"Please, lead the way," the Doge's dry voice murmured behind him. Steven took a deep breath, and walked across the flagstones towards the portico. He could feel the eyes of the crowd on him as he walked. No doubt they were wondering what he was doing there. He was beginning to wonder the same thing himself.

At the portico he turned to see the Doge and his advisers following like a row of chicks. The black-clad advisers were bent over as they walked, and their little nodding heads reminded him of the gondolas. He sn.i.g.g.e.red, and the Doge shot him a dark glance.

"My apologies," Steven muttered, coughing into his handkerchief.

"The belfry is small," the Doge said. "You will demonstrate your spygla.s.s to us one at a time." He gestured to one of the guards.

"Starting with me."

After an uncomfortable moment while Steven waited for someone to go first, he realized that he should be leading the way. The shadowed portico led immediately onto a narrow ramp that spiralled around the inside of the tower. Bell ropes hung down its centre. Steven began to climb. Within ten steps his calf muscles were beginning to ache and within twenty his breath was hissing in his ears. By the time he got to thirty steps he could feel the thudding of his pulse in his ears and he had lost track of how many revolutions around the tower he had made.

By the time he got to the top of the bell tower, sweat was running down his face. He stood in the cold breeze for a moment, his eyes closed, the sound of the crowd far below just a murmur in his ears.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself on a square wooden platform surrounded by stone pillars and topped with a pointed roof in which bells gleamed. Through the pillars Steven could see all the way across Venice. Gilded domes and roofs glowed in the sunlight while whitewashed walls were tinted a rosy pink. Flocks of pigeons wheeled and swooped in a pattern too large to appreciate from any aspect except above. Beyond the city, beyond the island, the view reached to the distant white-capped mountains in one direction and the mist that hid the far reaches of the lagoon in the other.

Steven's heart was still thudding in his ears, and he took a deep breath to calm it down. It didn't help: the pounding just got louder.

For a moment he started to panic, until he realized that the wooden platform of the bell tower was vibrating in time to the thudding. He turned towards the source of the noise when, from the dark hole in the floor that led to the ramp, the Doge appeared.

On a horse, led by one of his guards.

"Have you been up here before?" he murmured, not making any effort to dismount.

"Er... no, your most Serene Highness," Steven stammered.

The Doge raised his eyes and gazed upward, into the pointed roof.

"But you must have heard these bells ring out across Venice, tolling sunrise, noon and sundown, calling councillors to Council and senators to Senate?"

"Of course, your most Sere-"

"That one, over there," he continued, cutting across Steven's words and indicating the smallest bell, "is called the Maleficent. It's the one we use to signal executions." He smiled. "Please - your demonstration."

Steven's hands shook as he took the telescope from inside his jacket. "If you place the spygla.s.s against your eye, your most Serene Excellency, and look out across the lagoon..."

The Doge took the telescope from Steven's outstretched hand and raised it to his eye. For a moment he gazed out of the bell tower and across the water. Steven turned to follow the line of the telescope. Far, far away, mere specks against the background of the sea mist, he could just make out the sail of a small ship. With Galileo's telescope, the Doge should have been able to recognize the faces of the crew, and Steven's heart missed a beat as he suddenly realized that the ship might be the one that the Doctor was sailing on, and the Doge might be staring straight into the unmistakable features of Galileo Galilei. That would sink his plans for good.

The Doge lowered the spygla.s.s from his eye. His face was thunderous.

Steven prepared to sprint down the ramp as fast as he could, and hoped to G.o.d that he could outpace the Doge's guard.

"This device is worse than the one demonstrated to us by the Flemish merchant," the Doge said. "It is a toy fit only for children.

Friar Sarpi has misled us, and both you, and he, will pay for wasting my time."

The guard rested a hand on his sword. Through his helmet, Steven could see a smile of antic.i.p.ation on his face. "Ah - your most Serene and... and Munificent Highness . .." he stammered, dredging up all of the flattery and flannel that he had ever heard, "I beg you to-"

Something about the telescope that the Doge was holding caught his eye. Something about its shape. Surely... surely when Galileo had demonstrated it to Steven, he had held the narrower lens against his eye and pointed the wider lens at the sky. The Doge appeared to have been holding it the other way around.

"Perhaps," he said hesitantly, "we could try it one more time...?"

When Braxiatel had gone, and Vicki could see him on the viewscreen, walking across the white surface of the Laputan landing pad towards the nearest tower, Vicki wiped a hand across her eyes. It came away wet, and her cheeks were suddenly cool as the thin film of tears began to evaporate. Memories were like minefields, she decided - you had to pick your way carefully across them, and sometimes you stepped on something unexpected and it exploded beneath you. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

And opened them again as something scrabbled in the hatchway.

She twisted in her seat. The headrest was in the way, and she had to slide sideways before she could see round it.

Into a pair of eyes on stalks.

"Albrellian!" she squealed. "You startled me!"

"Vicki." Albrellian"s voice was neutral. "Better your safety belt fasten had you: for a b.u.mpy ride in are we."

"What do you mean?"

Instead of answering, Albrellian swung bis crab-like body into the seat that Braxiatel had vacated only a few moments before. The seat automatically adjusted itself to the odd contours of his body and wing-casings, and he ran his multiple claws across the controls.

"Albrellian, what's going on?" Anger sharpened Vicki's voice. "If this is another attempt at kidnapping me, Braxiatel won't be pleased."

The skiff shot straight up into the air, so fast that the ripple of turbulence was replaced within moments by a sudden explosive bang! bang! as they broke the sound barrier. Vicki watched the screen disbelievingly as Laputa dwindled and vanished beneath them. as they broke the sound barrier. Vicki watched the screen disbelievingly as Laputa dwindled and vanished beneath them.

"Even less pleased will be Braxiatel," Albrellian announced grimly, "when precious little island sanctuary in one great explosion disappears his!"

"An explosion?" Vicki couldn't a.s.similate the word. "What do you - I mean - an explosion explosion? When?"

One of Albrellian's eyestalks rotated to glance at her. "In a few minutes" time," he said. "That's why leaving we are."

Steven gazed out across the roofs of Venice, watching pigeons wheel against the deep blue of the sky. The breeze off the sea was cool, and the crowds far below were just multi-coloured dots that surged randomly to and fro, like bacteria under a microscope.

He leaned against one of the columns and relished the cold stone against his forehead. The last little knots of tension were finally untangling inside his stomach. The Doge had finally accepted that the telescope worked. More than that, he had instantly grasped the military applications and had promised Galileo an increase in salary, a bonus and an extension of his tenure at the University of Padua. Hopefully it would be enough to satisfy both the Doctor and the real Galileo.

It was all plain sailing from here. All Steven had to do was to demonstrate the telescope to the Doge's advisers and the Council and Senate members, one by one, until either they were all satisfied or darkness had fallen. He had talked five of them through it so far, and he could hear the horse that was bearing the sixth heading up the spiral ramp now.

Steven turned as the horse placidly entered the belfry, being led by the guard. As the man on it dismounted, Steven held out the telescope to him.

"This, esteemed Sir, is my -"

"I care not about your baubles," the man snapped. For the first time Steven actually looked at his face, and he felt his heart give two quick beats. It was the hawk-nosed man who had been glaring at him in the Hall of the Ante-College.

"I - Sir, I do not -"

"Save your stammering apologies," the man said, sneering. He stepped towards Steven, who backed away until he could feel the stone bal.u.s.trade against the back of his thighs. The guard and the horse looked on from across the belfry without showing any signs of wanting to interfere.

"I am Toma.s.so Nicolotti," the man said. "You killed my son by poison. I am persuaded that you have the trappings of a gentleman, even though you are sc.u.m in the pay of the Castellanis, and so I challenge you to a duel. Be at the Church of St Trovaso when the bells in this tower strike the end of the day."

He smiled. "Or I shall hunt you down and kill you like the dog that you are."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

They were in a race, and something told Galileo that it was one they had to win.

From his position in the stern of the boat he had a panoramic view of the boat itself and of the water around them. To their left and right, other ships paralleled their course, cleaving the waves apart as they all headed for the island of Laputa. Some were small, barely large enough to hold two drab Englishmen and a mast, while others were thrice their size and supported a crew of Venetian fishermen presumably hired along with their boat. Others, hidden in the mist, could be heard as they splashed through the water and as their crews shouted instructions to each other. The Englishmen were cl.u.s.tered in the bows of all the ships in sight, all staring fixedly towards the island, ignoring the salt sea-spray that drenched them. The closest boat was only a score of yards away, and slightly ahead, and Galileo could easily make out the unnatural whiteness of the Englishmen's faces, and the rouge-redness of the sores on their skin.

The Doctor was standing by the mast, occasionally tightening or slackening the ropes that led up to the sail. Although he was old, his movements were a.s.sured and strong, and he seemed to know what he was doing. Shakespeare, by contrast, was huddled in the bows of the ship and looked as if he might throw his guts up over the side at any moment. Englishmen - effete and unworldly, the lot of them - except for that Marlowe fellow, who seemed to have a practical head on his shoulders despite the lascivious way he eyed young Steven Taylor. A shame that he was not with them now, but had elected to follow his own path in the city itself. He would have been worth ten of Shakespeare in their current situation.

The island of Laputa loomed against the misty backdrop ahead of them, an island paradise of slender trees crowned with spreading foliage, and white towers that reached up, like Babel, to Heaven.

Galileo wasn't sure whether to believe the evidence of his own eyes or not, but he was positive that an island such as that would have been spotted by the local fishermen long ago and colonized: or used, like the island of Sant' Ariano, as a reliquary for the bones of dead Venetians. Was it, therefore, new to these seas? Had it been constructed by these travellers from a foreign star that the Doctor talked about, and whose stellar chariots he had seen through his spygla.s.s?

Galileo let his breath whistle out through his teeth. To build an entire island - what a ma.s.sive feat of engineering that would be.

He would like to meet the people who could achieve that.

As he watched, entranced, a small shape like a flattened egg that glinted like metal rose up rapidly from the far side of the island, moving upward as smoothly and inexorably as the ebony b.a.l.l.s that he had dropped from the tower of Pisa to test Aristotle's theory had fallen. The object was twin to the ones that Galileo had seen through his telescope. A method of getting to and from the island, perhaps? Truly he would like to ask these people how they achieved these marvels, but was he capable of understanding their explanations?

Of course he could understand. He was Galileo Galilei, foremost natural philosopher in Christendom.

"Hard a port!" the Doctor yelled back from his position by the mast, just as the egg-shape vanished into the clouds.

"Hard to where?" Galileo yelled back.

"Hard a port port!" The Doctor's eyes gazed Heavenwards in exasperation. "To the left, Mr Galileo, to the left."

"Why?"

The Doctor took a few steps towards Galileo, as if to remonstrate with him, but one of the guy ropes pulled taut with a tw.a.n.g like a lute string, and he quickly stepped back to loosen it. "Because there is a suitable spot at which we can disembark to the left!" he cried. "Now please stop asking stupid questions and do what I tell you, hmm?"

Galileo grimaced, and pushed the rudder slowly to the right, feeling as he did so the shift in motion as the ship's path altered to favour the left.

"If you have nothing better to do," the Doctor called to Shakespeare in the bows of the ship, "perhaps you would lend a hand, Mr Shakespeare."

Shakespeare's fine clothes were drenched with water, and his spa.r.s.e hair was plastered across his great bald forehead. "What would you -" He sucked his cheeks in suddenly and held a hand to his stomach. Galileo grinned. The spasm pa.s.sed, and the man continued, "- have me do, Doctor?"

"Hold this line tight," the Doctor snapped, and threw a guy rope to Shakespeare, who took it gingerly. To Galileo's amazement, the Doctor scrambled like a monkey up the mast and set about loosening and retying the ropes that kept the sail attached to the mast. Moments later he returned to the deck, and Galileo was astonished to feel his body forced back slightly against the wooden stern as their speed increased. The ships hired by the Englishmen began to drop back as their boat surged ahead.

"A little trick I learned some years ago when I sailed with Edward Teach," the Doctor yelled back, the wind of their pa.s.sage s.n.a.t.c.hing the words from his mouth. "The material of the sail tightens if it's damp and there's a strong wind, and you can get a few more knots of speed by loosening it again."

Their boat was five lengths ahead of their leading pursuer now, and the gap kept increasing. The island filled the horizon ahead of them, growing larger by the moment. A spot of yellow close to the water resolved itself into a beach, and Galileo tacked slightly to make sure that they headed for it at a slight angle. Glancing back, over his shoulder, he could see the boats behind them as grey shadows in the mist, like charcoal marks on paper. They were well ahead now: the Doctor's trick had gained them a few precious minutes. The island was growing ever larger, and Galileo could make out details on the towers: windows, ledges and what looked like misshapen people gazing back at him.

And then their keel sc.r.a.ped over sand, and the ship lurched to one side.

"Quickly," the Doctor called, "we must get to Braxiatel before those other ships arrive." He scuttled over the side of the boat, and Galileo heard the splash seconds later as he hit the water.

Shakespeare was standing uncertainly in the bows. Abandoning the tiller, Galileo ran to the side and dived over without a moment's thought. He caught a confused glimpse of a stretch of smooth sand and a knot of etiolated figures who were already hauling the Doctor out of the water before the surface rose up to embrace him.

For a few confused moments everything was grey and bubbly, and there was a rushing noise in his ears, and then what felt like twigs fastened on his arms and tugged him out of the water.

The Doctor was standing, bedraggled, on the sand. Two thin, horned figures were holding him, and a third was pointing its horn at his chest. They were identical to the creature that had overturned the Doctor's boat when he and Galileo had gone to fetch the Doctor's telescope. Two more of the creatures were hauling Galileo up the beach to join the Doctor.

"Take me to your leader," the Doctor said imperiously, drawing himself up and brushing sand from his lapels. "I have to see Braxiatel."

One of the stick-creatures leaned close to Galileo's ear. "I promised we'd meet later," it hissed.

For some reason, the first thought to cross his mind was the hope that Steven Taylor was having better luck as Galileo than he was.

"What do you mean, an explosion?" Vicki said. "Take me back to the island, Albrellian. This is going too far." She leaned forward to the controls, but Albrellian reached across with a claw and nipped her gently on the back of her hand. Blood welled up in the crescent-shaped cut, and she jerked her hand away. A tingling feeling spread up her arm and through her chest and she fell backward into the chair. Waves of tiredness lapped at the edges of her mind, and she had to use all her force of will to keep her eyes open and not slip into sleep.

"Sorry about that am I," Albrellian said. "A genetically engineered toxin, afraid am I - the only thing past Braxiatel's scanners could get I. Afford to have interfere with plans my you cannot I." His eyestalks dipped slightly, as if even he was confused by his tortured syntax.

Vicki's thoughts had to force their way through a thick, treacly miasma. "What... Are... You... Doing?" she said, articulating the words separately and forcing them past her uncooperative lips.

Albrellian's foreclaws moved across the skiff's controls. One set of eyestalks was directed at the darkening viewscreen while the other was pointed at Vicki. "Afraid guilty of a little deceit have been I," he said. "Of you, of Braxiatel and of the envoys."

Vicki opened her mouth to ask what sort of deception, but Albrellian raised a claw to her mouth.

"Speak try not to," he said. "The effects of the toxin for a while will last. An explanation for all the things put you through have I owe you I." His eyestalks dipped slightly, as if he was ashamed of himself. "Explain that my race - the Greld - are represented at the Armageddon Convention not because at war with anyone are we, and not because ever likely to be are we, but because supply weapons to races that are do we, should I. Arms dealers are we, and much of economy towards research and development of bigger and better devices of destruction is dedicated our.

Speciality that is our. If plans to fruition of Braxiatel's come, and agreements about what can and can't be used there are, then redundant will become we. Best weapons, most expensive technologies, will not be required our. Cannot happen let that, can we?"

"Sab... otage," Vicki stammered.

"Exactly," Albrellian said. "Intelligent as well as beautiful - knew the right choice had made did I." His eyestalks perked up. "The biggest obstacle security precautions was Braxiatel's - the sensor systems that from the legendary lost Aaev race purchased did he any weapon, no matter how small, can detect, and whatever ship or person is carrying it destroy can they. Never a weapon close enough to this planet get could we. So, when on this planet first arrived the Greld delegation - some twenty years ago, the components of a meta-cobalt bomb out of locally mined material built we and a group of humans from the local area kidnapped we.

A hypnocontroller and a fragment of radioactive meta-cobalt in each of them implanted we, and into forgetting the operation them hypnotized we. Then scattered around the planet them left we, knowing that when all of the races had agreed to come and the envoys were on their way, the carriers together call using the hypnocontrollers could we. As soon as the envoys had all arrived the final command gave we, and for Laputa headed all the carriers.

Destroy them the security systems won't because the weapon exist won't until in a small enough s.p.a.ce gather together the carriers. As soon as they do that the meta-cobalt critical ma.s.s achieves and a huge explosion there will be - big enough the island to destroy and kill all the envoys. The Armageddon Convention a byword for disastrous meddling in other people's wars will become, and in profit again will be the Greld."

"What... If... Some... Of... Them... Die... Too... Early?" Vicki struggled to force the words past her numb lips, but she knew that she might never get the chance to question Albrellian like this again.

"The ability to regenerate flesh and control pain have the hypnocontrollers. Few injuries would actually prove fatal, and if died a carrier then the hypnocontrollers to what had happened would alert us. To wherever the body was would travel one of us, the meta-cobalt and hypnocontroller would remove and reimplant in another human," Albrellian said off-handedly. "Everything thought of we."

Vicki opened her mouth to say something, but a wave of darkness suddenly swept over her. This time she did not dream.

Shakespeare's head was in a whirl as the three of them were hustled along a path through the jungle by the stick-men. What brave new world could have such... such creatures creatures in it - more devils than vast h.e.l.l itself could hold? Truly this was all some phantasma, or a hideous dream. A fever-dream, perhaps, caught from some old salt who had pa.s.sed him by in the street. Soon he would wake up and find himself under a table in a tavern in Cripplegate, or lying on a lawn in Richmond. These things could not be happening - not in a sane, rational world. There is something in this more than natural, if philosophy could find it out. in it - more devils than vast h.e.l.l itself could hold? Truly this was all some phantasma, or a hideous dream. A fever-dream, perhaps, caught from some old salt who had pa.s.sed him by in the street. Soon he would wake up and find himself under a table in a tavern in Cripplegate, or lying on a lawn in Richmond. These things could not be happening - not in a sane, rational world. There is something in this more than natural, if philosophy could find it out.

A bony finger poked him in the centre of his back. He turned, and found himself staring into the mad red eye of one of the stick-men.

If it was was a dream, t'were one done well. a dream, t'were one done well.

The path opened out onto a flat plain of grey stone at the base of one of the lofty towers. Ferns and trees rose up all around, giving the area a secluded, claustrophobic feel. A man was waiting for them. He had a lean and hungry look - although compared to his minions he was positively Falstaffian - and he wore spectacles. His hair was straight and mouse-brown, and it fell in a slight curl over his eyes.

"Doctor," he said as the party halted in front of him, "I'm sorry that this little reunion has to take place in such a manner, but needs must when the devil drives."