Graul nodded towards the two mountains ahead of them. 'Once we are at the pa.s.s, perhaps in three days, he is leaving us.'

'But, why?' George asked.

Graul shrugged. 'He says that is as far as he goes. As far as any of his people will go. They will not approach the bad magic.' He opened his hands apologetically. 'That is how he describes it. He says the land is cursed.'

'Is this to do with Galloway's death?' Fitz wondered.

'I don't think so. He hasn't mentioned it.'

'Probably thinks it was fated,' Caversham muttered. 'Maybe he's right.'

'He says he will keep the dogs and the sled with him, and wait for us if we wish.'

'For how long?' Caversham asked.

'A week from when we part company. No more. After that he's going back to his village and we can find him there.'

There was no point in anyone else trying to persuade the little man to change his mind n.o.body but Graul could speak his language. So they muttered in irritation, and continued the slow plod through the snow towards the misty, distant mountains. The pa.s.s that Graul had pointed out seemed to lead through the mountains, and Fitz thought it would take them longer than three days to reach it. But as they rose, the snow thinned and they were walking on rock which made the going much easier and quicker. Frequently they had to stop as the sled bounced on the uneven surface and packs and parcels fell from it.

Fitz doubted that any of them would sleep that first night after the 'accident'. But when he finally crawled into his tent he had no trouble at all drifting away into a dreamless blackness.

By the end of the next day, Fitz was beginning to believe that they might make the pa.s.s in two more days. What had seemed to be a dark speck in the snow at the side of the jagged gap in the mountains was now resolving itself into the castle that Chedakin had mentioned. The stone structure seemed to jut from the rock of the pa.s.s itself, Fitz thought, as they grew closer with every numbing step.

For the most part they walked in silence. Since Galloway's death n.o.body was especially talkative. But mainly this was because as the ground rose ever steeper, so the simple effort of walking became ever more exhausting. They settled into a routine, each plodding on at his own pace. A routine broken only by the more and more frequent need to repack the sled. It was almost a relief when on the third day Chedakin announced to Graul that he had come as far as he was willing.

They unpacked the sled, Caversharn and Price checking each package and provision and deciding whether it was needed or could be left with Chedakin. Fitz's shoulders ached and he doubted his back would ever be straight again. The only redeeming thing about the whole expedition, he reckoned, was that he had lost almost all the feeling in his body with the cold. He shuddered to think how much pain he might really be suffering. Every tin or parcel or rope or package that went on the pile of stuff to take on up the mountains with them brought a moment's disappointment. He could see George and Graul were both watching as apprehensively as he was.

'You're kidding,' Fitz announced, his frustration and fatigue getting the better of him. He shook his head and pointed at the mound of provisions beside the depleted sled.

'Do you hope to stay alive, or do you want to be sure of it?' Caversham asked him.

'I'll settle for "hope" rather than die of exhaustion carrying twice my own body weight,' Fitz told him.

Caversham returned a wry smile. 'That's what I thought. This is the "hope" pile. And that's cutting it fine in my opinion.'

'I suppose there will be less to carry back,' George said. 'That's something at least.'

'We should have brought a mule,' Graul said as he started to lash together the packages he was allocated.

Fitz nodded over at where Price was expertly packing together a pile that was over twice the size of anyone else's. 'I'd settle for a couple of St. John Price clones,' he said.

'A couple of what?' George asked.

'Nothing,' Fitz told him. 'It doesn't matter. I hope we kept a tin opener.'

The weather closed in that afternoon, which was how they found the window. The clouds had descended and snow was falling lightly. It made the going slower. All of them were wary, worried about slipping on the ice as they trudged up the narrow pa.s.s. Its floor was frozen solid, only the few rocks and pebbles that poked through the ice afforded them any footing and there was the constant worry and danger of slipping. The heavy loads they were all carrying on their backs made them even less steady on their feet. The best and safest way to make progress, Fitz had discovered, was to keep your head down and try to keep the weight of your pack above you.

It was because he was staring at the ground in this manner, that Fitz walked right into Price who had stopped in front of him. The impact barely moved the huge man, but Fitz bounced backwards, lost his footing and crashed to the ground. He was already resigned to bruises and perhaps even a few broken bones, his whole body felt brittle like ice it was so cold. But Price turned and caught him by the arm as he slipped and slithered towards George behind him.

'Sorry,' Price said. 'I was looking at the sunshine.'

Recovering, Fitz looked at him puzzled. 'Sunshine?'

Price turned and pointed. 'Over there. I was wondering where it is coming from.'

Sure enough, about twenty yards away to the side of the path and lightly up the bank, a shaft of bright yellow sunlight had melted a patch of the snow. A few stray strands of gra.s.s were poking through what looked like soil. Fitz could not remember when they had last seen unfrozen ground, let alone gra.s.s.

'Good grief.' George's voice was husky with the cold. 'How can that be possible?'

Fitz was trying to see where the light was coming from. There was no gap in the clouds, no sunlight visible anywhere else. It just seemed to start in mid air he could see the fine particles of snow caught in the brilliance, twisting lazily as they fell slowly to the ground.

'What is it?' Graul asked. Fitz had not noticed the others walking back to join them.

'Let's go and see,' Caversham suggested, ever practical.

A 'window' seemed the best description. They hardly spoke as they each stared through the patch of air where the sunlight seemed to originate. It was a shimmering, ragged hole in the world, starting about three feet above the ground and roughly five feet in diameter. The sunlight shone powerfully through it. And as they approached, they could indeed see through it, like a window. Into another world, another reality.

'Incredible!' George said as they arrived in front of it. He reached out tentatively, but Fitz caught his hand.

'Careful.'

Now they were close to it, angled to see the ground on the other 'side'. Through the 'hole' in the air Fitz could see gra.s.sland, a savannah. There were even trees. And the sun was shining brightly as wispy clouds skittered across the sky.

'Feel that.' Caversham had his hand in the sunlight that spilled into their own world. 'So warm...' He shook his head incredulously. 'What is it? I've never seen anything like this.'

'Really?' Fitz asked, half*sarcastically. But also automatically it was weird, true. But it was not so out of the ordinary compared to some things he had seen.

'You can hear the breeze,' George said. 'And even the animals...'

Fitz leaned closer. George was right. He caught the distant roar or growl of some creature carried on the breeze.

'Should we... go through?' Graul asked hesitantly.

They considered this. George's face had lit up at the idea, while Caversham frowned and Price remained as impa.s.sive as ever.

'There's no way of knowing if we can get back again,' Fitz pointed out, and George's face fell. 'Or if it's safe.'

'Is it Africa?' Price asked.

'I doubt if it's anywhere we know, anywhere on this world,' Fitz told him.

'What makes you say that?' Caversham seemed genuinely interested to know rather than returning Fitz's sarcasm.

'I've travelled,' Fitz admitted. 'Maybe even more than you have.'

Caversham raised an eyebrow. 'And have you seen the like of this before?'

'Not exactly. But I have seen doors that open into s.p.a.ces that couldn't possibly be beyond, portals into other worlds, other realities.'

'And?'*George asked, breathless.

'And we should be careful.'

'More things in heaven and earth, eh?' Caversham said. 'Well, maybe you're right.'

'But we can't just leave it, pretend nothing's there,' George protested. He was looking round at the snowy bank. He dropped to his knees, hoisting his pack up on his shoulders as he did so, balancing so he could reach into the snow. He fumbled around and after a few moments pulled out a lump of rock. The ice glistened on its ragged surface as it caught the impossible sunlight.

'What are you doing?' Caversham demanded.

George did not answer. Instead he tossed the rock at the window. Whether by instinct or intuition, Fitz immediately leaped back. His movement galvanised the others, and they all stepped away from the hazy hole as the rock sailed through it.

For a moment the rock seemed to stop, frozen in time. Then pale blue crackles of light, like cracks in the air itself, leaped out from the rock to the edges of the window, as if an invisible sheet of gla.s.s or ice was shattering under the impact. A split*second later the rock fell through, and the whole ragged area was filled with fire and smoke. A fist of flame reached out through the window, pummelling them as they staggered further backwards. Graul slipped and fell with a cry. Fitz turned away as the heat seared his face. George yelled in astonishment and fear.

When they looked back, the window was filled with smoke, its edges clearly visible as the fire on the other side struggled to take hold of the dry gra.s.sland. Through the smouldering heat came a sound. It was like the growling sound that George had drawn their attention to earlier, only louder. Close. A thundering roar of anger or pain that seemed to tear the atmosphere apart.

'What animal could make a noise like that?' Graul wondered as he struggled to his feet.

'I don't know,' Fitz said. 'And I don't suggest that we hang around to find out.' He led them back to the path, George following only reluctantly.

'Shouldn't we wait and ' George called.

'No,' Fitz interrupted. 'Definitely not.'

He did not look back until they were almost over the ridge, almost out of sight. Then he saw a faint smoky hole torn in the fabric of reality, the first tentative rays of another world's sunlight struggling through once more and thawing the ground below. Then the light was abruptly cut off once again, as if more smoke had blown in front of it. Or some huge shape had moved across to blot out the sun.

36: Cargo

Hartford sent a car for Anji early the next morning. Very early the next morning. If he was trying to impress and please her, she reflected, this was not going to help.

Anji's initial apprehension at leaving her clients' accounts in less able hands had turned into anger and indignation during the previous evening and night. At a moment's notice she was being asked to uproot from her whole life and decamp to the ends of the Earth. Still, she thought ruefully, at least this time it was the ends of her own planet rather than the farthest reaches of time and s.p.a.ce. But whatever the excuse and despite the fact she was being paid for it, Anji could not dispel the feeling that she had been traded as impersonally and as commercially as one of the commodities she herself bought and sold and shifted round the globe.

The driver was American, stiff and proper. He all but stood to attention as he held open the back door of the large black car for her. She wasn't awake enough to register the route they took out of London. They did not set off towards Heathrow, so she a.s.sumed they were going to Gatwick.

But they weren't. When they drew up at the barrier and a uniformed guard a soldier approached and demanded in an American accent that the driver show his pa.s.s, Anji began to wonder what she was getting into.

The soldier saluted the driver. 'The Colonel's waiting for you on the plane, sir.'

'The "Colonel"?' Anji asked him as they drove into the base.

'Mr Hartford was in the army,' the driver said. 'He has a lot of contacts.'

'I guess he does,' Anji said. They were pa.s.sing low huts and prefabricated buildings. She did not have to ask where they were headed. In front of them was a wide tarmac strip a runway. And there was only one aircraft on it. Hi*tech fighters and larger refuelling and cargo planes were arranged along the side of the runway and across the airfield. But at one end, evidently being readied for take*off, was a huge transport plane.

Anji had no idea what type of aircraft it was, apart from 'huge'. It was the only plane she saw that wasn't painted in camouflage military style. It was a gleaming white, with no markings she could see. The back end of the plane was hanging down to form a ramp, and a group of soldiers was using a forklift truck to lift a large palette draped with tarpaulins up into the plane. The car drew up beside a set of wheeled steps that led up into the front of the plane.

Hartford greeted her inside and showed her to a seat at the back of the cabin. It was like the first cla.s.s compartment of an airliner, except much wider. The whole pa.s.senger area must take up about a fifteenth of the main body of the plane, Anji thought. The rest was free for cargo.

'Sorry about all the cloak and dagger stuff,' Hartford said. 'But it's quicker and easier, and you'll be surprised to hear it's cheaper to operate from here than the commercial airports.'

There was a spare seat next to her, but out of habit Anji stuffed her shoulder bag under the seat in front. At the front of the seating area she could see there was a conference room, complete with a large oval table and upright office chairs. The chairs, incongruously, had seatbelts.

She looked round as she sat down. She had a window seat, and through the small plastic porthole she could see the driver of her car handing her luggage up to someone who was out of sight. There were about twenty seats in the plane. Hartford sat at the front, talking earnestly and quietly to a tall black man. There were ten other people in the area, Anji counted. Three other women. Hartford was by far the oldest. The others were all in their late twenties, she guessed. All immaculate in suits. Anji was wearing comfortable trousers and a loose blouse with a thin jacket. She felt underdressed.

Everyone else had short hair. Perhaps there was a hair code as well as a dress code at Hartford*Waverly. Perhaps they would ask her to trim her own bob into the almost crewcut style (style?) that the other women had. She ran her hand through her hair while she could and looked out of the window again. She was sitting bolt upright, unconsciously mirroring the pose of the other people.

'OK, team, listen up.' The black man was on his feet. 'We take off in five. So get belted in and prepare for a long journey. If you can catch some zees, then that's a good idea.'

It was a miracle, Anji thought, that something this big could get off the ground. Hartford brought her a coffee soon after take*off.

'It'll be a long flight,' he said. 'I have to debrief my team about their previous a.s.signment, and get them up to speed on this one, I'm afraid.' She thought he was asking her to sit in. 'That's no problem, Alex. Just call me when you get to the relevant topics.'

He shook his head. 'I'd rather you kept an open mind, if that's OK. I'd like your unbiased opinions and a.s.sessment. I was just apologising for the fact we'll be leaving you to your own devices for a lot of the time.' He nodded to the conference room. 'There's a galley to the side. Help yourself to coffee. There's nothing stronger, I'm afraid.' He smiled as if about to make a joke. 'Company policy.'

Great, Anji thought as she tried to get to sleep. I'm on my way to Siberia, but they won't tell me why. And I've got landed with an outfit where they shave your head and deny you access to alcohol. Sleep was beginning to seem like the only sensible option.

Since Hartford didn't seem about to introduce her to anyone, Anji made a point of going round the cabin and shaking people's hands, She had managed perhaps forty minutes sleep. Then she got herself another coffee and did the rounds on the way back to her seat at the back of the cabin.

Hartford was in the conference room, preparing his pitch, probably. 'I'm Anji, Anji Kapoor. Hi,' she said to the tall black man who had addressed them all at the start of the flight. He was leaning forward in his seat, his shoes off and his toes pawing at the cabin carpet. It was an almost animalistic movement.

'I know,' he said without looking up. He was almost as tall as she was, although he was still sitting down. He shook her hand without smiling, 'Bill Thorpe,' he rumbled. 'I'm Mr Hartford's personal a.s.sistant.' He smiled thinly as he said it. He offered no further conversation, so Anji moved on.

There was no way she would remember all their names. Not till she spent some time with them, at least. There was a Mike, and a Joe, There was Manda and Cath. Was one of the men called 'Hump' or had she misheard? She gave up listening. None of them seemed interested in her anyway.

The last person she spoke to, sitting nearest to her, was the last of the women. She actually smiled when Anji introduced herself. 'Sonya Gamblin,' she replied. 'Pleased to have you along.'

'I'm glad someone is,' Anji said. 'So what do you do?'

'Do?' Sonya seemed at a loss for a moment.

'I thought you were all accountants or auditors,' Anji said.

'Yeah. Right. Well,' Sonya said as if deciding which to be, 'I'm an auditor, The kind that sorts out trouble, you know?'

The man in the row in front Wences, was it? gave a short laugh as he overheard. 'Sonya, you are trouble,' he quipped.

'Don't you forget it,' Sonya told him.