"You know who we are," Tynan said coldly. "You therefore know what we represent . . . the power we hold in our ten hands. What you have to understand is just what, together, we might achieve."

Until that moment Thorn had been guessing-toying with half-truths. Now, suddenly, he saw it whole. In that image of the ten hands he pictured what the connection was. No, not a single connection, but a web.

A tightly woven web of connections. He listened, alert now. Whereas only moments before he had understood little, now he had it all. He needed only verbal confirmation.

"The Dispersion," he said calmly, confidently, as if he knew it for a fact. "You are all agents of the Dispersion."

Tynan smiled tightly. "Dispersionists. But tell the king this. Tell him he can have what he wants. Within limits, of course."

Thorn stared back at Tynan a moment, fixing him, then shook his head. "The Myghtern wants something else. Something you might think twice about giving him."

Tynan frowned, but it was Hastings who spoke next. "What does he want?" he asked, stepping up alongside Tynan.

Thorn felt the presence of the Myghtern in his throne behind him. Felt the power emanating from him; the raw, primal power of the man.

"He wants a wife. A bride from the Above."

Franke laughed contemptuously. "Impossible! Absurd!"

Thorn waited a second, then began again, speaking slowly, each word deliberate now. "He says that you will do this for him or he will drive you from his kingdom."

Nolen made to speak, then closed his mouth with a snap. He turned and looked to Tynan, who shook his head, but Hastings put his hand on Nolen's arm.

"Think. Just think before you say anything. And, Rutger . . . please, let me handle this."

There were exchanged glances, then Tynan gave Hastings a curt nod.

"He is determined," Thorn said, observing all. "He wants nothing else."

"For now . . ." Franke began, then fell silent as Hastings turned, a flicker of anger in his eyes.

"Tell him we are . . . reluctant, but . . ." Hastings sighed. "Thorn, you must know how things are. No woman from the Above would come down here. Not for any price. This place . . ." His eyes revealed the depths of his distaste. "It stinks. It's foul here, yes, even here where there's carpet on the floor and finery on the walls. It's . . ." He shrugged, unable to express the degree of his disgust.

"And yet you five are here. You want something." Thorn looked from face to face. "He means what he says. He'll arm the Clay against you if you deny him this."

Hastings nodded. "Okay. We agree. But it will take time. We cannot just buy a bride.""Ten days," Thorn said. "That's all he gives you. Ten days."

"It's enough," said Tynan, winking at Nolen beside him.

Thorn turned, facing the Myghtern again. "Ya," he said.

The big man smiled, but his hands still gripped his knees, as if in torment. "Dres'n benen," he said.

"Y'ethom dhym a."

The Above woman. I need her.

The audience was at an end. In the cage the bird turned on its perch, fluffing, out the darkness of its tiny feathers. And its golden eyes saw nothing.

MAJOR AXEL HAAVIKKO had set up his mobile operations room in the lower garden. His men were camped in the fields close by, their tents in neat rows facing the bay.

While Haavikko spoke to his General, Ben stood in the doorway of the half-track, listening in.

"But we have to go in now, sir, before they can prepare against us. If what Shepherd's told us is correct, all that's standing between us and his headquarters is an electrified mesh fence."

Rheinhardt stared back at his Major uncompromisingly, his close-shaven head giving him the appearance of a sophisticated thug.

"I have to disagree with you, Major. If we go in now we could ruin it all. Shepherd saw your operative, you say?"

"Yes, sir. The one called Thorn. He was standing beside the Myght-ern, it seems."

"I see. Then it's imperative that we give Thorn time to get out of there. No? He's been at the thick of it, after all. He'll know what's going on. And it's important that we find out exactly what's been happening down there. In the circumstances I order you to hold off for forty-eight hours. If the situation changes come back to me for orders, Major. I want no maverick operations."

Haavikko's face showed nothing of the disappointment he felt. "Sir!" he said, bowing toward the screen as it went blank.

"You think he's made the wrong call, don't you?" Ben said quietly.

Haavikko hesitated, knowing that Ben was an adviser to Li Yuan, then gave the barest nod.

"Why?"

Ben's directness surprised Haavikko. He shrugged and looked away, as if he wasn't going to answer, then met Ben's eyes again.

"Because they're warned now. Forty-eight hours . . ." He shook his head. "In forty-eight hours they could pack it all up and move out. It's what SimFic used to do under Berdichev. They were running all manner of illicit operations and by the time we'd get permission to hit them, they'd be gone."

"And this . . . this smells the same?"

Haavikko nodded and then grimaced. "No maverick operations, eh?Why, it's so-called maverick operations that have saved us all these years. If we'd stuck to what the General decided, we'd all be dead."

Ben raised an eyebrow. "Speaking off the record, I assume?"

Haavikko's expression hardened, realizing what he'd been saying. "Of course? . . ."

"And what if, as Li Yuan's Chief Adviser and therefore General Rheinhardt's nominal superior, I was to order you back into the Clay ... to recover some property I left there. How would you feel about that?"

Haavikko stared at him a moment, then grinned broadly. "Why, I feel I would be compelled to accept your instructions . . . sir."

LIKE ALL ABOUT HIM, the Myghtern dreamed of light; of an open sky and a small round sun that shed its warmth on bare flesh.

"But you've seen it, surely? There are ways out of here."

The big man placed one of his huge hands beneath his thickly bearded chin. "No," he said fiercely. "It would only anger me."

But that was not entirely true. Thorn knew what it really was-he had seen it in the Myghtern's warriors that time when they had come to the settlement for him. Like them, the Myghtern was afraid. Afraid of the open sky and its terrifying brightness. Dreams were enough for him.

And among those dreams, the dream of a beautiful Above wife. A straight-boned woman the equal of himself, not some scraggy, breastless woman of the Clay, deformed and stinking-breathed.

Dreams. And as below, so Above. The five from the Above-they, too, had their dream: a dream of the dispersion of humanity among the stars. A dream as old as the idea of space technologies itself. Of leaving the teeming, overcrowded earth and finding other planets. A dream of freedom from the tyranny of the Seven-or of the One Man who remained, Li Yuan.

A dream-and a conspiracy. Five men, planning something here where no eyes could spy on them.

Here, beneath the T'ang's great City.

But soon he would know; would see with his own eyes just why these men had come here to bargain with this barbarian chief.

FOR AN HOUR or so Thorn was left to his own devices. Tak had seemed distracted earlier. Something had happened; something he '{ didn't want to mention, not even to the Myghtern. But when Tak called on him again he seemed transformed, reenergized somehow.

"What's happened?" Thorn asked as they made their way down Boscawen Street to the Mansion House.

"It's Jackson," Tak said, beaming. "He's back. I didn't expect him for days yet, but he's here." "Jackson?"

Tak glanced at him. "You'll see. He's been to Africa. Africa . . ." He said the word softly, reverently, as if it were a dream. "So what does Jackson do?"

"He arranges things. Acts as a kind of go-between. The five who are here . . . that's his doing. But he's not their agent, nor the Myght-ern's, come to that."

Thorn nodded, loath to push this line of questioning too far, lest Tak get suspicious. But for once Takseemed happy to volunteer information.

"He's been here a long time now. Two years by his own reckoning. All this"-Tak indicated the refurbished street-"it wouldn't exist without him. He made it possible. In return the Myghtern grants him favors." "Favors?"

Tak nodded. "He has some land, east of here." Thorn slowed as they came to the steps and looked at Tak. "He must be a great man, this Jackson."

"Oh, he is," Tak said, the certainty in his voice making Thorn wonder what Tak's relationship to him was.

Then, unexpectedly, Tak stopped and turned to him, holding his arm. "I've misread you, Thorn. I thought . . . Well, let me be frank with you. Jackson warned me that there were intruders in the Clay. Operatives, he calls them. When I had news of you I thought you were one of them. Yesterday, however, I took a prisoner. A big man, built like one of the Above. But he wasn't . . . well, he wasn't real. I didn't understand it at first, but Jackson explained it to me. My men thought he was a wizard, but he wasn't, he was just artificial. His hand . . . well, he detached his hand and used it to escape. And then, when I pursued him, his Above masters came for him in one of their half-tracks and rescued him." Thorn nodded, stunned by Tak's outpouring. "I see." Tak squeezed his arm. "It's all right. No harm was done.

All he saw was the inside of a cell. But you . . . well, I must apologize to you, Thorn."

"There's no need," he said.

"Oh, there is. But come now, let's go inside. Jackson's waiting for us."

Jackson was standing with his back to Thorn when he entered, talking to the Myghtern. Tak touched Thorn's arm, indicating he should stay, then went across. For a moment Tak exchanged words with both men, then, with a pleasant laugh, Jackson turned to face Thorn.

Thorn stared at that face and felt the shock of it judder through him. DeVore ... he was looking at DeVore!

Letting nothing betray the fact of his recognition, he stepped forward to greet the man, bowing, then looking to Tak as if for a lead.

"So you're the trader, huh?" Jackson said, his behavior so pleasant, so at odds with what Thorn knew of the man, that his head swam at the great gulf that lay between the two. Why, this man was responsible for thousands, no ... millions of deaths.

"My name is Thorn," he said, lowering his head, relieved to note that there was no sign of suspicion in DeVore's eyes.

"Well, Thorn, I understand you've done a good job for my friend the Myghtern. He's been in need of a good translator for some while. I do what I can, and Tak here struggles manfully, but from what I've heard you have a talent for it. Stick with it, Thorn, and you'll be well rewarded. Things are changing down here. Civilization's coming to the Clay!"

Thorn nodded and smiled, as if pleased by what DeVore had said, but another part of his mind was furiously considering what this meant. If DeVore was here . . .

He had to let someone know, and the sooner the better. Everything else he'd seen and heard down here was as nothing beside that single, solitary fact. DeVore . . . DeVore was behind it all!

Good, he thought. But how am I to get away?He could not just walk away. At least, not yet. Not until after the feast.

"Are you coming to the feast, this evening, Shih Jackson?"

DeVore smiled back at him. "I am afraid I can't. There are things I have to do. But if you'd be my guest this afternoon, Shih Thorn? My friends from the Above want to see what their money has paid for."

"I'd like that," Thorn said, surprised by the invitation.

"Good." DeVore reached out and held his shoulder. "Then meet me at the High Cross two hours from now. And wear some stout walking boots, Shih Thorn. You'll have need of them."

MORE TROOPS HAD BEEN arriving all morning, landed from huge assault carriers on the new strip the Security engineers had laid in the upper meadow. They had pitched their tents in the lower fields, their glossy black half-tracks-new machines used normally for the defense of the Plantations-lined up along the upper edge of the strip. Ben stood with Haavikko in the lower garden, watching the activity in the fields surrounding the cottage. Everywhere you looked there were signs of hurried preparations.

Equipment was being unpacked, weaponry stripped down and cleaned. Soldiers drilled, or washed, or simply took the opportunity to rest before the attack that evening. At the upper end of the field to the left of the cottage a huge mess tent had been set up. Soldiers in their shirtsleeves queued to go inside, joking among themselves in the sunlight.

Ben sighed and looked to Haavikko. "It's a wonderful sight, don't you think, Major?"

Haavikko nodded, but he was uncomfortable in Ben's presence. The intensity of the young man was hard to get used to. And when he looked at you.

Ben smiled thoughtfully, the tiny remote that always hovered about him drifting slowly to one side.

"Sometimes I wonder how it must have been in the old days, before the City. To see an army of a million men on the battlefield. Now, that must have been a sight!"

Haavikko looked down. "I've seen half a million lined up ready for battle. In West Africa. In the campaign against Wang Sau-leyan. And I've seen corpses stacked ten deep, six wide for half a li. The stench!" He grimaced.

"You don't like war, do you, Major Haavikko?" Haavikko looked up, meeting Ben's eyes directly. "No.

I've no love of it, if that's what you mean. I've had too many friends killed or badly wounded to be fond of so-called glory. But it's a necessity of our world, and I'll not shirk my duty."

"And yet you seemed keen earlier when I agreed to countermand the General's orders. . . ." "That's different." "Why?"

Haavikko drew himself up straight. Ben might be his nominal superior, but he did not like this line of questioning.

"War-I mean war like we saw it in Africa-may not be a pleasant thing, but at least there's some element of honor in it. All this skulking in the darkness . . . that's a weasel's game!"

Ben laughed. "So you mean to cleanse the Clay?"

"Yes."

"Why?"Why? Because the Enclave was their last hope. If it fell, then the darkness would be everywhere, and that could not be tolerated. To root out every last trace of opposition was his task, almost his obsession now.

"Because I must," he answered, damned if he'd justify himself any further than that. But Ben seemed to accept his answer, or perhaps sense his reluctance.

"Even so, Rheinhardt will be angry, don't you think?"

Rheinhardt . . . He sighed and looked down, disturbed. Rheinhardt did not understand. He lacked the proper sense of urgency. Like all of the older generation, he was complacent: he did not see just how fragile their existence as a society was.

He feared for the years ahead; feared for them in more than a personal sense. For himself he cared little; had cared nothing, in fact, since the death of his sister, Vesa. No, his was a generalized fear: a fear for Humankind itself. Life here on earth was tenuous at best. Destroy the North European Enclave and there was the distinct possibility of radical ecological destabilization.

R.E.D. It was the doomsday scenario, the one all his colleagues in the service talked of constantly; the final kicking away of the props of terrestrial existence.

"What will your soldiers use?" Ben asked.