A quarter of an hour later they stepped through the door of the Merry Executioner, a pub three blocks from the Charterhouse and their haunt of old.

Over the last few years, a shocking number of London's centuries-old drinking houses had been quietly replaced by chain-owned franchises-establishments that were not genuine English pubs but rather deftly manufactured replicas of what an American tourist thought a pub should be. Deirdre had mistakenly walked into one not long after their return to London. The too-bright brass railing on the bar and the random coats of arms on the walls couldn't hide the fact that the steak-and-kidney pie came out of a microwave and the bartender didn't know the difference between a black-and-tan and a half-and-half.

In a way, the bland commercialization of London's pubs reminded Deirdre of the workings of Duratek Corporation. That kind of thing was right up their alley-take something true and good, and turn it into a crass mockery in order to make a tidy profit. Wasn't that what they wanted to do to AU-3, to the world called Eldh? She could see it now: rollercoasters surrounding the medieval stone keeps, and indigenous peasants in the castle market hocking cotton candy and plastic swords imported from Taiwan in order to keep sticky-fingered Earther tourists from noticing the smokestacks rising in the distance.

Luckily, the M.E. hadn't succumbed to the scourge of commercialization in Deirdre's absence. The dingy stone exterior and slightly grimy windows were just unsanitary-looking enough to assure foreigners would hastily pass by, shrieking children in tow. Inside, things were as dim and warmly shabby as Deirdre remembered. A comforting drone of conversation rose on the air from a scattering of locals. She and Farr slipped into a corner booth and caught the bartender's eye. He nodded. Scant minutes later they sipped their pints: Newcastle for Farr, Bass Ale for Deirdre.

Deirdre gave Farr a speculative look over the rim of her glass. "Better now?"

He set down his own glass and leaned back. "Marginally," he said, gazing at the battered surface of the table and the pair of manila envelopes they had been given.

"So, are you going to open it, Hadrian?"

"Maybe. I suppose I really haven't decided."

Deirdre let out a groan. "Please spare me the I'm-too-cool-to-care routine. You know as well as I do, that for all the rules we broke, and for all the havoc we caused, we're the first Seekers in centuries-maybe even the first since Marius Lucius Albrecht was a Seeker himself-to report real, verifiable, and multiple Class One Encounters. We've done the one thing the Seekers have always wanted to do: we've met travelers from other worlds." She leaned over the table, letting her smoky green eyes burn into him. "Admit it. You want to know what the Philosophers have planned for us now as much as I do."

Farr's expression was unreadable. He flicked a hand toward the envelopes. "Ladies first."

He had called her on this one. It was time to show she wasn't bluffing. Deirdre picked up the envelope marked with her name, tore off one end, and turned it over.

A laminated card fell to the table. On the card was a picture of herself, her name, her signature, and the sigil of the Seekers: a hand holding three flames. So it was a new ID card, that was all, a replacement for the one they had taken from her at the first debriefing months ago. She turned it over to look at the reverse side.

Farr sat up straight and drew in a sharp breath. Deirdre raised an eyebrow, glancing at him.

"What is it, Farr?"

"Those bastards. Those cunning, diabolical bastards."

Deirdre frowned and followed Farr's gaze to the back of the card. It bore her thumbprint-no doubt in ink laced with her DNA, taken from blood samples the Seekers had on file. The DNA signature in the ink could be read with an ultraviolet scanner, providing a level of authentication that was virtually impossible to counterfeit. However, as interesting as the technology was, that couldn't be the source of Farr's outburst.

Then, in the lower corner of the card, she saw the small series of dots and lines-a computer code printed in the same DNA ink. Next to the code was a single, recognizable symbol: a crimson numeral seven.

A jolt of understanding sizzled through Deirdre. She looked up at Farr, her eyes wide. When she spoke, it was in a whisper of wonder. Or perhaps dread.

"Echelon 7. . ."

Farr grabbed the other envelope, shredded it, and snatched his new ID card form the debris. He flipped the card over, then tossed it on the table with a grunt. Like Deirdre's, his card was marked with a red seven.

He slumped back in the booth, his expression stricken. "Now," he murmured. "After all these years, they finally give it to me now. Damn them to hell." He leaned over the table, voice hoarse. "Do you understand what this means? With this card, there's nothing that's barred from you. Every file, every artifact, every document and bit of data-this card gives you access to all of them. With this, the deepest secrets of the Seekers will be at your disposal. Everything but the private files of the Philosophers themselves. It's all yours."

"And yours, too, Hadrian."

"I don't think so."

Deirdre gave an exasperated sigh. "What are you talking about? I thought this was what you wanted."

Farr shrugged, running a thumb over his card. "I suppose I did want this once. But I can't say I really know what I want anymore. Except maybe that's not true, either. Maybe I do know what I want, only it isn't this." He flicked the card away from him across the table.

Deirdre snatched it up. "This is ridiculous, Hadrian. You're one of the most important agents the Seekers have, and they've rewarded you for your work. Why is that so hard to bear?"

Farr let out a bitter laugh. "Come now, Deirdre, certainly you're not that guileless, not after what we've witnessed. This is no reward. It's simply another ploy to control us, to make us behave in the manner they wish. Think of what we've seen, what we know. And think of who besides the Seekers might want that knowledge for themselves."

"Duratek," she said on reflex.

"Exactly. The Philosophers will do anything to get us to come back and to keep us out of the hands of Duratek-even if it means giving us what we've always wanted. But that doesn't mean we're anything more than the puppets we were in Colorado, when they cut us off from the order."

Anger bubbled up inside Deirdre, at Farr-and, she had to admit, at the machinations of the Philosophers. As much as she would have liked to deny it, there was a ring of truth to Farr's words. But it didn't matter.

"So what?" she said. "So the Philosophers are trying to manipulate us. The fact is, no matter why they gave them to us, these cards still work." She reached across the table and took his hand. "Think of what we can do with them, Hadrian, what we can learn."

"No." Farr pulled his hand from hers. "I'm not resuming my work with the Seekers, Deirdre. I'm resigning from the order as of this moment."

She glared at him. "You can't quit, Hadrian. I know; I tried it once. And you were the one who told me that leaving the Seekers isn't an option, that it's a union that can't be broken."

"It seems I was mistaken."

Deirdre hardly believed what she was hearing.

Farr's handsome face was haggard but not unsympathetic. "I'm sorry, Deirdre, I truly am. I know it's difficult. But you have to face the fact that we've lost."

"That we've lost what?"

"Our belief."

She sat back, staring as if slapped. In all the years she had known him, Farr had never wavered in his quest for other worlds, had never stopped believing in them. "I don't understand. You were there, Hadrian, on the highway to Boulder. You saw it all with your own eyes."

"You misunderstand me. I haven't lost my belief in other worlds. I know they exist, just as you do. It's my belief in the Seekers I've lost. And from everything you're telling me, you have as well."

She struggled for words but could find none.

"To Watch, To Wait, To Believe-that was our motto. We thought all we had to do was keep our eyes open, be patient, and one day it would happen, one day the Philosophers would reveal everything, and the door would open for us. Well, the door did open, only it wasn't the Philosophers who did it." He laughed, and the cold sound of it made her shiver.

"Stop it, Hadrian."

"I used to believe the Philosophers knew everything, that they were infallible. But it turns out they're not. They make mistakes just like the rest of us. Do you think our mission in Denver went even remotely as they had planned?"

"I said stop it."

"We don't have to be their playthings, Deirdre. And as we learned in Denver, we don't need them or the magic of their little plastic cards in order to find other-"

She hit the table with a hand. Beer sloshed, and patrons turned their heads.

Farr was watching her, one eyebrow raised. She drew a breath, steadying her will.

"Don't even think about it," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "I mean it, Hadrian. Leaving the Seekers is one thing. You're mad to do it, but that's your prerogative. If you want to start a nice quiet life as a shopkeeper or an accountant, that's fine. But leaving the Seekers and continuing your...work is something else altogether."

He started to speak, but she held up a hand.

"No-shut up for once in your life and listen to me. The Seekers have eyes everywhere, you know that better than anybody. And you also know how the Philosophers feel about renegades. If they can't be sure of your allegiance, they'll make sure no one else can either."

She locked her eyes on his and listened to the thudding of her heart. For a moment she thought she had him, that he had finally seen reason. Then a smile touched his lips-it was a fond expression, sad-and he stood up.

So it was over; the words escaped her anyway. "Please, Hadrian. Don't go like this."

He held out a hand. "Come with me, Deirdre. You're too good for them."

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. Farr was wrong. It wasn't just their belief they had lost. He had lost Grace Beckett to another world. And Deirdre had lost Glinda to the fire in the Brixton nightclub. To Duratek.

Yet Deirdre hadn't lost her faith. There was still so much to learn, and with the new card the Seekers had given her-with Echelon 7-there was no telling what she might discover. Maybe there was something in the Seeker's files about Surrender Dorothy and its not-quite-human patrons. Maybe there was something that would help her decipher the language on Glinda's ring. The pieces of the puzzle could all be there, waiting to be matched together in the Seekers' database, just like the Graystone and Beckett cases.

Deirdre gripped the silver ring on her right hand. "I can't go with you, Hadrian. I have to stay here. It's the only chance I have to learn what I need to."

"And that's the reason I have to go."

Farr's smile was gone now, but despite his grim expression, there was something about him-a fey light in his eyes-that made him seem eager. He had always taken risks-that was how he had risen so high so quickly in the Seekers-but he had never been one to recklessly thrust himself into danger. Now Deirdre wasn't so sure. In the past, she had been angry with Farr, had been awed by him, and even envious of him. Now, for the first time, she was afraid for him.

"What are you going to do?" she said.

He shrugged on his rumpled coat. "You're a smart girl, Deirdre, and you've got good instincts. That's why I requested you for my partner. But you're wrong about something."

"About what?"

"Before, you said that we've done the one thing the Seekers have always wanted to do. Except that's not quite true." Farr put on his hat, casting his face into shadow. "You see, there's still one class of encounter we haven't had yet. Good-bye, Deirdre."

He bent to kiss her cheek, then turned and made for the door of the pub. There was a flash of gray light and a puff of rain-scented air.

Then he was gone.

There was a package from the Seekers waiting for her when she stepped through the door of her flat. Deirdre set her keys next to the cardboard box on the Formica dinette table. The landlady must have let them in.

Or maybe the Seekers have a skeleton key that works for all of London.

She wouldn't put it past them.

The Seekers' box took up almost the entire table. There was no mark on it, not even a mailing label-only a small symbol stamped in one corner: a hand with three flames. What was contained within, waiting to be revealed?

Deliberately, she pulled her gaze from the box and picked up instead the wooden case that held her mandolin. It was too quiet in this place; every thought was like a shout in her head. Maybe a little music would help.

She strummed the mandolin and winced. The thing could never seem to hold a tune in this damp London air. She tightened the strings, then strummed again. This time she smiled at the warm tone that rose from the instrument, a sound as welcome and familiar as the greeting of an old friend.

Without thought or direction, her fingers began to pluck out a lilting Irish air. It was the first tune she had learned to play as a girl at her grandmother's house, after finding the mandolin on a high shelf. She supposed she had been no more than eight or nine, and small for her age, so that she barely had been able to finger chords and strum at the same time. Now the mandolin nestled perfectly against the curve of her body, as if it had been fashioned just for her.

More songs came to her fingertips, bright and thrumming, or slow and deep as a dreaming ocean, filling the flat with music. Her mind drifted as she played, back to the days when she had been a bard and nothing more, wandering to a new place, earning a little money with her music, then moving on. That was before she had ever heard of Jack Graystone or Grace Beckett. Before Travis Wilder was anything other than a gentle saloon keeper in a small Colorado town with whom she had almost had an affair. Before she met Hadrian Farr in that smoky pub in Edinburgh, fell like countless other foolish women for the danger and mystery in his dark eyes, and found her way into the Seekers.

It was only as she thought how strange and unexpected were the journeys on which life could lead one that she realized it was a song about journeys she was playing. In a low voice, she sang along with the final notes.

We live our lives a circle,

And wander where we can.

Then after fire and wonder,

We end where we began.

It was a simple tune, yet with a sadness to it that made her heart ache. The words almost reminded her of something. Something that had happened in Castle City, something she had forgotten...

She set down the mandolin and moved over to the trunk where she had stowed her few belongings. After a bit of rummaging, she pulled out a leather-bound book-one of her journals. One lesson Farr had taught her early in her career as a Seeker was to take notes. Lots of them. She checked the label on the spine to make sure it was the right volume, then headed back to the sofa. she flipped through the pages, trying to remember.

Three words caught her eye, and her heart fluttered in her chest.

Fire and wonder....

Quickly, she read the entire entry. Yes, she remembered now. It was the day she had ridden alone into the canyon above Castle City to make a satellite phone call to Farr. There, by the side of a deserted road, she had encountered a pale girl in an archaic black dress. Only later did she learn that both Grace Beckett and Travis Wilder had encountered this same girl, that her name was Child Samanda, and that there were two others she seemed to travel with: a preacher named Brother Cy, and a red-haired woman named Sister Mirrim.

The Seekers had never been able to locate any trace of these three individuals, but that didn't surprise Deirdre. Because Deirdre had known in an instant this was no normal child.

Cradling the journal, Deirdre ran her finger over the conversation she had transcribed over a year ago. Again she read the girl's final words, spoken just before she vanished like a shadow in the sun.

Seek them as you journey, the child had said.

What do you mean? Deirdre had asked. Seek what?

Fire and wonder.

She set down the journal and found herself staring once more at the box on the table. Maybe it was a hunch. But she went to the box, broke the tape with a key, opened it, dug through layers of biodegradable packing peanuts, and pulled out something cool and hard. It was a notebook computer. The machine was sleek and light, encased in brushed metal; no doubt it was the latest-greatest money could buy. Was this another gift from the Seekers meant to bribe her?

She put the computer on the dinette table, opened it, and pressed the power button. A chime sounded as it whirred to life; the battery was charged. A login screen appeared, but there was no place to type her agent name or password.

Maybe you don't need to, Deirdre.

She turned the computer, studying it. There-inserted into the side was a silvery expansion module. The module bore a thin slit, about the width and thickness of a crdit card. Deirdre reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out her new ID card. It slid into place with a soft snick.