No... escape was the answer. Let him take Clearwater. Provided the manner of their departure did not jeopardise his own situation, he would be happy to be rid of both of them.

He had meant what he had said to Brickman about there being nothing for him to go back to. The will of Talisman might one day bring Clearwater back into his life, but for the foreseeable future he had lost her.

The hopes he had nurtured about patching up their relationship had vanished with Brickman's arrival in Ne-Issan.

If he went back to the clan, he would be obliged to resume his role as Mr Snow's apprentice; his obedient shadow. He would only acquire proper standing in the eyes of the clan after Mr Snow's death. But the stones had shown him that after the old wordsmith went to the High Ground the M'Calls would cease to exist. So what was the point of returning? He might be without friends here, but without Mr Snow and Clearwater he had no real friends anywhere. His a.s.sociation with the cloud warrior was something else entirely. There were many things they had in common, but it was not friendship that bound them together. It was destiny.

Steve had been busy too. Eight pilots flying several rocket-propelled sorties a day, seven days a week, consumed a lot of black powder. Once used, the rocket tubes and launch boosters could be refilled, but the whole operation had to be geared up to meet the demand. At Steve's suggestion, Cadillac put in a call for reinforcements and a mixed bag of Thais and Vietnamese women duly arrived from the local fireworks factory to help out in the packing department.

Cadillac had also taken up another of Steve's suggestions and arranged for Jodi Kazan and Dave Kelso to be moved from their billets in the compound to his own grace-and-favour residence - now flanked by the new access road. The move had been justified by the high-pressure training programme. By living together, all three instructors had more time to review their pupils' progress after flying had finished for the day, and could coordinate any changes that needed to be made in the schedule.

The arrangement also fitted in perfectly with Steve's forward planning.

With Jodi and Kelso close at hand he could confer with them at length, without falling foul of the other Tracker renegades on the workforce.

To them he was still an 'uppity Mute', and the fact that he was able to fly and had been given the task of test-piloting the newly completed aircraft had served to fuel their barely concealed resentment.

In the few moments when he hadn't been run off his feet, Steve had also been considering Cadillac's future prospects. Instead of just keeping an eye on the various processes, the Iron Masters were now lending a hand. At a rough head-count, the j.a.ps and a.s.sorted lower-ranking d.i.n.ks now outnumbered the original Tracker workforce by three to one. Was this another stage of the eventual takeover Cadillac had hinted at before he'd nose-dived into his sake? Steve had been waiting for the Mute to say something, but he appeared totally unconcerned, and since their original conversation had not uttered one word about the idea of escaping.

Given Cadillac's character, it was not all that surprising. The Mute preferred to clutch at any straw rather than face up to the possibility that he was merely being used and could shortly become expendable. The forthcoming show - now only days away - was to be his big moment, and he didn't want anyone raining on his parade. Tough. Like it or not, he was going over the wall.

And by the time good old Stevie had done his number, Cadillac would be glad someone had booked him a seat on the flight out.

As rumoured, Min-Orota had issued an invitation to the Shogun.

Yoritomo had initially indicated his willingness to attend, and a tastefully decorated private box was being prepared for him at the front of the grandstand. The efforts of the craftsmen were in vain for, that very morning, Cadillac had overheard the news that the Shogun had decided to take a raincheck. The Consul-General Nakane Toh-Shiba and the Herald Toshiro Hase-Gawa would be attending the ceremony on his behalf. Wise move.

Yoritomo's letter to Lord Min-Orota did not explain the reason for his change of heart - the Shogun was not required to justify any decision he cared to take - but he reaffirmed his continuing support for the project, about which he had received glowing reports. The letter couched in the warmest terms the official court language allowed ended with the fervently expressed hope that the day's ceremonies would be crowned with success and that all those concerned would be justly rewarded for their efforts. Lord Kiyo Min-Orota pondered at length over the meaning of that last phrase. In the end he decided what troubled him was not the Shogun's words but the knowledge of his own treacherous intentions.

With just under a week to go, Steve still had several major hurdles to clear. He had to see Clearwater again, he still had to solve the problem of their travel stamps and papers, and he had to pick up the last of several surprise packages that hadbeen delivered by AMEXICO over the last four weeks.

The packages had been dropped into the pond behind the Heron Pool on nights when the moon was obscured by cloud. To ensure accurate delivery and avoid detection, the all-black aircraft made a power-off

approach, gliding on incredibly slim wings to within a hundred feet of the surface before releasing the waterproof containers. The only sound was a whispering rush of air that built to a swift crescendo, then fell away in a dying sigh like a sudden gust of wind in the treetops.

Slowed by a drag-chute, the splash made by the containers was no louder than that of a rising fish. Once on the bottom, a float disguised as a stick was released to mark its position. To date, Steve had managed to pinpoint them soon after dawn and then fish them out when everyone was in bed.

Shielding the flame of a lighted taper, Steve ducked through the door of his low-roofed shack and pulled it shut behind him. Kneeling on the flattened straw that served both as floor and mattress, he lit the wick of the light-bowl that stood on a small shelf.

As the flame grew and cast its dim orange glow over the dark interior, he saw what he had failed to sense - a figure, dressed in black from head to foot, sitting cross-legged in the far corner of the shack, with a half-drawn short-sword across his lap. His right hand gripped the hilt, his left the scabbard. A cloth was wrapped round his face, leaving a narrow gap across the eyes, but it was so deeply shadowed that even they remained hidden from view.

'How're you doing, sport?" It was the Herald, in his original disguise.

'As well as can be expected. You been here long?"

'Long enough."

Steve shuffled round to face him and bowed low, trying to forget about the killer blade that lay within striking distance of his neck. It was all part of the Herald's act. 'Your ill.u.s.trious presence greatly honours my humble abode. May I beg to ask the purpose of your visit?"

'Don't overdo it, Brickman. Bad things happen to people who try to take the rise out of me."

'Nothing was further from my thoughts, sire." Steve straightened his back. 'What can I do for you?"

'I want to know what your plans are. We're getting close to the off."

'I know. Apart from a few minor details, everything's more or less sewn up. The only thing you have to do is make sure that the Consul-General turns up for his big ride."

The Herald snorted with annoyance. 'He'll be there!

What about the other half of your a.s.signment?"

'I just told you. It's all sewn up."

'I want details, Brickman. C'mon! Spell it out. We haven't got all night."

'The flying demonstration that's been laid on is not going to go too well. In fact, it's going to be a total disaster. I don't know what precautions you plan to take on the day, but I'm relieved to hear your boss is not going to be here. Could have made things very awkward."

Toshiro's grip on the short-sword tightened. 'My...

boss?"

'Yes. The Shogun. His Exalted Highness Yoritomo Toh-Yota. He's what ... twenty-eight years old?

Unmarried but two of his four sisters are - correct?"

'Long-dog swine! How dare you utter his name?" It was only by a supreme effort of will that Toshiro managed to restrain his sword arm.

Steve appeared oblivious of the danger. 'C'mon, be reasonable. Have I shown disrespect? If you and I are going to do business, we can't stand on ceremony."

'Watch your mouth, Brickman. No one is indispensable.

Not even you." Toshiro paused. 'As a man who lacks any sense of honour you probably think that's an empty threat. You'd be wrong.

Deal or no deal, I have my limits. Push me too far and I'll be obliged to kill you regardless of the consequences. And in my case they will be dire, believe me."

Steve bowed his head. 'n.o.body knows that better than I, sire. My masters are as merciless as yours."

The long-dog's reply served to remind Toshiro of the terrible risks facing those involved in his own double-game. Regaining his composure, he said, 'How did you come by this information?"

'The same way that I know you are a Herald of the Inner Court and that your name is Toshiro HaseGawa."

The Herald pulled the scarf down to reveal the lower half of his face.

'I won't warn you again, Brickman.

Tread carefully."

'Do you think we met by chance? You were pinpointed from the moment we knew the two runaway Mutes had reached this area." It was pure bluff, put together from the a.s.sorted information Cadillac had garnered from the Iron Masters. But the Herald didn't know that.