“We have no idea who they are, is that right?”

“Put it this way. If I had some knowledge of them I’d tell you. Not the knowledge. Only that I knew it.”

“You don’t trust me any longer, do you?”

“Oh, Lordy Lou, Voorzangler. I never trusted you.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you think too much and you feel too little. And that can bring Empires down.”

Voorzangler studied the ground between his oversized feet for a long moment. “If I may remark, sir . . .”

“Remark away.”

“I feel something for Kattaz. Something very real. At least I believe it’s real. And it may seem foolish in a one-eyed, obsessive-compulsive scientist of advancing years to hold out hope for some return on my investment of devotion, but if it’s foolish, then so be it. I stand by my feelings, however much a fool I may be.”

“Huh.”

Now it was the architect who looked away, staring at the screens without seeing them. When he looked back at Voorzangler, there had been a subtle shift in his features. Though he was still Rojo Pixler, something else—the same force, perhaps, that had infested his face with twitches—was present in him. It leaked a tiny amount of black fluid through his pores into each bead of sweat, so that they decorated his blood-drained features like immaculate black jewels.

Or, Voorzangler thought, like the eyes of the sacbrood.

“You know, just a few minutes ago I had decided I was going to put an end to you, Voorzangler.”

“An end to me. You mean . . .”

“I mean I intended to kill you. Or more correctly, have you killed.”

“Sir? I didn’t realize you had such a poor opinion of my performance.”

“Well, I did. But I’ve changed my mind. Your love saved your skin, Voorzangler. If you hadn’t admitted to that, I’d have had you arrested and you’d have been dead two minutes later.” He studied Voorzangler as he spoke, with a kind of detached curiosity. “Tell me how that makes you feel,” he said. “Just tell the truth. Nothing fancy required.”

“I suppose I’m grateful. I’m a fool.”

Pixler seemed satisfied with this.

“There are certainly worse things,” he said, apparently speaking from a profound fund of knowledge. “A great deal worse. Now go and tell Mrs. Love to wake the Kid. Go on.”

With a thought, the doctor had his disk on the move, dropping away from the high screens that he and Pixler had been viewing, and calling after Voorzangler as he descended: “And be grateful you’re a fool, Voorzangler,” he yelled. “You get to live another night.”

Chapter 38

An Old Trick

WITH THE JOHN BROTHERS at the helm of The Piper, the harbor at Tazmagor was soon out of sight, erased by the sea spray that was thrown up by the waters of Mama Izabella. Candy went into the boat’s wheelhouse and consulted the very old charts—all of which were covered with notes about where the boat’s owner had been successful in finding schools of ninkas, fool fish, and even the triple-beaked, ten-tentacled decapi.

“You know what?” John Fillet said.

“No, what?” said John Moot.

“I think our glorious leader has taken a liking to our new crew member,” John Fillet said.

Candy kept her eyes on the chart, though there was very little information there of use.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Fillet,” Candy said.

“It’s not just Fillet,” John Slop said.

“We all noticed it,” said John Pluckitt.

“You can’t keep much from the John Brothers,” said John Drowze.

“It’s none of your business,” Candy said.

“I’m sorry,” John Mischief said.

“You’re all such gossips.”

“The point is—” Mischief started to say.

“The point is whatever you think you saw, you saw wrong. Lordy Lou, the boy was going to stab you.”

“So you stopped him by throwing your arms around him,” said John Serpent. “Yes, we saw.”

“I am not having any further discussion on the subject.”

She stopped and turned to look directly at what she’d seen from the corner of her eye. The Piper was plunged into a thick fog, making the end of one Hour and the beginning of another. The light continued to dim, but the darkness wasn’t black. There were shifting patches of blue and purple in it now.

“We’re going to be coming out of the other side of this very shortly,” Mischief said.

The brothers were back at the wheel now, their smiles erased. Fun time was over. Candy went to the wheelhouse windows to look for some sign of the coming Hour. But the windows were filthy with an accumulation of salt and bird droppings.

“Any sign of The Great Head?” Sallow asked her.

“I can’t see anything. But I’ll hang on tight. And you guys? Keep the gossip to yourselves in the future.”

“So we were wrong?” Mischief said with a smirk that defined his name. “You don’t like him?”

Candy left the wheelhouse without answering.

There was a ladder that brought her up to the roof of the wheelhouse, and a railing for her to keep hold of, for which she was grateful. The swell was growing with every wave. The boat reeled and shuddered.

“Mind if I join you?” Malingo called up to her.

“Of course not,” Candy yelled back. “Come on up!”

Seconds later, Malingo was standing at her right-hand side, hanging on to the iron railing as tightly as she was.

“If we’re on the right course, we should be seeing The Great Head from behind,” he said.

“In which direction?”

“Hopefully dead ahead.”

“I can’t see anything.”

“Neither can I. But the fog is thinning, I think.”

“Oh. You’re right! I see it, Malingo.” She laughed. “I feared the worst, but it’s still standing!” Candy called down to Mischief. “I see it! Off the port bow!”

Mischief cut The Piper’s engines, sensing perhaps that everyone aboard needed to have a quiet moment in order to think about what lay ahead. The powerful currents met out of the boundary of the fog and into the murky twilight in which The Great Head stood. Even viewed from behind, The Head was an extraordinary monument, the towers that crowned its cranium so cunningly designed that they seemed to rise naturally out of the structure of the skull.

A bonfire was blazing on the top of the tallest of the towers. It was not a natural fire. The flames were violet and silver and when they rose to sufficient heights they threw off lattices and other geometric forms, then briefly blazed as if being tested against the twilight sky. She watched the flames without even blinking, mesmerized.

“I think it’s sending a message,” Eddie said from the deck. “They look like sentences being written in the air.”

“Really?” said Malingo.

“He might be right,” Candy said, watching the flames closely. “Oh . . . wait. Yes. Look!”

She pointed past The Head. There was a cloud of roiling darkness laid along the horizon; its shadow, erasing all below as it advanced across the moonlit sea. The moon itself, two-thirds full, its face already touched by the seething fingers of darkness. And of course The Great Head, its huge, simple form—at least seen from behind—stoic, immovable. That was both its strength and its weakness, of course. It would not move, it could not move; and when darkness had come and gone, it would still be standing. Apparently it had occupants who lacked Candy’s faith, however. There were maybe forty boats in the vicinity of The Head all in the process of making a departure.

“What are those idiots doing?” Malingo said.

“And where do they think they’re going to go?” Candy replied.

Some of those departing had seen the approaching cloud and the sight of it had obviously made them reconsider their plans. Several boats, many overloaded with passengers, were turning around, or at least attempting to. The consequences were inevitable. Boats rocked and turned over, pitching their living cargo into the water.