‘Well, Grendel, I have things I need to do. Your men told me we have some mutual interest. The only reason I’m here is because they mentioned a place called Samarkand.’

‘Yes, I do have an interest in Samarkand. But let us be clear what this conversation concerns.’ Grendel paused, as if listening to something, and then he went on. ‘My client and yourself both have a special interest that is pertinent to that place. That interest is one Ian Cormac.’

Pelter looked down at his suddenly clenched fists. After a moment he opened his hands and looked up. The thin-gun hovered at the edge of his vision again.

‘Talk, and talk fast.’ He spoke through clenched teeth. Behind him Mr. Crane moved his head in that characteristic birdlike manner as he turned his head from one to the other of the two men by the door.

‘First, I feel I should assure you that you need look no further than these premises for your requirements. I have all those things that the Polity frowns upon.’

‘I won’t ask again,’ said Pelter.

‘As you will . . . You want to kill Ian Cormac. I can help you kill him.’

Something frigid rested a hand on the back of Pelter’s neck. ‘Go on.’

‘My client will assist you. Through me he will provide weapons which you will, I am afraid, pay for, but then you expected that. There are, though, other ways in which he can assist you. You have the determination and the ability to deal with Ian Cormac. What you lack is a suitable source of information.’

‘I can get information,’ said Pelter tightly.

‘You can?’ wondered Grendel. ‘Information like . . . that at this moment Ian Cormac is in a small carrier-wing overflying Samarkand? That he has with him Sparkind soldiers?’

Pelter was silent for a moment. Mr. Crane froze into stillness. ‘That . . . kind of information would have to come from the AI net,’ he said. ‘The only people who could obtain it would have to be gridlinked. Are you gridlinked? Because if you are, then it means you are ECS, and very shortly to die.’

Grendel smiled. ‘No gridlinks as you see them. Perhaps you have noted these?’

Grendel opened his compartment and took something out. He placed it lovingly on the surface of his desk. It was one of the strangely reptilian augs like those Svent and Dusache wore. It seemed alive to Pelter.

‘This explains nothing,’ he said.

‘You haven’t asked me who my client is,’ said Grendel.

‘Who is your client, then?’

Grendel told him.

* * *