All three stared at Suzanna and Cal.

This is Starbrook's Field,' said Galin, his tone threatening. ‘You shouldn't be here. He doesn't like women here.'

‘Mind you, he's a damn fool,' said de Bono, putting his fingers through his hair and grinning at Suzanna. ‘And you can tell him that, too, if he ever comes back.'

‘I will,' said Toller, grimly. ‘Depend on it.'

‘Who is this Starbrook?' said Cal.

‘Who's Starbrook?' Galin said. ‘Everybody knows ....' His voice trailed away; comprehension dawned. ‘You're Cuckoos,' he said.

That's right.'

‘Cuckoos?' said Toller, so aghast he almost lost his balance. ‘In the Field?'

De Bono's grin merely became more luminous at this revelation.

‘Cuckoos,' he said. Then you can mend the machine -'

He crossed towards Cal and Suzanna, proffering the radio.

‘I'll give it a try,' said Cal.

‘Don't you dare,' said Galin, either to Cal, or de Bono, or both.

‘It's just a radio, for God's sake,' Cal protested.

‘It's Cuckoo-shite,' said Galin.

‘Corruption,' Toller announced once more.

‘Where did you get it?' Cal asked de Bono.

‘None of your business,' said Galin. He took a step towards the trespassers. ‘Now I told you once: you're not welcome here.'

‘I think he's made his point, Cal,' Suzanna said. ‘Leave it be.'

‘Sorry,' Cal said to de Bono. ‘You'll have to mend it yourself.'

‘I don't know how,' the youth replied, crest-fallen.

‘We've got work to do,' Suzanna said, one eye on Galin. ‘We have to go.'

She pulled on Cal's arm. ‘Come on,' she said.

That's it,' said Galin. ‘Damn Cuckoos.'

‘I want to break his nose,' Cal said.

‘We're not here to spill blood. We're here to stop it being spilled.'

‘I know. I know.'

With an apologetic shrug to de Bono, Cal turned his back on the field, and they started away through the birches. As they reached the other side they heard footsteps behind them. Both turned. De Bono was following them, still nursing his radio.

‘I'll come with you,' he said, without invitation. ‘You can mend the machine as we go.'

‘What about Starbrook?' Cal said.

‘Starbrook's not coming back,' de Bono replied. ‘They'll wait ‘til the grass grows up their backsides and he still won't come back. I've got better things to do.'

He grinned.

‘I heard what the machine said,' he told them. ‘It's going to be a fine day.'

2

De Bono proved an instructive fellow-traveller. There wasn't a subject he wasn't prepared to speculate upon, and his enthusiasm for talk did something to coax Suzanna from the melancholy that had come in the wake of Jerichau's death. Cal let them talk. He had his hands full trying to walk and repair the radio at the same time. He did, however, manage a repeat of his earlier question, as to where de Bono had got the item in the first place.

‘One of the Prophet's men,' de Bono explained. ‘Gave it to me this morning. He had boxes of them.'

‘Did he indeed,' said Cal.

‘It's a bribe,' said Suzanna.

‘You think I don't know that?' said de Bono. ‘I know you get nothing for nothing. But I don't believe everything a Cuckoo gives me is corruption. That's Starbrook's talk. We've lived with Cuckoos before, and survived -' He broke off, and turned his attention to Cal. ‘Any luck?'

‘Not yet. I'm not very good with wires.'

‘Maybe I'll find somebody in Nonesuch,' he said, ‘who can do it for me. It's only spitting distance now.'

‘We're going to Capra's House,' said Suzanna.

‘And I'll go with you. Only via the town.'

Suzanna began to argue.

‘A man's got to eat,' said de Bono. ‘My stomach thinks my throat's cut.'

‘No detours,' said Suzanna.

‘It's not a detour,' de Bono replied, beaming. ‘It's on our way.' He cast her a sideways glance. ‘Don't be so suspicious,' he said. ‘You're worse than Galin. I'm not going to lead you astray. Trust me.'

‘We haven't got time for sight-seeing. We've got urgent business.'

‘With the Prophet?'

‘Yes...'

‘There's a piece of Cuckoo-shite,' Cal commented.

‘Who? The Prophet?' said de Bono. ‘A Cuckoo?'

‘I'm afraid so,' said Suzanna.

‘See, Galin wasn't entirely wrong,' Cal said. ‘The radio's a little piece of corruption.'

‘I'm safe,' said de Bono. ‘It can't touch me.'

‘Oh no?' said Suzanna.

‘Not here,' de Bono replied, tapping his chest. ‘I'm sealed.'

‘Is that how it has to be?' said Suzanna, sighing. ‘You sealed up in your assumptions, and us in ours?'

‘Why not?' said de Bono. ‘We don't need you.'

‘You want the radio,' she pointed out.

He snorted. ‘Not that much. If I lose it I won't weep. It's worthless. All Cuckoo stuff is.'

‘Is that what Starbrook says?' Suzanna remarked.

‘Oh very clever,' he replied, somewhat sourly.

‘I dreamt of this place -' Cal said, breaking into the debate. ‘I think a lot of Cuckoos do.'

‘You may dream of us,' de Bono replied ungraciously. ‘We don't of you.'

That's not true,' Suzanna said. ‘My grandmother loved one of your people, and he loved her back. If you can love us, you can dream of us too. The way we dream of you, given the chance.'

She's thinking of Jerichau, Cal realized: she's talking in the abstract, but that's who she's thinking of.

‘Is that so?' said de Bono.

‘Yes, that's so,' Suzanna replied, with sudden fierceness. ‘It's all the same story.'

‘What story?' Cal said.

‘We live it and they live it,' she said, looking at de Bono. ‘It's about being born, and being afraid of dying, and how love saves us.' This she said with great certainty, as though it had taken her a good time to reach this conclusion and she was unshakeable on it.

It silenced the opposition awhile. All three walked on without further word for two minutes or more, until de Bono said:

‘I agree.'

She looked up at him.

‘You do?' she said, plainly surprised.

He nodded. ‘One story?' he said. ‘Yes, that makes sense to me. Finally, it's the same for you as it is for us, raptures or no raptures. Like you say. Being born, dying: and love between.' He made a small murmur of appreciation, then added: ‘You'd know more about the last part, of course,' he said, unable to suppress a giggle. ‘Being the older woman.'

She laughed; and as if in celebration the radio leapt into life once more, much to its owner's delight and Cal's astonishment.

‘Good man,' de Bono whooped. ‘Good man!'

He claimed it from Cal's hands, and began to tune it, so that it was with musical accompaniment that they entered the extraordinary township of Nonesuch.

V

NONESUCH

1

As they stepped into the streets de Bono warned them that the township had been put together in considerable haste, and that they shouldn't expect a paradigm of civil planning. But the warning went little way to preparing them for the experience ahead. There seemed to be no sign whatsoever of order in the place. The houses had been laid cheek by jowl in hapless confusion, the tunnels between - the terms streets flattered them - so narrow, and so thick with citizens, that wherever the eye went it found faces and facades ranging from the primitive to the baroque.

Yet it wasn't dark here. There was a shimmering in the stone, and in the paving at their feet, that lit the passages, and turned the humblest wall into an accidental masterpiece of bright mortar and brighter brick.

Any glamour the town could lay claim to was more than matched by its inhabitants. Their clothes had in them that same amalgam of the severe and the dazzling which the visitors had come to recognize as quintessentially Seerkindish; but here, in the Fugue's closest approximation to an urban environment, the style had been taken to new extremes. Everywhere there were remarkable garments and accoutrements on view. A formal waistcoat that rang with countless tiny bells. A woman whose clothes, though buttoned up to the throat, so matched the colour of her skin she was dressed as if naked. On a window sill a young girl sat cross-legged, ribbons of every colour lifting around her face on no discernible breeze.