‘Of course not,’ Pilgrim said. ‘That’s why I would like both of you to return to Stonehaven with me. You can examine the map and photograph it before we give it to Intrepid. And we could publish the photographs with an account of how it was found, and discussion of its significance.’

‘What about your friend?’ Poppy said. She was looking towards the far side of the platform, where Intrepid was talking with two orange-shirts, making shapes in the air with his hands as he explained something.

‘He asked me to retrieve the map, and bring it to him,’ Pilgrim said. ‘He did not ask me to refrain from publishing anything about it. In fact, I think that he would be rather pleased if I did.’

‘Because it would bolster Landwalker’s claims that the visitors are real,’ Fragrant said.

‘I don’t think that Intrepid is working for him,’ Pilgrim said.

‘Who, then?’

‘Your camera is one of the Sweetwater Collective’s designs, isn’t it?’

‘One of the latest,’ Fragrant said.

‘Do you see that box hung around Intrepid’s neck? It’s a miniature version of your camera. A prototype not yet for sale. A generous gift from the Sweetwater Collective, according to him. He also claimed to have a copy of Master Able’s manuscript, which must be the one which the Collective purchased from Able’s family.’

Fragrant understood at once. ‘So Windrush is working for them. Relaying inside information.’

‘He told me that his work here was almost done. That Foeless Landwalker had outlived his usefulness. Perhaps the Collective has its own plans to call down the visitors.’

‘But why would they want the map?’ Poppy said.

‘I’m not sure. Intrepid said that it was an interesting little mystery. If the Collective is planning to meet the visitors, I suppose its people would want to learn everything they can.’

A man close to the platform blew a long blast on the carnyx that looped around his shoulders and flared into a broad bell above his head, and a ragged chorus of cheers got up as a strikingly tall person in an orange shirt made his way through the crowd. It was Foeless Landwalker, trailed by a small procession of burly, orange-shirted acolytes, presumably his Night Rider guards. Men and women fell to their knees or reached out to touch him as he passed by; the musicians kicked up a quick-time beat.

One of the orange-shirts on the platform stepped between Pilgrim and the two women and told them that they’d soon see why so many were gathered here. ‘This is one of the nights our friends will come,’ he said. ‘I can feel it in my blood.’

‘We very much hope that they will,’ Fragrant said.