“If you are doing business in Amberlough,” said Daoud, “it seems you might benefit from the services of your secretary. And it may set Cross’s mind at ease.”

“Queen’s sake,” said Cross. “Take a camera and film it. I want to see how this plays out.”

Aristide plucked a cigarette from his case to stifle a sharp remark. Once he’d lit it and taken a steadying drag he said, “You aren’t worried about being short another hand, in the face of Ngdoze’s rage?”

“What’s he gonna do against her muscle?” asked Cross, jutting her chin at Daoud. “Strong gust’d blow him over.”

Daoud did his best to look innocent, but Aristide had taught him to shoot a pistol and seen him put the lessons into practice. He might be a bantam, but he could fight outside his weight class.

“Surely there’s not room left on the ship.” He was making poor excuses, now.

“You have a very large cabin,” said Daoud. “I am certain it will fit a cot.”

“I’m a grown man. I don’t need a chaperone.”

“I’m your business partner,” said Cross. “And I think you do.”

“Equal partners, Merrilee. You’re neither my nanny nor my boss.”

“It sounds like you need somebody to break the tie,” said Daoud, and Aristide saw the irony ten miles out.

CHAPTER

SEVEN

Takeoff from Kenaipha was delayed due to weather, which meant Cyril spent a disagreeable several hours in the ramshackle airfield bar, eating handfuls of pastel, candy-coated almonds. There was no proper food.

Aowamma’s final destination was on the island, and she left him to his drinking with a warm farewell he only managed to return in character. When she left the airfield, van Weill went with her.

Hyrosia in the winter was a bleak place: mostly rain, some sleet, incessant wind. Awful weather for flying. Finally, near dawn, they had a brief respite.

Few people were traveling to Dameskill Regional from Kenaipha; more than the meager five who boarded would have surprised Cyril. The pilot, who greeted the passengers as they climbed the stairs, made tasteless jokes about the likelihood of a crash. Several people turned green. Cyril settled into his seat without complaint and promptly fell asleep, thanks to the auspices of several stolen pills. Given the pharmacopeia in Aristide’s washroom, he wouldn’t miss them.

Cyril only woke as they thudded to the ground at Dameskill Regional. Outside the window, the downs rolled away into gentle hills. The grass was brown, the trees bare. In his memory, Dameskill county was green, and smelled of hay and strawberries in the sunshine. This felt like touching down in yet another foreign country.