Sharrow sighed. “So it’s outlawed.”

“Indeed. Outlawed.” Breyguhn nodded. “Complete embargo; even in a war they won’t release it.” She talked quickly now, words spilling over each other. “But the old raptor hid information that way.” Her eyes glittered. “When he knew those death-kites of the World Court were closing in on him, he had the most precious things hidden where only his descendants could find them! He did! He did it! I know; I’ve seen the records of the family laboratories; they’re here!”

She sat forward in the great seat, resting her arms on the table surface. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “The Brothers scavenged much of what our grandfather built up, Sharrow; like filcher birds, on instinct. They don’t do anything with it, they don’t seem to care about the outside world; they just gather for gathering’s sake… but it’s been lying mouldering here for fifty years and only my researches have unearthed it!”

Sharrow leaned forward. “What?” she said, trying to remain calm.

“The secret! All the secrets! All the things he’d found, all the Antiquities; ones he’d collected, ones he’d simply tracked down but not yet gathered to him! Locations programmed into his servants, to be played back by us!”

Sharrow sat back. “You’re sure?”

“Certain!” Breyguhn’s sallow, grimacing face was lowered almost to the surface of the table. Her hands were fists, beating the polished granite for emphasis, making her iron chain rattle and clink. “ ‘The female line’ can access these secrets,” she hissed. “That’s all I know, and I don’t know if it includes me; I was born after he was brought down, while he was awaiting trial, and he probably wasn’t able to issue the instructions to his clinicians, but you must have inherited the access genes from your mother… if they weren’t scrambled by all that radiation or your precious SNB.”

Sharrow waved her hand, dismissing this. “Not a problem; but what do I have to do?”

Breyguhn looked suddenly wary, sitting up and back and looking around quickly. “You promise you’ll turn the book over to the Brothers once you have what you want from it?”

“Yes.”

“You really promise? I’ll tell Cenuij you promised.”

Sharrow raised one hand. “Look, I promise.”

Breyguhn leant forward, her chin touching the granite table, her eyes wide. “For the UP.?” she whispered. “Bencil Dornay.”

“What?” Sharrow said, hardly catching the name. “Tansil…?”

“No! Not Tansil! A man; Bencil; Bencil Dornay, of Vemasayal.”

“All right,” Sharrow said, nodding. “So do I just ask him, or what?”

Breyguhn giggled suddenly and put her unmanacled hand over her mouth in an unsettlingly girlish gesture. “No, Sharrow,” she said, smirking. “No, you can’t just ask him.”

“What then?”

“You have to exchange body fluids.”

“What?” Sharrow said, sitting back.

Breyguhn giggled again, glancing round nervously as she did so. “Oh,” Breyguhn waved one hand, her smirk subsiding. “A kiss will do; though you’d have to bite him. Or scratch him with fresh saliva under your fingernail. Anything that draws blood; infects him.” She suppressed another giggle. “And I think the implication is you’re supposed to do it in public, too. Isn’t that too delicious?”

Sharrow looked suspicious. “Are you serious?”

Breyguhn shrugged, her eyes wide. “Perfectly; but then what have you got to lose, Sharrow? You used to love a bit of rough voyeurism with the servant classes, didn’t you?”

“Hell yes; or their pets.”

“Bencil Dornay,” Breyguhn hissed. “Don’t forget!”

“I swear. On my much-donated honour.”

“Sharrow! It’s not funny. Don’t you see what the world needs? Don’t you know what this family has been working towards for generations? What Gorko achieved; what Geis might, if he was given the space, the chance?”

Sharrow closed her eyes.

“You selfish clown, Sharrow! You can’t see it! You’re like all the others; ears on the grass, waiting harvest. How long must we go on like this? These eternal cycles; boom and slump, poverty and frivolity while the death-hand of the Corps and the Colleges and Churches and Court turns the handle; what’s the point? Stagnation! Meaninglessness!” Breyguhn shouted. “Our destiny is beyond! We need Antiquities; as banners, as rallying points, as bribes if need be; weapons if that’s what they are! Break out of the cycle! We need soldiers, not lawyers! One strong man or strong woman with the will, not pandering to the lowest common denominator with endless petty compromises!”

“Breyguhn…” Sharrow said, opening her eyes and feeling suddenly very tired.

“How long have we had space travel?” Breyguhn shouted, smacking her fist into the table surface; the chain whipped down, scattering chips of granite. Breyguhn didn’t seem to notice. “Seven thousand years! Seven thousand years!” she roared, standing, throwing her arms wide, voice echoing from above. Sharrow heard a bell ringing somewhere.

“Seventy centuries, Sharrow! Seven millennia of footling about in the one miserable system, crawling from rock to rock, losing the gift twice and after all this time half of what we once achieved is like magic to us now!”

Flecks of spittle made little arcs in the air from Breyguhn’s lips; they shone in the thin yellow light then fell to spot the broad surface of the huge table. “Evolution has stopped! The weak and the halt breed, diluting the species; they drag us all down into the mire; we must cut ourselves free!”

Sharrow glimpsed movement in the distance behind the other woman, and heard a quick jingling noise.

“Brey-” she said, making a calming, sit-down motion with one hand.

“Can’t you see? The nebulae should be ours but we are left with the dust! Sweep it away!” Breyguhn screamed. “Sweep it all away! The slate is full; wipe it out and start again! The decamillenium approaches! Burn the chaff!”

Sharrow stood up as two burly monks dressed in grubby white habits appeared behind her half-sister; the first monk took one end of Breyguhn’s chain and with a practised flick looped it over her head and round her arms, encircling her; he pulled tight, jerking her away from the great stone seat-her eyes closed, an expression of sudden joy on her pallid face-while the second monk threw a glittering bag over her head; there was a noise like a sigh, the bag ballooned then collapsed, then was pulled from Breyguhn’s head just as she too collapsed, limp and slack into the arms of the first brother. They zipped her into a straitcoat the shape of a thin, much bestrapped sleeping bag, then dragged her away along the floor, chains rattling.

The whole operation had taken place in less than a dozen heartbeats, and without the pair of monks even glancing at Sharrow.

She watched them go, feeling numb.

The trio disappeared into the shadows and the rattling of their chains faded until all she could hear was a faint moaning noise of the wind in some flue, high above. She shivered, picked up her satchel and started back across the empty breadth of the dark hall.

Seigneur Jalistre smiled brightly from the holo screen in the dullness of the gatekeeper’s office. “Hmm; the Universal Principles for your reasonable expenses, and the freedom of your sister…”

“Half-sister.”

“Indeed, indeed,” the Seigneur said, slowly stroking his smoothly fat chin. “Well, I shall put your proposal to my brethren, Lady Sharrow.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Of course, you must understand that it is anything but a foregone conclusion that we shall accept your suggestion-we are not normally given to financing Antiquities contracts, and what with the upkeep of this magnificent but ancient building, we are far from being a rich order, as I’m sure you appreciate. But I feel certain your proposition will be treated seriously. Doubtless we shall be in touch.”