That'd be a good idea, Andrews said. He held out his hand. Henry shook it.

We? Jennifer asked sharply, as the two government men made their way through the uniformed crowds.

We, if you want it that way, Jenny, Carmaggio said. I had to send you in there.

I did what I had to do. And you got me out, she replied. What bugs thehell out of me is that those . . .

those buffoons get to tie this whole thing up with string and put it in their safety-deposit box.

Henry looked after them, and then back at the woman. Did I say that? he said, a slow grin creasing his heavy-featured face. Did I?

That's all then, the Bahamian lawyer said.

He shook his head at the American couple. I've never seen anything quite like it in the way of wills, but the documentation's all in order. Net asset value- I'll just take the papers, thank you, the woman said in a sharp, businesslike New York accent. We've been over all this. Ms. Ingolfssondid follow all the formalities, and the probate's concluded.

He shrugged, and handed over the last manila envelope. Jennifer Carmaggio pushed her sunglasses up on her forehead, did a quick check-through and then nodded.

They stood hand-in-hand as the lawyer's car crunched away up the coral-rock driveway, then turned to look at the mansion. The hot Bahamian sun beat down, and the air smelled of sea and pine and sand, huge and clean. The sound of breakers on the reef came faintly over the roof.

Amazing what Lafarge could do with computers and documents, Henry said, and tasted sweat on his upper lip. He shook his head, trying to make it seem more real. And hedid have a sense of humor. He would have loved this.

A tall black man walked up from the house; there was a suspicious set to the way he wore his loose printed shirt. Henry fished in the jacket slung over one shoulder and came out with an envelope. This one bulged pleasantly, crisp hundred-dollar bills.

Captain Lavasseur, Henry said, extending his hand.

They shook, two big men old enough to forgo boys' games. I think Mr. Lafarge would have liked you to have this, as well as the retainer.

Antoine Lavasseur took the envelope with a slight, white smile and a very Gallic shrug. He was some man, him, he said. But I smell death on him, from the first time. He checked the envelope with a pirate's lack of self-consciousness, and his smile grew broader.Bon. Not too little, for come and watch the house, talk to police for a few weeks.

You kept the staff from burning it, Jennifer said. With what's in there, that could be very important-for the whole world.

Another shrug from the sailor. You need this sort of help again-any sort-you call Antoine Lavasseur.

We may at that, Carmaggio said. And now it's all ours, he went on, when the man from Martinique was gone.

I like to think of it as a trust, Henry, Jennifer said seriously.

He smiled down into her eyes. That too. No reason we can't enjoy ourselves while we figure out what to do with it, though. Let's go honeymoon.

Hand in hand, they walked under the arched gateway. The ironwork Drakon flared its wings above, its empty eyes staring out into the sun.

EPILOGUE.

Tom Cairstens leaned back from the controls and rubbed red-rimmed eyes. He looked back to where Alice nursed an infant with too much knowledge behind its green gaze.

Three hundred meters down and moving at a three-knot crawl, theReiver ran deep and silent.

Silent, save for a baby's cry.

[front blurb]

ADVANCE PRAISE FOR DRAKON.

In a literature of ideas, S.M. Stirling picks up his slingshot and goes hunting the giants: Is absolute evil possible? How would flawed ambivalent human beings deal with it? What is the price of a free society and can it be paid while staying free? What exactly is a 'human' anyway? How much does it take to change history, and how does a change in history change the answers to the other questions? Now in Drakon he puts the hardest question of all: what if these monsters of his imagination walked into our world? Who would stand against them? Could anyone?

And the more frightening question-who would join them?

Drakonmight keep you up all night, It might get you into a thousand mental arguments, it might even make your flesh crawl. Every now and then you'll laugh, and it just might break your heart near the end.

Stirling has gone after the big ideas and brought them back still struggling. That's what the job of SF is supposed to be-and it's good to see someone do it.

-John Barnes.

Author ofMOTHER OF STORMS.

A splendid, compelling novel. Honest, insightful, taking a sharp look at the forces that dehumanize people, as well as the forces that humanize them.

-William Barton.

Author ofDARK SKY LEGION.

I went throughDrakon at one sitting, having a great time all the way. Fine characters, both human and not quite; convincing locations; action that cooks . . . quite a lot of things. Don't stand there reading this blurb-buy the book.

-Harry Turtledove.

Author ofGUNS OF THE SOUTH.

end.