“He was famous,” Harris said. “How is it you didn’t recognize his name?”

“He went by another one,” Caster said. “He called himself Duncan MaqqRee.”

Alastair swore. “Crass of him. To go by the name of his enemy.”

Caster shrugged. “Where was I?”

“Moving from the grim world,” Alastair said.

“Ah, yes. In my youth, when I could still travel most moons of the year and keep my health, I ­discovered that three sites resonated with the same devisement ­energy given off by the men and women of the grim world. ­After much study I concluded that these were actually the ends of bindings between the worlds—a sort of umbilical cord.

“Using globes and devisements of my own design, I set up similar links on a much smaller scale. Two worlds, represented by the globes, united by cords that let them share health, share strength, even share events.”

Gabriela said, “Meaning that things happening on one globe might be duplicated on the other.”

“Very good.” Caster nodded approvingly. “Not an ­exact duplication, by any means. A dim reflection. The greater the event, the greater the likelihood that it would be ­reflected. I could dab a tiny bit of paint on one globe and nothing might happen to the other. But if I set a portion of one globe afire, a similar portion on the other would usually char.

“Over the years, I’ve done an immense amount of experimenting on my globes. Even today, they’re still spinning in my town house, unless that Powrie person damaged them. By arduous trial and error, and examination of the three sites I’ve mentioned, I think I’ve discovered much about the relationships of the two worlds.”

Alastair impatiently gestured for him to continue. Caster took a moment to formulate a perfect smoke ring; he puffed it up toward the ceiling. “I think these ­‘umbilical cords’ determine the way things people and objects make the transition from one world to the other.

“I’ve heard enough from the men and women I’ve inter­viewed to suspect that the grim world ranges ahead of us in the development of science . . . and lags far ­behind in the sophistication, and especially acceptance, of its devisements. I believe the cords ensure this. Grim­worlders told me of advanced devices they had with them when they made the transition. What do you suppose happened to them when they reached the fair world?”

Gaby spoke again. “Twisted until they’re useless.”

“You’ve seen it, then. Yes, they’re ruined. I think this is a prophylactic effect—protection for the fair world. I believe our world protects herself from scientific advances that still bear rough edges; she won’t allow the passage of anything that could do her harm. Likewise, I think the properties of devices and devisements taken hither-thither would be ruined or diminished. In one world, the old ways are manifest. In the other, the ways of cold, unfettered science dominate.

“But what does get through—the people, I mean—I believe they have a disproportionate effect on the world they’ve come to. The men and women I talked to from the grim world spoke of this world feasting on them like leeches. The fairworlders drank in and adopted their language, their manners, their ideas. I think that every grimworlder who has come here has added much to our language and store of knowledge.

“I think, in short, that the two world-sisters march ­together, but the grim world is the vanguard—the first to challenge the unknown, the first to suffer the beatings of change. The fair world hangs back, remains safe and strong, and grants the benefits of her health and wisdom to her sister.”

Alastair looked thoughtful. “I won’t say that this doesn’t make some sense, from what we’ve already learned. But what were the events at Adennum Complex all about?”

“Adennum is one of the three sites, of course. The other two are the Prophetess’ Stone at Omphalia in Panelassion, and at Itzamnál, navel of the Sky Lizard and Earth Lizard in Aluxia. And the ritual you saw at the top of the hill at Adennum, enabled by that portable standing-stone circle made of wood, was nothing less than an effort to cut away the cord linking the two worlds.”

“Was it successful?”

“Yes.”

“What do you mean, yes?”

“Yes. It was successful.” Caster sent another smoke ring at the ceiling. “The cord at Adennum went away. I could feel it. I’m sensitized to those specific emissions of power, after all.

“The goddesses bleed. And the other half of the expe­dition, led by Duncan Blackletter, was supposed to be doing the same exact thing at Omphalia at the same time. Their plan was to meet in Aluxia afterward and finish the ritual by cutting the third cord together.”

Alastair looked among his companions. They seemed as troubled as he.

Caster continued, “Powrie said that these events could not be accomplished until all the men who’d made the transition from one world to the other were gone from at least one of the worlds. I assume that’s been done.” He saw Harris nod. “Well, then. I regret to say that my life’s work has been correct and true. I have successfully identified some of the basic tenets that govern the way our world works. And I seem to have helped a very bad man use that knowledge to a very bad end.”

Alastair said, “What end? With the cords cut, doesn’t that mean travel between the two worlds will be impossible?”

The scholar shook his head. “Oh, no, Goodsir Korn­bock. Travel was never dependent on the cords—else it could only be done from those three sites. No, only the constraints laid down by the goddesses are gone. ­Devisers who know how to move from one world to the other can carry whatever they wish with them. I can only assume that the fair world is unprepared for what the grim world can bring her . . . and vice versa.”

Gaby looked even more glum. “Alastair, we’ve got things . . . guns, drugs, bombs you wouldn’t believe. One bomb could destroy Neckerdam.”

“The whole city?”

“All of it. One bomb could turn the whole island into burned slag and kill everybody there. Maybe Duncan can’t get his hands on one; they’re hard to get. But he can bring all sorts of things that will give us grief.”

Alastair went white. He turned back to Caster. “If we stop Duncan in Aluxia, can we repair the cords?”

“If my model work is accurate—and so far, I must say, it has been absolutely correct—then you won’t have to. Even if the third cord is cut, given time, all three will eventually regrow.”

“So this only creates a brief period in which Duncan can act freely.”

“No. The problem is this. In my experiments, once I’d cut the links between my globes, I was able to forge new ones. Links with different defining characteristics. Once they were in place, the old ones would not regrow. All I had to do first was make sure that neither globe was contaminated by a taint of the other.”

Everyone turned to look at Harris and Gaby. Gaby glared back. “Boil that down into English. I mean Low Cretanis. You’re saying that Duncan killed every fair­worlder on the grim world so he could cut the links. And if he manages to finish off the grimworlders on the fair world, he can set up new ones.”

“New ones with different characteristics. If he has the skill, he could, for instance, decide that every grimworlder who comes to the fair world ever after becomes devoted to him. And vice versa. An army of slaves in each world . . . slaves that the natives are unprepared to defeat. He could become a god.”

Alastair stood. “If there’s anything I hate,” he said, “it’s being in charge. I’m going up to tell all this to Noriko and make some talk-box calls. One to Panelassion to confirm that the second ceremony took place. Another to a friend of Doc’s in Aluxia so we can have some allies in place before Duncan gets there.

“Joseph, keep an eye on Doc. Tell me if there’s any change in his manner. Goodsir Roundcap, find yourself a bunk; this will be a long flight. Gaby, Harris, get what sleep you can.” He shook his head as if, by denying it, he could undo everything that had happened in the last few bells. He headed forward.