“This isn’t going to work,” said Camille.

“It’s going to work,” insisted Lemuel. “It has to work.”

“No it won’t. We’ll be stopped and we’ll be stuck on Prospero.”

“With that attitude we definitely will be,” snapped Lemuel, his patience wearing thin.

“Lemuel. Camille,” said Mahavastu from the palanquin. “I understand we are all under a lot of pressure here, but if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, would both of you please shut the shirring hell up!”

Both Lemuel and Camille were brought up short, shocked at the old man’s language.

Lemuel looked up at Mahavastu, who seemed, if anything, more offended than them.

“I apologise for my profanity,” said Mahavastu, “but it seemed like the only way to restore calm. Sniping at each other is only going to end things badly for us all.”

Lemuel took a deep breath.

“You’re right,” he said. “I apologise, my dear.”

“I’m sorry, Lemuel,” said Camille.

Lemuel nodded and led the way downhill again. At last they reached the entrance to the shuttlecraft launch platforms. This time there was a security checkpoint, as not even the citizens of Prospero left such dangerous places unsecured. Spireguard manned the entrance to the shuttle areas, and blue-robed officials checked the identity of everyone going through to the launch platforms.

“Now we get to see if all that training was worth it,” said Camille.

Lemuel nodded. “Let’s hope I was a good student.”

They approached the checkpoint, and Lemuel handed over a sheaf of papers taken from one of Kallista’s notebooks to a bored-looking clerk. The words written there made no sense, but it would be easier if the mark couldn’t understand them.

The clerk frowned, and Lemuel took that as his cue.

“Lord Asoka Bindusara and Lady Kumaradevi Chandra to take ship to the Cypria Selene,” said Lemuel, projecting a confidence he didn’t feel into the man’s aura. “I am their humble servant and scrivener. Be so good as to indicate which of the waiting shuttles is the most regally appointed.”

Lemuel leaned in and whispered conspiratorially “My master has grown accustomed to the luxuries of Prospero. It wouldn’t be pleasant for anyone were we to be assigned a craft that wasn’t a damn palace, if you take my meaning.”

The clerk was still frowning at the words on the page. It wouldn’t take long for him to see past Lemuel’s bluff and understand he was looking at gibberish. Lemuel felt the man’s bureaucratic mind processing the letters before him and increased his manipulation of his aura. Siphoning off the sanguine and the bile, he crafted the impression that the documents were travel passes and berthing dockets for three passengers and their luggage.

The clerk gave up with Lemuel’s papers and consulted a data-slate of his own instead.

“I don’t see your names,” he said with officious satisfaction.

“Please, check again,” said Lemuel, edging closer as a trio of shuttles blasted off from the shoreline. He sensed Camille and Mahavastu’s panic behind him and increased his mental barrage. Even as he did so, he could feel that it wasn’t working.

Lemuel heard a gasp of surprise from behind him, and a soothing blanket of acceptance settled over him. From the glassy look that came into the clerk’s eyes, Lemuel saw it was affecting him too. Someone moved beside him and a woman’s voice said, “There has been a last minute addition to the passenger manifest, these are my guests aboard ship.”

Lemuel smiled as Chaiya rested her hand on the clerk’s arm, feeling her influence spreading through him. It seemed every native of Prospero enjoyed a measure of psychic power, and he wondered how he hadn’t noticed it before.

“Yes,” said the clerk, sounding unsure, but unable to say why. “I see that now.”

He nodded as Chaiya’s certainty increased, and he waved to the soldiers on either side of the gateway. The clerk stamped a lading billet for their steamer trunks and handed Lemuel four berthing disks, each with a stamped eye at its centre. Lemuel tried not to look as relieved as he felt.

“My lord thanks you,” he said as they swept through the gate.

No sooner were they hidden from sight of the clerk and his soldiers, than Camille threw herself into Chaiya’s arms and kissed her. They embraced until Mahavastu coughed discreetly.

“You came!” said Camille, tears smudging the make-up around her eyes.

“Of course I came,” said Chaiya. “You think I’d let you leave without me?”

“But last night—”

Chaiya shook her head. “Last night you blindsided me with all your doomsaying talk. And the idea that you were leaving scared me. I don’t want to leave Prospero, but if you think there’s something bad coming, that’s good enough for me. You’ve never been wrong before now. About anything. I love you and won’t be parted from you.”

Camille wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dress, ruining the fabric, but not caring.

“There issomething bad coming, I know it,” she said.

“I believe you,” said Chaiya with a nervous laugh. “If you’re wrong we can always come back.”

Lemuel nodded towards the shuttle the clerk had assigned them.

“We’d better get moving,” he said. “Ours is one of the last to leave.”

Their ragtag group followed the directions of blue-coated ground crew towards the berth of a sleek lighter of gleaming silver. Its wide wings enfolded them in shadow as they passed beneath them, and its flat-bottomed cargo bay was slung beneath the berthing frame they had to climb to reach the crew ramp.

Lemuel allowed himself a small smile of success.

Camille and Chaiya laughed and giggled as they walked hand in hand towards the lighter.

Even Mahavastu wore a smile.

The smiles fell from all their faces as an urgent voice called out, “Stop. On the crew ramp, stay where you are.”

Lemuel’s heart turned to a lump of ice as he turned to see who had hailed them.

A captain in the Prospero Spireguard was leading a detachment of soldiers towards them.

“This looks bad,” he said.

“YOU HAVE NOTHING to fear from me, Amon,” said Magnus. “You have been my most faithful servant since I first came to Prospero. I could never harm you.”

“With respect, my lord, I am sure young Uthizzar thought the same,” said Amon, picking his way gingerly through the wreckage of Magnus’ chambers. His grey hair was kept cropped close to his skull and his skin had the texture of aged vellum. He knelt pbeside Uthizzar’s body and placed his hand upon the cracked and seared breastplate.

The bodies of the Scarab Occult lay around Uthizzar, their bodies twisted in unnatural ways and their flesh blackened as though consumed in the same fire that had destroyed Magnus’ library.

“Tell me what happened,” said Amon.

Magnus lowered his head, unwilling to meet his oldest friend’s gaze. The Captain of the 9th made no accusations – he didn’t need to. No accusation could carry greater guilt than Magnus placed upon himself. Almost a week had passed since he had killed Uthizzar, a week in which he had almost given in to his self-destructive urges and turned his powers upon himself.

Fearing the worst, others had tried to enter his chambers, but Magnus had kept them all at bay until now. Magnus looked down at the grotesquely crumpled body of Baleq Uthizzar and sighed with regret and loss.

“It was an unforgivable lapse and should never have happened,” he said, “but he knew too much and I could not let him leave.”

“Knew too much about what?”

“Come here,” said Magnus. “Let me show you.”

Amon rose and followed Magnus onto the balcony overlooking the white city of Tizca. Magnus read the wariness in Amon’s aura, and didn’t blame him. He would be a fool not be wary. In all the long years since they had first spoken, as tutor and pupil, Magnus had never thought of Amon as a fool.

Magnus looked towards the noonday sky.