Three minutes more of bruising travel and they came to a

small stone bridge, at which Floris brought the vehicle to a dusty halt.

‘Here we disembark,' said Chloe, and led Cal up a short flight of well-trodden steps to the bridge. It spanned a narrow but deep gorge, the sides of which were mossy and plumed with ferns. Water rushed beneath, feeding a pool where fishes jumped.

‘Come, come -' said Chloe, and hurried Cal over the bridge.

Ahead was a house, its doors and shutters flung wide. There were copious bird-droppings on the tiled roof, and several large black pigs slumbering against the wall. One raised itself as Cal and Chloe approached the threshold, snuffling at Cal's legs before returning to its porcine slumbers.

There were no burning lights inside; the only illumination came from the lightning, which this close to the Gyre was practically constant. By it, Cal surveyed the room Chloe had ushered him into. It was sparsely furnished, but there were papers and books on every available surface. On the floor lay a collection of thread-bare rugs; and on one of these a vast -and probably vastly ancient - tortoise. At the far end of the room was a large window, which looked onto the Mantle. In front of it a man was seated in a large, plain chair.

‘Here he is.' said Chloe. Cal wasn't sure who was being introduced to whom.

Either the chair or its occupant creaked as the man stood up. He was old, though not as old as the tortoise; about Brendan's age, Cal guessed. The face, though clearly acquainted with laughter, had known pain too. A mark, like a smoke stain, ran from his hairline to the bridge of his nose, where it veered off down his right cheek. It didn't disfigure his face, rather lent it an authority his features wouldn't otherwise have possessed. The lightning came and went, burning the man's silhouette into Cal's mind, but his host said nothing. He just looked at Cal, and looked some more. There was pleasure on his face, though quite why Cal didn't know. Nor did he feel ready to ask, at least not until the other broke the silence between them. That didn't seem to be on the cards, however. The man just stared.

It was difficult to be certain of much in the flare of the lightning, but Cal thought there was something familiar about the fellow. Suspecting they'd stand there for hours unless he initiated a conversation, he voiced the question his mind had already asked.

‘Do I know you from somewhere?'

The old man's eyes narrowed, as if he wanted to sharpen his sight to pin-point and pierce Cal's heart. But there was no verbal reply.

‘He's not allowed to converse with you,' Chloe explained. ‘People who live this close to the Gyre -' Her words died.

‘What?' said Cal.

There's not time to explain,' she said. ‘Just believe me.'

The man had not taken his gaze off Cal for a second, not even to blink. The perusal was quite benign; perhaps even loving. Cal was suddenly overcome by a fierce desire to stay; to forget the Kingdom, and sleep in the Weave, here; pigs, lightning and all.

But already Chloe had her hand on his arm.

‘We must go,' she said.

‘So soon?' he protested.

‘We're taking chances bringing you here in the first place.' she said.

The old man was now moving towards them, his step steady, his gaze the same. But Chloe intervened.

‘Now don't.' she said.

He frowned, his mouth tight. But he came no closer.

‘We have to be away.' she told him. ‘You know we must.'

He nodded. Were there tears in his eyes? Cal thought so.

‘I'll be back soon enough.' she told him. Til just take him to the border. All right?'

Again, a single nod.

Cal raised his hand in a tentative wave.

‘Well.' he said, more mystified than ever. ‘It's ... it's been ... an honour.'

A faint smile creased the man's face,

‘He knows.' said Chloe. ‘Believe me.'

She took Cal to the door. The lightning blazed through the room; the thunder made the air shake.

At the threshold Cal gave his host one last look, and to his astonishment - indeed to his delight - the man's smile became a grin that had a subtle mischief about it.

Take care.' Cal said.

Grinning even as the tears ran down his cheeks, the man waved him away and turned back towards the window.

2

The rickshaw was waiting on the far side of the bridge. Chloe bundled Cal into his seat, throwing the tasselled cushions out to lighten the load.

‘Be swift,' she said to Floris. No sooner had she spoken than they were off.

It was a hair-raising journey. A great urgency had seized everything and everybody, as the Fugue prepared to lose its substance to pattern again. Overhead, the night sky was a maze of birds; the fields were rife with animals. There was everywhere a great readying, as if for some momentous dive.

‘Do you dream?' Cal asked Chloe as they travelled. The question had come out of the blue, but was suddenly of great importance to him.

‘Dream?' said Chloe.

‘When you're in the Weave?'

‘Perhaps -' she said. She seemed preoccupied.'- but I never remember my dreams. I sleep too deeply ...' She faltered, then looked away from Cal before saying,'... like death.'

‘You'll wake again soon,' he said, understanding the melancholy that had come upon her. ‘It'll only be a few days.'

He tried to sound confident, but doubted that he was succeeding. He knew all too little of what the night had brought. Was Shadwell still alive; and the sisters? And if so where?

‘I'm going to help you,' he said. That I do know. I'm part of this place now.'

‘Oh yes,' she said with great gravity. That you are. But

Cal -' She looked at him, her hand taking his, and he felt a bond between them, an intimacy even, which seemed out of all proportion to the meagre time they'd known each other. ‘Cal. Future history is full of tricks.'

‘I don't follow.'

Things can be so easily erased,' she said. ‘And forever. Believe me. Forever. Entire lives gone, as if they'd never been lived.'

‘Am I missing something?' he said.

‘Just don't assume everything's guaranteed.'

‘I don't,' he told her.

‘Good. Good.' She seemed a little cheered by this. ‘You're a fine man, Calhoun. But you'll forget.'

‘Forget what?'

‘All this. The Fugue.'

He laughed. ‘Never.' he said.

‘Oh but you will. Indeed maybe you have to. Have to, or your heart would break.'

He thought of Lemuel again, and his parting words. Remember, he'd said. Was it really so difficult?

If there were any further words to be said on the subject, they went unvoiced, for at this point Floris brought the rickshaw to an abrupt halt.

‘What's the problem?' Chloe wanted to know.

The rickshaw driver pointed dead ahead. No more than a hundred yards from where the rickshaw stood the landscape and all it contained was losing itself to the Weave, solid matter becoming clouds of colour, from which the threads of the carpet would be drawn.

‘So soon.' said Chloe. ‘Get out, Calhoun. We can take you no further.'

The line of the Weave was approaching like a forest fire, eating up everything in its path. It was an awesome scene. Though he knew perfectly well what procedures were under way here - and knew them to be benevolent - the sight was almost chilling. A world was dissolving before his very eyes.

‘You're on your own from here.' said Chloe. ‘About turn, Floris! Andflyl'

The rickshaw was turned.

‘What happens to me?' said Cal.

‘You're a Cuckoo,' Chloe shouted back at him, as Floris hauled the rickshaw away. ‘You can simply walk out the other side!'

She shouted something else, which he failed to catch.

He hoped to God it wasn't a prayer.

XII

A VANISHING BREED

1

Despite Chloe's words, the spectacle ahead offered little comfort. The devouring line was approaching at considerable speed, and it left nothing unchanged. His gut feeling was to flee before it, but he knew that would be a vain manoeuvre. This same transfiguring tide would be eating in from all compass points: sooner or later there would be nowhere left to run.