And largest, thinking it was just the thing

her. She would have been an ideal companion to settle your nerves, Guildmember. Yes, she was most considerate but, though I appreciate her willingness, I now insist on someone she waved a negligent hand in Larss direction, who is capable of managing himself in difficulties. I have seen Captain Dahl in action, fighting to bring his ship close enough to take me off that island, and in dealing with high seas, and injured people. And that should be the end of that notion. Had it been Mirbethans? Or Ampriss? From whichever source, shed not spend credit on it. If I may suggest it, Guildmember, would you be feeling recovered enough to dine now? Olav asked, deftly changing the subject. Or should Captain Dahl escort you to the quarters prepared for you here in the residence? Why, yes, Killashandra said, extending her hand to Lars and smiling graciously at Olav, I think that perhaps hunger is at the root of my deplorable temper. Im not usually so easily upset, citizens. Now that the scene had been played, she was ravenous and hoped that Olavs hospitality would be to the standard she expected. It was, and she was seated on Olavs right at the beautifully appointed banquet table. Torkes was opposite her, Teradia appearing at his right hand. Evidently she had merely had to change her gown. Killashandra did wonder how she had arrived so promptly. Other charmingly dressed ladies partnered the officers of Torkess retinue and from some discreet corner delicate music wafted to the diners ears. The food was sumptuous, a feat, considering the island had so recently been in the throes of a hurricane. As Killashandra sampled the many dishes presented, she realized that the components were not as varied as the manner in which they had been prepared. Polly fruit, pulp, and heart was the basis of nine dishes. Smacker was served as a chowder, boiled, broiled, fried in a delicious light batter and in a rich piquant sauce. The largest yellowbacks she had yet seen had been lightly broiled with slivered nuts. A succulent mollusk was offered, grilled with a dollop of some flavor enhancer. There were salads of greens, molded salads of some jellied vegetable, fruit, and fish. From the way in which Torkess officers filled their plates, and refilled them when the dishes were presented a second time, they werent used to eating. Torkes was abstemious by comparison although a fair trencherman away from Elder Pentroms dietary regimen. He did not refuse the wine, either, though his two senior captains kodac digital camera with printer bay did. When the first hunger was appeased, Torkes addressed Lars, his expression far too bland to be as affable as he sounded. Just where did you discover the Guildmember, Captain Dahl? On a polly islet slightly east of Bar Island. I dont normally pass by for its a bit off the regular trade route, but with the higher tides to give me clearance over the reef in that area, I could take a bit of a short cut to Bar, which I aimed to beach before sunset. Do you have this islet marked on your charts? Of course, Elder Torkes. I will show you its location immediately after dinner. Lars had one hand on her thigh under the table and gave her a reassuring squeeze. Had his father tipped him off as he had her? As well as the entry in my log which verifies the position. You keep a log? Of a certainty, Elder Torkes. The Harbor Master is most insistent on such details which are, in my view, an integral part of responsible seamanship. Farther down the table, an officer nodded his head in agreement. Torkes returned to his meal. What is this delicious fish, Harbor Master? Killashandra asked, indicating the smacker. Ah, that is one of the island delicacies, Guildmember, and Olav launched into an amusing description of the habits of the tropical behemoth and the dangers of capturing it. In his tale he managed to touch on the strength and bravery of smacker fishermen and their dedication to an unenviable task. Much of the smacker catch went to feed the Mainland. With such innocuous tidbits and discourse, the meal finished. Immediately upon rising from the table, Elder Torkes told Lars Dahl that now was the time to show him the islet. We can call up the information right here, Olav said, going to the elaborate sideboard of the dining room. One section of its flat surface immediately transformed to display a terminal while the island seascape above slid to one side exposing a large screen. Killashandra, watching Torkes obliquely, saw him stiffen until Olav merely gestured for Lars Dahl to retrieve what documents he needed. Within a moment, a small-scale chart of the entire Archipelago dominated the screen. Lars tapped keys and the chart dissolved to a larger-scale one of Angel Island, then flowed left toward Bar Island, slightly

Edward, Edward?

glittering steel, the evil mouths of the Spandau machine-guns reaching out from the slotted embrasures in the massive walls, illumined the hooked cross of the swastika on the flag that streamed out stiffly from the staff above the parapet. Solid even in its decay, impregnable in its 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 digital camera semi conductor 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 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

To set his mouth against a crack

"Helene? A lovely name." And indeed, the way she said it made it sound so. "You're not British, are you? Or American?" "I'm from Germany, madam." "Don't call me 'madam'. You know, you speak English beautifully. Germany, hey? Bavaria, for a guess?" "Yes." The rather plain face was transfigured in a smile, and I mentally saluted the old lady for the ease with which she was distracting the young girl's thoughts from the pain. "Munich. Perhaps you know it?" "Like the back of my hand," she said complacently. "And not just the Hofbrauhaus either. You're still very young, aren't you?" "I'm seventeen." "Seventeen." A nostalgic sigh. "Ah, my dear, I remember when I was seventeen. A different world. There was no trans-Atlantic airliner in those days, I can tell you." "In fact," I murmured, "the Wright brothers were hardly airborne." The face had been more than familiar to me, and I was annoyed that I should have taken so long in placing it: I suppose it was because her normal setting was so utterly different from this bleak and frozen world. "Being insulting, young man?" she queried. But there was no offence in her face. "I can't imagine anyone ever insulting you. The world was at your feet even in the Edwardian days, Miss LeGarde." "You know me, then?" She seemed genuinely pleased. "It would be difficult to find anyone who doesn't know the name of Marie LeGarde." I nodded at the young girl. "See, Helene knows it too." And it was clear from the awe-struck expression on the young German girl's face that the name meant as much to her as to me. Twenty years queen of the music-hall, thirty years queen of the musical comedy stage, beloved wherever she was known less for her genius than for the innate kindliness and goodness which she tried to conceal from the world with a waspish tongue, * for the half-dozen orphanages she maintained in Britain and Europe, Marie LeGarde was one of the few truly international names in the world of entertainment. "Yes, yes, I see you know my name." Marie LeGarde smiled at me. "But how did you know me?" "From your photograph, naturally. I saw it in Life the other week, Miss LeGarde." " 'Marie', to my friends." "I don't know you," I protested. "I paid a small kodak v603 digital camera fortune to have that photograph retouched and made briefly presentable," she answered obliquely. "It was a splendid photograph, inasmuch as it bore precious little resemblance to the face that I carry about with me. Anyone who recognises me from that is my friend for life. Besides," she smiled, "I bear nothing but the most amicable feelings towards people who save my life." I said nothing, just concentrated on finishing the job of strapping up Helene's arm and shoulders as quickly as possible: she was blue with cold, and shivering uncontrollably. But she hadn't uttered a murmur throughout, and smiled gratefully at me when I was finished. Marie LeGarde regarded my handiwork approvingly. "I really do believe you have picked up some smattering of your trade along the way, Doctorah" "Mason. Peter Mason, Peter to my friends." " 'Peter' it shall be. Come on, Helene, into your clothes as fast as you like." Fifteen minutes later we were back in the cabin. Jackstraw went to unharness the dogs and secure them to the tethering cable, while Joss and I helped the two women down the ice-coated steps from the trap-door. But I had no sooner reached the foot of the steps than I had forgotten all about Marie LeGarde and Helene and was staring unbelievingly at the tableau before me. I was just vaguely aware of Joss by my shoulder, and anger and dismay on his face slowly giving way to a kind of reluctant horror. For what we saw, though it concerned us all, concerned him most of all. The injured wireless operator still lay where we had left him. All the others were there too, grouped in a rough semi-circle round him and round a cleared space to the left of the stove. By their feet in the centre of this space, upside down and with one corner completely stove in on the wooden floor, lay the big metal RCA radio transmitter and receiver, our sole source of contact with, our only means of summoning help from the outer world. I knew next to nothing about radios, but it was chillingly obvious to meas it was, I could see, to the semi-circle of fascinated onlookersthat the RCA was smashed beyond recovery. CHAPTER THREEMonday 2 A.M.3 A.M. Half a minute passed in complete silence, half a minute before I could trust myself to speak, even bring myself to speak. When at last I did, my voice was unnaturally low