‘I’ve seen something of it already. That young sorcerer’s apprentice, for instance.’

‘Kutch.’

‘Yes. There’s a boy who’s been through bad times for one so young. But he seems to have kept his innocence. I think he’s sweet.’

‘And Caldason?’

Her smile evaporated. ‘Ah, that one. In my line of work I saw many men who were hard-hearted and callous. Men who had no respect or real liking for women. The worst of them gave off a kind of dangerous coldness. But I never came across any like him. He frightens me.’

‘I’m surprised to hear you say that.’

‘Why? Because we’re both members of the same race and should have so much in common?’

‘Well…’

‘People have stopped me on the street and asked about Qalochians I’ve never heard of. They think we all know each other! Every Qalochian is bound together by blood and our history. But that’s not to say we have to like each other. I mean, do you get on with all the other

singers

?’

Kinsel had to grin. ‘Now that you come to mention it, no, I don’t.’

‘They say he has fits, did you know that? Violent, crazy, frightening outbursts when he’s a menace to himself and others. A berserker.’

‘Yours

is

a warrior race.’

‘It goes far beyond that, from what I’ve heard,’ she said, frowning. ‘There’s something about him, Kinsel. The way he’s supposed to have lived so long, yet doesn’t look it. And those

eyes

… Do you know what I think?’

‘Go on.’

‘I think he wants to give to others what he can’t have himself. Death.’

‘But there’s no need to fear him. He’s on our side, remember?’

‘Men like Caldason have only one side: their own.’ She shrugged. ‘Or perhaps being a prostitute made me too cynical about everything.’

‘Let’s forget all that for now. This is our first night together in our own home. We should celebrate.’ He reached under the table and brought out a small wooden box. It was chestnut, smoothly lacquered, and had no catch or hinges. Its top bore the red outline of a heart. He set it down in front of her.

‘What is it, Kinsel?’

‘It’s for you. Go ahead, open it.’

‘How?’

‘The heart.’

Tanalvah stretched a hand and lightly touched the heart with her fingertips. The box took a breath, or so it seemed, and she drew back.

A criss-crossing of fine lines appeared on the lid, all bisecting the heart. The lines marked segments in the wood, which began to rise, like the unfolding petals of a flower. They revealed an interior of brilliant white light.

Tanalvah stared, enraptured. Kinsel watched her, gladdened by her wonder.

The white light dimmed to a softer glow. With the improbability of magic, the fully-opened petals formed not a serrated bloom but a perfectly round, flat disc. It resembled a mushroom, and the base of the box its thick stem. A little smoky eruption occurred in the disc’s centre. The turquoise cloud blossomed, spreading outwards and up into a swirling pyramid. That held for a second, then popped. Vanished.

Leaving two miniature figures, tall as a man’s hand. Male and female, dressed in flowing gowns of choice silk. Music rose. Soaring strings and dulcet voices laid over a leisurely but insistent rhythm. The tiny man bowed as his partner curtsied. They moved together, clasped hands, and began to dance.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Tanalvah whispered, eyes shining.

The petite dancers reeled and weaved, glided and swayed. Their discreet jewellery caught the light and flashed brilliantly. The hems of their gowns floated as they spun.

‘Oh!’ Tanalvah exclaimed, recognising the figures. ‘They’re

us

!’

‘Yes, except he dances better than I ever could.’

‘We’ll have to see about that!’ Laughing, she began dragging him to his feet.

‘No, no,’ he protested. ‘I’m a terrible dancer!’

‘You’re blushing!’

‘So would you if you danced as badly as I do.’

But now she had her arms around him, and his around her. They melted into a shuffling imitation of the little people moving about their pure white dais.

It seemed to go on for a long time, music directing their footfalls, the large mirroring the small. Then a sound more demanding cut through their reverie.

‘Ah,’ Tanalvah said, ‘they’re awake.’

A child’s voice called from inside again. The words were muted but the tone was clear enough; the anxiety that follows a bad dream.

‘I’ll go,’ Kinsel offered.

‘Sure?’

‘I’d like to.’

They lingered for a moment, locked in a tender gaze, then kissed and parted. She sat to enjoy her glamour. He went into the house.

Teg and Lirrin shared a room, their beds side by side. The girl was sitting up.

‘What’s the matter?’ Kinsel asked.

‘Had a nightmare,’ Lirrin replied, massaging her eyes with balled fists.

‘It’s all right,’ he soothed, sitting beside her. ‘It’s not real.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. Dreams are just little plays that go on in our heads when we’re asleep. They can’t hurt you.’

‘I can’t sleep either,’ Teg piped up.

‘Why not?’

‘’Cos

she

had a bad dream.’ He pointed an accusing finger at his sister.

‘All right, settle down, both of you.’ Kinsel tucked them in. ‘Tanalvah’s here and so am I. We’ll keep the dreams away.’

‘How?’ Lirrin asked with a child’s shrewd logic.

‘Well, I know a song that can keep you safe. It’s one my mother sang to me when I was about your age, Teg. Would you like to hear it?’

They consented, sleepily.

He began the lullaby, singing softly, bathing them in the warm comfort of its words. Soon, their eyes grew heavy.

Outside, the nightly display lit up the metropolis.

Anybody noticing them would assume they were siblings running an errand.

A little girl, nine or ten years old, wearing a flowered apron and buckled black shoes, her blonde hair in pigtails. She walked with a gangling, older boy, nearly a young man, clutching his hand. In the way of growing lads, this was naturally very embarrassing for him.

‘What about that one?’ the little girl exclaimed loudly, pointing across the road to a man loitering outside a tavern.

‘Please, Master,’ Kutch appealed in an undertone, ‘I do wish you wouldn’t draw quite so much attention to us.’

‘Nonsense!’ Phoenix snorted. ‘People can mind their own business. Now do as you’re told. The man over there. Yes or no?’

Kutch studied the target and made his decision. ‘Yes.’

‘Good!’ Phoenix snapped his fingers in a dismissive gesture.

Opposite, the glamour posing as a man vanished. It left a cascade of expiring sparks. A pedestrian walked through them, absently waving a hand to clear the fug.

‘Stay alert, boy, stay alert!’ Phoenix barked.

A passing stranger gave them an odd look, and slowed down to rubberneck.

The bogus child glared back at him. ‘Move along there! There’s nothing to see!’

Head down, the man hurried off. Kutch went scarlet.

They walked on, scanning everybody and everything on the streets. At last Kutch said, ‘That one.’

‘No! Only those with my signature. Not the cheap, counterfeit stuff. Just the ones I’ve conjured.’

‘That one isn’t real. On the bench.’

‘Even I can see that,’ Phoenix came back testily. ‘Remember what I told you. What are the two cardinal rules of spotting?’

‘Look and Don’t Believe.’

‘Precisely. Carry on.’

The streets were as crowded as Kutch had ever seen them. And now Phoenix was

skipping

along beside him, tiny feet pattering, ponytail swinging. The boy’s discomfort returned.

Phoenix caught the look. ‘Well, you wanted me to act more naturally, didn’t you? Keep watching. Do your job.’

Kutch sighed.

A moment later his eye alighted on something. He dismissed it, looked again and muttered, ‘Oh, clever.’ Indicating it, he said, ‘That.’