She was sitting upright, heart pounding, sending out her ex-sight to probe the night beyond the tent.

‘It’s all right,’ Fergus said. He was sitting close to the tent, rifle cradled across his lap. ‘Nothing here.’

‘Humm,’ Nigel said. He was lying on his mattress next to her. A module close by had a purple light winking steadily. It was sending out a stream of raw data.

Just like last night.

‘Was that another quantum event?’ she asked as the nonsense tables slipped across her exovision.

‘Yes. The same as yesterday. Except it’s not precisely a daily event. The last one was twenty-seven hours and twenty-nine minutes ago.’

‘Is there something inside the exopod pile, some piece of machinery that’s still working?’

‘I’m not ruling anything out, but if it’s there, it was amazingly inert during the day for us not to detect anything at all.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Hey, it’s okay. This place freaks me out, too.’

‘When are we leaving?’

‘Tomorrow. Promise, okay? Fergus and I will finish off during the day, then we’ll pack up and start the trek back. We’ll be back at Blair Farm in three or four weeks.’

Kysandra exhaled loudly. ‘Thank you.’

*

Most of Croixtown turned out to greet them as they rode back into the village. Sitting up in her saddle, her clothes filthy, sand itching everywhere, a sunhat flopping down over her eyes, Kysandra couldn’t help but grin at the sight of them. Men, women and children gathering around, gazing up, half in awe, half in fear.

The mayor stood in front of them, flanked by several tough-looking men. She saw Jymoar hurrying through the crowd behind him, smiling in relief and delight. She grinned at him, gave a small wave.

‘We are happy to see you again, señor,’ the mayor said to Nigel. He looked awkward. Apprehension was leaking through his shell. ‘Nobody has ventured into the Desert of Bone in living memory.’

‘It is not a place you want to go,’ Nigel replied solemnly. ‘I will never return there.’

‘Is it true? Are there mountains of bones at the centre?’

‘There are bodies there,’ Nigel said loudly. The villagers let out a collective gasp. ‘A great many bodies. Thousands, probably.’ He gifted them the image of the mummified face, forever arrested with its mouth open, teeth amalgamated with the lips. ‘They are incredibly old, killed thousands of years ago. We don’t know by what.’

‘Were they eaten?’

‘No. The bodies were all intact. There are no Fallers in the Desert of Bone, no nests.’

A few people applauded. Everyone was smiling openly now, and began to press forward, eager for details – mainly about the monster. ‘We did hear strange sounds at night,’ Nigel said gravely, ‘but we never saw anything.’

Kysandra shook her head at his consummate showmanship. He would say nothing that was an outright lie, yet by the time he was finished, no one from Croixtown would ever travel into the desert, and the word would spread among the other ranchero villages skirting the savannah, reinforcing the legend. The exopods would remain inviolate for another century. Or, ‘Long enough for me to sort this mess out,’ as Nigel said on the trek back. She thought that pure bravado. But . . .

She climbed down from her horse wearily and handed the reins to Russell before slipping though the crowd. Jymoar was standing in the same place as she’d seen him, his face anxious, yet optimism burnt hot behind his shell.

‘Told you I’d make it back,’ she said with a taunting grin.

He took an uncertain step forward. ‘You did. I never doubted you, señorita. Not you.’

She leaned forward quickly and gave him a small kiss. And he was the one who blushed. ‘I’m a mess,’ she said ruefully.

‘Never!’

Kysandra laughed, and gestured down at herself. The brown suede riding skirt was creased with mud and water stains. Her long boots were coated in sand, inside and out. White blouse had turned grey, made worse by the unpleasant sweat stains. ‘Stop being gallant. I haven’t washed since we left, and that was weeks ago.’

‘You’ve been through a desert,’ he said. ‘And you still look amazing.’

‘Come on.’ She started walking towards the Gothora. When she took her floppy hat off, her hair barely moved, it had so much dirt caked in.

Arriving at the gangplank, she was inexplicably glad to see the old steamship. It resembled a stability she hadn’t known she missed, a stolid representative of her world and the way she had lived before Nigel.

‘So what was it like?’ Jymoar asked.

‘Bad. Remind me to believe you next time.’

‘Next—’ He gave her an appalled look, which made her smirk. For all he’d travelled a lot more than her on boats up and down the Mozal, he was the naive one.

Kysandra walked round the wheelhouse where she was hidden from the shore and the rapt crowd gathered around Nigel – who was still playing them. She cast a mild fuzz and started to undo the buttons on her blouse.

‘Uh!’ Jymoar grunted. He gave an anxious look round, but he was the only one who could see her.

She kicked the boots off and slipped her skirt down. ‘I need this very badly.’ She plonked her hat down on his head in a quick playful motion. ‘You going to join me?’ she asked as she slithered quickly out of her grimy underwear, then jumped straight into the river.

The water was cold and delicious. There had been times, back in the desert, when she’d doubted it ever existed, that water was just some figment of her sun-punished brain. She stayed under for a long moment, feeling the dirt start to flake off. Her hair began to move again, long strands sloughing about languidly in the current. She kicked hard and broke surface. Just in time to see a naked Jymoar leaping off the gunnel.

He swam over to her as she luxuriated in the clean flow of water. ‘What did you find out there?’ he asked timidly.

‘Death. Death and suffering on a scale that really could drive you mad. But, strangely, in the end, it helped me.’

His open features produced a sorrowful frown. ‘How?’

‘I grew up a bit out there. I think. I know now that I’m not going to live a normal life, Jymoar. And I think what I saw, what I discovered about this world, made me come to terms with that. I know not to waste this life I have. I know so many things are petty and stupid, and that you should grab happiness when you can, for you never know what this universe is going to throw at you. I want to celebrate those moments of happiness. I need to be happy after the desert.’ She put her arms on top of his shoulders and twined her fingers through the thick dark hair at the back of his head. Looking unflinchingly into his eyes as she let a lot of her shell drop. Waiting . . .

Jymoar pulled her to him and kissed her. They sank below the surface, then bobbed up together, spluttering and laughing in delight.

*

From Croixtown, it took them just two and a half weeks to reach Blair Farm. Kysandra was disappointed at how fast the Gothora made the trip back to Portlynn, but with the relentless current pushing them along as well as the ship’s steam engine labouring away, they made it downstream in five days. Nigel had sold their animals to one of the rancheros in Croixtown (at a loss), which left the forward cargo hold empty. They altered its bamboo frame and canvas so it was more like a tent, where she and Jymoar spent most of the trip locked together in sweaty carnal bliss.

Kysandra was worried that, when it was over, she’d be unable to say goodbye. But when they did tie up at a jetty on the west shore of Nilsson Sound, just below the railway station, she just cried a lot and wrapped her arms round him for a long hug. They both promised to write all the time and made elaborate plans and promises for her to visit next year.

It was a lovely fib to end it on. As she walked beside Nigel along the platform to the first-class carriages of the Varlan express, her eyes were still damp. She expected a lot of teasing from Nigel, but there was none. He was supportive and sympathetic, treating her like an equal. Like he always does, actually, she realized. Understanding that was probably the best conclusion the trip could possibly have.