That courtiers thrive at latter Lammas day,

corner. "With that Jackstraw can hit a three-inch target at a hundred yards. A man's head at fifty yards is six times that size. First he gets Corazzini, who's probably driving, and when Smallwood sticks his head out the back as he certainly willwell that's it." "But, good God, man, you can't do that!" Hillcrest was horrified. "Without a chance, without warning? It's murder, simple murder!" "Want me to go over the number of people they've murdered?" I shook my head. "You just don't begin to know those two, Hillcrest." "But" He broke off, turned to Jackstraw. "It's you he's asking to do it. What do you say?" "It will be a pleasure," Jackstraw said very softly. Hillcrest stared at us both, baffled incomprehension in his eyes. I suppose he thought he knew both of us well. And he did. But he didn't know what we had been through, words couldn't even begin to make him understand. The atmosphere was uncomfortable, tense even, and I was grateful for Joss's sudden calm words. "0943, Captain Hillcrest. Three minutes to go." "Good." He was, I could see, as glad of the interruption as I was. "Barclay"this to the cook, the only other of Hillcrest's men there, the other three were in the big driving cabin to make room for us'three Wessex rockets. Line them up on the and stand wait for the word. I'll go myself with the flare, two for safety. Give a beep on the horn, Joss, when it's time to set 'em off." I went with him to watch and the whole thing went off without a hitch. Dead on time, just seconds after the third rocket had been fired to curve upwards and explode into incandescent light in the star-dusted darkness above, we heard the high-pitched whine approaching out of the south-west, and in an incredibly short space of time a vague dark blur, carrying no navigation lights, screamed by five hundred feet overhead, banked in the distance, came at us again at much reduced speed, banked a second time and then, with a crescendoing banshee shriek of the jet engine, had vanished again into the vaguely lightening darkness to the south-east before we had realised that the pilot had made his drop. It was a measure of his complete self-confidence that he didn't even trouble to check the accuracy of his drop: but for a man skilled in landing on the handkerchief-sized flight deck of a carrier in the middle of the night this must have been a childishly simple exercise. There were two packages, not one, attached not to parachutes but to my journal digital camera insignificant little drogues that seemed to let them fall much too fast for safety: they landed almost together not forty yards from the magnesium flares and with such force that I was sure that their contents must be smashed. But I had underestimated the Fleet Air Arm's skill and experience in these matters, the contents were so beautifully packed and cushioned that everything was completely intact. The packages were duplicated: two ampoules of insulin and three hypodermic syringes in each package: whoever had packed these had been taking no chances. But gratitude was the last thought in my mind at that moment: I just tucked the boxes under my arm and made for the tractor at a dead run. For close on two hours Hillcrest's driver pushed the big Sno-Cat along at its maximum speed, and despite the inherent stability afforded by its four wide caterpillars, the tractor swayed and lurched in terrifying fashion. This was bad country, this was crevasse country, and we had been forced to make a wide detour that had carried us more than three miles away from the Kangalak glacier. And once again Jackstraw's big Siberian wolf proved how invaluable he was: running tirelessly ahead, he repeatedly guided the Sno-Cat away from dangerous territory, but even so our route was a necessarily devious and twisted one, though the picking out of a path became considerably easier after the pale grey light of the arctic noon spread across the ice-cap. For all of us it was a time of tension, of an ever-mounting anxiety that reached intolerable proportions. For the first half-hour or so I was busy enough in broaching the tractor's first-aid kit and doing what doctoring I could to Mahlera Mahler whose dyspnoea was already dramatically easingMarie LeGarde, Helene, Jackstraw and, above all, to Zagero's shattered hands. Then I myself submitted to Hillcrest's rough and ready ministrations, but after that there was nothing for me to do, nothing for any of us to do except try to avoid the bitterness of thinking what must happen if the Citroen reached the tongue of the glacier before us. Suddenly, exactly on noon, the tractor stopped abruptly. We jumped out to see what the matter was, and it became apparent soon enough the driver was awaiting instructions. We had abruptly rounded the humpback of the last ice ridge that had lain between us and the glacier itself. Even in the half-light of the arctic day the panorama suddenly

And the front door locked for good.

Larss caresses had stimulated. She couldnt get to the City and the Conservatory fast enough. Chapter 18 Fortunately Lars was equally frustrated by their lack of privacy and made no further overtures. Perversely, Killashandra missed them. The cruiser had broken out flags and a full honor guard for the ceremonial and triumphant return. Killashandra steeled herself for yet another protocologically correct reception. She reflected on what scene she could produce to shorten the tedium, and debated whether or not a scene would produce any advantage. She had made several points. Unless she had sufficient provocation, she decided to leave well enough alone. For now. She might need to produce an effect to gain privacy within her suite. For she was determined to enjoy Lars without any surveillance for whatever time remained to them. She could, of course, stretch out the organ repair as long as she wished. Or her instruction of technicians. She could include Lars in that program. He had the perfect and absolute pitch to tune crystal as well as the strength and manual dexterity required. She must do everything she could to make him indispensable to the Elders, for whatever protection that could provide him, since he didnt seem at all interested in leaving Optheria. Even if that were possible. Were near enough for you to have a spectacular view of the City Port, Lars said, interrupting her reflections. A natural port? She smiled. Completely, though not nearly as good a natural harbor as North. Naturally. Captain Festinel awaits your arrival on the bridge. How courteous! Wheres Torkes? Burning up a few communications units with orders. He was incensed that you had to bloody your hands on the drive of a mere cruiser. Doesnt he value his skin as much as I do mine? Her entry rated salutes, rigid attention from the seamen and a smile and a warm handshake from Festinel. She politely accepted his effusive thanks and then pointedly turned to watch the rapidly approaching shoreline. The City Port bustled with activity: small water taxis skipping across the waves, larger barges wallowing across their swells, and coastal freighters awaiting their turn at the piers which, with their array of mechanical unloading devices, were anything but natural. The cruisers velocity best ultra thin digital cameras had moderated considerably now that it was in congested waters. Ponderously it approached the Federal docking area, where sleek courier vessels bobbed alongside two more squat cruisers. Killashandra had no difficulty identifying their berth it was crowded with a welcoming committee, all massed white and insipid pale colors, blurred faces turned seaward, despite the glare of the westering sun which was full in their eyes. The cruiser swung its bow slightly to port and the drive was cut, momentum carrying the big vessel inexorably to the dock and the grapples clanked against the hull, bringing it to a halt with a barely perceptible jolt. My compliments on a smooth docking, Captain Festinel and my thanks for an excellent voyage. Killashandra made gracious noises to all the bridge staff and then swept out to get the rest of the tedious formalities over. Ampris! Lars grunted as they reached the portal. Beneath them the gangway was extruding the few meters to the dock. Of course, and my quartette lined up like the puppets they are. I think I am developing a splitting headache. All that crystal whine, you know. She raised her hand to her forehead. See what line Ampris takes first. Larss face was set, his nostrils flaring a little as he settled his respiratory rate. Killashandra suppressed a perfectly natural surge of repugnance for a man who had ordered an assault on her, then hypocritically assured her that the culprit would be punished How could she punish Ampris? The method she had employed with Torkes would not work; Ampris was too wily. The gangplank had locked in place, the honor guard was arranged, Elder Torkes appeared, the welcoming committee began to applaud and, every inch the gracious celebrity, Killashandra descended. Mirbethan took a step forward, anxiously scanning Killashandras face for any sign of the ordeal. Thyrol, Pirinio, and Polabod all bowed low but permitted Elder Ampris to do the honors. Guildmember Ree, you cannot imagine our elation when we learned of your safe deliverance Then Ampris caught sight of Lars, whom he was patently not expecting. This is Captain Lars Dahl who rescued me so boldly, and at no small risk to himself and his vessel. Captain Dahl, this is Elder Ampris. Killashandra took the plunge, pretending ignorance of any previous contact between the two men. I am forever indebted to Captain Dahl, as Im sure the Council of Elders must be, for delivering me from

Then Robin was stout, and tumd him about,

Thyrol. I will need the duragloves Everything you requested before your unfortunate disappearance is in the organ loft. Oh, very well then. Its gathered dust long enough. Lead on! Once again the instinctive reaction to tiptoe and maintain silence affected Killashandra as they emerged onto the stage of the Festival auditorium. She glanced at Lars to see if he was similarly affected. He grimaced slightly and she noticed that his active stride perceptibly altered. She did not miss the almost covetous way he frowned at the covered organ console. And wondered what she could do about that! She had been entranced with the music he played on the twelve-stringed instrument, and she was eager to hear it with organ amplification. Or would that be too cruel an imposition? As Thyrol used his keys on the panel to the loft, Killashandra wondered if among them were the keys that would allow access to subliminal mechanisms. All three on that ring were apparently needed to open the loft door. Or would someone of Thyrols rank even know about such a refinement? She presumed it was limited to Elder rank only, or maybe a Master or two. Theyd need someone with a hefty dab of imagination and energy to create subliminal images. Unless the subliminals reflected the inflexibility of the Elders attitudes toward everything, which was also logical Why search for a template when one was oneself the ultimate role model? The necessary equipment was indeed in the loft, neatly stacked against one side of the long wall. Lars maintained an attitude of casual indifference after giving the room a sweeping glance. Killashandra noted the monitor buds, caught Larss glance and gave him a nod. She waited until his hand disappeared into his pocket and then bent over the open console and the glittering shards of crystal. Lars Dahl, grab a mask and some gloves, and bring that bin over here. And a mask and gloves for me. I dont fancy inhaling crystal dust in those close quarters. Then she looked up at the burly men taking up so much space in the loft. Out! She flicked her fingers at them. Out, out, out, out! Youre taking up space and air. This room is well ventilated, Guildmember, Thyrol began. That is not the point. I dislike observers peering at my every move. Theres no need for them. Certainly no one can get in or out of here. They can stand on the other side of the door and repel boarders! In fact, Thyrol, without meaning all about digital cameras offense, your absence would oblige. Youll only be hovering. Im sure you have more important duties than hovering! And youre a distraction Or, are you one of those Im to teach crystal installation? Thyrol drew back, affronted by the suggestion and without further protest retired from the loft. Now, Killashandra began, not even watching the man leave, the first thing we must do is clear the shards. Stick to the larger pieces, Lars Dahl. My body deals with cuts more easily than yours. Hang up that lid. Well put the pieces on that before transferring them to the bin. Crystal has a disastrous habit of spraying shards when it bounces Shouldnt want unnecessary accidents to mar this procedure. Whyd you want the jammer on in here? Guild secrets? Larss voice was muffled by the mask. I just want them to understand that monitors wont work around me. I was brought up on a planet that respects privacy and Im not allowing Optherians to violate that right. Not for all the sensory organs on this narking world. Besides, how else can we search for the access? It would look far odder if suddenly their scanners dont work, than if they havent worked from the start. Now, lets do what we came for. It was slow work, especially once Lars had cleared the larger pieces. The extractor could be used only in short bursts; continued suction expelled tiny splinters right through the bag. For that reason, the bag had to be emptied and brushed out after each burst. Itd be easier with two of these, wouldnt it? When Killashandra nodded, Lars strode to the door panel, slid it open, and issued the request. Killashandra heard a murmured reply. Now, I said! We dont have time to wait for the request to go through Security. By the First Fathers! Does everything have to be authorized by Ampris. Move it! Now! Killashandra grinned at him. Larss return grin was pure satisfaction. If you knew how often Ive wanted to bark at a Security man I cant honestly imagine you making meek Youd be surprised at what Im willing to do for a good reason. He gave her a singularly wicked look. A case of the extractors was delivered in half an hour by an officer whom Lars later told Killashandra was Blazs second in command, but not a bad fellow for all of that. Castair had been known to look the other way during student romps which Blaz never would

For here nevir mair maun I bee O

Optheria until the next liner and thats not due for at least two weeks. Two more weeks! Killashandra realized that she had taken for granted the same constant space traffic that frequented Shanganaugh Moon Base. What? Have my charming presence and inspired coupling worn thin now that you have a fellow crystal singer to pair you? Trag? You think Trag and I? Dont be funny! Listen to me, young man, theres a lot you dont know about crystal singers! Id like the time to find out. His reply was wistful even if the kiss he gave her was not. And her response to his embrace temporarily suspended less urgent matters, even the bath. Fortunately, by the time Trag knocked peremptorily on the bathroom door, they were both dressed. Coming, Killashandra responded in a trill, bestowing one last kiss on Lars before she hauled open the door. Sweeping dramatically into the main room with Lars a step behind her, she was delighted to see Trag, a half empty glass of beer in his hand, in the company of Thyrol, Mirbethan, and Pirinio. Facetiously wondering if Polabod had been loaned to another Quartette, she greeted them graciously, exclaiming her eagerness to attend the evenings concert and, at long last, hear an Optherian organ. Dinner was served in the same chamber that had charmed Killashandra. The charm was enhanced this time by the fact that Elder Pentrom was missing from the guest roster. Trag was monopolized at one end of the table by Elders Ampris and Torkes, who engaged him in very serious discussions, while Mirbethan did her best to introduce unexceptional topics into conversation at the other. Thyrol, Pirinio, and two very meek older women instructors completed the buffer between the Elders and the distinguished and newly arrived Guild-member Trag. Elder Torkes, Trag said in a well-pitched voice that carried to every part of the dining room after he had sipped the beverage in his glass, my metabolism requires the ingestion of a certain quantity of alcohol daily. What have you to offer? After that, Killashandra didnt bother straining her ears to hear what information, or misinformation, might be exchanged. Fortunately the portions served them were considerably more generous, if unexciting to the palate, than her first dinner there, so that hunger was assuaged. There was no reason to dally at the festive board so, immediately after the sweet course was finished, Mirbethan led the way to the Conservatory Concert Hall. Those already assembled rose to their feet at the entrance of the distinguished visitors. Like lambs to fuji digital camera ac adaptors the slaughter, Lars whispered in her ear. Wrong again! she whispered back, then composed her features in a gracious expression. Until she had a good look at the seating. The organ console, of course, dominated the blue and white stage. Golden curtains were richly draped to complete the frame which was bathed in a gentle glow of diffused light. They walked up a slight ramp to the orchestra floor where Mirbethan smilingly turned and gestured toward their chairs. Bloody inquisition, Killashandra thought to herself. Upholstered in a mid-blue velvety fabric, the chairs were bucket shaped, semirecumbents equipped with broad arm rests, sculptured to fit wrist and hand for proper sensory input. Killashandra did not expect to find an easy repose for over each seat was a half hood, no doubt containing additional sensory outlets. As Lars might remark, the occupants of the seats were sitting ducks. Nevertheless, and because it was consonant with the role she had adopted, Killashandra expressed delight over the ambiance of the hall, the charming decor, and the unusual seating. She counted fifteen rows extending up and into the shadows behind her, all of them filled. She counted the front-row seats on her side of the entrance as fifteen so that some four hundred and fifty people, the complement of the Conservatory, were about to be entertained. She took her seat but because of the tilt and the arm rest, the only part of her that could touch Lars was her foot. She angled so that she could touch his. She felt a return pressure which gave her far more reassurance than she should need or had expected to gain from such a minimal contact. The house lights dimmed and Killashandra was filled with a perturbation she had never experienced before at what was usually the most enjoyable, anticipatory moment of a performance. A woman swirled out onto the stage, her robes flowing out behind her. She bowed quickly to the assembly and took her place at the organ console, her back, with its pleated draperies, illuminated by the spotlight. Killashandra saw her lift her hands to the first manual and then all the lights went out as the first chord was played. Killashandra all but kicked Lars as she recognized the music. In most Conservatories, a man named Bach would have been credited with its composition. On Optheria it was unlikely that any sheep safely grazed. Then the sensory elements began their insidious plucking. It was well done, the scent

Thou, the hall of my fathers, art gone to decay;

fair sized one, she had her worst fright. Despite the suns being at high noon, she found herself in the midst of a school of tiny fish that was being harvested by several mammoth denizens. At one point she was briefly stranded on a creatures flank when it unexpectedly surfaced under her. She didnt know whether to swim furiously for the distant shore or lie motionless, but before she could make a decision the immense body swirled its torpedo tail in the air and sounded. Killashandra was pulled under by the fierce turbulence of its passage, and she swallowed a good deal more water than she liked before she returned to the surface. As soon as she clambered up on the fifth island, she headed for the nearest ripe polly fruit only to discover that she had lost her hatchet, the last packets of emergency rations, and the fish hooks. She slaked her thirst on overripe polly fruit, ignoring the rank taste for the sake of the moisture. That need attended to, she gathered up enough dry fronds to cushion her body, and went to sleep. She woke sometime in the night, thirsting for more of the overripe fruit which she hunted in the dark, cursing as she tripped over debris and fell into bushes, staggering about in her search until she had to admit to herself that her behavior was somewhat bizarre. About the same time she realized that she was drunk! The innocent polly fruit had been fermenting! Given her Ballybran adaptation, the state could only have been allowed by her weakened constitution. Giggling, she lay down on the ground, impervious to sand or discomfort and fell into a second drunken sleep. Much the worse for her various excesses, Killashandra awoke with a ghastly headache and a terrible need for water. Number five was a much larger island than her other way stops and she was searching so diligently to relieve her thirst that she almost passed the little canoe without its registering on her consciousness. It was only a small canoe, pulled up beyond the high tide mark, a paddle angling from the narrow prow. At another time and without her urgent need, Killashandra would not have ventured out on the open sea in such a flimsy craft. But someone had already brought it from wherever they came so it could as easily convey her elsewhere, too. Her need for water diminished by this happy discovery, Killashandra climbed the nearest polly tree and, hanging precariously to the ridged trunk, managed to saw through several stems with her short knife blade. She didnt waste time then, but threw the fruit into the small craft, slid it into passport camera digital fuji the gentle waves, and paddled down the coast as fast as she could, just in case the owner should return and demand the return of his canoe. While she no longer needed to wait until noon to cross to the next island in her northern course, Killashandras previous days fright made her cautious. She keenly felt the loss of her hatchet. But good fortune continued to surprise her for, as she paddled around a narrow headland, she spotted the unmistakable sign of a small stream draining into the sea. She could even paddle a short way up its mouth and did so, pausing to scoop up a handful of sweet water before she jumped out of the canoe and pulled it out of sight under the bushes. Then she lay down by the water and drank until she was completely sated. By evening, just before the sun suddenly settled below the horizon in the manner characteristic of tropical latitudes, she stood out on the headland, deciding which of the island masses she would attempt to reach the next day. The nearest ones were large, by comparison, but the distant smudge lay long against the horizon. The water lapped seductively over her toes and she decided that she had fooled around with the minor stuff long enough. With the canoe, a fair start in the morning, and plenty of fruit in her little craft, she could certainly make the big island, however distant. She had the foresight to weave herself a sun hat, with a fishtail down her back to prevent sunstroke, for she wouldnt have the cooling water about her as she had while swimming. She had no experience with currents or riptides, nor had she considered the possibility of sudden squalls interrupting her journey. Those she encountered halfway across the deep blue stretch of sea to the large island. She was so busy trying to correct her course while the current pulled her steadily south that she was unaware of the squall until it pelted against her sunburned back. The next thing she knew she was waist deep in water. How the canoe stayed afloat at all, she didnt know. Bailing was a futile exercise but it was the only remedy she had. Then suddenly she felt the canoe sinking with her and, in a panic lest she be pulled down, she swam clear, and had no way to resist the insidious pull of the current. Once again the stubborn survival instinct came to Killashandras aid, and wisely she ceased struggling against the current and the run of the waves, and concentrated on keeping her head above water. She was still thrashing

Nor shall we look each other in the face

waiting, for the Backbone towered meters above them and she doubted her ability to climb another step. Polly and other trees lined the ridge, making a windbreak for the floater as it was buffeted along, ending its journey at a proper stationhouse. Killashandra had profited by the brief rest and followed Larss energetic stride into the main hall of the Backbone shelter. Lars, called the man at the entrance, Olavs in the command post. Can you join him? Lars waved assent and guided Killashandra to an ascending ramp, past a huge common room packed with people. They passed an immense garage, where hundreds of packets resembling some strange form of alien avian life dangled weightless from their antigravs. There was a storm chill in the air and Killashandra was aware of symbiont-generated inner tension as her body sensed the impending arrival of the hurricane. The command post is shielded, lover, Lars said, catching her hand in his and stroking it reassuringly. Storm wont affect you so much there. I feel it myself, he added when she looked up in surprise at his comment. Real weather-sorts, the pair of us! The affinity pleased him. They reached the next level, predominantly storage to judge by the signs on the door on either side of the wide corridor. Lars walked straight for the secured portal at the far end, put his thumb on the door lock which then slid open. Instinctively Killashandra flinched, startled by the sight of the storm-lashed trees, and the unexpected panoramas, north and south, of the two harbors. Larss hand tightened with reassurance. On both sides of the door, the walls were covered by data screens and continuous printout as the satellites fed information to the islands receivers. The other three sides of the command post were open, save for the circular stairs winding down to the floor below. Olav was on his feet, walking from one display to the next, making his own estimate of the data. He looked up at Lars and Killashandra, noting with the upward lift of one eyebrow the bruised garlands they wore. He indicated the circular stairway and made a gesture which Killashandra read as a promise to join them later. They crossed the room, Lars pausing to read the displays at the head of the staircase. He made a noncommittal grunt and then indicated that she should precede him. Therefore she was first in the room, grateful that only large windows north and south broke its protection from the elements without, while a fire burned in a wide hearth on the eastern wall. The western wall was broken by easy to use digital camera four doors, the open one showing a small catering area. But Killashandras attention was immediately on the occupants of the room, three men and the most beautiful woman Killashandra had ever seen. Nahia! How dare you risk yourself! cried Lars, his face white under his tan as he brushed past Killashandra. To her complete amazement, he dropped on one knee before the woman, and kissed her hand. Chapter 13 A startled expression crossed Nahias perfect features at Larss obeisance. She shot a quick look at Killashandra, managing to convey her embarrassment even as she tried to lift Lars from his knee. My friend, this will not do, she said kindly, but firmly. Only think what effect such a gesture could have on an Elder or a Master and yes, I do most certainly know your opinion of those worthies. But Lars, such histrionics could damage our goal. Lars had by now risen to his feet. With a final few pats to his hand, an oblique apology for her public admonition, she withdrew from his grasp, moving past him toward Killashandra. Whom have you brought with you, Lars? she asked, smiling tentatively as she extended her slender hand to Killashandra. Who wears your garland? Carrigana, lately a polly planter, Lars replied, stepping back to Killashandras side and taking her other hand firmly in his. It was one way of apologizing for his effusive welcome of another woman but it was Nahia herself who effectively dissolved Killashandras incipient hostility. The touch of her hand had a soothing effect, not a shock or a jar, but a gentle insinuation of reassurance. Nahias eyes were troubled as she regarded Killashandra, her lips curving upward in a slight smile which blossomed as she felt Killashandras resistance to her dissipate. Then a little frown gathered at her brows as she became aware of the lingering crystal resonance within Killashandra. It was the crystal singers turn to smile reassurance and an acknowledgement of what Nahia was: an empath. Killashandra had heard of such people but she had never encountered one. The encyclopedia had not hinted the psi talents were an Optherian quality. It could be a wild talent and often was. In Nahia it was combined with unexpected beauty, integrity, and an honesty which few citizens of the Federated Sentient Worlds could project without endangering their sanity. Lars had been correct in his statement that Nahias

But it glanced in two or three.

'Mayday'." "You're lying." I wondered how I could ever have thought this face meek and nervous and colourless. The mouth was a thin hard line, the upper eyelids bar-straight and hooded above the unwinking eyes. Flat marbled eyes of a faded light-blue. A killer's eyes. "You're lying," he repeated. "I'm not lying," I said angrily. "Count five and die." His eyes never left mine, the pressure of the gun increased. "One . . . two . . . three" "I'll tell you what it is!" The cry came from Margaret Ross. 'Mayday' is the international air distress signal, the SOS... I had to tell him, Dr Mason, I had to!" Her voice was a shaking sob. "He was going to kill you." "I was indeed," Smallwood agreed. If he felt either anger or apprehension, no trace of either appeared in the calm conversational voice. "I should do it nowyou've lost us four hours' head start. But courage happens to be one of the few virtues I admire. . . . You are an extremely brave man, Dr Mason. Your courage is a fair match for yourahlack of perspicacity, shall we say." "You'll never get off the ice-cap, Small wood," I said steadily. "Scores of ships and planes are searching for you, thousands of men. They'll get you and they'll hang you for these five dead men." "We shall see." He gave a wintry smile, and now that he had removed his rimless glasses I could see that the man's smile left his eyes untouched, left them flat and empty and lifeless, like the stained glass in a church and no sun behind it. "All right, Corazzini, the box. Dr Mason, bring one of the maps from the driver's seat." "In a moment. Perhaps you would care to explain" "Explanations are for children." The voice was level, curt, devoid of all inflection." I'm in a hurry, Dr Mason. Bring the map." I brought it and when I returned Corazzini was sitting on the front of the tractor sled with a case before him. But it wasn't the leather-covered portable radio: it was Smallwood's robe case. Corazzini snapped open the catches, pulled out Bible, robes and divinity hood, tossed them to one side then carefully brought out a metal box which looked exactly like a tape-recorder: indeed, when he shone his torch on it I could clearly see the word 'Grundig'. But it soon became apparent that it was like no tape-recorder that I had ever seen. The twin spools he ripped off the top of the machine and sent spinning away into the darkness and the snow, the tape unwinding in a long walmart kids digital camera convoluted streamer. By this time I would have taken long odds that anyone suspicious enough to investigate would have found that tape perfectly genuine: probably, I thought bitterly, Bach's organ music, in keeping with Smallwood's late ecclesiastical nature. Still in silence, we watched Corazzini undo and fling away the false top of the recorder, but not before I had time to notice the padded spring clips on its undersidethe perfect hiding place for a couple of automatics: revealed now were controls and calibrated dials that bore no resemblance to those of a tape-recorder. Corazzini straightened and erected a hinged telescopic aerial, clamped a set of headphones to his ears, made two switches and started to turn a dial, at the same time watching a green magic eye similar to those found in tape-recorders and many modern radios. Faintly, but unmistakably, I could hear a steady whine coming from the earphones, a whine which altered in pitch and intensity as Corazzini turned the dial. When it reached its maximum strength, he turned his attention to a built-in alcohol compass about three inches in diameter. A few moments later he doffed the earphones and turned round, apparently satisfied. "Very strong, very clear," he announced to Small wood. "But there's too heavy a deviation factor from all the metal in the tractor and sledge. Back in two minutes. Your torch, Dr Mason." He walked away for about fifty yards, taking the machine with him: it was with intense chagrin that I realised that it was perfectly in keeping with all that had gone before that Corazzini had probably forgotten more about navigation than I was ever likely to know. He returned soon, consulted a small chartcorrecting for variation, no doubtthen grinned at Small wood. "It's them, all right. Perfect signal. Bearing 268." "Good." If Smallwood felt relieved or gratified at the news, no shadow of his feeling touched the thin immobile face. Their quiet certainty, their forethought, their foolproof organisation was dismaying, frightening. Now that I could see what manner of men they were it was unthinkable that they should have set themselves down in a vast featureless country such as this without some means of orientating themselves: what we had just seen in operation could only be a battery operated radio direction finder, and even to me, inexperienced though I was in such matters, it was obvious that