That ploughmen beg and craftsmen cannot thrive,

took a position by her door, ear to the panel, listening intently. She jumped back just as the door swung in wide enough to admit a fall figure. They were recalled, the man said. And theres some sort of search going on in the City He broke off then because he had turned and caught sight of Killashandra standing in the doorway. She was as motionless with surprise as he for she recognized him, by garb and stance, as the young man from the infirmary corridor. He recovered first while Killashandra was considering the advisability of dissembling. Youre making this far too easy, he said cryptically, striding up to her. Surprised, she saw only his fist before a stunning blackness overcame her. She roused the first time, aware of a stuffy atmosphere, the soreness of her jaw, and that her hands and feet were tied. She groaned, and before she could open her eyes, she felt a sudden pressure on her arm and her senses reeled once more back into unconsciousness. She was still tied when she woke the second time, with an awful taste in her mouth and the tang of salt in her nostrils. She could hear the hiss of wind and the slap of water not far from her ears. Cautiously she opened her eyes a slit. She was on a boat, all right, in an upper berth in a small cabin. She was aware of another presence in the room but dared not signal her consciousness by sound or movement. Her jaw still ached though not, she thought, as much as on her previous awakening. Whatever drug they had given her was compounded with a muscle relaxant, for she felt exceedingly limp. So why did they bother to keep her bound? She heard footsteps approaching the cabin and controlled her breathing to the slow regularity of the sleeper just as an outer hatch was flung open. Spray beaded her face. A warm spray so that her muscles did not betray her. No sign? No. See for yourself. Hasnt moved a muscle. You didnt give her too much, did you? Those singers have different metabolisms. The inquisitor snorted. Not that different, no matter what she said about alcoholic intake. Amusement rippled in his voice as he approached the bed. Killashandra forced herself to remain limp though anger began to boil away the medically induced tranquillity as she reacted to the fact that she, a member of the Heptite Guild, a crystal singer, had been kidnapped. On the other hand, her kidnapping seemed to indicate that not everyone was content to remain on Optheria. Or did it? Strong fingers gripped her chin, the thumb pressing painfully on the canon a720 is digital camera bruise for a moment, before the fingers slid to the pulse-beat in her throat. She kept her neck muscles lax to permit this handling. Feigning unconsciousness might result in unguarded explanations being exchanged over her inert body. And she needed some before she made her move. That was some crack you fetched her, Lars Dahl. She wont appreciate the bruise. Shell have too much on her mind to worry about something so minor. Are you sure this scheme is going to work, Lars? Its the first break weve had, Prale. The Elders wont be able to fix the organ without a crystal singer. And theyve got to. So they must apply again to the Heptite Guild to replace this one, and that will require explanations, and that will bring FSP investigators to this planet. And theres our chance to make the injustice known. What about the injustice you did me? Killashandra wanted to shout. Instead she twitched with anger. And gave herself away. Shes coming round. Hand me the syringe. Killashandra opened her eyes, about to argue for her freedom when she felt the pressure that brooked no argument. Her final awakening was not at all what she had been expecting. A balmy breeze rippled across her body. Her hands were untied and she was no longer on a comfortable surface. Her mouth tasted more vile than ever, and her head ached. She controlled herself once more, trying to sort out the sounds that reached her ears. Wind soughing. Okay. A rolling noise? Ocean waves breaking on shore line not far away. The smells that accosted her nostrils were as varied as the wind and wave, subtle musty floral fragrances, rotten vegetation, dry sand, fish, and other smells which shed identify later. Of human noises or presences she had no input. She opened her eyes a fraction and it was dark. Encouraged, she widened her vision. She was lying on her back on a woven mat. Sand had blown onto it, gritty against her bare skin, under her head. Overhead, trees bent their fronds, one sweeping against her shoulder in a gentle caress. Cautiously she lifted her torso, propping herself up on one elbow. She was no more than ten meters from the ocean, but the high-tide mark was safely between her and the sea, to judge by the debris pushed into an uneven line along the sand. Islanders? What had Ampris said about the islanders. That

Some said hee brake ribs one or two,

the island. Without compass, stars or moon to guide, Mallory had nothing to orientate them but the feel of the slope of the mountain and the map Viachos had given them in Alexandria. But by and by he was reasonably certain that they had rounded the mountain and were pushing up some narrow gorge into the interior. The snow was the deadly enemy. Heavy, wet and feathery, it swirled all around them in a blanketing curtain of grey, sifted down their necks and jackboots, worked its insidious way under their clothes and up their sleeves, blocked their eyes and ears and mouths, pierced and then anaesthetised exposed faces, and turned gloveless hands into leaden lumps of ice, benumbed and all but powerless. All suffered, and suffered badly, but Stevens most of all. He had lost consciousness again within minutes of leaving the cave and clad in clinging, sodden clothes as he was, he now lacked even the saving warmth generated by physical activity. Twice Andrea had stopped and felt for the beating of the heart, for he thought that the boy had died: but he could feel nothing for there was no feeling left in his bands, and could only wonder and stumble on again. About five in the morning, as they were climbing up the steep valley head above the gorge, a treacherous, slippery slope with only a few stunted carob trees for anchor in the sliding scree, Mallory decided that they must rope up for safety's sake. In single file they scrambled and struggled up the ever-steepening slope for the next twenty minutes: Mallory, in the lead, did not even dare to think how Andrea was getting on behind him. Suddenly the slope eased, flattened out completely, and almost before they realised what was happening they bad crossed the high divide, still roped together and in driving, blinding snow with zero visibility, and were sliding down the valley on the other side. They came to the cave at dawn, just as the first grey stirrings of a bleak and cheerless day struggled palely through the lowering, snow-filled sky to the east. Monsieur Vlachos had told them that the south of Navarone was honeycombed with caves, but this was the first they had seen, and even then it was no cave but a dark, narrow tunnel in a great heap of piled volcanic slabs, huge, twisted layers of rock precariously poised in a gulley that threaded down the slope towards some broad and unknown valley a thousand, two thousand feet beneath them, a valley still shrouded in the gloom of night. It was no cave, but it was enough. For frozen, exhausted, sleep-haunted men, it was more than enough, it was plug digital camera into mp3 player more than they had ever hoped for. There was room for them all, the few cracks were quickly blocked against the drifting snow, the entrance curtained off by the boulder-weighted tent. Somehow, impossibly almost in the cramped darkness, they stripped Stevens of his sea- and rain-soaked clothes, eased him into a providentially zipped sleeping-bag, forced some brandy down his throat and cushioned the blood-stained head on some dry clothing. And then the four men, even the tireless Andrea, slumped down to the sodden, snow-chilled floor of the cave and slept like men already dead, oblivious alike of the rocks on the floor, the cold, their hunger and their clammy, saturated clothing, oblivious even of the agony of returning circulation in their frozen hands and faces. CHAPTER 7 Tuesday 15001900 The sun, rime-ringed and palely luminous behind the drifting cloud-wrack, was far beyond its zenith and dipping swiftly westwards to the snow-limned shoulder of the mountain when Andrea lifted the edge of the tent, pushed it gently aside and peered out warily down the smooth sweep of the mountain side. For a few moments he remained almost motionless behind the canvas, automatically easing cramped and aching leg muscles, narrowed, roving eyes gradually accustoming themselves to the white glare of the glistening, crystalline snow. And then he had flitted noiselessly out of the mouth of the tunnel and reached far up the bank of the gully in half a dozen steps; stretched full length against the snow, he eased himself smoothly up the slope, lifted a cautious eye over the top. Far below him stretched the great, cpxved sweep of an almost perfectly symmetrical valleya valley born abruptly in the cradling embrace of steep-walled mountains and falling away gently to the north. That towering, buttressed giant on his right that brooded darkly over the head of the valley, its peak hidden in the snow cloudsthere could be no doubt about that, Andrea thought, Mt. Kostos, the highest mountain in Navarone: they had crossed its western flank during the darkness of the night. Due east and facing his own at perhaps five miles' distance, the third mountain was barely less high: but its northern, flank fell away more quickly, debouchbig on to the plains that lay in the northeast of Navarone. And about four miles away to the

The King he said to the Earl Marischal,

did you see?" "Mr Corazzini" "We know he dived for it," I said impatiently. "But in the background, against the wall?" "There was someone." Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "But nono, it couldn't have been. He'd been sitting dozing on the floor, and he got the fright of his life when" "For heaven's sake!" I cut in harshly. "Who was it?" "Solly Levin." The brief twilight of noon came and went, the cold steadily deepened and by late in the evening it seemed that we had been on board that lurching, roaring tractor all our lives. Twice only we stopped in the course of that interminable day, for refuelling at 4 p.m. and 8 p.m. I chose these times because I had arranged with Joss that I would try to contact him every fourth hour. But though we set up the apparatus outside while Jackstraw was refuelling and Corazzini sat astride the bicycle seat and cranked the generator handle while I tapped out our call sign for almost ten unbroken minutes, no shadow of an answer came through. I had expected none. Even if by some miracle Joss had managed to fix the set, the ionosphere turbulence that had caused the aurora would have almost certainly killed any chance of making contact. But I'd promised Joss, and I had to keep faith. By the time I made the second try, everyone, even Jackstraw and myself, was shaking and shivering in the bitter cold. Normally, we wouldn't have felt it muchin very cold weather we wore two complete sets of furs, the inner one with the fur inside, the outer with the fur outside. But we'd given our extra pairs away to Corazzini and Zagerofurs were essential in that ice-box of a tractor cabinand suffered just as much as the others. Occasionally, someone would jump down from the tractor and run alongside to try to get warm, but so exhausted were most from sleeplessness, hunger, cold and eternally bracing themselves against the lurching of the tractor, that they were staggering from exhaustion within minutes and had to come aboard again. And when they did come aboard, the sweat from their exertions in such heavy clothes turned ice-cold on their bodies, putting them in worse case than ever, until finally I had to stop it. It grieved me to do what had to be done, what I saw must be done, but there was no help for it. The weariness, the cold and the sleeplessness could be borne no longer. When I finally gave the order to stop it was ten minutes after midnight, and we had nikon d2x digital camera been driving continuously, except for brief fuel and radio halts, for twenty-seven hours. CHAPTER EIGHTWednesday 4 A.M.8 P.M. Despite our exhaustion, despite our almost overwhelming need for sleep, I don't think anyone slept that night, even for a moment, for to have slept would have been to freeze to death. I had never known such cold. Even with twelve of us jam-packed inside a tiny wooden box built to hold five sleeping people at the most, even with the oil fire roaring up the chimney all night long and wanned by a couple of cups of piping hot coffee apiece, we all of us suffered agonies during these dark hours. The chattering of teeth, the St Vitus' dance of tremor-ridden limbs knocking against the thin uninsulated wooden walls, the constant rubbing as someone sought to restore life to a frozen face or arm or foot. These were the sounds that never ceased. How the elderly Marie LeGarde or the sick Mahler survived that night was indeed a matter for wonder. But survive they did, for when I looked at my luminous watch, saw that it was almost four o'clock and decided that enough was enough, both of them were wide awake when I switched on the little overhead light. Weak enough normally, that light was now no more than a feeble yellow glow- an ominous sign, it meant that even the tractor batteries were beginning to freeze upbut enough to see the crowded circle of faces, white and blue and yellowing with frostbite, the smoke-like exhalations that clouded in the air before them with every breath they took, the film of slick ice that already covered the walls and all of the roof except for a few inches round the stove pipe exit. As a spectacle of suffering, of sheer unrelieved misery, I don't think I have ever seen its equal. "Insomnia, eh, Doc?" It was Corazzini speaking, his teeth chattering between the words. "Or just forgotten to plug in your electric blanket?" "Just an early riser, Mr Corazzini." I glanced round the haggard and pain-filled faces. "Anybody here slept at all?" I was answered by mute headshakes from everybody. "Anybody likely to sleep?" Again the headshakes. "That settles it." I struggled to my feet. "It's only 4 a.m., but if we're going to freeze to death we might as well freeze on the move. Not

"We hold it in scorn," then said the forresters,

for a long, long time and had no illusions left. Corporal Miller had, in fact, been around for exactly forty years. By birth a Californian, by descent three parts Irish and one part Central European, he had lived and fought and adventured more in the previous quarter a century than most men would in a dozen lifetimes. Silver-miner in Nevada, tunneler in Canada and oil-fire ihooter all over the globe, he had been in Saudi Arabia when Hitler attacked Poland. One of his more remote maternal ancestors, some time around the turn of the century, had lived in Warsaw, but that had been affront enough for Miller's Irish blood. He had taken the first available plane to Britain and lied his way into the Air Force, where, to his immense disgust, and because of his age, he was relegated to the rear turret of a Wellington. His first operational flight had been bis last. Within ten minutes of taking off from the Menidi airfield outside Athens on a January night in 1941, engine failure had brought them to an ignominious though weli-cushioned end in a paddy field some miles north-west of the city. The rest of the winter he had spent seething with rage in a cookhouse back in Menidi. At the beginning of April he resigned from the Air Force without telling anyone and was making his way north towards the fighting and the Albanian frontier when he met the Germans coming south. As Miller afterwards told it, he reached Nauplion two blocks ahead of the nearest panzer division, was evacuated by the transport Slamat, sunk, picked up by the destroyer Wryneck, sunk, and finally arrived in Alexandria in an ancient Greek caique, with nothing left him in the world but a fixed determination never again to venture in the air or on the sea. Some months later he was operating with a long-range striking force behind the enemy lines in Libya. He was, Mallory mused, the complete antithesis to Lieutenant Stevens. Stevens, young. fresh, enthusiastic, correct and immaculately dressed, and Miller, dried-up; lean, stringy, immensely tough and with an almost pathological aversion to spit and polish. How well the nickname "Dusty" suited him: there could hardly have been a greater contrast Again, unlike Stevens, Miller had never climbed a mountain in his life and the only Greek words he knew were invariably omitted from the dictionaries. And both these facts were of no importance at all. Miller had been picked for one reason only. A genius with explosives, resourceful and cool, precise and deadly in action, he was regarded by Middle East digital camera shoppers comparison Intelligence in Cairo as the finest saboteur in southern Europe. Behind Miller sat Casey Brown. Short, dark and compact, Petty Officer Telegraphist Brown was a Clydesider, in peacetime an installation and testing engineer in a famous yacht-builder's yard on the Garelock. The fact that he was a born and ready-made engine-room artificer had been so blindingly obvious that the Navy had missed it altogether and stuck him in the Communications Branch. Brown's ill luck was Mallory's good f ortune. Brown would act as the engineer of the boat taking them to Navarone and would maintain radio contact with base. He had also the further recommendation of being a first-class guerrilla fighter: a veteran of the Special Boat Service, he held the D.C.M. and D.S.M. for his exploits in the Aegean and off the coast of Libya. The fifth and last member of the party sat directly behind Mallory. Mallory did not have to turn round to look at him. He already knew him, knew him better than he knew anyone else in the world, better even than he knew his own mother. Andrea, who had been his lieutenant for all these eighteen interminable months in Crete, Andrea of the vast bulk, the continual rumbling laughter and tragic past, with whom he had eaten, lived and slept in caves, rock-shelters and abandoned shepherd's huts while constantly harried by German patrols and aircraftthat Andrea had become his alter ego, his doppelganger: to look at Andrea was to look in a mirror to remind himself what he was like. There was no question as to why Andrea had come along. He wasn't there primarily because he was a Greek himself, with an intimate knowledge of the islander's language, thought and customs, nor even because of his perfect understanding with Mallory, although all these things helped. He was, instead, there exclusively for the protection and safety he afforded. Endlessly patient, quiet and deadly, tremendously fast in spite of his bulk, and with a feline stealth that exploded into berserker action, Andrea was the complete fighting machine. Andrea was their insurance policy against failure. Mallory turned back to look out the window again, then nodded to himself in imperceptible satisfaction. Jensen probably couldn't have picked a better team if he'd scoured the whole Mediterranean theatre. It suddenly occurred to Mallory that Jensen probably had done just that. Miller and Brown had been recalled to Alexandria almost a month ago. It

Raise a flame in the breast for the war-laurell'd wreath;

position, commanding in its lofty outlook, the tower completely dominated both waterborne approaches, from the sea and, upriver, down the narrow, winding channel that lay between the moored caique and the foot of the cliff. Slowly, reluctantly almost, Mallory turned away and gently lowered the tarpaulin. His face was grim as he turned round to Andrea and Stevens, in-defined shadows in the twilit gloom of the cabin. "Brilliant!" he repeated. "Sheer genius. Mastermind Mallory. Probably the only bloody creek within a hundred milesand in a hundred islandswith a German guard post on it. And of course I had to go and pick it. Let's have another look at that chart, will you, Stevens?" Stevens passed it across, watched Mallory study it in the pale light filtering in under the tarpaulin, leaned back against the bulkhead and drew heavily on his cigarette. It tasted foul, stale and acrid, but the tobacco was fresh enough, he knew. The old, sick fear was back again, as strongly as ever. He looked at the great bulk of Andrea across from him, felt an illogical resentment towards him for having spotted the emplacement a few minutes ago. They'll have cannon up there, he thought dully, they're bound to have cannoncouldn't control the creek otherwise. He gripped his thigh fiercely, just above the knee, but the tremor lay too deep to be controlled: he blessed the merciful darkness of the tiny cabin. But his voice was casual enough as he spoke. "You're wasting your time, sir, looking at that chart and blaming yourself. This is the only possible anchorage within hours of sailing time from here. With that wind there was nowhere else we could have gone." "Exactly. That's just it." Mallory folded the chart, handed it back. "There was nowhere else we could have gone. 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 more digital camera review 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 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

Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead!

so enthralled, nothing breaks the spell? Antona nodded slowly. That could be fatal. Has it been? There have been instances. Then Im doubly indebted to you, Killa, Rimbol said, rising, so this rounds on me. They finished that round, refreshed by food, drink, and conversation. Of the four, I think youd prefer Rani in the Punjabi system, Antona told Killashandra in parting. The foods better and the climate less severe. They have marvelous mineral hot springs, too. Not as efficacious as our radiant fluid but itll help reduce crystal resonance. You need that. After just an hour in your company, the sound off you makes the hairs on my arm stand up. See? Killashandra exchanged glances with Rimbol, before they examined the proof on Antonas extended arm. Antona laughed reassuringly, laying gentle fingers on Killashandras forearm. A perfectly normal phenomenon for a singer whos been out in the Rangers steadily for over a year. Neither of you would be affected but, as I dont sing crystal, I am. Get used to it. Thats what identifies a singer anywhere in the Galaxy But the Rani hot springs will diminish the effect considerably. So does time away from here. See you. As Killashandra watched Antona enter the lift, she felt Rimbols hand sliding up her arm affectionately. You feel all right to me, he said, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. Then he felt her stiffen and suppress a movement of withdrawal. He dropped his hand. Privacy sorry, Killa. He stepped back. Not half as sorry as I am, Rimbol. You didnt deserve that. Chalk it up to another side effect of singing crystal that they dont include in that full disclosure. She managed an apologetic smile. Im so wired I could broadcast. Not to worry, Killa. I understand. See you when you get back. Then he made his wobbly way into the yellow quadrant to his quarters. Killashandra stared after him, irritated with herself for her reaction to a casual caress. Shed had no such reaction to Lanzecki. Or was that the problem? She was very thoughtful as she walked slowly to her quarters. Fidelity was an unlikely disease for her to catch. She certainly enjoyed making love with Lanzecki, and definitely he exerted an intense fascination on her. Lanzecki had unequivocally separated his professional life from his private one. Rani, huh, she murmured to herself as she put her thumb to the door lock. She entered the room, closing the door behind her, digital camera rentals in missouri and then leaned against it. Now, in the absence of background sounds, she could hear the resonance in her body, feel it cascading up and down her bones, throbbing in her arteries. The noise between her ears was like a gushing river in full flood. She held out her arms but the static apparently did not affect her, the carrier, or she had exhausted that phenomenon in herself. Mineral baths! Probably stink of sulfur or something worse. Immediately she heard the initial phluggg as radiant fluid began to flow into the tank in the hygiene room. Wondering why the room computer was on, she opened her mouth to abort the process, when her name issued from the speakers. Killashandra Ree? The bass voice was unmistakably Trags. Yes, Trag? She switched on vision. You have been restored to the active list. Im going off-world as soon as I can arrange transport, Trag. Expressionless as ever, Trag regarded her. A lucrative assignment is available to a singer of your status. The Optherian manual? As Trag inclined his head once, Killashandra controlled her surprise. Why was Trag approaching her when Lanzecki had definitely not wanted her to take it? Youre aware of the details? For the first time Trag evinced a flicker of surprise. Rimbol told me. He also said he wasnt taking it. Was he your first choice? Trag regarded her steadily for a moment. You were the logical first choice, Killashandra Ree, but until an hour ago you were an Inactive. I was the first choice? Firstly, you are going off-world in any event and do not have sufficient credit to take you past the nearer inhabited systems. Secondly, an extended leave of absence is recommended by Medical. Thirdly, you have already acquired the necessary skills to place white crystal brackets. In the fourth place, your curriculum vitae indicates latent teaching abilities so that training replacement technicians on Optheria is well within your scope. Nothing was said about training technicians. Borella and Concera both have considerably more instructional experience than I. Borella, Concera, and Gobbain Tekla have not exhibited either the tact or diplomacy requisite to this assignment. Killashandra was amused that

He blew both loud and shrill;

appalling details: his interest lay in another direction entirely. It was 'reliably reported', he said, that the train had been carrying an army courier: that he was one of the forty who had died: and that he had been carrying a 'super-secret guided missile mechanism'. That was all the cutting said, but it was enough, and more than enough. It didn't say whether the mechanism had been lost or not, it most certainly never even suggested that there was any connection between the presence of the mechanism aboard the train and the reasons for the crash. It didn't have to, the cheek-by-jowl contiguity of the two items made the reader's own horrifying conclusions inevitable. From the silence that stretched out after I had read out the last words, I knew that the others were lost in the same staggering speculations as myself. It was Jackstraw who finally broke this silence, his voice abnormally matter-of-fact. "Well, we know now why you were knocked on the head." "Knocked on the head?" Zagero took him up. "What do you" "Night before last," I interrupted. "When I told you I'd walked into a lamp-post." I told them all about the finding of the cutting and its subsequent loss. "Would it have made all that difference even if you had read it?" Zagero asked. "I mean" "Of course it would!" My voice was harsh, savage almost, but the savagery was directed against myself, my own stupidity. "The fact of finding a cutting about a fatal crash which occurred in strange unexplained circumstances on the person of a man who had just died in a fatal crash in equally strange and unexplained circumstances would have made even me suspicious. When I heard from Hillcrest that something highly secret was being carried aboard the plane, the parallel would have been even more glaringly obvious, especially as the cutting was found on the manan army officerwho was almost certainly the courier, the carrier of this secret. Anything larger than a match-box in the luggage the passengers were carrying I'd have ripped open and examined, radio and tape-recorder included. Smallwood knew it. He didn't know what was in the cutting, but heor Corazziniknew it was a cutting and they were taking no chances at all." "You weren't to know this," Levin said soothingly. "It's not your fault" "Of course it's my fault," I said wearily. "All my fault. I don't even know how to start apologising. You first, Zagero, I suppose, you and Solly Levin, for minolta digital camera notebook battery tying you" "Forget it." Zagero was curt but friendly. "We're just as bad -all of us. All the facts that mattered were as available to us as they were to youand we made no better use of them: less, if anything." In the tiny glow from the torch I could see him shaking his head. "Lordy, lordy, but ain't it easy to understand everything when it's too late. Easy enough to understand now why we crashed in the middle of nowherethe plane captain must have been in on it, he must have known that the mechanism was aboard and thought it important enough to put the passengers' lives second and crash-land in the middle of the ice-plateau, where Smallwood could never reach the coast." "Not knowing that I was there waiting to oblige Smallwood," I said bitterly. I shook my head in turn. "It's obvious now, all too obvious. How Corazzini damaged his hand in the shacknot by saving or trying to save the radio but by accelerating its fall after he'd pushed the hinges in. How and why he lost the toss and had to sleep on the floorto give him a chance to smother the second officer." "What you might call a good loser," Zagero said grimly. Then he gave a short laugh. "Remember when we buried the second officer? I wonder what Smallwood's burial service would have sounded like if we'd really been close enough to hear?" "I missed that," I nodded. "I missed the suggestion you made inside the plane that we should bury the murdered menif you had been guilty you'd never have dared make that suggestion for then the way these men died would almost certainly have been discovered." "You missed it," Zagero said feelingly. "How about me/said it, and I never even thought of it till now." He snorted. "Boy, am I disgusted with myself. As far as I can see the only thing I knew that you didn't was that Corazzini clouted our friend Smallwood back in the pass there simply in order to throw suspicion on me: but, then, I knew that even trying to tell you that would have been crazy." There was a long moment's silence, while we listened to the rise and fall of the Citroen's exhaust note in the gusting, strengthening wind, then Solly Levin spoke. The plane," he said. "The firehow come?" "There was enough high-octane fuel in its tanks to take Hillcrest's Sno-Cat a couple of thousand miles," I explained. "If Hillcrest's tanks had been empty when he arrived back at base and if he'd found out right away that the spare fuel in

It's good habit that makes a man.

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 With a link a down and a down, 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 good habit that makes a man.

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 that wretched patch of nowhere. Lars saluted crisply and impassively as Elder Ampris executed the shallowest of acknowledgments. The Harbor Master at Angel Island has detached him from duty there to be my personal bodyguard. Killashandra gave an elegantly delicate shudder. I wont feel safe without his sure protection. Quite understandable, Guildmember; however, I think that youll find our security measures I felt quite secure within the Conservatory, Elder Ampris, Killashandra said demurely. I seem to be only at risk when I leave its sanctuary. I assure you I have no desire to do that again. Security Leader Blaz Ill not have that officious oaf near me, Elder Ampris. Hes the reason I was put in jeopardy. The man has no intelligence or tact. I dont trust him to spit in the right direction. Captain Lars Dahl is in charge of my personal security at my personal insistence. Have I not made myself clear? For a second Elder Ampris looked about to argue the point, but the moment passed. He inclined his head again, forced his face into a grim smile, and then gestured toward the waiting vehicle. Why this vast throng? Killashandra asked, smiling graciously about her. Some of the winning composers and prospective performers for this years Festival and final-year students. All waiting for the organ to be repaired? Elder Ampris cleared his throat. Yes, that is true. Well, I shant delay them any longer than necessary. Especially since Captain Dahl proved so capable in assisting me with the cruiser drive. Ampris stopped midstride and stared first at photography review reviews olympus digital cameras her, then incredulously at Lars. Yes, werent you informed that the cruiser had drive difficulties this morning? One of the crystals shattered. I still have a slight headache from the distortion. Naturally the ship could not proceed without emergency repairs. And while that was merely a matter of removing the shards and resetting the brackets on the undamaged crystals, it does require steady hands, a keen eye and ear. Captain Dahl was far more adept than the cruisers engineer. And he has the perfect and absolute pitch required. I think he will prove an admirable assistant, one in whom I certainly repose complete trust. You do agree, Im sure. They had reached the vehicle now. You first, Captain Dahl, I shall want Elder Ampris on my right. Lars complied before the Elder could blurt out a protest and Killashandra settled herself, smiling as warmly as possible at Ampris, just as if she hadnt delivered a most unpalatable request. The quartette settled itself in the seats behind them and the vehicle left the dock area. Ports required much the same facilities throughout the galaxy. Fortunately nature had conspired in favor of human endeavors, so warehouses, seamens hostels, and mercantile establishments were not quite so tortuously situated in City Port as in the City proper. The Music Conservatory on its prominence was visible as soon as the Port gave way to an agricultural belt. From this approach, Killashandra could see the lateral elevation of the Festival auditorium and the narrow path that led to the suburb Lars had called Gartertown. She wondered if thered be a new brew soon. Maybe Lars could collect a few bottles for her? The drive was in the main a silent one, with Ampris stewing beside her and Lars stiffly silent. The strained atmosphere began to affect her, causing her to wonder if she really were doing the right thing for Lars. Yet if she hadnt taken pains to divert suspicion from him, hed be running with a threat of rehabilitation hanging over him. Had she erroneously assumed that he was as eager to continue their relationship as she was? Olav had wreathed them both with the handfast garlands. Surely that act held significance. Shed best have it out with Lars as soon as possible. After what seemed a long time, they drew up at the imposing entrance to the Conservatory. I dispensed with the formality of a welcoming throng, Guildmember, in the interests of security. Elder Ampris

And then they brought him through the wood,

Why?" I sighed in relief, and explained. When I'd finished telling him of Hillcrest's solution to his troublesdistilling the petrolI asked him what he thought of it. "It's as good a way as any of committing suicide," he said grimly. "What does he want to dosend himself into orbit? It only requires one weak spot in the can he's trying to heat.. . . Besides, the evaporation range of petrol is so wideanything from 30 degrees centigrade to twice the temperature of boiling water -that it may take him all day to get enough to fill a cigarette lighter." "That seems to be more or less the trouble," I agreed. "Is there nothing he can do?" "Only one thing he can dowash it. What size drums does your petrol come in?" Ten gallon." "Tell him to pour out a couple of gallons and replace with water. Stir well. Let it stand for ten minutes and then syphon off the top seven gallons. It'll be as near pure petrol as makes no difference." "As easy as that!" I said incredulously. I thought of Hillcrest's taking half an hour to distil a cupful. "Are you sure, Mr Mahler?" "It should work," he assured me. Even the strain of a minute's speaking had been too much for him, his voice was already no more than a husky whisper. "Sugar is insoluble in petrolit just dissolves in the small amounts of water present in petrol, small enough to be held in suspension. But if you've plenty of water it'll sink to the bottom, carrying the sugar with it." "If I'd the Nobel Science Prize, I'd give it to you right now, Mr Mahler." I rose to my feet. "If you've any more suggestions to make, for heaven's sake let me know." "I've one to make now," he smiled, but he was almost gasping for breath. "It's going to take your friend a pretty long time to melt the snow to get all the water he needs to wash the petrol." He nodded towards the tractor sled, visible through the gap in the canvas screen. "We're obviously carrying far too much fuel. Why don't you drop some off for Captain Hillcrest-why, in fact, didn't you drop some off last night, when you first heard of this?" I stared at him for a long long moment, then turned heavily for the door. "I'll tell you why, Mr Mahler," I said slowly. "It's because I'm the biggest damned prize idiot in this world, that's why." And I went out to tell Hillcrest just how idiotic I was. CHAPTER TENThursday 4 P.M.Friday 6 P.M. Jackstraw, Corazzini sony digital cameras cyber-shot dsc-t200r and I took turns at driving the Citroen all through that evening and the following night. The engine was beginning to run rough, the exhaust was developing a peculiar note and it was becoming increasingly difficult to engage second gear. But I couldn't stop, I daren't stop. Speed was life now. Mahler had gone into collapse shortly after nine o'clock that evening, and from the collapse had gradually moved into the true diabetic coma. I had done all I could, all anyone could, but heaven only knew it was little enough. He needed bed, heat, fluids, stimulants, sugar by mouth or injection. Both suitable stimulants and the heat were completely lacking, the lurching, narrow, hard wooden bunk was poor substitute for any bed, despite his great thirst he had found it increasingly difficult to keep down the melted snow water, and I had no means of giving an intravenous injection. For the others in the cabin it was distressing to watch him, distressing to listen to the dyspnoeathe harsh laboured breathing of coma. Unless we could get the insulin in time, I knew no power on earth could prevent death from supervening in from one to three daysin these unfavourable conditions, a day would be much more likely. Marie LeGarde, too, was weakening with dangerous speed. It was with increasing difficulty that she could force down even the smallest mouthfuls of food, and spent most of her time in restless troubled sleep. Having seen her on the stage and marvelled at her magnificent vitality, it now seemed strange to me that she should go under so easily. But her vitality had really been a manifestation of a nervous energy: she had little of the physical resources necessary to cope with a situation like this, and I had frequently to remind myself that she was an elderly woman. Not that any such reminder was needed when one saw her face: it was haggard and lined and old. But worried though I was about my patients, Jackstraw was even more deeply concerned with the weather. The temperature had been steadily rising for many hours now, the moaning ululation of the ice-cap wind, which had been absent for over two days, was increasing in intensity with every hour that passed, and the skies above were dark and heavy with black drifting clouds of snow. And when, just after midnight, the wind-speed passed fifteen miles an hour, the wind began to pick up the drift off the ice-cap. I knew what Jackstraw was afraid of, though I myself had

He took his vorpal sword in hand:

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 Long time the manxome foe he sought - 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