Ivor was clearly straining. His speed seemed to rise and fall, and his insides made strange and worrying noises. Tony fussed endlessly over the various gauges, making constant small adjustments to his levers, while keeping up a monologue of encouraging, soothing words to his beloved engine. Giles stood patiently on his own, his arms folded across his chest, looking interestedly out at the oceans of stars around us. After a while, Molly was able to open her eyes again, and once I was sure they weren’t damaged after all, I got up to talk with Giles. I thought I ought to try and make him feel welcome . . . but it wasn’t easy. Although our translation was still working well enough, there was a hell of a lot of history between us, and it was sometimes hard to find words, or even concepts, we had in common. We couldn’t even be sure how many centuries separated us.

“I’m taking you back to Earth,” I said. “At the beginning of the twenty-first century AD.”

Giles just shrugged. “Sorry, means nothing to me. I’m from the centre of the empire, Heartworld, in the thirty-second century of the New Age. And before that, from a small colony world out on the rim.”

“And you used to work for the emperor?” I said carefully.

“Well, still do, officially. I am Warrior Prime, by popular acclaim leader of the Emperor’s Host in battle. The emperor will take me back, once we’ve put this little . . . misunderstanding behind us.”

“Won’t he miss you?”

“Ethur? He’ll be glad to see the back of me, for a time. Give him a chance to cool down, let my supporters make reparations behind the scenes . . . and then he can summon me back to court without losing face. Some emergency will arise that only the Warrior Prime can deal with; something always does. And then he’ll welcome me back with open arms. He’ll have to. He needs me. He might rule the empire, but I’m the one who keeps the peace.” He looked at me thoughtfully. “You can get me back again, can’t you?”

“Oh sure,” I said immediately, trying hard to sound confident. “That’s the joy of time travel. We can return you to your exact departure point in space and time, give or take a few seconds.”

“I’d rather you allowed a few months,” said Giles.

“No problem,” I said. “Right, Tony?”

But he wasn’t listening to me, still crooning to his engine. I searched for something else to say, to change the subject.

“So . . . why a sword, Giles?”

“Because it’s an honourable weapon,” said Giles, as though the answer should have been obvious.

“Oh wonderful,” said Molly. “We’ve picked up a looney.”