It had been a month since the last of the Wall’s great engines had seized up, of a lack of fuel, of lubricating oil, of damage caused to the piping by the cold. Thaxa knew the first such engines had been developed by the school of engineer-philosophers founded by émigré Greeks. Those primitive mechanical beasts had solved Northland’s perennial problem of a shortage of manpower; Northlanders’ numbers were comparatively few, for they did not farm, and they did not keep slaves. But the Wall had become dependent on its engines, and now they had failed. If the heating couldn’t be restored the Wall might not remain habitable. And in the longer term too, there would be problems out in the country; the whole of Northland was an artificially managed landscape, dependent on labour: human, animal and mechanical.

Xree and Ywa spoke of efforts to find fuel sources in the Wall itself and its environs. Even the wooden frames of buildings like this house of Thaxa’s might be sacrificed, the inhabitants taken into the growstone womb of the Wall. The Wall would have to consume itself to stay alive, thought Thaxa.

‘Then there’s the problem of the Archive,’ Xree said.

Ayto looked puzzled. ‘The Archive?’

‘It is rather exposed,’ Ywa said. ‘It is housed in chambers built into the forward face of the Wall. It was done that way, by our predecessors two centuries ago, to provide a light and airy environment for the scholars to work in. Now we’re working through a programme of moving the Archive back into older housing deeper within the Wall, the growstone core.’

Xree said brightly, ‘And we’re taking the opportunity to convert some of the more fragile records to permanent forms. On baked clay for instance.’

Ayto leaned forward in his chair. ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this.’

Crimm said warningly, ‘Ayto—’

‘People are starving, freezing to death, dying out on the sea, all over. And you’re worried that your famous Archive might get a bit of damp?’

Xree bristled. ‘The Archive is at the centre of our cultural identity.’

‘Will you have folk eat words?’

Crimm sighed. ‘Take it easy, man.’

Ayto looked at him sternly. Then he said, ‘Can I have a word with you?’

Crimm hesitated. Then he stood, nodding apologies to the Annids, to Thaxa. The two fishermen left the room.

Xree and Ywa talked on about their Archive project. And Ontin, the doctor, spoke slowly and patiently to Aranx, who, realising he was going to lose a limb, was beginning to weep.