‘We certainly didn’t have a file on him. So where does he come from?’

‘He lives south of Varlan.’

‘Ah, and here we are in hot pursuit of a convoy that crossed the river to the south bank. Tell me. When you captured me, the only major railway that was left intact was the Southern City Line. Why did you spare it?’

Slvasta hated the superior tone in the Captain’s voice. ‘We didn’t. I don’t know what happened to our sabotage teams, though I can make a crudding good guess now. And the Goleford bridge was blown this afternoon.’ What was it Bethaneve had said? Just after an express crossed it.

‘So they’ve taken the quantumbusters south. I still don’t understand why. Even if they could get them to work again, which I have considerable doubts about, what would be the point? If they detonate a quantumbuster, it will wipe out Bienvenido, the Forest, and most likely our sun as well. Neither humans nor Fallers will survive.’

‘Why then? Why? What has all this been for?’

‘I don’t know,’ Philious said. ‘But if you’re ever going to find out, you need to catch up with your associates, and quickly.’

*

They’d lost Coulan as soon as he stepped off the ferry onto the south bank. Technically, Willesden was another borough of Varlan. But in reality it was a rather pleasant town with decent-sized houses and broad parks; there was only one Shanty on its border, and that none too big. Business here centred on trade, moving and storing goods brought in by the railway and the boats. A wide swathe of the town between the wharfs and station was made up entirely of warehouses.

In the aftermath of the revolution, travel was again a major preoccupation. Hundreds of refugees arrived every hour, all of them desperate for temporary lodgings and a way out into the southern countryside.

There weren’t many cell members in Willesden. The ones that had been given duties had been redeployed days ago to find out what had happened to their comrades assigned to blow up the bridges. Bethaneve had summoned several to the riverbank area to help search, but they were slow coming.

She and Javier disembarked from the ferry as the sun hung close to the horizon, looking as if it was about to plunge into the river. Long rose-gold shimmers licked across the water, tinting the air a faint copper. They looked around in dismay. The chaos here was almost as bad as what they’d left behind them on the quayside, only the scale was reduced.

‘Any ideas?’ Bethaneve asked.

‘Well, now that the Goleford bridge is down, he’ll have to find himself either a boat or a horse.’

‘Can he ride?’

‘I’ve no idea. I’ve never seen him ride, but that doesn’t mean anything.’ Javier could feel his stomach tightening up at that admission. What do I really know about him? I thought it was everything.

‘I’ve not seen him ride, either,’ Bethaneve said. ‘And if he can, we’re not going to find him. So that leaves us with a boat.’

They looked along the river. On this side, it was mainly ferries and small boats that had just charged an extortionate fee for bringing desperate people over. There were only two big ocean-going cargo ships, their sails all furled. Both had big crowds of people at their gangplanks, all bidding against each other.

‘They’re not going to leave tonight,’ Bethaneve decided. There were a few other boats, barges mainly, but their captains seemed intent on making a fortune charging passage across the Colbal. She scanned the houses of Willesden again. The land here didn’t rise as it did on the Varlan side, but even so, it wasn’t possible to see the countryside beyond. She narrowed her eyes as she tried to read the signposts at the top of each road leading away from the river.

‘If he just wanted to get out of town,’ she said slowly, thinking it through, ‘he could have taken a cab, or used one of the local lines we didn’t sabotage. So he came south of the river for a reason. He’s got a very definite destination in mind.’

‘Yes. But what?’

‘The last thing Yannrith said was that Kysandra was in a convoy on Walton Boulevard heading down the hill. That’s south.’

‘You think they came over the river as well?’

‘And not long after that, the Goleford bridge was blown.’

‘But Coulan was in the National Council building when that happened,’ Javier insisted.

‘Yes. So he’s stuck here as well, unless . . . You’re in charge of the railways now, right?’

‘Well, sort of, yes.’

‘Did you get around to nationalizing the Southern City Line?’

‘Yes. My people came across to take over the management offices yesterday. I was going to visit soon.’

‘They only blew up the Goleford bridge,’ Bethaneve said. ‘We planned on taking out three south of the river. Can you ’path your people, find out what other rail lines there are out of town?’

‘That I can do.’

The answer came back within a minute.

‘There are two local line stations,’ Javier said, his eyes closed as he received the ’path. ‘Balcome and Scotdale. Their lines go east and west.’

‘Right, now find out if either of those lines cross the Goleford. Do they link up with the main line south of here?’

Javier’s weary face broke into a slow smile. ‘Uracus, you’re good. The line from Balcome splits fifty miles out, and one track goes south. It reconnects with the main southern line at Fosbury.’

‘Next train?’ Bethaneve asked.

‘Twenty-three minutes.’

*

Balcome station was small: two platforms, both with prim wooden canopies, and a stone ticket office. A typical branch-line station in a pleasant part of town. Thick vines with topaz flowers scrambled up the outside wall of the ticket office, layering the air with a sweet scent. There was nobody in the ticket office when Bethaneve and Javier walked in; thick shutters were down across the booth. The platform was a different matter. In the deepening shadow thrown by the canopy, people were packed five or six deep along its whole length, families clinging together, children all cried out and now just staring numbly down the tracks. Those nearest the ticket office door gave Javier a fearful look as he emerged. He’d not given it any thought, but his carbine was slung on a strap over his drosilk jacket’s shoulder, and four magazines were clipped to his belt. Carrying it openly was second nature now, every comrade’s badge of honour. The carbines Nigel supplied were quite distinctive; they had a high fire rate and hardly ever jammed. By now they were recognizable to everybody in Varlan.

The gifted image of Javier spread down the platform faster than sound. It triggered a surge of anxiety and distress. Children clung to their parents; men glared defiantly.

Bethaneve’s hand went automatically to the pistol holstered on her belt. She was dismayed by the way people were reacting to her and Javier, but anger burnt there, too. We’re the good guys. Why don’t you understand that? We’re trying to help, to give you a better future.

‘What do you want?’ someone ’pathed.

‘Can’t you leave us alone?’

‘Haven’t you killed enough of us?’

‘Savages.’

‘They murdered my brother. He was a sheriff, he protected us from criminals.’

‘I recognize her. She’s Slvasta’s fiancée.’

‘Bitch.’

People were backing away from them, leaving them alone in the centre of a deluge of hatred.

‘We’re not here to hurt you,’ Bethaneve ’pathed. ‘We’re looking for someone.’ She gifted an image of Coulan. ‘Has anyone seen him?’

‘No!’

‘What did he ever do?’

‘Gave people jobs, most likely.’

‘Are you going to murder him, as well?’

‘Please,’ Bethaneve ’pathed. ‘He’s a friend.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘Lying whore.’

Teekay stabbed out. Bethaneve’s shell was tight; otherwise the spike of psychic power would have jabbed into her eyes. As it was, she stumbled backwards from the blow.