‘There’d be no mishaps if the paladins were given the job.’

‘No doubt. My point is that the CIS aren’t supposed to operate beyond Gath Tampoor’s shores. Legally, that is. But I’ve been hearing rumours that their methods might be exported to the protectorates.’

‘What’s your meaning?’

‘Should Karr be the victim of assassination, my superiors, your employers, could hardly kick up a fuss when one of their agencies has been trying the same thing.’

‘Interesting. I’ll bear it in mind.’ He surveyed the bizarre throng. ‘We’re neglecting our duties. Better get back to it.’ The touch of a finger against his medallion re-formed his mask. An elongated snout appeared, the eyes grew slitty, yellow-green scales formed.

‘Excellent guise,’ Talgorian commented.

‘It is rather fine, isn’t it?’ Bastorran admired himself in a nearby wall mirror.

The Ambassador reactivated his own mask. Grey fur erupted, the nose blossomed, whiskers sprouted.

Bastorran glanced at his companion. ‘I meant to ask.’

‘Hmmm?’

‘Why a rat?’

‘Irony.’

Recently imposed public order laws tended to operate as a two-tier system. Gath Tampoorians resident in the Bhealfan colony simply ignored them. A similar laxity was allowed citizens of Bhealfa who enjoyed power and influence.

The same licence applied to enforcing the curfew. Those of wealth and rank were free to dally.

The weak and insolvent had law-keepers on their tails.

As the hour of prohibition drew near, the streets swelled with people trudging homewards. In a manufacturing quarter of the city, the human surge broke against the prow of a building that stood at the confluence of two main roads. Outwardly, it was an administrative block, a hive for bean counters, and anyone entering would have found this to be the case. Now its clerks and scribes had joined the exodus, and it was deserted.

Its several floors were in darkness, and one, cunningly fashioned from loft space, was hidden. Gaining entry to it from within was complicated, not to say potentially lethal, given its glamoured defences.

A small group was gathered there.

‘Where the

hell

is Disgleirio?’ Caldason grumbled.

‘Probably held up by the crowds,’ Karr told him. ‘He’ll get here no quicker for your pacing. Join us.’

Sighing, the Qalochian took a seat opposite Karr at the large wooden table. At one end sat Kutch, looking uncomfortable and fiddling with a pair of his makeshift eye covers. Serrah was present too, but isolated from the rest, her chair set well back. The expression she wore was unreadable.

‘While we wait,’ Karr said, ‘I’ve got something you might find interesting.’

He pushed a finger into his right ear. For a second he twisted and dug with it. Then he brought out a tiny object, held between thumb and forefinger. It resembled a pearl, and had a similar milky white sheen. He flung it at the nearest wall.

The little globe didn’t bounce or shatter. It stuck as though resinous, and immediately began to flatten and spread. When it matched the size of a large serving platter it stopped expanding. At that point it opened, like the petals of a flower. Having doubled its diameter it opened again and again; more and more petals rapidly unfolding until the wall became a shimmering, pearly white screen.

‘A much more detailed schematic,’ Karr explained. ‘Better than anything we’ve had before.’

Lines and contours, dips and bumps came into focus. A three-dimensional representation of an island formed. It was roughly kidney shaped, only a kidney that had been gnawed at one end by a hungry dog. Its outline showed cliffs, sandy beaches, inlets and bays. Offshore, in the rippling ocean, reefs and rocky outcrops appeared.

The island had two harbours, on its western and southern sides. There were green pastures, hills and woods. A river snaked from the east, branched and rejoined the sea on the north-eastern shore. Tracks criss-crossed, and more substantial roads sneaked from the ports. A scattering of buildings

was visible here and there, and near the island’s centre was what could have been a town.

‘The hope of the world,’ Karr announced. ‘Batariss.’

Serrah stirred from her introspection. ‘What?’

‘It’s the proper name for the place. Though not many seem aware of it.’

‘I remember when that’s all it was known as,’ Caldason said.

‘You would,’ Serrah told him. She probably meant it humorously. He decided to take it that way.

‘Our thought was to rename it,’ Karr revealed; ‘call it something that has more relevance to its new status. Perhaps after one of the Resistance martyrs, like Sab Winneba, Kryss Mirrall or-’

‘I’m sure they’re deserving,’ Caldason cut in, ‘but face it, Patrician; nobody’s going to call it anything but the name that’s stuck.’

‘The Council feel this would be a good opportunity to honour someone who made the ultimate sacrifice for the cause.’

‘Very commendable. But don’t you think we should concentrate on getting there first?’

Kutch broke the ensuing silence. ‘I always assumed it was named after its shape or something.’

‘No,’ Karr replied, ‘its function.’

‘I didn’t know they actually mined gems there.’

‘They don’t. It’s called the Diamond Isle because of the wealth it generated.’

‘So how come we got the chance to buy it?’ Serrah asked.

‘It’s been in decline for years. It was at its height as an attraction when Reeth here was a child. If it still produced riches on that scale we wouldn’t be in a position to buy it. As it is, the present owner’s had enough and is looking to retire.’

‘How can an island that size be private property? I thought only the empires’ rulers had the kind of clout needed to own real estate on that scale.’

‘The island’s status has always been an anomaly. Way back, a century or more, it was as much a pawn for Rintarah and Gath Tampoor as Bhealfa is today, or any of the other states they squabble over.’

‘What happened to change that?’ Kutch asked.

‘Both sides came to feel it was too insignificant a prize to shed blood over. Then somebody, probably one of the old bandit clans, came up with the idea of turning it into a pleasure retreat. That was during one of the empires’ virtuous periods, when gambling and prostitution were frowned on. Batariss filled the need. Another factor, of course, is that it’s not officially in anybody’s territorial waters, though it’s nearest to Bhealfa. But in practice, the island operates because whichever empire happens to be in control of this part of the world has let it.’

‘Why would they do that?’

Karr scrutinised his tiny audience. ‘You must have heard all this before.’

Serrah shrugged.

‘It fills the time until Disgleirio deigns to show himself,’ Caldason remarked.

‘I don’t know any of this,’ Kutch said. ‘I think it’s fascinating.’

‘All right,’ Karr went on. ‘Why have the empires left Bata-the Diamond Isle to its own devices?’ He took a reflective breath. ‘Well, there’s some evidence that in the early days, when the place was much more exclusive, the empires’ favoured supporters were sent there as a reward. Later, when it got easier for more people to go, the official view seemed to be that it served as an outlet for the masses’ pent-up resentments. Or at least it did for those who could afford it. And they tended to be the well-heeled, educated classes, who

might organise opposition; the sort the rulers wanted to keep sweet. Then again, it’s rumoured that the authorities take rake-offs from the island. Unofficial taxes, some call them. Who knows why the Diamond Isle’s been left alone? I think it’s probably just unfinished business.’

‘They’ll finish it quickly enough when we start moving over in droves,’ Caldason warned.