again. But he already misses you very much.

Take good care of him. And tell him that I miss him too.

Xarax will tell him. I hope he will not try to lick Xarax's face. By the way, you will be able to leave Sa Tengdü – not the day that is coming, but the one after. The big ship at the north quay, the Star of Kenndril, is leaving then on her way to Ksantir. That means that we will not need to hurry quite so much. Yol will be happy about that, even though he wants you to scratch him behind the ears again. He claims that Xarax does not do it properly. Of course Xarax has no ears, and so it is not possible for anyone to scratch him behind them.

I think you're just jealous!

Xarax is not jealous. He knows that you love him best.

Do you want me to scratch your belly?

Maybe another time. Xarax must leave now. He will return tomorrow night. Take care of yourself!

When Julien woke up the following morning it wasn't a need to urinate that propelled him into wakefulness: there was someone between his legs engaged in an activity that probably nobody could have slept through. Apparently his young sleeping-partner was anything but selfish: as a well brought-up young Dvârian he knew that receiving pleasure without reciprocating was the height of bad manners, and he was now doing his best to make up for falling asleep too quickly the previous evening – and he was doing so with great enthusiasm, too. Furthermore, he was displaying a technical prowess that reflected very well indeed on whoever had taught him.

Afterwards it took Julien a good five minutes to recover. Once his breathing was back to normal and he was able to think straight again he pulled the boy on top of him and hugged him.

"Thank you, Dillik," he said. "That was very nice of you."

"It's only fair," the boy replied. "Last night I fell asleep."

"Well, so did I. I fell asleep right after you did."

"You mean you fell asleep without… well, doing anything?"

"Yes. I felt comfortable as I was, just holding you."

"Do you like me?"

"Well, yes, of course."

"But you're still going to leave soon, aren't you?"

"I have to. I've got to get back home."

"When are you going to leave?"

"Tomorrow. I'm going to buy passage on the Star of Kenndril."

"Can't you stay a bit longer?"

"No, I'm sorry, I really can't."

"Will you come back one day?"

Julien hesitated. He had too many memories of promises made to him by adults that had subsequently been broken, and he didn't want to do the same thing.

"Listen," he said, "I promise to come back if I can. I'm not sure that I'll be able to, but I promise to try. Will that do?"

"You're really going to try?"

"Yes, I am."

"Then yes, it'll do. And since we're still a bit early for breakfast, would you like to… ?"

Julien decided that he would definitely like to.

***

They ate a magnificent breakfast together in the nearly empty dining room of the inn. The innkeeper was smiling a lot and Julien was afraid that she was going to ask him how the night had gone, but fortunately she didn't. But she did offer the blushing boy (and Julien wished he could find a way to stop himself from blushing all the time) the use of the family's own private bathroom, on the grounds that he was now 'a member of the family, in a way.' Julien felt a bit awkward, but he accepted all the same, relieved that at least this meant that he wouldn't need to put up with the touching (in every sense) attentions of the bath-master at the Public Baths again.

Dillik really wanted to stay and keep his idol company, but his mother reminded him firmly that he had to go to school in the morning and help to serve the guests of the inn at noon – "but if the Young Master doesn't mind putting up with a tiresome brat in the afternoon," she went on, "that is his business and I won't interfere."

So after breakfast Julien left the inn and made his way in the cold morning sunlight to the North Quay, where the Star of Kenndril, with all its cargo hatches open, was being loaded. It was a two-masted vessel about a hundred and twenty feet long, whose longitudinal rigging allowed it to sail close to the wind, something that was essential for any vessel that had to journey between Dvârinn's innumerable islands without having to rely too much on favourable winds. A busy First Lieutenant managed to find a moment to speak to him, adding his name to the passenger list and informing him that for a further ngul tchoung and twelve sangs he could use a bunk in a shared cabin, or alternatively he could sleep on deck or in the fo'c'sle with the crew for free.

Julien chose the cabin. The officer told him that the ship would be departing with the morning tide and reminded him that 'time and tide wait for no man'.

The lieutenant went back to his work and Julien strolled off into the town, where he spent the rest of the morning wandering round the shops. He found one that had a large array of strange items in its window and went in for a closer look, and he came out with a tightly-wrapped roll under his arm which contained a magnificent silk kite in the form of a haptir. He also had a small bag which contained a beautiful, if rather expensive, doll, which the merchant assured him would delight any little girl.

He waited until after he had eaten the midday meal to hand out his presents. Dillik not only served him and hovered round him while he ate, eager to get him anything he wanted, but he also jealously kept his sister from coming near the table. But the appearance of the wonderful doll quickly dispelled the growing sibling rivalry, and the kite won him a kiss on the cheek and an insistent demand from Dillik that they should go up the hill to try it out straight away. Naturally he also got a telling off from Mistress Nardik – really, she said, he shouldn't be spoiling her children like that…

So Julien and Dillik climbed up to the top of the hill above the town where the cold wind sent the shiny haptir very high indeed, its long tail snapping in the wind and combining with the faint jingle of the three tiny silver bells attached to the kite.

"He's beautiful!" declared Dillik. "I'll call him…"

"Call him Xarax," said Julien. "Please – I'd like you to."

"That's a funny name!"

"It's the name of a friend of mine."

"I wish I could see a real one – a haptir, I mean."

"Who knows? Maybe you will, some day."

"No, I'd have to go to Kretzlal for that. And they're really dangerous, too. Nobody can kill a haptir! So… have you ever seen one?"

"I've never been to Kretzlal," Julien told him.

"Obviously – it's only the Noble Lords who get to travel between worlds."

"Is that what you think?"

"That's what my dad says."

"I'm sure he's right, then."

"But he also told me that sailing on the ocean is even better than travelling to another world. "

"Is that what you want to do when you grow up?"

"Yes. I want to be a trankenn captain. That's why I have to work hard at school. I go there nearly every day. I can read, and write too. And… can I sleep with you again tonight? You don't mind, do you?"

Julien laughed. If nothing else, the kid had a wonderful talent for a non-sequitur.

***

The sun was already low on the horizon by the time they got back to the inn. Mistress Nardik again offered him the use of the family bathroom, and although this was nothing like as big or as luxurious as the one in Bakhtar Tower, Dillik quickly demonstrated that it could just as easily be used for fun and games as well as mere washing. By now Julien was coming to the conclusion that boys in this wonderful land were expected to indulge themselves in sexual entertainment whenever the opportunity presented itself, and so by the time he sat down for his evening meal he was both famished and at the same time completely happy. Once again Mistress Nardik gave the concept of a shared bed her blessing, although this evening's cuddling was almost chaste – apart from the last ten minutes or so.

Xarax made another nocturnal visit as he he had promised. This time he actually had to wake Julien up: Julien was deeply and happily asleep with an angelic-looking Dillik in his arms The only light in the room this time came from a thin crescent moon.

Xarax has come to tell you that everything is fine. Yol is starting to get used to the wilderness.

Give him my best wishes and tell him that I'm looking forward to seeing him again. My ship is supposed to get to Ksantir the day after tomorrow. It's not so very far, just one night at sea.

That will cheer him up. At his present speed it will take him two more days to get there.

I'm sorry – it must be really difficult fighting his way through that forest.

Xarax notices that the boy is still here. It would seem that he likes you.

Yes. And he dreams of one day meeting a haptir.

Does he? Unfortunately we cannot grant him that wish, can we? But if you wish Xarax can still do something for him.

Can you really? That would be amazing!

If you agree, Xarax will lay a hand on him and do as he did with your parents. Xarax will show him the world as Xarax sees it. He will be a haptir. That will certainly be a dream that he will not forget for a long time. But to do that Xarax will have to wake him. He will think that he is dreaming, and afterwards Xarax will slip away. That is why Xarax must say goodbye to you now.

Xarax moved across the pillow, breaking contact with Julien and then keeping still for a minute or so. Then he seemed to vanish into the air like a ghost.

"Anhel! Anhel!" said Dillik. "Are you asleep?"

"Huh?" said Julien, trying to sound like someone just woken up from a heavy sleep. "No, I'm not… well, not any more. What is it? Are you sick?"

"No! No!! I had a dream!"

"What, a nightmare? Are you scared?"

"No! It's the most wonderful dream I've ever had in my life! I was a haptir!"

"Really?"

"Yes! And I was flying! It was a very long dream. I did acrobatics in the air and I could actually feel the wind beneath my wings! And I was flying over the Emperor's Palace!"

"Wow! What was it like?"

"It was incredible – it was so beautiful! I can't really describe it. You've seen pictures of the Palace, I suppose?"

"Of course I have."

"Well, it was a thousand times more beautiful than any picture. I'm sure that's what the Palace really looks like."

"Do you really think so?"

"I'm sure. It's like I've really seen it. And in the dream I was flying between the towers of the Palace. Do you think I dreamed it because of your kite?"

"Who knows? But… I'll tell you what I think. The man who made it lived on an island far away, on the other side of the world. He was very old, and a true Master Craftsman, and he was especially good at making kites in the shape of a haptir because he'd actually met one when he was still only a boy. A haptir had fallen to the ground right in front of him, struck by a falling star. Of course such a thing is virtually impossible, but in this case a powerful Black Sorcerer who had a grudge against the haptir had caused it.

"The haptir was half dead. He had fallen from a great height and one of his wings was almost completely destroyed. If it had just been one of the little wings they use for speed he could still have flown, but it was one of the great wings that they use for gliding, and without it he would never be able to fly again. He was doomed to spend the rest of his life just crawling on the ground, and there could be no worse fate for a haptir. But the boy, who had always dreamed of meeting a real haptir, instead of running away like most kids would have done because they'd be scared of the haptir's poisonous teeth, took him and hid him in a secret place, a place he often went to when he wanted to go and invent stories without being disturbed.

"But the boy wasn't just good at making up stories: in fact he had a Gift. Not just a talent, but a real, magic, Gift for making kites. Even though he was still only very young people used to come from the villages round about to buy them, because every child in the area wanted one of his kites. So when the haptir began to recover from his fall the young boy started to try to repair the damaged wing. Nobody else could possibly have succeeded, but his Gift was so powerful and he so much wanted the haptir to be able to fly again that, just as he stuck the final tiny piece of silk into the final fold of the wing, his work came to life. It wasn't a construction of wood and fabric any longer: it became strong, supple bones and the colourful skin of a haptir who had been restored to full health at last.

"Of course the haptir became the boy's friend, and to thank him for restoring his wing he gave him a gift: he taught him how to weave a spell into the fabric of his kites so that any boy who truly loved haptirs, who wanted to meet one even though they are really dangerous, would once – just once! – have a wonderful dream, a dream far more real than anything he had actually done in his life, a dream so vivid that he would remember it for ever. And in that dream he would really be, for a few unforgettable moments, a real haptir of Kretzlal.

"So I think that, entirely by accident, I must have bought you one of those kites – possibly the last one that still exists – and that you truly love haptirs so much that the injured haptir's magic spell actually worked for you."

"Anhel?"

"What?"

"Thank you."

Next morning the weather was fair and the wind was just about perfect from a sailor's point of view – a moderate breeze. However, the moderate breeze was blowing against the current and churning the sea up into a choppy, irregular wave pattern that made the ship's movements unpredictable. Julien wasn't enjoying himself at all. But despite the cold wind he didn't dare go below to put on another layer of clothing: he recognised the sheen of perspiration on his forehead and the queasy feeling in his stomach only too well, and he knew that going below decks would just make everything feel worse. He'd hoped he'd cope better than this, but of course this world didn't have a nice friendly pharmacy that would sell him a packet of anti-motion sickness pills. Normally he took one of the pills a while before going on the water, and then everything was fine: yes, the pills made you a bit drowsy, but they enabled the inner ear to adjust to the moving floor beneath your feet. But here there were no pills. He leaned over the railing and looked at the water below, thinking that if he started to feel even worse at least he'd be able to end it by jumping overboard – in temperatures this low, death would be sure to come quickly. And if the cold alone wasn't enough to finish him off he could always hope that there would be some local version of a shark to come and hurry things along.

Ah, there went breakfast. He wondered how something that tasted so great on its way down could possibly taste so awful on its way back up, and he found himself pitying cows, who had to constantly re-eat what they'd already eaten once.

"Not feeling so good, laddie?"' said a voice in his ear.

He peered blearily at the speaker.

"Yer aall green, laddie. Caarn't ye remember me?"

"Huh?"

"It's Tenntchouk. Ye baaght us'n a drink – me 'n Gradik, ye remember? An' 'twas roight good of ye, seein as how we'd been pallin' yer leg a little."

Somewhere in the depths of his miserable mind Julien remembered the incident, and he supposed that a gleam of memory must have shown in his eyes, because the sailor smiled at him.

"Ye've laast yer sea-legs, hey?" he said. "Yer been too laang ashore! Now stay roight thaar – I'm away to foind ye summat as will haalp."

Stay? Julien thought that was a certainty: he couldn't have moved if his life had depended on it. He thought he could just about manage to breathe now and again, but that was about it.

The sailor came back and handed him what looked like a sort of sweet.

"Saack on this," he said. "But moind as ye doan't swaallow 'un, see?"

It actually was a sweet, but one that was infused with various plant extracts that swiftly seemed to flow all through his body, almost instantly dispelling the ghastly feelings of nausea.

"Yer moind an' spit it as soon as ye feel better, now!" the sailor cautioned him. "Else ye'll be as draank as a sailor fresh ashore, so ye will."

Reluctantly Julien spat out the little sugar sphere.

"Thank you, Honourable Tenntchouk," he said.

"Hey, don't you staart aall that 'honrubble' staaff wi' me, laddie! So, heave ho, an' Oi'll get ye to yer caabin. Take a good naap an' yer'll wake up foine an'…"

"Tenntchouk! You're not paid to gossip with the passengers!" cut in a voice. "Get back to your duty!"

The scathing voice was harsh, and Julien could see that Tenntchouk was about to answer back, which was no doubt exactly what the officer was hoping for . He put his hand on the sailor's arm.

"Don't say anything," he said, quietly. "He's just waiting for you to do that."

Tenntchouk turned away with a sigh and returned to the prow without speaking. But the lieutenant, or whatever rank he was; stepped closer to Julien, close enough for the boy to see that he was wearing the Marks of a Noble House.

"Just because you've paid your fare, boy," the officer said, "it does not give you the freedom to divert the crew from their work. We will not condone that sort of behaviour. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly, noble Lord," answered Julien.

"Oh, and I've had your bag moved to the fo'c'sle. The Noble Son Dallek of the Artaks does not wish to share his cabin with a No-Clan. Of course the supplement you paid for the cabin will be refunded."

Julien thought that if the Noble Son Dallek was even half as obnoxious as the reptile in front of him he'd be far better off sleeping on deck. However, he kept his feelings to himself and just murmured "Thank you, Noble Lord," with an expression of the utmost respect.

The crew's quarters turned out to be rather more spacious than he had expected, with four rows of bunks on each side of the cabin. A long table of polished wood with the usual anti-roll edges ran down the centre of the cabin, pierced a third of the way along by the thick pillar of the foremast, which continued on down below this deck all the way to the keel. There was a wide skylight that opened onto the upper deck, and this gave the room plenty of light, and in fact made it look quite homely. Julien stowed his bag under an empty bunk and lay back to follow Tenntchouk's advice about sleeping it off.

He woke up later feeling a great deal better, and he was immediately confronted with a grinning face that he recognised.

"Hello, Gradik!" he said.

"Yer lookin' a laat better," commented the sailor. "Oi came by a minute since, an' ye was out loike a loight."

Julien stood up and was relieved to discover that the motion of the vessel no longer bothered him.

"An' they say as thaat other baastard, he threw you out af yer caabin?" the sailor went on. "Is thaat roight?"

"It doesn't matter. And to be honest I think I'd much prefer your company to that of a Noble Lord."

"Aye, yer'd be roight there. An' that offizer, he's choice, he is. Nandrouk of the Ksantiris, 'e's caalled. 'Is faather is one of the owners o' the caampany, an' 'e pat 'im aboard so as 'e could laarn. But Oi reckon as 'ow it ain't gonna work. 'E's ratten to the bone, 'e is."

"Do you mean that he's one of the First Lord's sons?"

"Nat exaactly, but to us'n 'e moight as well be. 'E's third son o' Dehal, who's maaried to a cousin o' Lord Ylavan."

Julien thought that now he was seeing the nobility of the Nine Worlds from the other side of the street, and he didn't like what he saw at all.

"I don't want to get you into trouble," he said. "You'd better get back to your work."

"It's noice o' ye to warry, but Oi'm aaff duty roight now. D'ye waant me to show yer the boat? T'other baastard'll be in his caabin, an' 'e won't come out afore 'is waatch. Don't aask what 'e does in there aall day. Oi s'pose it's nat fer us'n to aask."

So Julien got a guided tour of the boat from the keel to the top of the mainmast.. At one point they passed the captain, who was kind enough to favour Julien with a friendly nod, perhaps because he too had no Marks of nobility.

Julien had done a little sailing and all boats have some things in common, but there was a massive difference between the little cockleshells his parents' friends owned, no longer than twenty feet, and this pure breed of ship, the result of thousands of years of maritime evolution.

At the end of the tour he managed to swallow his nerves and allow Gradik to take him right to the top of the mast.

"Waal, thaat's it, matey: now ye're really paart o' the ship's crew. And Oi owe Tenntchouk a drink. 'E bet me as 'ow ye'd do it."

"What, so you thought I wouldn't be able to get up here?"

"Waal… mebbe Oi wasn't absolutely sure, loike…"

"I certainly wouldn't have got up here without your help, Gradik – so I'll be the one buying a round when we arrive."

"Waal, if'n ye insist… now we must go down, an' there's two ways. First, ye can use the raatlines, sort o' loike a ladder. It's a little… waal, it's a little girlie's method. But mebbe for yore first toime…"

"What's the other way?"

There was a glint in Gradik's eye.

"Waal," he said, "the sailor's way, 'tis to sloide down one o' the loines. Yer mustn't sloide too faast, as that wuld burn yer 'ands an' make yer let go. The trick is to squeeze with yer legs to control yer speed."

The line he was indicating was very thick, almost as thick as Julien's wrist, and it plunged down to the deck at a fairly steep angle.

"Do I look like a little girlie to you, Gradik?" he aksed.

"Waal, yer pretty enough… but no, yer don't look loike a girlie."

"So I'd better do it the way sailors do, then, hadn't I?"

And he did. Maybe it wasn't with quite as much carefree abandon as a real sailor, but he was brave enough to give it a try, and managed it well enough that the skin on his palms was still more or less undamaged when he reached the deck. Gradik slid down behand him and dropped easily to the deck.

"That 'twas foine work, laddie!" he said. "An' now 'tis Oi who'll pay for the drinks. Oi insist!"

***

The voyage was uneventful. The few other passengers were merchants and craftsmen travelling in cabins and eating with the officers, so Julien found himself the only one to be spending his time with the ordinary seamen, who went out of their way to help him despite their lack of refined manners. Of course they all knew about his trip to the top of the mast and the way he had descended again afterwards, and that earned him their respect in a way that he found strangely heart-warming. And once they found out that he was a friend, indeed almost related, to Mistress Nardik of Kardenang, they stopped asking impertinent questions and instead started entertaining him with the sort of tall tale for which sailors are renowned. Indeed, he even thought that one or two of them might have had a grain of truth in them. A number of the sailors would probably have been more than happy to offer to share their bodily warmth with him at night, but since he didn't put out any of the normal signals they had to settle for dreaming about him instead.

The Three Arrows in Ksantir wasn't much like Mistress Nardik's comfortable establishment. It was bigger and a lot more crowded, and as such it offered Julien some precious anonymity. He'd have been happier in a way to move into the same tavern as Tenntchouk and Gradik, but he felt that he couldn't remain open to their well-meaning curiosity any longer. So he stayed with them long enough to share in the promised round of drinks and then said that he had to go and meet a friend of his father's, leaving them to enjoy a traditional drinking session without him.

When Xarax came to visit him that evening they decided that the best plan of action would be for Julien to try to gain an interview with the Noble Lord Nekal, second son of Lord Ylavan and thus Niil's older brother. Xarax, who was expert at listening in to conversations without being seen, had already ascertained that Lord Ylavan was still at sea in his trankenn. He hadn't heard any mention of Niil, and obviously he hadn't been able actually to ask: even if you weren't a haptir, that sort of question might well attract unwelcome attention.

So next morning Julien dressed himself in nice new clothes and presented himself at the gate of the First House of the Ksantiris. He knew it wouldn't be easy: bureaucracy is a plague that afflicts every world, and here in Ksantir were some of the most virulent bureaucrats imaginable. When, several hours later, he finally reached the presence of a tall, thin man who actually asked the nature of his visit rather than simply shunting him off to yet another office, he was very close to reacting violently, even though he knew that that would certainly spell the end of his mission.

"So," the tall man said, looking down his nose at him, "you say that you have a message for the Noble Son Niil, but you are unable to supply me with any proof of that assertion. You have already been told that the Noble Son is presently on the First Trankenn. So now you feel that you have to meet the Noble Lord Nekal, but clearly it would be out of the question for me to facilitate such an interview without some evidence of your bona fides…"

"Your Honour," cut in Julien, "do you know about the Great Forest on Tandil?"

"Obviously, but I fail to see…"

"Well, I can promise you that if you continue to obstruct me you'll get a chance to find out for yourself whether it's as dangerous as everyone says."

"What? How dare you threaten me!"

"Your Honour, I'm not threatening you. And nor am I trying to offend you. I'm just telling you what will happen if the Noble Lord Niil were to find out that you have hindered me in my mission."

"But…"

"Look, either you can arrange that interview for me now, or I'll have to go through another channel. That is sure to cost me some precious time, and obviously the Noble Lord Niil will want to know why. And obviously I can't lie to a Noble Lord."

"I see."

"Excellent. So, about that interview?"

"A guard will come for you as soon as the Noble Lord Nekal is ready to see you."

"Thank you, Your Honour. I'm sure the Noble Lord Niil will know how to reward your zeal."

***

Despite this he still had to wait for more than two hours on a far from comfortable bench before a guard finally came to take him to the Noble Lord Nekal, who turned out not to look very much like his younger brother. He looked about twenty-five, and his powerful body was already showing signs of thickening around the middle. He was sitting behind a desk whose magnificence was obviously intended to demonstrate how important he was, and Julien disliked him on sight.

"So, my boy," said Nekal, "they tell me you've been demanding to see me?"

"Noble Lord, I certainly didn't demand anything. It's just that I have a message to deliver to the Noble Lord Niil of the Ksantiris."

"You mean the Noble Son, I think."

"No, My Lord. I'm sure you're aware that your Noble Brother has been emancipated, so my message is for the Noble Lord Niil."

Nekal stared at him suspiciously.

"So what is this message – if such a major state secret can be revealed to someone like me?"

"It simply says 'Julien is in Ksantir'."

"Is that it?"

"That's all there is, My Lord."

"So how do you propose that I should send him your precious message?"

"I'm sure a Guide could do it."

"Oh, a Guide, no less!"

"The message is really important, My Lord."

"Here I decide what is important! If my half-brother wants messages sent to him by private post he can arrange it himself. After all, he's a man now, isn't he? Isn't that what you said? So who sent this vital message anyway?"

Julien took a deep breath. "It's from the Emperor, My Lord," he said.

Nekal stood up so quickly that he knocked his chair over, came around his desk, strode up to where Julien was standing and slapped his face.

"How dare you?" he shouted. "The Emperor doesn't need anyone to carry his messages for him. I've no idea what you're trying to do, or indeed what that little bast… my brother is trying to do, but he shouldn't expect to be able to treat me like an idiot. So I'll ask you one more time: who are you and who sent you?"

Julien's cheek was burning and he was having trouble staying on his feet, but he managed to say, "The Emperor sent me and I'm someone the Noble Lord Niil trusts."

"Well, I don't trust you."

"My Lord, if you contact your Noble Father I'm sure he can tell you more."

"So you refuse to answer?"

Julien really had no choice: clearly revealing his identity to this terminally stupid and probably highly jealous animal would have been the height of folly. Not that he'd be believed if he told the truth anyway…

"I'm sorry, My Lord," he said, "but that's the only answer I can give you."

"Well, maybe you'll change your mind about that tomorrow. In the meantime I'll be delighted to offer you my hospitality for the night."

He rang a bell and a guard appeared straight away. Nekal waved a hand at Julien.

"Take that to a cell," he ordered.

Julien was horrified. He would never have believed that such a stupid, thuggish person could wield authority in the house of one of the Emperor's Mirrors. And the prospect of seeing the inside of a Dvârian prison didn't make him feel any better. The guard shoved him along an apparently endless set of corridors and, no doubt inspired by the attitude of his master towards the prisoner, every time they came to a junction he indicated the correct way to go with a slap to the back or side of the head as appropriate. He seemed to enjoy doing that, and Julien thought that the only reason he didn't use his fist instead of the flat of his hand was because he didn't want to end up having to carry an unconscious prisoner.

Soon they had left the administrative part of the palace behind and the marble corridors had given way to plain, sandy-coloured stone. In this area there were no people scurrying about, no seekers after small favours, and no more clerks who carefully avoided looking at the prisoner as they passed. The large windows of the more populated part of the building had given way to small, barred apertures high in the walls that let in only a little of the late afternoon light.

As they approached a staircase that led down into the bowels of the earth Julien tried to brace himself against the blow he was sure was coming. His head was already spinning, and he felt sure that he'd be in serious trouble if he actually fell over: the guard would be sure to give him a nasty kicking. But instead of a blow there came only a sort of strangled cough, followed by the sickening thud of a pair of knees coming into violent contact with the stone floor. He turned around just in time to see his tormentor fall flat on his face. Xarax was clinging to his back, his jaws still locked on the man's neck. No explanation was needed, but Xarax still jumped onto his friend's shoulder so that he could talk to him.

Xarax asks you to forgive him, but he could not act sooner. Here his friend needs only to push this thug down the stairs. It will prevent the body being discovered too quickly.

Xarax has certainly chosen the right moment, but it still took a lot of effort to drag the heavy corpse to the top of the stairs. By the time he'd managed to push the guy down the stairs Julien was exhausted, and of course it didn't happen the way it always seems to in films: the body got stuck only a few steps down. Julien had to go down and start it falling again several times before he reached the first turn of the staircase, when the body was finally out of sight of anyone passing through the corridor that ran past the top of the stairs. By this stage he knew that Xarax had done more than simply knocking him out: when someone doesn't breathe and keeps his eyes open all the time even while he's being pushed down a flight of stairs you can be pretty sure he's not going to wake up again. Julien supposed that it was a little extreme, but all the same he found it impossible to conjure up even a hint of compassion for the unpleasant troll.

Of course he still had to get out of this hornets' nest, and that looked as if it might be less than straightforward. But he had the perfect scout in Xarax, and as no alarm had yet been raised they were unlikely to run into patrols of guards or locked doors. However, Julien's left cheek had started to swell and bruise, and it looked suspicious because the bruise was hand-shaped. All he could do was to scurry along as close to the wall as he could. He supposed that many of those he passed must have felt sorry for this poor boy whose toothache was so bad that he had to keep a hand pressed to his face all the time.

He also discovered that Xarax had some hitherto unrevealed talents: the sneaky creature had concealed from him his wonderful gift for mimicry. He realised this when the haptir, about to explore a side corridor, was suddenly confronted with three people emerging from around a corner. Julien was sure that they'd notice Xarax, but to his surprise the haptir seemed literally to melt into the stone paving stones, only to reappear once the danger had passed. He began to understand better why people were so terrified of haptirs: not only were they highly intelligent, poisonous and magnificent flyers, but they also had the ability to become all but invisible.

***

Julien was hugely relieved when he finally got back outside into the street and was able to walk back to his inn. The adventure had left him feeling drained, and when Xarax came to join him in his kang he was almost ready to throw in the towel.

Did you know that that cretin was in charge while his father is away? he asked.

Xarax was unacquainted with this particular Ksantiri. But Xarax would agree that he is a cretin. Xarax witnessed the way he treated you.

Julien didn't bother asking how Xarax could have seen the interview – by now he realised that Xarax could pass unnoticed almost anywhere.

Xarax would have killed him, but that would have caused complications with his family. However, Xarax had not foreseen that he would throw you into prison. Though Xarax thinks that you did not negotiate very well.

I'm sure you're right. Although it's not easy, negotiating with that sort of caveman..

Xarax is acquainted with some perfectly respectable troglodytes.

So, what do we do now? Do you think you can get to the First Lord's trankenn?

Xarax doesn't think so. He cannot fly indefinitely, and he does not know precisely where the trankenn is to be found.

Well, I don't think I can stay here. Once they discover that I killed a guard and ran they're sure to start a manhunt for me. Perhaps I can hide in the woods with Yol.

Or perhaps you could try to reach the First Trankenn.

How? I don't have a boat, and even if I did I'm nothing like good enough at navigation.

But you have got gold. You have more than enough to hire a boat. In fact you have enough to buy a boat. And Xarax can navigate, if not on his own.

Well, I certainly couldn't do it – even if I had a small boat I'm pretty sure my skills at nav… hold on – maybe I can find a couple of sailors I can trust.

And even if you can't trust them they can't blab while you are at sea, and with Xarax close at hand they won't have any opportunity to betray you.

Xarax, I know you're only trying to keep me safe, but sometimes your way of thinking can be a bit scary!

Perhaps, but if Xarax did not think like that, by now you would be providing entertainment for the local convicts.

You're right, of course, and I'm truly grateful. But I think the sailors I'm talking about are completely trustworthy.

Xarax is ready to believe that. But there is no harm in taking precautions. Now, if that is the course of action you intend to take it would be best to do so at once, before things become more difficult.

***

The Golden Isles inn was distinctly shabby, but then it was catering for a clientèle of none-too-rich sailors who preferred to spend their meagre earnings having fun, rather than on unnecessary luxury. When Julien found them they were just getting ready to start on a fresh round of carousing, their earlier celebrations having been interrupted by the need to sleep. Neither of them smelled particularly fresh – in fact they seemed to be surrounded by a miasma of alcohol, vomit and sundry other unpleasant aromas. However, it was early enough in the evening that they were still perfectly lucid and able to recognise a friend when they saw one.

"Hello, laddie! How're things?" asked Tenntchouk.

"Are ye blind draank?" demanded Gradik. "Look at 'is face! Looks like as someone 'as tried to knock 'is 'ead clean aff his shouldern!"

"Huh? Why, yer roight!! Tell, us laddie – who done this? Us'n 'll go laarn 'im nat to treat our'n mate like thaat!"

"Thanks. But that's not why I'm here."

"Even so…"

"Calm down. I came to ask you for a favour."

"Whaatever ye waant, laddie!"

"Wait until you hear it before you answer, because I'm talking about a real favour. And it's likely to be dangerous."

Tenntchouk stopped his friend before he could launch into another heroic speech.

"We're list'ning, laddie," he said.

"I need two experienced sailors for an expedition. I can't give you all the details now, but basically we need to buy, or hire if we can't manage to buy one, a small boat to go in search of the First Trankenn. I swear there's a good reason for it – actually I've got a message for Lord Niil of the Ksantiris. And it's very important."

Tenntchouk whistled.

"Impartant, ye say? Waal, thaat surely isn't the easy waay. If'n Oi accept that ye aaren't pallin' our leg, whoi don't ye go an' aask at the Palace? 'Tis said they 'ave Guides there, an' everything."

"Do you know who's in charge there at the moment?"

"Thaat'll be t'other baast… Oi mean, the Noble Lord Nekal. Whoi?"

"Because I went to ask him to send my message."

"An' 'e didn't waant ter?"

"He's the one who did this to my face. And he wanted me thrown in jail, too, except I… I managed to escape."

"Aah. An' the Palace folks, they're aafter ye?"

"Not yet. But they will be soon enough."

"An' ye reckon as yer mates'll risk their lives wi' ye over thaat?"

Julien looked at his hands, which had just about found room on the tabe amid the dirty dishes. He supposed that when you put it like that…

"Waal, ye were roight, laddie! Us, t'other baastard, we caan't stand 'im. And you – we knaaw as ye're a noice young feller. An' naaw ye're taalking o' buying a boat… does thaat mean as ye've got dough as well as enemies? 'Caas us, we're naat rich, ye understaand. We're naat poor, but we're surely naat rich."

"I've got money. You'll have to tell me if it's enough. But perhaps we could go somewhere else. Do you have a kang?"

The two sailors looked sheepishly at each other. This place was clearly a brothel, and their 'kang' would only be one of those rooms hired by the hour.

"Waal," said Tenntchouk, "'tis naat really a place to take a Young Maarster… Oi mean, 'tis naat yet cleaned an' such…"

"All right, then here is what I suggest: you pay what you owe here and we'll go and find a decent place to stay, somewhere where we can all have a bath. Then I'll introduce you to a friend of mine, and you can tell me if I have enough money for what I want to do. Does that sound all right?"

"Aye, thaat it is."

"Right, then take my purse. Don't waste time haggling with the innkeeper, just pay your bill."

"Are ye sure? Us'n can pay our'n…"

"Don't waste time. From now on I'm paying the bills."

***

In the end they decided to visit a bath-house before looking for a kang, because Tenntchouk had quietly pointed out that no respectable inn would let them in until they had cleaned up a bit. So when Julien came to book his kang he was accompanied by two scrubbed, shaved, flower-scented and well-dressed companions. He booked one big enough for four at a price that scandalised the sailors, but which Julien paid without hesitation. He hadn't exactly had to work for the money, after all.

"'Twasn't needful to book the most pricey room in the town!" protested Tenntchouk, once the transaction was over.

"Don't worry, you won't be here long enough for the luxury to soften you up. We need to get under way as soon as we can. I just thought a bit of comfort would help us to recover, me from my encounter with the Noble Lord and you from the effects of whatever the hell it was you were drinking last night. Anyway, we'd better get down to business. Gradik, if you'd like to empty out my bag you'll find a flat package at the bottom of it."

Gradik did as he was told, carefully laying the contents of the bag out in a neat pile on the bed.

"Aha! Whaat moight this be, then?" he asked.

"It's a knife, Gradik, but please don't take it out of its sheath."

Teentchouk went and examined it.

"Waal, laddie, ye're full o' surprises, roight enough."

"I hope it's the sort of surprise you approve of."

"Waal… thaat'd depend. This knoife… culd it be whaat Oi think it is?"

"I don't know what you think it is, Tenntchouk."

"Oi'm thinking thaat 'tis a nagtri. Oi've naat seen one afore, but Oi 'ave heard o' them. Yer don't see many knoives wi' a tak's 'orn sheath."

"You're right," said Julien. "It is a nagtri. Is that a problem?"

"Thaat'd depend on 'ow ye came by it. They do say as them thaat pinch 'em don't live very long. Ye'd nat 'ave… borrowed it, loike, fram the Palace?"

Julien laughed.

"No," he said. "It's mine, and I can prove it."

He drew the nagtri from its sheath, not missing the way in which both sailors instinctively recoiled: the mere sight of that blade, which seemed to drink in the soft light from the lamps in the kang, seemed to evoke danger. Julien grabbed a large fruit from the bowl in the centre of the table, set it on the palm of his left hand and cut it in two with a single blow from the knife. The thick leathery skin of the fruit parted as though it had been cut previously and the two halves fell to the floor, revealing that the blade of the knife was now pressing against Julien's palm, but without causing the tiniest scratch.

"I would advise you not to try doing that," said Julien.

"But…"

"How did I come by this nagtri? It was a present."

"Wow!"

"So now maybe we should find out if I'm really rich, or just pretending to be."

It turned out that he was really rich. Not rich enough to buy a trankenn, perhaps, not even a small one like the Star of Kenndril, but a small fishing or leisure boat was easily within his price range.

"I assume that you two will know where to look for a suitable boat," he said. "Buy it in your own name, and don't cut corners – get something decent and seaworthy. I'm sure you can find a discreet seller, even if we have to pay a little more for his discretion.

"And now, before we go to sleep, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine. Xarax!"

Julien was sure that the haptir was hiding somewhere in the room, and Xarax didn't disappoint him. He appeared from under the bed the sailors were sitting on, provoking a strangled cry from both of them.

"Don't be afraid," he said. "It's a haptir, obviously, but he's also my friend. His name is Xarax and he protects me. It's thanks to him that I was able to escape from the Palace."

"Powers o' the R'hinz!" exclaimed Gradik. "Oi'll wager 'e left a few dead bodies be'ind!"

"Well, there was one guard who won't have to worry about getting a toothache again. He was hitting me, and Xarax didn't like that. So if you're still willing to help me you'll have to get used to him. If you think it's too dangerous it would be best if we say goodbye now. I'll understand, especially if you have wives waiting for you, or children…"

"Waal… no, Oi don't 'ave no woife. Nor does 'e, neether. An' us, we'd loike to sail wi' ye a little, thaat's fer sure, but…"

"Well, look, even if you decide not to come with me you can still help me to find a boat, can't you? I'll pay you a good commission and we can part with no hard feelings. And I promise that Xarax will do you no harm as long as you can keep your mouths shut."

"Listen, laddie, if'n we're to sail wi' ye, we have to be honest wi' ye. Ye see, Gradik 'n me, we been together since we was young 'uns, if ye see what Oi mean…"

"Yes. You mean you've always been friends and you're used to sailing together, right?"

"Waal, thaat… an' more. See, we prefer to tell ye, 'caas there are those as don't loike thaat. An' us, we're staartin' to think as ye mix wi' some pretty impaartant folks…"

Julien had no idea what Tenntchouk was talking about – in fact he couldn't even start to see what he was driving at.

"Tenntchouk, I don't understand. What are you saying?"

"Waal, Gradik an' me… we don't 'ave no woife 'caas we don't need one. We 'ave each other."

A glimmer of light dawned.

"You mean that you love each other – like you would if you were married?" asked Julien. "That you enjoy the Delights together – that you like men, in fact?"

"Waal, yes, thaat's it."

"But that inn you were staying in… I thought it was… well, you know."

"Aar, it is whaat ye think it is. But it's naat women ye foind there."

"I see. But why did you think that was likely to bother me?"

"Waal… when ye was on the Star, there was plenty as sent ye the signal, but ye never said anythin', an' ye never thanked 'em neether. So we thought as you were a noice laddie, very polite an' aall, but that ye didn't care for the loikes o' us."

Julien thought that he must have skipped a chapter or two in the Delights, because all this stuff about signals was news to him.

"I'm sorry if I hurt anyone's feelings," he said. "I'm afraid I didn't know. See, where I come from, if you're not interested you just pretend not to have seen anything. But I can promise you that you being together doesn't bother me in the least."

Neither of them was in the first flush of youth: they'd been well tanned by sun and salt over the course of many voyages, and what little hair they had left was turning grey, but the smile that lit up their wrinkled faces transformed them for an instant into the two mischievous boys they had once been.

"Waal, if'n thaat's 'ow ye feel, then Gradik 'n me, we'll go wi' ye, laddie. An' if'n ye say that yon 'aptir won't haarm us, we'll believe ye."

"An' if'n ye tell us as 'ow 'e saved yore skin," added Gradik, "us, we'd loike to thank 'im for it. But there's a thing ye need to knaw: us, we're sailors, an' we'll make yer boat go better than anyone else culd, but… we're not offizers. 'Bout naavigation, us.. waal, we don't know too much."

"No problem. Xarax will be able to take care of the navigation for us."

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