Fascinated, Raffi watched. He had never seen so many of them; he noticed the different colours and patterns of their fur, the small tribemarks. There were no young ones, though. No children. Each had an absorbed look, as if they dreamed or were in some trance as they listened, and they took not the slightest notice of the travellers.

Finally, the story came to an end. There was no applause, just silence, and then the creatures talked excitedly to each other.

‘Why are they ignoring us?’ Carys asked, annoyed.

The Sekoi smiled. ‘My people are honest. If the Watch question them they can say they’ve talked to no keeper, no Starmen.’

It uncurled itself and crossed the room and, taking the story-teller by the arm, began to whisper.

Galen fidgeted. ‘Are we safe here? How does it feel?’

‘There’s nothing. I can’t read Sekoi.’

‘I could.’ The keeper’s hawk-face darkened. ‘But then, they’re usually safe. They despise most Starmen, especially the Watch. But not the Order.’

‘Why call us Starmen?’ Carys asked.

‘Because the Makers came from the sky. The Sekoi say they watched them come. They have stories about it.’ He laughed, harshly. ‘They have stories about everything.’

Behind the quiet talk another teller had begun; an old-looking Sekoi mumbling almost to itself. As he sat there, Raffi felt the pattern of words; at first they meant nothing to him, but as Galen and Carys talked, their voices faded out and the room rippled, as if it were an image in water. He closed his eyes and opened them, but the rippling went on; he turned to speak to Galen about it but the keeper had gone; all about him was a dark hillside under the stars, brilliantly frosty, and the seven moons beyond, making the Ring.

Standing there, Raffi shivered in the cold, feeling his fur thicken, seeing the night in new colours, colours that had no words but Sekoi words, and he said them to himself, quietly delighted.

In the sky, a light moved. It was a star that grew; it came closer to him, and the hum and glitter of it shook the frosted tops of the trees, and he saw how vast the stars were. It came down and landed. The whole world shook with its weight.

The star opened and the man walked out. Flain was tall and his hair was long and bright. But the sight of him made the fur on Raffi’s neck shiver; he rubbed at it and someone’s hand caught his and said, ‘Raffi! Raffi!’

Galen was crouched over him. Behind, the Sekoi was smiling. ‘I told you not to listen,’ it purred.

Galen glared at it. ‘Is he all right?’

‘Perfectly. Aren’t you?’

Raffi nodded, confused. He looked over, but the story-teller mumbled on, and now the words were impossible to understand.