“We’ve got to make haste,” Glo said. “Can’t risk being late on our day of triumph.” With Toller’s help he donned his formal grey robe, working it down over the cane framework which enabled him to stand on his own. His formerly rotund body had shrunk to a loose-skinned slightness, but he had left his clothing unaltered to accommodate and hide the frame, hoping to disguise the extent of his disability. It was one of the human foibles which had earned him Toller’s sympathy.

“We’ll get you there in good time,” Toller said reassuringly, wondering if he should be trying to prepare Glo for the possible ordeal that lay ahead. The drive to the Great Palace took place in silence, with Glo nodding ruminatively to himself now and then as he rehearsed his intended address.

It was a moist grey morning, the gloom of which was deepened by the anti-ptertha screens overhead. The level of illumination had not been reduced a great deal in those streets where it had been sufficient to put up a roof of netting or lattices supported on canes which ran horizontally from eave to eave. But where there were roofs and parapets of different heights in proximity to each other it had been necessary to erect heavy and complicated structures, many of which were clad with varnished textiles to prevent air currents and downdraughts from carrying ptertha dust through countless apertures in buildings which were designed for an equatorial climate. Many of the once-glittering avenues in the heart of Ro-Atabri now had a cavernous dimness to them, the city’s architecture having been clogged and obscured and rendered claustrophobic by the defensive shroud.

The Bytran Bridge, the main river crossing on the way south, had been completely sheathed with timber, giving it something of the appearance of a giant warehouse, and from there a tunnel-like covered way crossed the moats and led to the Great Palace, which was now draped and tented. Toller’s first intimation that the meeting was going to be different from that of two years earlier came when he noticed the lack of carriages in the principal courtyard. Apart from a handful of official equippages, only his brother’s lightweight brougham — acquired after the banning of team-drawn vehicles — waited near the entrance. Lain was standing alone by the brougham with a slim roll of paper under his arm. His narrow face looked pale and tired under the sweeps of black hair. Toller jumped down and assisted Glo to leave his carriage, discreetly taking his full weight until he had steadied himself.

“You didn’t tell me this was going to be a private audience,” Toller said.

Glo gave him a look of humorous disdain, momentarily appearing his old self. “I can’t be expected to tell you everything, young man — it’s important for the Lord Philosopher to be aloof and… hmm… enigmatic now and again.” Leaning heavily on Toller’s arm, he limped towards the carved arch of the entrance, where they were joined by Lain.

During the exchange of greetings Toller, who had not seen his brother for some forty days, was concerned at Lain’s obvious debility. He said, “Lain, I hope you’re not working too hard.”

Lain made a wry grimace. “Working too hard and sleeping too little. Gesalla is pregnant again and it’s affecting her more than the last time.”

“I’m sorry.” Toller was surprised to hear that, after her miscarriage of almost two years ago, Gesalla was still determined on motherhood. It indicated a maternal instinct which he had trouble in reconciling with the rest of her character. Apart from the single curious shift in his perception of Gesalla on his return from the disastrous council meeting, he had always seen her as being too dry, too well-ordered and too fond of her personal autonomy to enjoy rearing children.

“By the way, she sends her regards,” Lain added.

Toller smiled broadly to signal his disbelief as the three men proceeded into the palace. Glo directed them through the muted activity of the corridors to a glasswood door which was well away from the administrative areas. The black-armoured ostiaries on duty were a sign that the King was within. Toller felt Glo’s body stiffen with exertion as he strove to present a good appearance, and he in turn tried to look as though he was giving Glo only minimal assistance as they entered the audience chamber.

The apartment was hexagonal and quite small, lighted by a single window, and the only furnishings were a single hexagonal table and six chairs. King Prad was already seated opposite the window and by his side were the princes Leddravohr and Chakkell, all of them informally attired in loose silks. Prad’s sole mark of distinction was a large blue jewel which was suspended from his neck by a glass chain. Toller, who had a strong desire for the occasion to pass off smoothly for the sake of his brother and Lord Glo, avoided looking in Leddravohr’s direction. He kept his eyes down until the King signalled for Glo and Lain to be seated, then he gave all his attention to getting Glo into a chair with a minimum of creaking from his frame.

“I apologise for this delay, Majesty,” Glo said when finally at ease, speaking in high Kolcorronian. “Do you wish my attendant to retire?”

Prad shook his head. “He may remain for your comfort, Lord Glo — I had not appreciated the extent of your incapacity.”

“A certain recalcitrance of the… hmm… limbs, that is all,” Glo replied stoically.

“Nevertheless, I am grateful for the effort you made to be here. As you can see, I am dispensing with all formality so that we may have an unimpeded exchange of ideas. The circumstances of our last meeting were hardly conducive to free discussion, were they?”

Toller, who had positioned himself behind Glo’s chair, was surprised by the King’s amiable and reasonable tones. It seemed as though his own pessimism had been ill-founded and that Glo was to be spared fresh humiliation. He looked directly across the table for the first time and saw that Prad’s expression was indeed as reassuring as it could be on features that were dominated by one inhuman, marble-white eye. Toller’s gaze, without his conscious bidding, swung towards Leddravohr and he experienced a keen psychic shock as he realised that the prince’s eyes had been drilling into him all the while, projecting unmistakable malice and contempt.

I’m a different person, Toller told himself, checking the reflexive defiant spreading of his shoulders. Glo and Lain are not going to be harmed in any way by association with me.

He lowered his head, but not before he had glimpsed Leddravohr’s smile flick into being, the effortless snake-fast twitch of his upper lip. Toller was unable to decide on a course of action or inaction. It appeared that all the things they whispered about Leddravohr were true, that he had an excellent memory for faces and an even better one for insults. The immediate difficulty for Toller lay in that, determined though he was not to cross Leddravohr, it was out of the question for him to stand with his head lowered for perhaps the whole foreday. Could he find a pretext to leave the room, perhaps something to do with…?

“I want to talk about flying to Overland,” the King said, his words a conceptual bomb-blast which blew everything else out of Toller’s consciousness. “Are you, in your official capacity as Lord Philosopher, stating that it can be done?”

“I am, Majesty.” Glo glanced at Leddravohr and the dark-jowled Chakkell as though daring them to object. “We can fly to Overland.”

“How?”

“By means of very large hot air balloons, Majesty.”

“Goon.”

“Their lifting power would have to be augmented by gas jets — but it is providential that in the region where the balloons would practically cease to function the jets would be their most effective.” Glo was speaking strongly and without hesitations, as he could sometimes do when inspired. “The jets would also serve to turn the balloons over at the midpoint of the flight, thus enabling them to descend in the normal manner.