Count Shenegar did not seem hurt. Instead he replied reasonably. “You have your point of view, I have mine. I believe in the ultimate sanity of our causethat the unification of the world is of maximum importance, that personal ambitions, no matter how noble, must be sacrificed to the larger principles.”

“That is the usual bland Granbretanian answer,” Hawkmoon said, unconvinced. “It is the argument that

Meliadus used to Count Brass shortly before he attempted to rape and carry off his daughter Yisselda!”

“I have already disassociated myself from Baron Meliadus,” Count Shenegar said. “Every court must have its fool, every great ideal must attract some who are motivated only by self-interest.”

Shenegar Trott’s answers seemed more directed at the quietly listening boy than at Hawkmoon and D’Averc themselves.

The meal finished, Trott pushed back his plate and resettled his silver mask over his face. He turned to the boy. “I thank you, sir, for your hospitality. Nowyou promised me I might look upon and admire the Runestaff. It will give me great joy to stand before that legendary artefact…”

Hawkmoon and D’Averc glanced warningly at the boy, but he did not appear to notice.

“It is late, now,” said Jehemia Cohnahlias. “We shall all visit the Hall of the Runestaff tomorrow. Meanwhile rest here. Through that little door,” he gestured across the room, “you will find sleeping accommodation. I will call for you in the morning.”

“Shenegar Trott rose and bowed. “I thank you for your offer, but my men will become agitated if I do not return to my ship tonight. I will rejoin you here tomorrow.”

“As you wish,” the boy said.

“We would be grateful to you for your hospitality,” Hawkmoon said. “But again let us warn you that Shenegar Trott may not be what he would have you believe.”

“You are admirable in your tenacity,” Shenegar Trott said. He waved a gauntleted hand in a cheerful salute and strode jauntily from the hall.

“I fear we shall sleep poorly knowing that our enemy is in Dnark,” said D’Averc.

The boy smiled. “Fear not. The Great Good Ones will help you rest and protect you from any harm. Goodnight, gentlemen. I shall see you tomorrow.”

The boy walked lightly from the room and D’Averc and Hawkmoon went to inspect the cubicles containing

bunks and bedding that were let into the side of the walls.

“Shenegar Trott means the boy harm,” Hawkmoon said.

“We had best make it our business to look after him, if we can,” D’Averc replied. “Goodnight, Hawkmoon.”

After D’Averc had ducked into his cubicle, Hawkmoon entered his own. It was full of glowing shadows and the soft music of the unearthly lullaby he had heard earlier. Almost immediately he was sound asleep.

Chapter Eight

An Ultimatum