"Into the City. I'm wanted. Li Yuan has asked for me."

Sampsa felt himself being lowered. His father stood back, smiling. "It won't be for long, but I want you to look after your mother. And no more diving. Not until I'm back, anyway. Then maybe I'll come in with you."

Sampsa's eyes were like saucers now. "You can dive?"

Kim laughed. "Of course. Where do you think you got it from?"

JELKA STOOD AT the bedroom window, watching as the cruiser slowly settled on the lawn outside.

Behind her Kim was packing an overnight case.

"Can't you do it here?" she asked, watching as the rotors slowed and the ramp slowly hissed down.

He turned to look at her. "The corpse is there, at Bremen. And all the information. They're loath to let it out of their sight. Understandably. Besides, they're hoping to get further copies. They can't bring them all here."

"Why not?" she asked, unusually petulant; the Marshal's daughter briefly. "If I had my way, I'd order them to."

He laughed, then grew serious. "I thought of asking to have it all shipped in here-after all, I've the laboratories. But then I thought, what if Lehmann has spies in Bremen? And what if they find out where the copies are being shipped to? And what if they try and attack this place?"

She shivered, then turned to him. It was the nightmare she'd always feared: that this, her safe place-her place at the eye of the storm- should be invaded.

"No," she said. "You were right. You must go there. It won't be long. It's just . . ."

He went to her and held her. He knew what it was without her saying. For six years now they had not been separated. For six long years they had spent every night together. And now, as the City slid once more into chaos, they were to be separated again.

"Your father . . ." he said, drawing back from her. "Should I go to see him?"

She stared at him a moment, saddened, thoughtful, then shrugged. "What if he won't see you? He's always refused before now. Why should this time be any different?""Because I've heard he's ill."

He saw the movement in her face; the concern. She had ceased to be his daughter years ago. He had disowned her the day she'd married him. But still she loved the old man; still she worried about him.

"If he wants me to come . . ."

"We'll see, huh? But I must go." He smiled encouragingly. "The quicker I go, the quicker I'm back."

He turned and picked up his bag.

"Kim?"

He half turned. "Yes?"

"Where was Sampsa? I heard you calling him."

"Sampsa?" He laughed, then turned back, making his way out of the door. Jelka followed. "He was down in the cave. You know . . . in our special place. That's why he didn't hear me."

"Ah . . ."

He smiled then reached up, on tiptoe, to kiss her.

"I'll miss you," she said.

"And I you."

"Take care."

"I will."

"And, Kim ..."

"Yes?"

"If you do see him, give him this."

She placed a tiny, smooth-edged cassette into his hand. He knew what it was without asking. It was the holo she had taken of Sampsa last Sjummef. The one where he'd recited "The Robbery of the Sun and the Moon" from the Kalevala-the old man's favorite piece.

He nodded. "I'll give it to him, if I can. But I must go. I love you."

"And I you."

He turned, running for the cruiser, the two guards jumping up after him and pulling the hatch closed.

Jelka stood there awhile, watching the craft rise into the early evening sky, then turn and speed off south.

Gone, she thought, noticing Sampsa for the first time, sitting on the wall by the gate, watching the cruiser diminish to a speck.

You've been diving off the rocks again, she thought, noting how slick his hair was, how his clothes clung to him. Good thing your father doesn't know what you do, he'd go mad with worry.IT was QUIET in the barn. Shafts of light from knotholes in the weathered slats threaded the deep shadow. Among them crept the boy, like a cat stalking his prey. In a stall at the far end the Myghtern slept. You could hear his ragged breathing in the silence.

For a moment the boy rested, his back to the wooden barrier, his eyes taking in everything. Browns and golds dominated the barn; a hundred different shades of each, each one distinct, nameable. And the scents ...

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, then, shivering, slowly turned and poked his head up, peering over the barrier.

The Myghtern lay on his back, mouth open, arms at his sides. His hands lay open, palm upward in drunken abandonment. The boy smiled and ducked down.

It would be easy.

He slipped the tinder from inside his cotton shirt and cupped it in his hands, staring at it a moment. That was the secret-the reason the magic worked-you had to look at it. Unless you looked, unless you took it all in, it meant nothing. The meaning was a result of focus. Without focus there was nothing.

He struck the tinder; saw the flame leap between the flint and the rasp; felt the warmth, smelled the burning in the air.

For a moment he saw himself from outside. Saw his ash-blond unruly hair illuminated by the flame, his oval, dark-eyed face gleaming in the tinder's flicker. Shadow surrounded him. Enclosed him.

He picked up a handful of straw and lit it, then, as the tinder died, letting the flames catch and crackle before he threw them out in a scatter of sparks into the darkened stall.

Impulse told him to run, but he beat it down and stood there, watching the flames catch and spread. Four separate tiny fires, spreading, merging to become a single, crackling blaze. The stall was bright now, the shadows beaten back into the corners. Up above the rafters were filling with thick, choking smoke.

He laughed, seeing the Myghtern stir, then start to cough, one hand beating at the air. Turning, he made to run, but a hand grabbed him and lifted him high, twirling him about and, with a clout to the back of his head, threw him out of the barn door onto the sunlit grass.

He lay there, stunned, staring up at the roof of the barn. Smoke was billowing out between the broken tiles. The crackle had become a steady roar. As he turned, trying to focus, a tiny figure burst from the door, weighted down by its giant load, then collapsed, coughing, onto the grass nearby. It was Scaf.

Beside him, untouched, was the Myghtern.

"You"-he coughed, a deep, wheezing cough from the pit of his stomach, then spoke again, forcing out the words between coughing fits-"you crazy . . . little boy. You . . . could have . . . killed him."

He met Scaf s eyes defiantly. "It's not alive. How could I kill something that isn't alive?"

Scaf scowled at him, then crawled across to the Myghtern, rolling him onto his back and listening to his heart. The big man coughed, then, rolling slightly to his side, began to vomit.

The boy watched, his eyes like tiny saucers.

"Tom? Tom! What's going on?"It was his mother. He turned, looking up the path toward the cottage, then scuttled off, up over the stone wall and away, down through the long grass of the upper field toward the bay.

MEG STOOD IN THE opening at the end of the garden wall, staring at the scene in disbelief. Then, wiping her hands on her apron she walked hurriedly down the path toward them.

"Where's Tom?" she asked anxiously, looking past Scaf at the bum-ing barn. "He's not in there, is he?"

Scaf shook his head, then pointed toward the bay.

She let out her breath, relieved, then looked down at the Myghtern. He had stopped heaving now, and was sitting up. He glanced up at her, his dark eyes miserable in his smoke-blackened face.

"What happened?" she asked, as if she were speaking to two children. "What was it this time?"

The Myghtern looked away, embarrassed. "I got drunk," he said. "I found some cider in the store rooms and I drunk it all. I ... I must have kicked a lamp over or something. Scaf got me out."

She looked to Scaf, who shrugged.

"What will Ben say?" she said, shaking her head. "His barn. Look at it!"

The Myghtern glanced at it, then looked away again. Scaf stared stubbornly at the floor.

"It's a good thing Scaf was there to get you out of trouble," she said, her anger at his stupidity tempered by her realization that it could have been far worse. An old barn . . . Ben wouldn't mind losing it. His only regret would be that he hadn't been here to see it burn.

She turned, thinking of her child again, then walked across to the wall and, leaning on it, looked out across the field.

"Tom!" she called. "Tom! Where are you?"

But there was no sign of him. He was probably by the Seal. That was where she usually found him: down there where she had used to play with Ben; where they had found the diseased rabbit that time.

She turned back, surprised by the strength of the memory, then shook her head again. "Never mind. At least you're safe. Let's get you indoors and clean you up."

"But the barn?" Scaf said.

'Will burn itself out. But come now, Scaf. Give me a hand getting him up. The Master will be back in a while."

"And young Tom?"

"Tom will be in when it suits him," she said, as if giving the subject no more thought. As he always was.

SHE MET HIM at the gate to the lower garden. Beyond him the cruiser which had brought him back lifted and turned south, heading for the mouth of the estuary. He held her to him briefly, then turned and sniffed the air, looking to his right where the ruins of the barn stood out against the evening light.

"What happened to the barn?"

She laughed, making light of it. "Our friend the Myghtern got drunk and kicked a lamp over. Scaf got himout. They're both okay."

Ben nodded, then, putting his arm about her shoulder, walked on. "And Tom? How's he?"

"Our little shadow?" She met his eyes and smiled. "He's somewhere. Exploring probably."

He smiled then let his lips brush against hers.

"How was Li Yuan?"

"His usual anxious self."

She glanced at him. "And the launch?"

"It was okay," he said, with an unusual vagueness; then, sniffing the air again, he gave a grunt of approval.

"Now, that smells nice. Rabbit stew, unless I'm mistaken."

"With dumplings, carrots, and potatoes," she said, squeezing his side. "I thought you deserved something special."

"It reminds me-"

"Of mother," she finished.

He stopped and turned, looking at her in the light from the open kitchen window. "And you . . . you remind me of her too."

It was some time since he had been inside the Enclave and she could see from his eyes the price he'd paid for his visit.

"Was it bad in there?"

He laughed, then assumed an actor's manner. "I had not thought death had undone so many."

She smiled, then joined in the game. "You who have sat by Thebes below the wall and walked among the lowest of the dead."

"You wonder what old T.S. would have made of it, eh?" He stroked her neck, then walked on, lacing his fingers between hers. "SimFic were pleased, anyway. It seems they've sold a record number of advance units. As for me, well, I smiled like the King of Villians himself for the cameras, and the critics lapped it all up. I'm made, they say."

"Made?" she laughed at the wealth of distaste he'd managed to pack into that single word.

"Constructed, manufactured, fashioned, like the lowest of the Clay!" He smiled wickedly. "I am their creature now. They own me."

"Or think they do."

"Which is the same thing, in their eyes."

She turned, making him stop and face her. "So why did you do it if you felt that way?"

His eyes gave her the answer. For the experience. She sighed, then, tugging at his hand, made to walk on."It's war, you know," he said. "Coming back the air was thick with troop ships heading east."