Polarisation saw off humanism on both sides, leaving only harsh fundamentalist certainties that did to the differing peoples of Nigeria and the Sudan what 250 years of famine and corruption hadn’t managed—exterminated whole races.

Tough shit.

Axl didn’t do compassion and he was backpacking enough guilt for stuff he was responsible for, not to pig out on certainties he could do fuck all to change. He was, as the saying went, out of there…

The water in the attic basin was days old, filmed across its surface with dust, but Axl didn’t care. He just splashed the cold liquid onto his face and when that wasn’t enough dunked his whole head in the basin, rubbing his fingers through his hair.

Food and something to drink.

The bar was empty when Axl got downstairs. Not even the three wise monkeys were in their usual corner. No fire was lit in the grate and no one came when he called, so Axl stepped round the bar and walked through to the kitchen to find Ketzia on her knees in front of a rancid heap of rubbish. Sodden tea leaves, a broken plate, splinters of glass, animal bones, anything the goats outside wouldn’t eat.

Axl knew exactly what she was looking for. He had it in his pocket.

‘So,’ Axl said, ‘what are you looking for?’

Ketzia kept silent. In fact, she didn’t even look up. Must be invisible, Axl thought sourly. Clone had obviously been telling tales.

‘Can I help?’ Axl asked and watched Ketzia tense her shoulders. His voice was so polite she couldn’t help but know he was insulting her.

‘No,’ she said roughly. ‘You can’t. You can go back to your room.’

Axl shook his head. ‘I’m hungry,’ he said. ‘I need food and then I’m out of here.’ He made no pretence at being anything but pleased at the idea of leaving Cocheforet behind.

‘Out of here?’

‘Back to Vajrayana. Off Samsara.’

‘No one gets off Samsara,’ said Ketzia flatly. ‘That’s the deal. Everyone innocent gets sanctuary, no one leaves ...'

‘Maybe,’ Axl said casually. ‘Maybe not.’

‘Unless you really are a spy.’ Ketzia’s voice was suddenly cold. ‘Then maybe you can cut a deal with Tsongkhapa. If your bosses are powerful enough.’ She stared hard at the man in front of her. Like she was vid-grabbing inside her head.

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Axl said lightly. ‘I’ll remind you if you don’t remember me.’

Ketzia brought him half a loaf of bread and a lump of goat’s cheese that had gone liquid down one side. It might have been the worst food she could find in the kitchen, or it might just have been what she had. Axl didn’t care, he ate it anyway, sitting at a table in the deserted bar. Washing the rough bread down with buttered tea. Then he stood up to fetch his mare.

Only Axl got no further than stepping through the door. Hands gripped his shoulders, strong fingers crushing muscle like someone just sprang a steel trap. There was no need to look round to know it was Clone, but Axl did anyway and found the ox-like man standing next to a barefoot, sour-faced Tukten, who was holding a pistol.

Nothing fancy. Wooden grips, single-action. A seven-and-a-half-inch barrel fed from a steel cylinder reamed out to take five shots. The barrel wasn’t even blued, and oily fingermarks had etched themselves onto the cylinder. But it was loaded and if the gun itself didn’t have intelligence, the wide-faced boy holding it had enough to pull the trigger if ordered.

‘Tomorrow,’ said Ketzia, coming up behind Axl. ‘You can leave at first light. This evening you stay at the Inn.’

For once it wasn’t raining when dawn broke and to begin with, as Axl stood in front of the inn and stared straight towards the vast mountain behind the village that extended if not to the sky then at least as high as the wheelworld’s atmosphere, he felt happy.

The Job was finished. Even His Excellency couldn’t deny that. What remained of Joan’s life was hidden deep in his pocket. Ready for the Cardinal to gut. The old bastard could ask no more.

The only thing to sour the taste of a job well done was the echo of Kate’s slaps. Every which way he processed the memory of what happened it still didn’t make sense. So he’d been caught groping some half-naked street kid and that was enough to make Kate Mercarderes look like she wanted him recycled into body bits? The hatred that burned from the eyes of Clone; the contempt that kept Ketzia on her knees in the kitchen, silent and facing away from him…

So maybe he was missing something and maybe whatever he was missing was big, but Axl told himself he didn’t care. He had enough. And more to the point, he had all that His Excellency could need. Who needed puzzles?

Axl’s happiness lasted as long as it took a sour-faced Leon to bring Axl’s horse and announce that Clone and Tukten would be riding with Axl to see him safely out of the valley. Now vultures spiralled overhead like soot from a fire and Axl felt less safe with each passing mile. His bladder was bursting, his throat was dry and cold clung to him like the smell of fear. And all Clone did was act like he didn’t care. Which was fine, because he didn’t.

And then, trotting between two tangled banks of wild rhododendron, Axl suddenly tripped over the answer to what he’d been missing. Wetware. He found it in the body of a naked boy draped over a blood-red boulder.

Beyond the dead kid sprawled other figures. A few had been quartered with an axe, the rest clumsily disjointed by scavengers: abdomens were ripped open and coils of half-eaten viscera dragged from their bodies.

And then Axl knew exactly why he had to get back to Cocheforet.

‘Stop.’ Wheeling his mare in front of Clone, Axl put up one hand. It took all his will to ignore the revolver the black-haired boy pointed at his head but Axl managed it. All his attention was on Clone. Axl didn’t trust him but that was hardly the point. This wasn’t about trust. It was about getting back in the game.

‘I don’t want to leave without giving Kate this.’ Axl pushed a hand deep into his pocket and snapped a wire on Mai’s soulcatcher, freeing one bead. Using the cloth bag that had held his Red-Cross issue DNA chips, he trapped the bead inside and handed the bag to Clone.

‘I found this.’

For a second, Axl thought the huge man might not take the bait, but he nodded at Tukten to keep the revolver pointed at their prisoner. Because somewhere between leaving the Inn and reaching the high plateau a prisoner was what Axl had become, he had no illusions about that.

Clone’s eyes widened with shock as he peered into the bag, seconds sliding by like hidden assassins. Then, grudgingly, he let the Tibetan boy take a look. And as they stared at each other, neither had the slightest idea how close they were to being dead.

A snap of the boy’s wrist would have given Axl the revolver. One of its black-powder slugs could rip open even Clone’s thick skull. A few split brains, two more bodies, nothing that would make much difference to the charnel house around him.

But Axl wasn’t planning to kill anyone. He was going back to Cocheforet to talk to Kate, whether the bitch wanted to talk to him or not. And if losing a bead was the price he had to pay to get rid of Clone, that was fine. Axl had every intention of getting it back later.

Axl wanted to shout aloud, punch one fist into the air, all those WarChild responses he no longer allowed himself. His Excellency was going to get his prize. And he, Axl Borja, was going to bring the Cardinal back Joan herself. Had an imprint ever been tried for the crimes of its original? Why the fuck should he care? She might not look the same but let some fuckwit Vatican lawyer deal with that.

Instead of punching the air or grabbing Tukten’s revolver, Axl kept his hands relaxed at his side and watched arctic wolves casually do things to corpses that would have got AIs terminated and humans locked up as insane.