"Why, who art thou," the Bishop he said,

It was Jackstraw who heard it firstit was always Jackstraw, whose hearing was an even match for his phenomenal eyesight, who heard things first. Tired of having my exposed hands alternately frozen, I had dropped my book, zipped my sleeping-bag up to the chin and was drowsily watching him carving figurines from a length of inferior narwhal tusk when his hands suddenly fell still and he sat quite motionless. Then, unhurriedly as always, he dropped the piece of bone into the coffee-pan that simmered gently by the side of our oil-burner stovecurio collectors paid fancy prices for what they "Which I have here with me?" imagined to be the dark ivory of fossilised elephant tusksrose and put his ear to the ventilation shaft, his eyes remote in the unseeing gaze of a man lost in listening. A couple of seconds were enough. "Aeroplane," he announced casually. "Aeroplane!" I propped myself up on an elbow and stared at him. "Jackstraw, you've been hitting the methylated spirits again." "Indeed, no, Dr Mason." The blue eyes, so incongruously at

"It's for slaying of the king's fallow deer,

out more facetiously than she meant for she ached with a genuine regret. Larss steady blue eyes caught her gaze and held it. He waited for her explanation. With all the will in the world to continue what we started, I dont have a year and a day here, Lars Dahl. The words left her mouth slowly, unwillingly. As a crystal singer, I am compelled to return to Ballybran. Had I understood yesterday morning precisely what these blooms meant, I would not have accepted them. Thus does ignorance wound the giver. I am tremendously attracted to you as a man, Lars Dahl. And in the light of what I have been told, heard, and overheard, she gave him a faint smile, I can even forgive you that idiotic abduction. In fact, it would have been far more humiliating for me to have been caught in a raid on a bootleg brewery. What you cannot know is that I wasnt sent to Optheria merely to repair that organ I am here as an impartial witness, to learn if restriction to this planet is popularly accepted. Popularly accepted? Lars lifted half out of the cockpit seat in reaction. What a way to phrase it! It is the most singularly unpopular, repressive, frustrating, discouraging facet of the Optherian Charter. Do you know what our suicide rate is? Well, I can give you hard statistics on that. We made a study of the incidents and have copies of what notes have been left by the deceased. Nine out of ten cite the hopelessness and despair at having no place to go, nothing to do. If youre lucky enough to be unemployed on Optheria, oh, youre given food, shelter, clothing, and assigned stimulating community service to occupy you. Community service! Trimming thorn hedges, tidying up hillsides, dusting boulders in the roadways, painting and repainting federal buildings, stuffing the faces and wiping the bottoms of the incontinent at both ends of life. Truly rewarding and fulfilling occupations for the intelligent and well educated failures that this planet throws upon the altar of the organ! He had been emphasizing his disgust with blows of his fist to the tiller, until Killashandra covered his hand with hers. Which one of our messages got through? Its been like tossing a bottle message into the Broad Sea with precious little hope of its ever floating to the Mainland. The complaint originated with the Executive Council of the Federated Artists Association, who claim a freedom of choice restriction. A Stellar made the charge, though I wasnt told which one. His principal concern was with the suppression of composers and performers. She gave digital camera compare shutter lag him a wry grin. Lars raised his eyebrows in surprise. It wasnt me who sent that one. Then he seemed to lake heart, his expression lightening with renewed hope. If one appeal got through, maybe others have, and well have a whole school of people helping us And youll help us? Lars, Im required to be an impartial I wouldnt dream of prejudicing you His twinkling eyes challenged her as he threw his free arm about her shoulders, nibbling at her ear. Lars, youre crushing me. Youre supposed to be sailing this ship Ive got to think how to go on from here. To be candid, I really dont have much more than your word that there is a widespread dissatisfaction, and not just a few isolated instances or personal grudges. Do you know how long weve been trying to reach the Federated Council? Now Lars gestured wildly in his agitation. Do you know what it will mean to the others when I tell them one message has got through, and someone is actually investigating? Theres another matter that we have to discuss, Lars. Is it advisable to tell them, or would it be wiser for me to continue covertly? His jubilation subsided as he considered her question. I suppose the suicide file would be acceptable as valid evidence. Has the restriction matter ever been put to the vote here? A vote on Optheria? He laughed sourly. You havent read that abominable Charter, have you? I scanned it. A boring document, all those highflown phrases turned my pragmatic stomach. Before Killashandras eyes rose the vision of tortured architecture coping with natural formations so as not to rape the Natural World. So there is no referendum mechanism in the Charter? None. The Elders run this planet and, when one of them keels over and can no longer be resuscitated, a replacement is appointed by the remaining undefunct Elders. No rising from the ranks on merit here? Only in the Conservatory, and for especially meritorious composition and exceptional performance ability. Then one might possibly, on rare occasions, aspire to reach the exalted rank of a Master. Once in a century, a Master might possibly gain an appointment to the Council of Elders. Is that what you were after? Lars gave her a wry grin. I tried! I was even willing to assault you to gain favor and show them

Streaming through slanted pastures fenced with stones.

It was Jackstraw who heard it firstit was always Jackstraw, whose hearing was an even match for his phenomenal eyesight, who heard things first. Tired of having my exposed hands alternately frozen, I had dropped my book, zipped my sleeping-bag up to the chin and was drowsily watching him carving figurines from a length of inferior narwhal tusk when his hands suddenly fell still and he sat quite motionless. Then, unhurriedly as always, he dropped the piece of bone into the coffee-pan that simmered gently by the side of our oil-burner stovecurio collectors paid fancy prices for what they I love those skies, thin blue or snowy gray, imagined to be the dark ivory of fossilised elephant tusksrose and put his ear to the ventilation shaft, his eyes remote in the unseeing gaze of a man lost in listening. A couple of seconds were enough. "Aeroplane," he announced casually. "Aeroplane!" I propped myself up on an elbow and stared at him. "Jackstraw, you've been hitting the methylated spirits again." "Indeed, no, Dr Mason." The blue eyes, so incongruously at

"The first loud blast that he did blow,

There was nowhere else anyone could have gone. Must be a very popular port in a storm, thisa fact which must have become apparent to the Germans a long, long time ago. That's why I should have known they were almost bound to have a post here. However, spilt milk, as you say." He raised his voice. "Chief!" "Halo!" Brown's muffled voice carried faintly from the depths of the engine-room. "How's it going?" "Not too bad, sir. Assembling it now." Mallory nodded in relief. "How long?" he called. "An hour?" "Aye, easy, sir." "An hour." Again Mallory glanced through the tarpaulin, looked back at Andrea and Stevens. "Just about right. We'll leave in an hour. Dark enough to give us some protection from our friends up top, but enough light left to navigate our way out of this damned corkscrew of a channel." "Do you think they'll try to stop us, sir?" Stevens's voice was just too casual, too matter of fact. He was pretty sure Mallory would notice. "It's unlikely they'll line the banks and give us three hearty cheers," Mallory said dryly. "How many men do you reckon they'll have up there, Andrea?" "I've seen two moving around," Andrea said thoughtfully. "Maybe three or four altogether, Captain. A small post. The Germans don't waste men on these." "I think you're about right," Mallory agreed. "Most of them'll be in the garrison in the villageabout seven miles from here, according to the chart, and due west. It's not likely" He broke off sharply, stiffened in rigid attention. Again the call came, louder this time, imperative in its tone. Cursing himself for his negligence in not posting a guardsuch carelessness would have cost him his life in CreteMallory pulled the tarpaulin aside, clambered slowly on to the deck. He carried no arms, but a halfempty bottle of Moselle dangled from his left hand: as part of a plan prepared before they had left Alexandria, he'd snatched it from a locker at the foot of the tiny companionway. He lurched convincingly across the deck, grabbed at a stay in time to save himself from falling overboard. Insolently he stared down at the figure on the bank, less than ten yards awayit hadn't mattered about a guard, Mallory realised, for the soldier sony n2 digital camera carried his automatic carbine slung over his shoulderinsolently he tilted the wine to his mouth and swallowed deeply before condescending to talk to him. He could see the mounting anger in the lean, tanned face of the young German below him. Mallory ignored it. Slowly, an inherent contempt in the gesture, he dragged the frayed sleeve of his black jacket across his lips, looked the soldier even more slowly up and down in a minutely provocative inspection as disdainful as it was prolonged. "Well?" he asked truculently in the slow speech of the islands. "What the hell do you want?" Even in the deepening dusk he could see the knuckles whitening in the stock of the carbine, and for an instant Mallory thought he had gone too far. He knew he was in no dangerall noise in the engine-room had ceased, and Dusty Miller's hand was never far from his silenced automaticbut he didn't want trouble. Not just yet. Not while there were a couple of manned Spandaus in that watch-tower. With an almost visible effort the young soldier regained his control. It needed little help from the imagination to see the draining anger, the first tentative stirrings of hesitation and bewilderment. It was the reaction Mallory had hoped for. Greekseven half-drunken Greeksdidn't talk to their overlords like thatnot unless they had an overpoweringly good reason. "What vessel is this?" The Greek was slow and halting but passable. "Where are you bound for?" Mallory tilted the bottle again, smacked his lips in noisy satisfaction. He held the bottle at arm's length, regarded it with a loving respect. "One thing about you Germans," he confided loudly. "You do know how to make a fine wine. I'll wager you can't lay your hands on this stuff, eh? And the swill they're making up above"the island term for the mainland"is so full of resin that it's only good for lighting fires." He thought for a moment. "Of course, if you know the right people in the islands, they might let you have some ouzo. But some of us can get ouzo and the best Hocks and the best Moselles." The soldier wrinkled his face in disgust. Like almost every fighting man he despised Quislings, even when they were on his side: in Greece they were very few indeed. "I asked you a question," he said coldly. "What vessel, and where bound?" "The caique Aigion," Mallory replied loftily. "In ballast, for Samoa. Under orders," he said significantly. "Whose

Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid,

It was Jackstraw who heard it firstit was always Jackstraw, whose hearing was an even match for his phenomenal eyesight, who heard things first. Tired of having my exposed hands alternately frozen, I had dropped my book, zipped my sleeping-bag up to the chin and was drowsily watching him carving figurines from a length of inferior narwhal tusk when his hands suddenly fell still and he sat quite motionless. Then, unhurriedly as always, he dropped the piece of bone into the coffee-pan that simmered gently by the side of our oil-burner stovecurio collectors paid fancy prices for what they Edward, Edward, imagined to be the dark ivory of fossilised elephant tusksrose and put his ear to the ventilation shaft, his eyes remote in the unseeing gaze of a man lost in listening. A couple of seconds were enough. "Aeroplane," he announced casually. "Aeroplane!" I propped myself up on an elbow and stared at him. "Jackstraw, you've been hitting the methylated spirits again." "Indeed, no, Dr Mason." The blue eyes, so incongruously at

Was walking along the town.

desperate attempt to save the falling radio. I had far greater reason to suspect Zagero, and, by implication of friendship, Solly Levin. Zagero had inquired of Margaret Ross when dinner was: a damning point. Solly Levin had been nearest the radio, and in the right position for doing the damage when it had been destroyed: another damning point. Zagero had been one of those working with the petrol. And, most damning of all, Zagero bore no more resemblance to a boxer than Levin did to any boxing manager who had ever lived outside the pages of Damon Runyon. And, as a further negative mark against Zagero, I had Margaret Ross's word that Corazzini had never left his seat in the plane. That didn't, of course, necessarily exclude Corazzini, he could well have had an accomplice. But who could that accomplice be? It was not until then that the chilling, frightening thought struck me that, because two guns had been used in the plane, I had assumed all along that there were only two criminals. There wasn't a shadow of evidence to suggest why there should not be more than two: why not three? Why not Corazzini, Zagero and Levin all in the conspiracy together? I thought over the implications of this for some minutes, and at the end I felt more helpless than ever, more weirdly certain of ultimate tragedy to come. Forcibly, almost, I had to remind myself that all three were not necessarily working together; but it was a possibility that had to be faced. About three o'clock in the morning, still following the flag trail that stretched out interminably before us in the long rake of the headlights, we felt the tractor slow down and Jackstraw, who was driving at the time, change gear as we entered on the first gentle slope of the long foothills that led to the winding pass that cut the Vindeby Nunataks almost exactly in half. We could have gone round the Nunataks, but that would have wasted an entire day, perhaps two, and with the ten-mile route through the hills clearly marked, it was pointless to make a detour. Two hours later, as the incline perceptibly steepened, the tractor treads began to slip and spin on the frozen snow, but by off-loading almost all the petrol and gear we carried on the tractor sled and stowing it inside the tractor cabin, we managed to build up enough weight to gain a purchase on the surface. Even so, progress was slow and difficult. We could only make ground by following a zigzag pattern, and it took us well over an hour to cover the last mile before the entrance to the pass. Here we halted, soon after seven o'clock in digital camera selector help the morning. The pass was lined on one side by a deep crevasse in the ice that ran its entire length, and although not particularly treacherous the trail was difficult and dangerous enough to make me determined to wait for the two or three brief hours' light at the middle of the day. While breakfast was being prepared, I looked at Mahler and Marie LeGarde. The steady rise in temperatureit was now less than -SOThad done nothing to help either of them. Marie LeGarde looked as if she hadn't eaten in weeks, her face, pock-marked with sores and frostbite blisters, was appallingly thin and wasted, and the once sparkling eyes lack-lustre, pouched and filled and rimmed with blood. She hadn't spoken a word in ten hours, just sat there, in her increasingly rare moments of waking, shivering and staring ahead with sightless eyes. Theodore Mahler looked in better case than she, but I knew when his defences went down they would do so in a matter of hours. Despite all that we -or, rather, Margaret Rosshad done for him, the insidious talons of frostbite had already sunk deep into his feet, he had developed a very heavy coldrare indeed in the Arctic, the seeds of it must have been sown before he had left New Yorkand he had neither the energy nor reserves to fight either that or the boils that were beginning to plague him. His breathing was difficult, the sweet ethereal odour of acetone very strong. He seemed wide awake and rational enough, superficially a much better going concern than Marie LeGarde, but I knew that the collapse, the preliminary to the true diabetic coma, might come at any time. At eight o'clock Jackstraw and I moved out on to the hillside, and again made contact with Hillcrest. My heart sank when I heard the grim news that they'd hardly progressed a couple of miles in the previous twelve hours. In that bitter cold, it seemed -and where they were temperatures were all of thirty degrees lower than they were with usheating up an eight gallon drum of petrol, even using stoves, blow-lamps and every means at their disposal, to the point of boiling was a heartbreakingly slow job, and the Sno-Cat gobbled up in a minute all the pure fuel they could distil in thirty times that. Beyond that, there was no news: Uplavnik, which they had contacted less than an hour previously, had still nothing fresh to report. Without a word, Jackstraw and I packed up the equipment and made our way back to the cabin of the tractor. Jackstraw's almost

There 's three squires in Nottingham town

It was Jackstraw who heard it firstit was always Jackstraw, whose hearing was an even match for his phenomenal eyesight, who heard things first. Tired of having my exposed hands alternately frozen, I had dropped my book, zipped my sleeping-bag up to the chin and was drowsily watching him carving figurines from a length of inferior narwhal tusk when his hands suddenly fell still and he sat quite motionless. Then, unhurriedly as always, he dropped the piece of bone into the coffee-pan that simmered gently by the side of our oil-burner stovecurio collectors paid fancy prices for what they To-day is condemned to die. imagined to be the dark ivory of fossilised elephant tusksrose and put his ear to the ventilation shaft, his eyes remote in the unseeing gaze of a man lost in listening. A couple of seconds were enough. "Aeroplane," he announced casually. "Aeroplane!" I propped myself up on an elbow and stared at him. "Jackstraw, you've been hitting the methylated spirits again." "Indeed, no, Dr Mason." The blue eyes, so incongruously at