How would you prepare if you had that kind of warning?

‘Andricea.’

‘Yes, lieutenant?’

‘Send your mod-bird as far downstream as you can. Tell me what you see.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Her mod-bird soared away, gaining altitude as it headed west. She had the longest ex-sight reach in the squads, as well as a prodigious ’path voice. Slvasta sought out the mod-bird’s eyesight, seeing the meandering river slicing through thick bands of jungle and broad swathes of scrub. Far ahead of the two boats, a smudge of smoke was wafting up from a jungle which hid the river.

Slvasta groaned in dismay. There had been three boats. By waiting for them at the river, letting them check out him and his rangers, Nigel had pulled off a perfect delaying tactic.

‘What in Uracus is on that boat?’

*

Slvasta had them break camp at first light. He was grumpy and unsympathetic to the troopers’ grumbling. It had been a despondent night. Sleep had been elusive as he’d wrestled with the problem for hours.

Nigel was engaged in some kind of dubious activity. That was in no doubt. Slvasta’s only active option was to send one squad back to the nearest sheriff’s office in Marlaie, a day away, and alert them that there may be something illegal on a boat – only he didn’t know what the boat looked like or where it was by now. The sheriff was probably out on a sweep, and if he was there he would probably laugh it off – after all, what could he do? Even if by some miracle a law officer caught up with Nigel, that dazzling charm would be played to the full, and there would be nothing incriminating on his boat, that was for sure.

It was like facing down Quanda all over again, just without the life-and-death stakes. There was simply no way he could win this one. All he cared about – as Nigel had so smartly determined – was running a successful sweep. By comparison, Nigel’s activities were petty and irrelevant. But it galled him that he’d been suckered like that. He was furious with himself for being so gullible. And maybe, that nasty unquiet thought at the back of his head kept insisting, it was because Nigel was so obviously from the landowner class – smart, intelligent and confident. The background Slvasta lacked and had been taught to respect.

Yet Nigel told me to kick against that. Very convincingly.

He made an effort to rein in his frustration as he called Yannrith and the corporals over. A breakfast of hot tea and honey bread was served. They spent ten minutes discussing how the squads would be dispersed across their area. He was keen to make up for the lost hours yesterday.

Tents were packed up. Equipment stowed on the horses. Packs loaded.

Nebulas were still visible in the dawn sky as they set off. Giu was at the zenith, the scarlet crown of the heavens, with translucent prominences radiating out in all directions, captured stars within their gauzy veils twinkling brightly. The gold and turquoise flower that was Tizu was sinking below the horizon as the sun rose, while Eribu’s misty spiral contained many ruby-tinged stars. And the Forest was visible if you squinted against the sun’s glare, like a scintillating equatorial tumour in the corona. Thankfully, Uracus was on the other side of the planet. Having that scarlet and sulphur gash casting its benighted glow down on him would have been too much like a bad omen this morning.

Once they were underway, Tovakar came over. He looked somewhat on edge, with a hard shell round his thoughts. Slvasta waited patiently, knowing the man would speak his mind eventually. Trusting officers didn’t come easy to Tovakar.

‘I have a cousin, sir,’ Tovakar said. ‘A third cousin, mind, we’re not close.’

‘Of course not. And what does this cousin do?’

‘Nothing much. He’s a bit of a layabout, in truth. Got a cabin out in the Noldar wetlands.’

‘That’s good soil, so they say.’

‘Yes, sir, when it’s drained properly. Thing is, some farmers out that way grow narnik.’

‘I see.’ Slvasta had tried smoking the herb when he was younger, just like every teenager did, probably right back since the Landing. Ingmar had sneaked a wad from his older brother’s stash, and the two of them had bunked off school one afternoon. It hadn’t been what he’d expected. The loss of control had scared him, and he’d been sick most of the next day. He found out later they’d smoked far too much at once.

His second taste came from the Marine doctor back in Prerov, who had dosed him up with the plant’s refined extract to deal with the pain from his amputated arm. This time he’d welcomed the weird dreams and visions that replaced rational thought. So afterwards he could appreciate the pull it exerted, taking the edge off an impoverished existence. It would have been easy for him to slip into a life bolstered by that sweet narcotic smoke. But those last haunting minutes with Ingmar were stronger than any cravings to annul self-pity. He had been spared, one of very few who had ever escaped being eggsumed. And in return for that gift, he was determined to be guided to the Giu nebula a fulfilled man. Throughout all the weeks of misery and pain, lying there in hospital, he had sworn that to himself.

Narnik’s subversive, life-wrecking appeal had resulted in the Captain’s Council banning its use outside medicine during the reign of Captain Leothoran, two thousand two hundred years ago. Which of course meant there was a lot of money in its underground trade.

‘The farmers, they bale it,’ Tovakar said. ‘Big bales, sir.’

‘Ah. Big enough that you’d need a stone boat to carry one?’

‘Can be, sir. Or so I’ve heard.’

Slvasta grinned understandingly at the trooper’s anxious face. ‘Thank you, Tovakar.’

They were almost back into the wretched purple-tufted bamboo again. Slvasta pushed the first stems aside automatically. It was hard to believe Nigel was a narnik trader. Unless, of course, he was the junior son of some noble estate family who didn’t want to let go of his expensive lifestyle. Narnik was easy money if you had the nerve to go for it. Even so, that was a hard stretch. Nigel just didn’t seem the type; that self-belief of his was like nothing Slvasta had encountered before. Though he was something of a rebel. Or at least preached it. Which might have been part of his cover.

What in Uracus was on that third boat?

Slvasta was desperate to find out. He certainly had enough leave time built up, as the regiment’s adjutant was always pointing out. You didn’t rise from the ranks to reach lieutenant inside five years without putting in some long and difficult hours. It would be easy for him to take a month off any time he wanted.

Somehow, he just knew, you didn’t find a man like Nigel in a month. Not unless Nigel wanted you to find him.

*

‘Fallen egg!’

The ’path shout from corporal Kyliki came down the line like wildfire. Good training and better discipline saw the squads close on the egg’s location in the pattern Slvasta had drilled them in. Nobody, nobody, was to approach within two hundred metres alone: those were his standing orders. So they formed up in a circle, two hundred and fifty metres away. Only after a check to make sure everyone was present, did Slvasta ask: ‘Where’s the goat?’

‘I have it, sir,’ Trooper Jostol answered.

‘Keep a good hold,’ Slvasta replied. ‘Sergeant, move us in.’

‘Aye, sir. Everyone, mod-birds back and on the ground. Once they’re down, move forward. Watch your advance-partner for signs of lure.’

Slvasta ordered his mod-bird back with the rest. Through its eyes, he’d seen the tear in the bamboo’s purple canopy, sent the bird skimming fast for a confirmed sighting. The egg was there, sitting at the centre of a small impact zone. What he saw could have been a piece of ridiculously elegant artwork, with the dark globe of the egg in the middle, surrounded by bamboo stalks flattened radially, as if they’d transformed into some kind of freakish earth flower.