His ministers composed themselves and turned to him.

“I’ve met with the ambassador perhaps a dozen times over the past ten years,” said Rudgutter, “and I’ve never seen it behave like that. Damn that air!” he added, rubbing his eyes.

The four walked back along the little corridor, turned onto the main passageway and began to retrace their steps towards the lift.

“Behave like what?” asked Stem-Fulcher. “I’ve only ever dealt with it once before. Not used to it.”

Rudgutter mused as he walked, tugging thoughtfully at his lower lip and his beard. His eyes were very bloodshot. He did not answer Stem-Fulcher for some seconds.

“There are two things to be said: one dæmonological, one practical and immediate.” Rudgutter spoke in a level, exact tone, demanding the attention of his ministers. Vansetty was wandering quickly ahead, his job done. “The first might give a certain insight into the Hellkin psyche, behaviour, whatnot. You both heard the echo, I presume? I thought he did that to intimidate me, for a while. Well, bear in mind the immense distance that sound had to travel. I know,” he said quickly, holding up his hands, “that it’s not literally sound, nor literally distance, but they are extraplanar analogues and most analogous rules hold in some more or less mutated way. So bear in mind how far it had to travel, from the base of the Pit to that chamber. The fact is, it takes a little while to get there . . . That ‘echo,’ I believe, was actually spoken first. The . . . eloquent words we heard from the ambassador’s mouth . . . those were the real echoes. Those were the twisted reflections.”

Stem-Fulcher and Rescue were silent. They thought of the screams, the tortured, maniacal tone they had heard outside, the idiot ruined gibbering that seemed to make a mockery of the ambassador’s devilish refinement . . .

They reflected that that might be the more genuine voice.

“I’m wondering if we were wrong to think of them having a different psychic model. Maybe they’re comprehensible. Maybe they think like us. And the second thing, bearing in mind that possibility, and bearing in mind what the ‘echo’ might tell us about the dæmoniac state of mind, is that at the end there, when I was trying to cut a deal, the ambassador was scared . . . That’s why he wouldn’t come to our aid. That’s why we’re on our own. Because the dæmons are afraid of what we’re hunting.”

Rudgutter stopped and turned to his aides. The three gazed at each other. Stem-Fulcher’s face twisted for a fragment of a second, and was then composed. Rescue was as impassive as a statue, but he plucked fitfully at his scarf. Rudgutter nodded as they pondered.

There was a minute of silence.

“So . . .” Rudgutter said briskly, clasping his hands. “The Weaver it is.”

Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE