—and at the end of the ninth night, the storm that had been ever-present grew stronger and stronger, black clouds rotating overhead, opening up the storm centre, and then it happened, because that was the moment—‘Stígr?’

—when the sky looked at him, and he was lost.

Her name was Anya and they had shared their bodies last night but this was agony, the remembrance and the reality of it, and the sweep of present momentary time - Being, the Norn whose true name was Skuld - was eclipsed by the past collapsing on him, the knowledge that darkness was omnipotent and he was nothing, the most terrified of thralls, no more than that.

Rubbing his face, he came into more ordinary wakefulness. There was a wetness on his left cheek, below the dirty eye-patch he wore. He sucked in his breath as Anya gently pulled the patch upward; then she shuddered and lowered it back.

Perhaps she had expected to see a covered eye, not this pink-red madness that sometimes wept clear fluid, nothing like tears.

‘I’m sorry,’ he told her.

‘I . . . I need to return to Hildr.’

But she paused and looked at him, and for a moment she appeared as enthralled as last night, when he felt his power upon him but no destructive imperative, so he could use his words to beguile for romance, for simple lust.

In this moment, he could change her mind, commit himself to her and her to him.

‘Then go,’ he said. ‘Do it now.’

She pulled away, trying not to sob, and then broke into a half-run, back toward the hall. He stared with his single, unwise eye. For that was part of what he had learned, during his nine-day crucifixion.

Pain is the eye of wisdom.

A socket full of never-healing rawness, that was the portal to reality, the lens of darkness.

All I deserve.

Perhaps Anya would find goodness; he himself already had his painful reward.

Almost as if the Norns knew what they were doing.

ELEVEN

FULGOR, 2603 AD

Carl rode the one-person speedcapsule back along the tunnel beneath Quiller Park, exited via the cavernous underground terminus, and rose to the surface in a flowgel column. When he stepped off the elliptical upper surface on to the plaza, he was scanning the environment only because that was natural for someone with his training.

He was energized because of his time in mu-space with her, his ship; but he was still careful, and there had been no signs during the return journey of anything untoward. The speedcapsule had been the same one he rode out in, with no sign of having been opened or deepscanned: he had left telltales on board, femtoscopic flakes that would have informed him of peacekeeper inspection.

A shaven-headed man was walking toward him. Xavier Spalding, from the meeting earlier. Behind Xavier rose the quickglass conference centre, the tower morphing with glacial slowness as it cycled through a variety of impressive but conservative forms, taking days to change from one to another.

Carl had not expected anyone else from the meeting to still be here. He wondered what Xavier’s objective was.

A discrete off-Skein discussion? Or something more?

Xavier was smiling.

‘How nice to run into you again, Carl.’

They touched fists formally.

‘Likewise, Xavier. Are you pleased with today’s outcome?’

‘Surely. And I was hoping you’d come back here.’

‘I was just wandering as I worked in Skein.’

‘So you could have been physically anywhere, and I could have just called you, of course. But since you’d booked an aircab pickup for twenty minutes from now, it seemed likely you’d return here.’

‘How could you know that?’

He did not like this. Covertly, he clicked his tongue and curled his left big toe. Warmth in both forefingers indicated that his tu-rings’ major defensive systems had responded, coming online and polling the surroundings for danger.

Nothing so far.

‘I’ve got many controlling interests,’ said Xavier. ‘Including the cab company and other transport providers. Your itinerary is confidential, as is every passenger’s.’

‘Uh-huh. So why meet in person, all the same?’

‘For the same reason we hold trade talks in reality, when they’re important. We’re brachiating primates, Mr Blackstone, with large brains, that’s all. Tactile and sociable.’

That, and ordinary Fulgidi felt safer off Skein when Luculenti were involved in negotiations, since the élite had full control of that environment. It was a habit they carried into other interactions, with purely ordinary people.

‘And of course,’ Xavier went on, ‘it’s why virtual education isn’t good enough, and why we send our sociable children to real colleges and multiversities.’

Carl smiled, made his voice sound natural, and said: ‘Funny thing, my son Roger has just started in Lucis Multi.’

‘Obviously I knew that, Carl, while you’ve not realized that my daughter Alisha is in Roger’s study group. I’m hoping they’ll become friends. As might you and I, let me add.’

‘Friendships and alliances are good things.’

‘My daughter is . . . particularly astute,’ began Xavier.

There was something in his voice, the tension of mixed emotions. Something worth following up, once this encounter was over.

‘She’s noticed that their primary tutor, Dr Petra Helsen,’ Xavier added, ‘has some unusual behaviour patterns. Not off the scale, you understand.’

Around them on the plaza, a few scattered travellers were passing by. No one was paying attention. Talking this way was more low-key than inside a privacy field of whirling diamond dust. Still, they were in the open, perhaps subject to SatScan surveillance right now.

‘So she’s an academic,’ said Carl. ‘Some of my tutors were a little odd.’

‘And that was—?’

‘A long time ago. Are you worried by this Helsen person, Xavier?’

‘She’s displayed some odd reactions toward your Roger.’

‘In what way?’

‘Look, Alisha’s trained in observing minutiae, just as you are, Carl.’

Obviously he meant his daughter was reading body language cues and verbal patterns, including tonality. Put it another way: Helsen was giving Roger funny looks.

But Carl was not dismissing such observations.

‘We all learn psycholinguistics, don’t we?’

‘Right, and it’s interesting,’ said Xavier, ‘to find someone as skilled as you are. We’d never have reached agreement this morning, not so quickly and with such good feeling, without some very slick elicitation and guidance from yourself.’

There was still no reaction from Carl’s tu-rings. If this was the prelude to physical action, perhaps a snatch squad about to drop from the sky, then Xavier was taking his time in issuing the command.

Does he know about me?

Perhaps the man was thinking like a businessperson, no more than that.

‘At any rate,’ Xavier went on, ‘I think Alisha likes your son. So that makes us allies, doesn’t it?’

‘I guess it does.’

‘Then’ - Xavier reached out a fist - ‘I’ll see you soon.’

‘All right.’

They touched fists once more, then Xavier went to stand on an ellipse. He nodded, then sank out of sight.

All around, the plaza looked normal.

So does he know I’m a Pilot agent-in-place? Or am I just a business contact?

Carl became aware of the smile he was making.

An interesting problem.

As always, the stakes were serious because Miranda and Roger were as liable to peacekeeper arrest as he was. But Xavier Spalding was an interesting man, and whether as ally or opponent - well, that was the challenge, wasn’t it?

He stood there until the aircab descended. Knowing it was owned by a possible enemy, he scanned its systems before boarding, finding nothing.

‘Take me home,’ he said.