Light began to spread through the manufactory. Irisis was on her way to the wall to make a last stand when a ma.s.sed cheer sounded. She ran up the steps three at a time. A panting scrutator appeared beside her.

Over the ridge to the west, between the mountains, appeared a flotilla of clankers. These were bigger than the ones the manufactory made. The great, ten-legged monstrosities had a pair of javelards at the front as well as the catapult at the rear.

'Twenty-seven clankers,' said Irisis. 'That's the most beautiful sight I've ever seen.'

All along the wall the soldiers were laughing, cheering and embracing one another. The workers of the manufactory began streaming up the steps to rejoice in the sight. Already the lyrinx were pulling back, melting into the forest and disappearing. It was over.

She looked across at the scrutator. His face was twisted into the most bitter anguish Irisis had ever seen on a man.

'What's the matter?' she asked, laying her hand on his arm. He did not respond. 'Xervish?'

He turned that gaunt face, pared of all superfluous flesh, to her. 'Do you see the ensign on the leading clanker?'

'Yes, of course. What of it?'

'That is the flag of my most bitter enemy; and yours, Irisis. It belongs to the man who will not rest until he destroys us both. Perquisitor Jal-Nish Hlar!'

TWENTY-EIGHT.

Irisis tried to breathe and found that she could not. The air felt as thick as the gruel they served in the refectory. She could not get it down. 'What will he do to us?' she gasped.

'He'll watch, and wait, and bide his time. He likes to drag these things out, the better to torment his enemies. We should go down. At least, I must. Stay back better that he does not see you straight away.'

Flydd trudged down the steps, back bowed, and her heart went out to him. The scrutator was as tough as boiled leather. A hard man but, underneath, a decent and honourable one. He had done his best. It had not been enough.

Gathering her crossbow and a pocketful of quarrels, Irisis headed for the rear of the manufactory. Most of the workers remained atop, to cheer the clankers in. She went out of the rear door and down to the ravine over which the wastes were dumped into the river. It was a horrible, reeking place suited for nothing except despair. She wandered along the cliff. Irisis had not been this way since her failed suicide attempt, when all that had saved her had been Nish going over the edge and ending up in Eiryn Muss's air-moss farm.

She could hardly remember that self now, so long ago did it seem. What had happened to Muss? He had not been a halfwit at all, but the scrutator's prober, or spy. Muss had disappeared just as his secret was revealed.

Irisis missed Nish. Could he still be alive? It seemed unlikely, but Nish was resourceful. If anyone could could survive it would be him. She paced along the escarpment. The smooth rocks were coated in brilliantly green spring moss, so soft she felt like taking off her boots and walking barefoot across it. Why not? Enjoy life's small pleasures while you may. survive it would be him. She paced along the escarpment. The smooth rocks were coated in brilliantly green spring moss, so soft she felt like taking off her boots and walking barefoot across it. Why not? Enjoy life's small pleasures while you may.

It was peaceful here. The damage to the manufactory could scarcely be seen. It looked an architectural abomination, but not the scene of a b.l.o.o.d.y and murderous battle.

Irisis sat by the drop-off. The lichens made a patchwork of colours green and grey, brown and yellow, and even red. They gave her an idea for a brooch. She began to plan it in her head, knowing she would never make it now.

It was funny the way life could turn out. Who could have imagined this just a few short months ago? She tossed a pebble in her hand, reached out to throw it over the edge, but drew back. Nish had done that, and look at the consequences. She saw them cascading on into the future for as long as time existed. The thought paralysed her, for a few seconds, then Irisis smiled, and shrugged, and dropped her pebble on the ground. She could not live her life that way. Dusting her hands, she headed back.

She reached the gravelled expanse out the front at the same time as the leading clanker. It clattered to a halt. The shooter leapt down and stood by the rear hatch with his hand gripping the lever, but did not open it. The rest of the clankers rattled in, almost filling the yard. All but the first disgorged armed, hard-bitten veterans, ten from each. They stood by their machines, at attention.

Xervish Flydd emerged from the shattered front gate, a small, withered man, standing alone. The rising sun caught the angles and planes of his face. He looked almost as ruined as the front of the manufactory.

The shooter of the leading clanker flung the hatch upwards. A figure emerged, straining to make it look easy, but unable to conceal the pain. His feet crunched on the gravel, he swayed, then snapped upright.

The perquisitor had once been a roly-poly little fellow but the plumpness had been etched away, revealing a stocky frame hard with muscle. His right arm had been cut off at the shoulder, which made him look lopsided. Irisis, who had done it to save his life, would remember his screams for all her remaining hours.

Jal-Nish's face had been torn apart in the attack and he had lost an eye. Irisis could not forget the torn ball of jelly dangling from its empty socket. The wounds had not healed in the weeks-long journey back to the manufactory.

The damaged parts of his face were now covered by a burnished platinum mask that hid the lost eye, the hideous red crater that had once been his nose and the warped and twisted mouth and cheek. It curved across below the other ear, where a thin band of the same silvery metal swept around the back of his round head to join up on the other side. Another band ran across his forehead and around, making an open helmet. A mouth opening, like a downwards-curving crescent moon, revealed nothing. He might have drunk through it using a straw, Irisis thought, though surely he would have to take off the mask to eat.

Irisis moved closer, walking on the paved path that ran along the side of the manufactory. She had to see the confrontation between the two, which would reveal her own fate. She was only a dozen steps away when the perquisitor's head whipped around. The single eye fixed on her. Irisis froze. The face showed no expression at all, but she sensed such feelings of rage and loathing that she could scarcely breathe.

He did not move for a handful of heartbeats, then turned away in a manner that dismissed her as worthless, and crunched across the gravel to the scrutator. She held her breath.

'Perquisitor Hlar!' The scrutator inclined his head. 'Never have we seen a more welcome sight.' He held out his hand.

Jal-Nish hesitated for a second, then took it. 'Scrutator!' His voice had once been rich and warm; now it was slurred as if he had been drinking. His ruined mouth could barely shape the words. He bowed and Irisis held her breath in case the mask came off. It did not. 'We would appear to be just in time.'

'The enemy have been unrelenting, Jal-Nish. They know the worth of this place, and its people.'

'Things have not gone well since you moved your station here,' said the perquisitor.

The words held a threat and Irisis was not the only one to notice it.

'I inherited a difficult situation.'

'That was some time back. I'd have expected that you would have sorted it out long ago.'

That was no way for a perquisitor to speak to his superior. Jal-Nish was hiding something.

'How goes the war, down on the coast?' the scrutator enquired.

If he was hoping to discomfort his enemy, it misfired.

'Badly, though we would do better if we had the clankers that sit here, rusting and controllerless.'

'Aren't you in charge of the node failures?' asked Flydd. 'What progress has been made there?'

'None so far,' Jal-Nish said grudgingly. 'I have put a new team on it, though, and I expect results very soon.'

'What team?'

'It is led by Mancer Flammas.'

The scrutator raised part of his eyebrow. 'A courageous choice, perquisitor. No doubt you have your reasons.'

'He won't let me down.' let me down.'

'I'm sure. But you've travelled a long way, and in haste. You must be as tired as we are. Come inside; breakfast is ready.'

'I'll inspect the damage, if you don't mind, then go down to the mine.'

'The mine has fallen into enemy hands.'

'What?' bellowed Jal-Nish. The soldiers swung around, their boots grating on the gravel. He lowered his voice. 'This is bad, scrutator. The Council, I need not remind you, is unhappy. When they hear this news ... I can't say how they will react, surr surr.'

'I am also unhappy unhappy, perquisitor, but I cannot do the impossible. It would take an army to defend this place against the forces gathered nearby and the Council has not seen fit to give me one. However, I do have a plan. I'll tell you about it while we do our inspection.' He drew the perquisitor toward the shattered gates.

Irisis relaxed. The confrontation was not going to be as violent as she had expected, though it had been bad enough. For Jal-Nish to speak to his superior that way showed considerable support on the Council, and little for Flydd.

She went back to her work, checking on the progress of each of the artisans and prentices, and inspecting every completed controller for flaws of any kind. There were none; her team was working well, though several of the prentices had to be reprimanded for not keeping up with their lessons.

Irisis could not blame them; neither could she concentrate. The perquisitor had disliked her from the moment they had met, but on the hunt for Tiaan, across the snowy plateau, that had turned to contempt. She felt the same way about him. After his callous attack on little Ullii, Irisis had struck Jal-Nish down, smashing his n.o.ble nose. Jal-Nish had ordered her death but the sergeant had refused to carry it out. The perquisitor had hated her ever since.

But that was nothing compared to her next crime. Horribly mutilated by Ryll the lyrinx, Jal-Nish had begged that they let him die but Nish had pleaded for his father to be saved. Irisis had done the ghastly operation out in the open, while a blizzard roared across that desolate plateau. Jal-Nish had survived, deformed and in constant torment. Now he lived for the opportunity to take an equally horrible revenge on Irisis. What's more, he had the perfect hold over her. He was convinced she had lost her artisan's talent and had been lying for years to cover it up.

It was not Jal-Nish's way to strike at once. He would draw it out, the longer the better. She went to bed early that night, falling into an exhausted sleep in which she was tormented by a vengeful perquisitor. Jal-Nish loomed over her, pulling away the mask to reveal torn, festering flesh. Yellow liquid oozed onto her forehead ...

She jerked awake and struck her flint striker at the lantern, needing light and lots of it. The room was empty, of course, and the door locked. She failed to go back to sleep.

Ullii had spent the past two days under her bed. She often slept there, curled up in the darkest corner. The noise was the worst. The screams, the impact of stone against walls, the crumbling of masonry, the clashing of weapons, the constant screaming, could not be blocked out even with earplugs and m.u.f.fs. There was too much sound. The impacts shook the whole building.

Worse, she had lost the ability to sink into the catatonic state that had saved her so many times. In it she felt nothing and not even a beating could rouse her. She had been sliding into that state when the lyrinx came after them in the mine, but had not been able to find it since. That frightened her, as did the sudden unreliability of her seeker's talent. Her life was changing and she did not know why. Ullii was losing the control she had worked so hard for.

Finally the battle noises stopped. She heard cheering and the rattle and squeak of clankers. Ullii already knew they were coming. She could have told the scrutator hours before, had he thought to ask her. The clankers' controllers had appeared in her mental map the previous day.

She knew it was the perquisitor. Having some talent for the Secret Art, as all perquisitors must, Jal-Nish made a recognisable knot in her matrix. He had struck her, that terrible day beside the frozen river. Ullii would never forgive him for it and would always fear him. In her experience, the strong preyed on the weak.

If only Nish were here. But Nish was lost with the balloon and she could not tell if he was dead or alive, for he left no trace in her lattice at all. Nish, Nish, Nish. She could not stop thinking about him. That day in the balloon basket, for the first time in her life, she had truly known love. Skin on skin. Flesh in flesh. Ecstasy. She had replayed it every day since, and every night, sometimes many times.

But the brilliance was fading like a message repeated too often. The memory was losing its power to move her. She wanted more of it, but Nish was gone. He had abandoned her, just as Myllii had. Her beloved twin brother was the only other person she had cared about. Love led only to abandonment. Her longings turned to despair.

Her nose picked up a faint, putrid odour. 'Come out, seeker! You are required down the mine.'

It was that hated voice, the perquisitor himself. Ullii dared not disobey him. His knot in her mental lattice was different, now. It was much larger than before, a swollen clot of jagged tangles. That alone would have told her to avoid him.

'Seeker! At once At once.'

She crept out from under the bed. The perquisitor stood at the door, with the scrutator behind him, and a dozen soldiers. The putrid odour was strong now, and it came from behind the mask. Ullii stood up, caught a stronger whiff and vomited on the floor.

A single speck landed on the perquisitor's shiny boot. He quivered and Ullii quaked, expecting him to smash her down. He tore the cover off her bed, wiped his boot with it and tossed it aside.

'Clean her up and bring her!' he said coldly.

Less than an hour later they were gathered at the entrance to the mine, along with four clankers and forty heavily armed soldiers. These were led by the perquisitor's captain, a completely bald man, even lacking eyebrows, but with a dense black beard clipped to the length of a week's growth. Four of his front teeth had been knocked out. His compact frame was densely muscled.

The grid was up and the entrance appeared empty. 'How many lyrinx can you sense in the tunnel, seeker?' rasped Jal-Nish. Lantern light danced on the cheek of his mask.

The mask terrified her, for what was behind it, and what it allowed. Hidden behind it, no horror would be beyond him. 'There are two,' she said, and felt a deep foreboding. 'And another one down near the lift.'

The captain relaxed visibly.

'Do your business, captain,' said the perquisitor.

The captain signalled. Soldiers moved forward in pairs, labouring under the weight of crossbows so large and heavy they had to be carried on a body frame. The clankers moved into position, well back from the entrance, two out on either side. Their javelards were trained on the tunnel portal.

The soldiers went in. The pair behind the first held up bright lanterns on poles. The lead soldiers readied their weapons.

'Come with me, seeker.' Jal-Nish reached for her hand.

She shuddered, but allowed him to take it. Ullii knew the penalty for disobedience.

'There's one!' a lantern-carrier roared. The leading pair of soldiers fired their curiously shaped crossbows.

The lyrinx screamed, the sound echoing and re-echoing through Ullii's head. The soldiers fell back to reload their weapons. Another pair took their places.

'It's clear down to the lifts,' someone called.

They pushed forward to the fallen enemy. The lyrinx was dead, its chest a horrible mess. Ullii could smell the blood. She wanted to run away but the perquisitor would not allow her.

'This weapon was my idea,' Jal-Nish said conversationally to Ullii. She tried to get away from the body but he held her easily. 'I thought of it after the disaster at the lyrinx ice-houses. Do you remember that, Ullii?'

She did not want to, but she did. All too well.

'The enemy are too fast, agile and tough. They are hard to kill, yet one lyrinx can destroy half a troop of soldiers. How can we even the odds, I kept asking myself? And I came up with this answer a crossbow that shoots not one bolt, but six. The centre one goes where it is aimed and the other five fan out around it. Six chances to kill the beast. If you're close, they all hit the target. No need to worry about an injured lyrinx getting up again. Clever, eh?'

Ullii could feel a scream building up. She hated violence of any kind.

'I'm speaking to you, seeker. Answer, or by the powers '

'Yes,' she whispered. 'Very clever.'

'I had my artificers make one up and it worked so well they're building five hundred more. A weapon like this could turn the war, seeker.'

'Yes,' she said faintly.

They found and killed another two enemy in the tunnels. The new crossbows were deadly here, for once spotted the lyrinx could go only forward or back, and either way they were vulnerable. Their chameleon ability did not help them, since Ullii always knew where they were. Before the end of the day the soldiers had secured the mine down to the seventh level, posting pairs of guards at the entrance to each, and half a dozen on the long tunnel where the creatures had gained entry. They kept going through the night. At sunrise the perquisitor returned to the manufactory. Standing in Flydd's doorway, he reported with some smugness that the long tunnel had been collapsed, eight lyrinx were dead and the mine was secure.

'What you failed to do in all your time here, I have done in a day,' said Jal-Nish from behind his shining platinum mask. He nodded formally to the scrutator, who was sitting at his table. 'I'm writing my daily despatches to the Council, if you have anything anything to report ...' to report ...'

Flydd did not reply.

'I will also be reporting on your crafter's incompetence.'

'What are you talking about?' snapped Flydd. 'Her controllers are the best we've ever had.'

'If you don't know, it is another black mark against you. Irisis gets her artisans to do the work she cannot do herself. She is a liar and a charlatan, hardly fit to be called artisan, much less crafter.'

'Nonsense,' snapped Flydd.

'Where are her controllers? We have not seen any in a month.'

'They only await suitable hedrons.'