Still Little John they did him call.

the soft snow, then looked up abruptly. "Before the war, even during it, I would have been proud to have known you, glad to have met you. But not here, not now. Not any more. I wish to God they had sent someone else." He hesitated, made to carry on, then changed his mind, turned wearily to Andrea. "My apologies, fat one. Indeed you speak the truth. Go on." "Certainly!" Andrea's round moon face was one vast smirk of satisfaction. "We climbed the cliff, as I said although the boy in the cave there was badly hurtand silenced the guard. Mallory killed him," Andrea added unblushingly. "It was fair fight. We spent most of the night crossing the divide and found this cave before dawn. We were almost dead with hunger and cold. We have been here since." "And nothing has happened since?" "On the contrary." Andrea seemed to be enjoying himself hugely, revelling in being the focus of attention. "Two people came up to see us. Who they were I do not knowthey kept their faces hidden all the timenor do I know where they came from." "It is as well that you admitted that," Turzig said grimly. "I knew someone had been here. I recognised the stoveit belongs to Hauptmann Skoda!" "Indeed?" Andrea raised his eyebrows in polite surprise. "I did not know. Well, they talked for some time and" "Did you manage to overhear anything they were talking about?" Turzig interrupted. The question came so naturally, so spontaneously, that Mallory held his breath. It was beautifully done. Andrea would walk into ithe couldn't help it. But Andrea was a man inspired that night. "Overhear them!" Andrea clamped his lips shut in sorely-tried forbearance, gazed heavenwards in exasperated appeal. "Lieutenant Turzig, how often must I tell you that I am the interpreter? They could only talk through me. Of course I know what they were talking about. They are going to blow up the big guns in the harbour." "I didn't think they had come here for their health!" Turzig said acidly. "Ah, but you don't know that they have the plans of the fortress. You don't know that Kheros is to be invaded on Saturday morning. You don't know that they are in radio contact with Cairo all the time. You don't know that destroyers of the British Navy are coming through the Maidos Straits on Friday night as soon as the big guns have been silenced. You don't know" "Enough!" Turzig clapped his hands together, his face alight with excitement. "The Royal Navy, eh? Wonderful, wonderful! That is what we want to hear. But enough! super fast digital camera Keep it for Hauptmann Skoda and the Commandant in the fortress. We must be off. But firstone more thing. The explosiveswhere are they?" Andrea's shoulders slumped in dejection. He spread out his arms, palms upward. "Alas, Lieutenant Turzig, I do not know. They took them out and hid themsome talk about the cave being too hot." He waved a hand towards the western col, in the diametrically opposite direction to Leri's hut. "That way, I think. But I cannot be sure, for they would not tell me." He looked bitterly at Mallory. "These Britishens are all the same. They trust nobody." "Heaven only knows that I don't blame them for that!" Turzig said feelingly. He looked at Andrea in disgust. "More than ever I would like to see you dangling from the highest scaffold in Navarone. But Herr Kommandant in the town is a kindly man and rewards informers. You may yet live to betray some more comrades." "Thank you, thank you, thank you! I knew you were fair and just. I promise you, Lieutenant Turzig" "Shut up!" Turzig said contemptuously. He switched into German. "Sergeant, have these men bound. And don't forget the fat one! Later we can untie him, and he can carry the sick man to the post. Leave a man on guard. The rest of you come with mewe must find those explosives." "Could we not make one of them tell us, sir?" the sergeant ventured. "The only man who would tell us can't. He's already told us all he knows. As for the restwell, I was mistaken about them, Sergeant." He turned to Mallory, inclined his head briefly, spoke in English. "An error of judgment, Herr Mallory. We are all very tired. I am almost sorry I struck you." He wheeled abruptly, climbed swiftly up the bank. Two minutes later only a solitary soldier was left on guard. For the tenth time Mallory shifted his position uncomfortably, strained at the cord that bound his hands together behind his back, for the tenth time recognised the futility of both these actions. No matter how he twisted and turned, the wet snow soaked icily through his clothes until he was chilled to the bone and shaking continually with the cold; and the man who had tied these knots had known his job all too well. Mallory wondered irritably if Turzig and his men meant to spend all night searching for the explosives: they had been gone for more than half an hour already. He relaxed, lay back on his side in the cushioning snow of the gully bank, and

"That's ranging within yonder wood?"

It was Jackstraw who heard it firstit was always Jackstraw, whose hearing was an even match for his phenomenal eyesight, who heard things first. Tired of having my exposed hands alternately frozen, I had dropped my book, zipped my sleeping-bag up to the chin and was drowsily watching him carving figurines from a length of inferior narwhal tusk when his hands suddenly fell still and he sat quite motionless. Then, unhurriedly as always, he dropped the piece of bone into the coffee-pan that simmered gently by the side of our oil-burner stovecurio collectors paid fancy prices for what they "Marry," says the old woman, "I think it to be imagined to be the dark ivory of fossilised elephant tusksrose and put his ear to the ventilation shaft, his eyes remote in the unseeing gaze of a man lost in listening. A couple of seconds were enough. "Aeroplane," he announced casually. "Aeroplane!" I propped myself up on an elbow and stared at him. "Jackstraw, you've been hitting the methylated spirits again." "Indeed, no, Dr Mason." The blue eyes, so incongruously at

The stranger he said. This must be repaid,

handclapping seconded that order. Grinning amiably, Lars nodded, beckoning to someone seated to Killashandras left. The man who came to stand beside Lars had to be related to him for their features were similar, if differently arranged. Though the older man had a thin, long face, the nose was the same, and the set of the eyes, the shape of the lips, and the firm chin. Neither man could really be called handsome, but both exuded the same unusual quality of strength, determination, and confidence that made them stand out as individuals. A respectful silence fell and the instruments began the overture. Killashandra had a good musical memory: she could hear a composition once and remember not only the theme, if there was one, but the structure. If she had studied the score in any detail, she would know the composer and performances, what different settings or arrangements the music had had over the years, and possibly which Stellars had performed it and where. Before the men began to sing, she recognized the music. The words had been altered but they suited the locality: the search for the lost and perfect island in the mists of morning, and the beautiful lady stranded there for whose affections the men vied. Lars beautiful tenor paired well with the older mans well produced baritone, their voices in perfect balance with each other and the dynamics of the music. Nevertheless, at songs end Killashandra stared at Lars in amazement. He had the most outrageous gall until she also remembered that he had been required to sing it, however appropriate it might also be to her circumstances. And Lars Dahl had not had the grace to look abashed. Why should he? The performer in her argued with her sense of personal outrage. The music was beautiful, and so obviously a favorite of the islanders that the last chorus trailed off into reverent silence. Then the baritone held out his hand, into which was placed a twelve stringed instrument that he presented to Lars Dahl. The Music Masters may not have approved your composition for the Summer Festival, Lars, but may we at least hear it? Plainly the request distressed Lars Dahl, for his mouth twitched and he had ducked his head against the compelling level gaze. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath, reluctantly accepting the instrument. His lips were pressed into a thin line as he strummed a chord to test the strings. Lars did not look at Olav, though he could not refuse the older man s request, nor did he look out at the audience. His expression was bleak as he inhaled deeply, direct from camera digital printers concentrating onward to the performance. The rankling disappointment, the pain of that rejection, and the sense of failure which Lars had experienced were as clear to Killashandra as if broadcast. Her cynical evaluation of him altered radically. She was possibly the only one in the entire assembly who could empathize, could understand and appreciate the deep and intense conflict he had to overcome at that moment. She also could approve heartily of the professionalism in him that unprotestingly accepted the challenge of an excruciating demand. Lars Dahl possessed a potentially Stellar temperament. Despite her proximity to him, she almost missed the first whispering chords which his strong fingers stroked from the strings. A haunting chord, expanded and then altered into a dominant, just like the dawn breeze through the old polly tree on her island of exile. Soft gray and pink as the sky lightened, and then the sun would warm the night-closed blossoms, their fragrance drifting to beguile senses: and the rising lilts of bird, the gentle susurrus of waves on the shore, and the lift in the spirit for the pleasure of a new day, for the duties of the day: climbing the polly for the ripe fruit, fishing off the end of a headland, the bright sun on the water, the rising breeze, the colors of day, the aroma of frying fish, the somnolence of midday when the suns heat sent people to hammock or mat an entire day in the life of an islander was in his music, colored and scented, and how he managed that feat of musical conjuring on a limited instrument like a twelve-string, Killashandra did not know. How that music would sound on the Optherian organ was something she would give her next cutting of black crystal to hear! And the Music Masters had rejected his composition? She was beginning to understand why he might wish to assassinate her, and why he had kidnapped her: to prevent the repair of the great organ and, perhaps other less worthy compositions, from being played by anyone. And yet there was nothing in her brief association with Lars Dahl, in this evenings showmanship, even in his reluctant acquiescence to the demands of his island, to suggest such a dark vengeful streak in the man. When the last chord, heralding moon-set, had faded into silence, Lars Dahl set the instrument down carefully and, turning on his heel, stalked away. There were murmurs of approval and regret, even anger in some faces, a

My deir son, now tell me O.

It was Jackstraw who heard it firstit was always Jackstraw, whose hearing was an even match for his phenomenal eyesight, who heard things first. Tired of having my exposed hands alternately frozen, I had dropped my book, zipped my sleeping-bag up to the chin and was drowsily watching him carving figurines from a length of inferior narwhal tusk when his hands suddenly fell still and he sat quite motionless. Then, unhurriedly as always, he dropped the piece of bone into the coffee-pan that simmered gently by the side of our oil-burner stovecurio collectors paid fancy prices for what they Ile set my feit in yonder boat, imagined to be the dark ivory of fossilised elephant tusksrose and put his ear to the ventilation shaft, his eyes remote in the unseeing gaze of a man lost in listening. A couple of seconds were enough. "Aeroplane," he announced casually. "Aeroplane!" I propped myself up on an elbow and stared at him. "Jackstraw, you've been hitting the methylated spirits again." "Indeed, no, Dr Mason." The blue eyes, so incongruously at

A barrel of salted herrings lasts a year;

viciously through throat and lungs till he was suffocating, till his breath was. coming in great, whooping, agonised breaths. No sense in waiting longer, nothing he could do, nothing anyone could do except save himself. There was a noise in his ears, the roaring of the flames, the roaring of his own bloodand the screaming, heart-stopping roar of a Stuka in a power-dive. Desperately he flung himself forward over the sliding scree, tumbled and pitched headlong down to the floor of the wash. Hurt or not, he did not know and her did not care. Sobbing aloud for breath, he rose to his feet, forced his aching legs to drive him somehow up the bill. The air was full of the thunder of engines, he knew the entire squadron was coming in to the attack, and then he had flung himself uncaringly to the ground as the first of the high explosive bombs erupted in its concussive blast of smoke and flameerupted not forty yards away, to his left and ahead of him. Ahead of him! Even as he struggled upright again, lurched forward and upward once more, Mallory cursed himself again and again and again. You mad-man, he thought bitterly, confusedly, you damned crazy mad-man. Sending the others out to be killed. He should have thought of itoh, God, he should have thought of it, a five-year-old could have thought of it. Of course Jerry wasn't going to bomb the grove: they had seen the obvious, the inevitable, as quickly as he had, were dive-bombing the pall of smoke between the grove and the cliff! A five-year-old-the earth exploded beneath his feet, a giant hand plucked him up and smashed him to the ground and the darkness closed over him. CHAPTER 12 16001800 Once, twice, half a dozen times, Mallory struggled up from the depths of a black, trance-like stupor and momentarily touched the surface of consciousness only to slide back into the darkness again. Desperately, each time, he tried to hang on to these fleeting moments of awareness, but his mind was like the void, dark and sinewless, and even as he knew that his mind was slipping backwards again, loosing its grip on reality, the knowledge was gone, and there was only the void once more. Nightmare, he thought vaguely during one of the longer glimmerings of comprehension, I'm having a nightmare, like when you know you are having a nightmare and that if you -could open your eyes it would be gone, but you can't open your eyes. He tried it now, tried to open his eyes, but it was no good, it was still as dark as ever and he was still sunk in this evil dream, for the sun had digital camera fell in water been shining brightly in the sky. He shook his head in slow despair. "Aha! Observe! Signs of life at last!" There was no mistaking the slow, nasal drawl. "or Medicine Man Miller triumphs again!" There was a moment's silence, a moment in which Mallory was increasingly aware of the diminishing thunder of aero engines, the acrid, resinous smoke that stung his nostrils and eyes, and then an arm had passed under his shoulders and Miller's persuasive voice was in his ear. "Just try a little of this, boss. Ye olde vintage brandy. Nothin' like it anywhere." Mallory felt the cold neck of the bottle, tilted his head back, took a long pull. Almost immediately he had jerked himself upright and forward to a sitting position, gagging, spluttering and fighting for breath as the raw, fiery ouzo bit into the mucous membrane of cheeks and throat. He tried to speak but could do no more than croak, gasp for fresh air and stare indignantly at the shadowy figure that knelt by his side. Miller, for his part, looked at him with unconcealed admiration. "See, boss? Just like I saidnothin' like it." He shook his head admiringly. "Wide awake in an instant, as. the literary boys would say. Never saw a shock and concussion victim recover so fast!" "What the hell are you trying to do?" Mallory demanded. The fire had died down in his throat, and he could breathe again. "Poison me?" Angrily he shook his head, fighting off the pounding ache, the fog that still swirled round the fringes of his mind. "Bloody fine physician you are! Shock, you say, yet the first thing you do is administer a dose o spirits" "Take your pick," Miller interrupted grimly. "Either that or a damned sight bigger shock in about fifteen minutes or so when brother Jerry gets here." "But they've gone away. I can't hear the Stukas anymore." "This lot's comin' up from the town," Miller said morosely. "Louki's just reported them. Half a dozen armoured cars and a couple of trucks with field guns the length of a telegraph pole." "I see." Mallory twisted round, saw a gleam of light at a bend in the wall. A cavea tunnel, almost. Little Cyprus, Louki had said some of the older people had called itthe Devil's Playground was riddled with a honeycomb of caves. He grinned wryly at the memory of his momentary panic when he thought his eyes had gone and turned again to Miller. "Trouble again, Dusty, nothing but trouble. Thanks for bringing me round." "Had to,"

O I hae killed my reid-roan steid,

Miller interrupted. "But he was misinformed. I think Louki's unhurt. I think Junior here talked Louki into letting him stay in his placeLouki was always a bit scared of himthen he strolled across to his pals at the gate, told 'em to send a strong-arm squad out to Vygos to pick up the others, asked them to fire a few shotshe was very strong on local colour, was our loyal little palthen strolls back across the square, hoists himself up on the roof and waits to tip off his pals as soon as we came in the back door. But Louki forgot to tell him just one thingthat we were goin' to rendezvous on the roof of the house, not inside. So the boy-friend here lurks away for all he's worth up top, waiting to signal his Mends. Ten to one that he's got a torch in his pocket." Mallory picked up Panayis's coat and examined it briefly. "He has." "That's it, then." Miller lit another cigarette, watched the match burn down slowly to his fingers, then looked up at Panayis. "How does it feel to know that you're goin' to die, Panayis, to feel like all them poor bastards who've felt just as you're feeling now, just before they diedall the men in Crete, all the guys in the sea-borne and air landings on Navarone who died because they thought you were on their side? How does it feel, Panayis?" Panayis said nothing. His left hand clutching his torn right arm, trying to stem the blood, he stood there motionless, the dark, evil face masked in hate, the lips still drawn back in that less than human snarl. There was no fear in him, none at all, and Mallory tensed himself for the last, despairing attempt for life that Panayis must surely make, and then he had looked at Miller and knew there would be no attempt, because there was a strange sureness and inevitabifity about the American, an utter immobility of hand and eye that somehow precluded even the thought, far less the possibility of escape. "The prisoner has nothin' to say." Miller sounded very tired. "I suppose I should say somethin'. I suppose I should give out with a long spiel about me bein' the judge, the jury and the executioner, but I don't think I'll bother myself. Dead men make poor witnesses. . . . Mebbe it's not your fault, Panayis, mebbe there's an awful good reason why you came to be what you are. Gawd only knows. I don't, and I don't much care. There are too many dead men. I'm goin' to kill you, Panayis, and I'm goin' to kill you now." Miller dropped his cigarette, ground it into the floor of the hut. "Nothin' at all to say?" And he had digital cameras scope bird digiscoping image nothing at all to say, the hate, the malignity of the black eyes said it all for him and Miller nodded, just once, as if in secret understanding. Carefully, accurately, he shot Panayis through the heart, twice, blew out the candles, turned his back and was half-way towards the door before the man had crashed to the ground. "I am afraid I cannot do it, Andrea." Louki sat back wearily, shook his head in despair. "I am very sorry, Andrea. The knots are too tight." "No matter." Andrea rolled over from his side to a sitting position, tried to ease his tightly-bound legs and wrists. "They are cunning, these Germans, and wet cords can only be cut." Characteristically, he made no mention of the fact that only a couple of minutes previously he had twisted round to reach the cords on Louki's wrist and undone them with half a dozen tugs of his steel-trap fingers. "We will think of something else." He looked away from Louki, glanced across the room in the faint light of the smoking oil-lamp that stood by the grille door, a light so yellow, so dim that Casey Brown, trussed like a barnyard fowl and loosely secured, like himself, by a length of rope to the iron hooks suspended from the roof, was no more than a shapeless blur in the opposite corner of the stone-flagged room. Andrea smiled to himself, without mirth. Taken prisoner again, and for the second time that dayand with the same ease and surprise that gave no chance at all of resistance: Completely unsuspecting, they had been captured in an upper room, seconds after Casey had finished talking to Cairo. The patrol had known exactly where to find themand with their leader's assurance that it was all over, with his gloating explanation of the part Panayis had played, the unexpectedness, the success of the coup was all too easy to understand. And it was difficult not to believe his assurance that neither Mallory nor Miller had a chance. But the thought of ultimate defeat never occurred to Andrea. His gaze left Casey Brown, wandered round the room, took in what he could see of the stone walls and floor, the hooks, the ventilation ducts, the heavy grille door. A dungeon, a torture dungeon, one would have thought, but Andrea had seen such places before. A castle, they called this place, but it was really only an old keep, no more than a manor house built round the crenelated towers. And the long-dead Franldsh nobles who had built these keeps had lived well. No dungeon this, Andrea knew, but simply

As they play at the ba?

he'd had of the dead lieutenant had hit him badly. Andrea, bleeding from a gash on the cheek, was looking down at the two Schmeisser gunners lying at his feet. His face was expressionless. For a long moment Mallory looked at him, looked in slow understanding. "Dead?" he asked quietly. Andrea inclined his head. "Yes." His voice was heavy. "I hit them too bard." Mallory turned away. Of all the men he had ever known, Andrea, he thought, had the most call to hate and to kill his enemies. And kill them he did, with a ruthless efficiency appalling in its single-mindedness and thoroughness of execution. But he rarely killed without regret, without the most bitter self-condemnation, for he did not believe that the lives of his fellow-men were his to take. A destroyer of his fellow-man, he loved his fellow-man above all things. A simple man, a good man, a killer with a kindly heart, be was for ever troubled by his conscience, ill at ease with his inner self. But over and above the wonderings and the reproaches, he was informed by an honesty of thought, by a clearsighted wisdom which sprang from and transcended his innate simplicity. Andrea killed neither for revenge, nor from hate, nor nationalism, nor for the sake of any of the other "isms" which self-seekers and fools and knaves employ as beguilement to the battlefield and justification for the slaughter of millions too young and too unknowing to comprehend the dreadful futility of it alL Andrea killed simply that better men might live. "Anybody else hurt?" Mallory's voice was deliberately brisk, cheerful. "Nobody? Good! Right, let's get under way as fast as possible. The farther and the faster we leave this place behind, the better for all of us." He looked at his watch. "Almost four o'clocktime for our routine check with Cairo. Just leave that scrapyard of for a couple of minutes, Chief. See if you can pick them up." He looked at the sky to the east, a sky now purply livid and threatening, and shook his head. "Could be that the weather forecast might be worth bearing." It was. Reception was very poorBrown blamed the violent static on the dark, convoluted thunderheads steadily creeping up astern, now overspreading almost half the skybut adequate. Adequate enough to hear information they had never expected to hear, information that left them silenced, eyes stilled in troubled speculation. The tiny loudspeaker minolta magnum digital camera boomed and faded, boomed and faded, against the scratchy background of static. "Rhubarb calling Pimpernel! Rhubarb calling Pimpernell" These were the respective code names for Cairo and Mallory. "Are you receiving me?" Brown tapped an acknowledgment. The speaker boomed again. "Rhubarb calling Pimpernel. Now X minus one. Repeat, X minus one." Mallory drew in his breath sharply. Xdawn on Saturdayhad been the assumed date for the German attack on Kheros. It must have been advanced by one dayand. Jensen was not the man to speak without certain knowledge. Friday, dawnjust over three days. "Send 'X minus one understood,'" Mallory said quietly. "Forecast, East Anglia," the impersonal voice went on: the Northern Sporades, Mallory knew. "Severe electrical storms probable this evening, with heavy rainfall. Visibility poor. Temperature falling, continuing to fall next twenty-four hours. Winds east to south-east, force six, locally eight, moderating early tomorrow." Mallory turned away, ducked under the billowing lug-sail, walked slowly aft. What a set-up, he thought, what a bloody mess. Three days to go, engine u. s. and a first-class storm building up. He thought briefly, hopefully, of Squadron Leader Torrance's low opinion of the backroom boys of the Met. Office, but the hope was never really born. It couldn't be, not unless he was blind. The steep-piled buttresses of the thunderheads towered up darkly terrifying, now almost directly above. "Looks pretty bad, huh?" The slow nasal drawl came from immediately behind him. There was something oddly reassuring about that measured voice, about the steadiness of the washed-out blue of the eyes enmeshed in a spider's web of fine wrinkles. "It's not so good," Mallory admitted. "What's all this force eight business, boss?" "A wind scale," Mallory explained. "If you're in a boat this size and you're good and tired of life, you can't beat a force eight wind." Miller nodded dolefully. "I knew it. I might have known. And me swearing they'd never get me on a gawddamned boat again." He brooded a while, sighed, slid his legs over the engineroom hatchway, jerked his thumb in the direction of the nearest island, now less than

A knell to mine ear;

also exhibited an uncharacteristic nervousness; his fingers rubbed against his thumb. I think well have the entire manual finished by tomorrow evening. Set the next pair of brackets, will you, Lars Dahl, while I watch. Killashandra stepped away from the cabinet, stood next to Elder Ampris. Hes quick and deft and once Im sure hes doing it right, well work both ends against the middle. Ampris regarded her with a blink, his mind evidently jumping to another application of that phrase. His stiff and pleased smile forewarned her. You will then perhaps be delighted to have trained assistance. Trained? Killashandra glanced at Lars who had also suspended motion, catching the smugness in Ampriss dry tone. When we could not find you anywhere in the City, Guildmember, we apprised your Guild of your disappearance. And requested a Ampriss smile took on a faintly apologetic twist, replacement. Our need, as Im sure you appreciate, is urgent. It takes nearly ten weeks to get from the Scoria system to the Ophiuchian. Not by FSP courier ship. Ampris inclined his head briefly. Your Guild values you highly, Killashandra Ree Surely youve communicated news of my rescue? Ampris spread his hands deferentially. But of course. But we did not then know how promptly the Heptite Guild would respond. The courier ship has entered our atmosphere and at this very moment is landing at the shuttleport. Trag! And there was no doubt at all in Killashandras mind that that was who had been dispatched. I beg your pardon. Lanzecki would have sent Trag here. This man is capable? Eminently. However, the more we can do now, the sooner Trag and I will finish. If youll excuse me, Elder Ampris? And Killashandra signaled Lars to continue. Our last request to you, Ampris, although Ampris had not yet stirred from his vantage point those tubs of crystal shard could now be removed to wherever I or Trag will be instructing the trainees. Some of the larger pieces can be useful but they are a considerable nuisance sounding off in here. Yes, we should want to restore the monitors within this room, Guildmember, now that the organ is nearly repaired. Ampris flicked his hand at Thyrol who then issued the appropriate order to the guards. Killashandra did not canon powershot a460 digital camera silver dare glance in Larss direction. Dont bounce the tubs about, Killashandra warned, as the guards shuffled out with the first one. There now, Killashandra said when the door had slid shut leaving them alone, the shardsll be more accessible to us now. We can purloin the ones we want. Can you get your hands on a small plasfoam pouch? Yes. Whos this Trag? The best person they could possibly have sent. Lanzeckis Administration Officer. Killashandra chuckled. Id rather him than an army, and certainly Id rather him than any other singer they could have chosen. And a courier ship. I am flattered. Somehow Ampris is too pleased with this development. Yes, and fretting with impatience. Killashandra mimicked his hand gesture and Lars nodded grimly. Is it just that he wants the organ done? Or us out of the loft for good? She swiveled slightly so that she was facing the wall they could not shift. Why? She bit one corner of her lip, trying to solve its mystery. Then, with an exclamation, she ran her hands around the casing of the manual, picked up the lid and examined it closely. What are you looking for, Killa? Blood! Did you see any discoloration on the shards you handled? No If Camgail was killed by, and he gestured at the newly placed crystal spires, there would have been blood somewhere here! Was there only the official version of Comgails end? No. I had a chance to speak with one of the infirmary attendants and she said that he was covered in blood, crystal fragments had pierced eyes, face, and chest. With a little help, perhaps? But do you know for certain that it was Comgail who shattered the manual? Lars nodded slowly, his eyes gray and bleak, his face expressionless. And he had mentioned earlier that he knew the access to the subliminal units was through the organ loft? Again Lars nodded and both stared at the wall. Comgail did all the maintenance on the Festival organ? At Larss impassive nod, Killashandra scrubbed at her face with one hand. Did Ampris ever compose or perform? she asked in angry exasperation. The look of total surprise on Larss face gave

"His name shall be alterd," quoth William Stutely,

maps it showed topographical detail for no more than the first twenty miles inland, but it was sufficient for my purpose. It showed the twisting Kangalak glacier debouching into the Kangalak Fjord, the wide deep bay beyond the southern headland of the fjord, the northern headland continuing in a wide shallow smooth curve for many miles to the north. "Where did you say the destroyer was?" I asked. "The Wykenhaml I'm not sure." "Blocking the Kangalak Fjord here, perhaps?" I indicated the spot on the map. "No, that I'm certain of." He shook his head regretfully. "Captain said the pack-ice was too heavy, he couldn't risk his destroyer in any of the leads in case they closed." Hillcrest snorted in disgust. "I gather its hull is made of paper." "It's not much thickerI've served in destroyers. I don't blame him. But I'll bet his trawler, probably a specially strengthened job, is well inside the fjordand a submarine no great distance away. Look, this is all we can do." I traced my finger on the map. "We must parallel the glacier, maybe a mile away. With the slope of the valley sides Smallwood won't see us, and with his own engine running he can't hear us. Down here" "What's to stop him from cutting his engine now and again to listen?" Hillcrest demanded. "Because what Smallwood and Corazzini don't know about engines would fill an encyclopedia. They'd be dead scared to stop it in case they couldn't start it again.. . . Down here, at the base of the headland separating the fjord from the bay to the south -about a mile from the end of the glacier, I would saythe sides of the glacier valley fall away and level off into the plateau on either side. But there's bound to be some kind of moraine or shelter there. That's where we'll ambush them." "Ambush?" He frowned at me. "What's the difference between that and pursuing them? It'll still come to a fightand they can still hold pistols to the heads of Levin and the stewardess, and bargain from there." "There'll be no fight," I said quietly. "They've been following the left-hand side of the glacier all the way down, I see no reason why they should change. They should come into sight maybe fifty yards from where we're hidingfarther out on the glacier the going is impossible for tractors." I nodded at the telescopic sighted .303 in the corner. "With that Jackstraw can hit a three-inch target at a hundred yards. A man's head at fifty cannon 20d digital camera yards is six times that size. First he gets Corazzini, who's probably driving, and when Smallwood sticks his head out the back as he certainly willwell that's it." "But, good God, man, you can't do that!" Hillcrest was horrified. "Without a chance, without warning? It's murder, simple murder!" "Want me to go over the number of people they've murdered?" I shook my head. "You just don't begin to know those two, Hillcrest." "But" He broke off, turned to Jackstraw. "It's you he's asking to do it. What do you say?" "It will be a pleasure," Jackstraw said very softly. Hillcrest stared at us both, baffled incomprehension in his eyes. I suppose he thought he knew both of us well. And he did. But he didn't know what we had been through, words couldn't even begin to make him understand. The atmosphere was uncomfortable, tense even, and I was grateful for Joss's sudden calm words. "0943, Captain Hillcrest. Three minutes to go." "Good." He was, I could see, as glad of the interruption as I was. "Barclay"this to the cook, the only other of Hillcrest's men there, the other three were in the big driving cabin to make room for us'three Wessex rockets. Line them up on the and stand wait for the word. I'll go myself with the flare, two for safety. Give a beep on the horn, Joss, when it's time to set 'em off." I went with him to watch and the whole thing went off without a hitch. Dead on time, just seconds after the third rocket had been fired to curve upwards and explode into incandescent light in the star-dusted darkness above, we heard the high-pitched whine approaching out of the south-west, and in an incredibly short space of time a vague dark blur, carrying no navigation lights, screamed by five hundred feet overhead, banked in the distance, came at us again at much reduced speed, banked a second time and then, with a crescendoing banshee shriek of the jet engine, had vanished again into the vaguely lightening darkness to the south-east before we had realised that the pilot had made his drop. It was a measure of his complete self-confidence that he didn't even trouble to check the accuracy of his drop: but for a man skilled in landing on the handkerchief-sized flight deck of a carrier in the middle of the night this must have been a childishly simple exercise. There were two packages, not one, attached not to parachutes but to

When Robin Hood was about twenty years old,

mound of clothing, rode on the dog-sled while the others walked. The tractor was wide, the trail narrow and sometimes sloping outwards and downwards, and with a sideslip into the gaping crevasse that bordered our path nobody inside the cabin would have had any chance of escape. The first part was easy. The trail, sometimes not more than eight or nine feet broad, more often than not opened out into a shelf wide enough, almost, to be called the flat floor of a valley, and we made rapid progress. At noonI'd warned Hillcrest that we would be traversing the Vindeby Nunataks then and would have to miss our regular radio schedulewe were more than half-way through and had just entered the narrowest and most forbidding defile in the entire crossing when Corazzini came running up alongside the tractor and waved me down to a stop. I suppose he must have been shouting but I'd heard nothing above the steady roar of the engine: and, of course, I'd seen nothing, because they had all been behind me and the width of the tractor cabin made my driving mirror useless. Trouble, Doc," he said swiftly, just as the engine died. "Someone's gone over the edge. Come on. Quick!" "Who?" I jumped out of the seat, forgetting all about the gun I habitually carried in the door compartment as an insurance against surprise attack when I was driving. "How did it happen?" "The German girl." We were running side by side round a corner in the track towards the little knot of people forty yards back, clustering round a spot on the edge of the crevasse. "Slipped, fell, I dunno. Your friend's gone over after her." "Gone after her!" I knew that crevasse was virtually bottomless. "Good God!" I pushed Brewster and Levin to one side, peered gingerly over the edge into the blue-green depths below, then drew in my breath sharply. To the right, as I looked, the gleaming walls of the crevasse, their top ten feet glittering with a beaded crystalline substance like icing sugar, and here not more than seven or eight feet apart, stretched down into the illimitable darkness, curving away from one another to form an immense cavern the size of which I couldn't even begin to guess at. To the left, more directly below, at a depth of perhaps twenty feet, the two walls were joined by a snow and ice bridge, maybe fifteen feet long, one of the many that dotted the crevasse through its entire length. Jackstraw was standing on this pressed closely into one edge, holding an obviously dazed Helene in the crook of his right arm. It wasn't panasonic digital camera g-1 hard to work out Jackstraw's presence there. Normally, he was far too careful a man to venture near a crevasse without a rope, and certainly far too experienced to trust himself to the treachery of a snow-bridge. But, when Helene had stumbled over the edge, she must have fallen heavilyalmost certainly in an effort to protect her broken collar-boneand when she had risen to her feet had been so dazed that Jackstraw, to prevent her staggering over the edge of the snow-bridge to her death, had taken the near-suicidal gamble of jumping after her to stop her. Even in that moment I wondered if I would have had the courage to do the same myself. I didn't think so. "Are you all right?" I shouted. "I think my left arm is broken," Jackstraw said conversationally. "Would you please hurry, Dr Mason? This bridge is rotten, and I can feel it going." His arm broken and the bridge goingand, indeed, I could see chunks of ice and snow falling off from the underside of the arch on which he was standing! The matter-of-fact lack of emotion of his voice was more compelling than the most urgent cry could possibly have been. But for the moment I was in the grip of a blind panic that inhibited all feeling, all thought except the purely destructive. Ropesbut Jackstraw couldn't tie a rope round himself, not with an arm gone, the girl couldn't help herself either, both of them were helpless, somebody would have to go down to them, and go at once. Even as I stared into the crevasse, held in this strange motionless thrall, a large chunk of niv6 broke off from the side of the bridge and plummeted slowly down into the depths, to vanish from sight, perhaps two hundred feet below, long before we heard it strike the floor of the crevasse. I jumped up and raced towards the tractor sled. How to belay the man who was lowered? With only eight or nine feet between the edge of the crevasse and the cliff behind, not more than three men could get behind a rope, and, with perhaps two men dangling at the end of it what possible purchase could those three find on that ice-hard snow to support them, far less pull them up? They would be pulled over the edge themselves. Spikesdrive a spike into the ground and anchor a rope to that. But heaven only knew how long it would take to drive a spike into the icy surface with no guarantee at the end that the ice wouldn't crack and refuse to hold, and all the time that

For I vow and protest he shall sing us a mass

Mirbethan shook her head. Id think that crystal singing would provide a marvelous alternative. Optherians do not care to leave their planet, whatever their minor disappointments. You will excuse me, Guildmember Mirbethan broke the connection. Killashandra stared at the blank screen for a long moment. Of course, neither Mirbethan nor any of the quartette knew of her early background in music. Certainly none of them could possible know of her disappointment, nor how she would relate that to what Mirbethan had just admitted. If you failed to make the grade at the organ, there was nothing else for you on Optheria? There was no way in which Killashandra would buy Mirbethans statement that frustrated Optherian musicians would prefer to remain on the planet, even if they had been conditioned to the restriction from birth. And that tenor had sung with absolute pitch. Itd be a bloody shame to muzzle that voice in preference to an organ, however perfect an instrument it might be. Hazardous crystal singing might be as a profession, but it sure beat languishing on Optheria. A sudden thought struck her and, with a fluid stride, she went to the terminal, tapped for Library, and the entry on Ballybran. A much expurgated entry scrolled past, ending with the Code Four restriction. She queried the Files for political science texts and discovered fascinating gaps in that category. So, censorship was applied on Optheria. Not that that ever accomplished its purpose. However, an active censorship was not grounds for charter-smashing, and the Guild had only been requested to discover if the planetary exit restriction was popularly accepted. Well, she knew one person she could ask the tenor if he hadnt gone into hiding after last nights hunt. Killashandra grinned. If she knew tenors She had breakfasted the catering unit did offer a substantial breakfast and dressed by the time Thyrol arrived to inquire if she had rested, and more importantly, if she would like to start the repairs. He tactfully indicated her arm. Youve apprehended the assailant? Merely a matter of time. How many students in the Complex? she asked amiably as Thyrol led her down the hall to the lift. At present, four hundred and thirty. Thats a lot of suspects to examine. No student would dare attack digital slr cameras body only an honored guest of the planet. On most planets, theyd be the prime suspects. My dear Guildmember, the selection process by which this student body is chosen considers all aspects of the applicants background, training, and ability. They uphold all our traditions. Killashandra mumbled something suitable. How many positions are available to graduates? That is not an issue, Guildmember, Thyrol said with mild condescension. There is no limit to the number of fully trained performers who present compositions for the Optherian organ But only one may play at a time There are forty-five organs throughout Optheria That many? Then why couldnt one of those be substituted The instrument here at the Complex is the largest, most advanced and absolutely essential for the performance level required by the Summer Festival. Composers from all over the planet compete for the honor and their work has been especially written for the potential of the main instrument. To ask them to perform on a lesser organ defeats the purpose of the Festival. I see, Killashandra said although she didnt. However, once she had been admitted through the series of barriers and security positions protecting the damaged organ, she began to appreciate the distinction Thyrol had made. He had taken her to the rocky basements of the Complex, and then to the impressive and unexpectedly grand Competition Amphitheater which utilized the natural stony bowl on the nether side of the Complex promontory. Some massive early earthfault and a lot of weathering had molded the mounts flank into a perfect semicircle. The Optherians had improved the amphitheater with tiered ranks of individual seating units, facing the shelf on which the organ console stood. This was accessible only from the one entrance through which Thyrol now guided Killashandra. With a sincere and suitable awe, Killashandra looked about her, annoyed that she was gratifying Thyrols desire to impress a Guildmember even as she was unable to suppress that wonder. She cleared her throat, and the sound, small though it was, echoed faithfully back at her. The acoustics are incredible, she murmured and, as Thyrol smiled tolerantly, heard her words whispered back. She