Taragorm led Meliadus and Flana through two short corridors full of the noise of clocks and arrived at last outside a low door which he opened with a small key.

“In here.” He took a torch from the bracket outside and used it to light the dungeon he had opened. “There. It is on roughly the same level as the crystal machine at Castle Brass. Its voice can carry through the dimensions.”

“I hear nothing,” Meliadus said with some disappointment.

“You hear nothing because there is nothing to hearin this dimension. But it makes a goodly sound, I guarantee, in some other space and time.”

Meliadus moved towards the object. It was like a great brass skeleton clock the size of a man. Its pendu

lum swung beneath it, working the escapement lever moving the hands. It had springs and cogs and looked in every respect like an ordinary clock made huge. On its back was mounted a gong-like affair with a striking arm. Even as they watched the hands touched the half-hour and the arm moved slowly up to fall suddenly upon the gong. They could see the gong vibrating but did not hear a whisper of sound.

“Incredible!” whispered Meliadus. “But how does it work?”

“I have still to adjust it a little to ensure that it is operating in exactly the correct dimension of space and time which, with the help of Tozer, I have managed to locate. When midnight comes, our friends at Castle Brass should experience something of an unwelcome surprise.”

Meliadus sighed with pleasure. “Oh, noble brother! You shall be the richest and most honoured man in the Empire!”

Taragorm’s weird clock mask bowed slightly in recognition of Meliadus’s promise. “It is only fitting,” he murmured, “but I thank you brother.”

“You are sure it will work?”

“If it does not, then I shall not be the richest and most honoured man in the Empire,” Taragorm said with some humour. “Doubtless, in fact, you shall see to it that I am rewarded in a less pleasant fashion.”

Meliadus flung his arms around his brother-in-law’s shoulders. “Do not speak of such a thing, brother! Oh, do not speak of it!”

Chapter Nine

Huon Confers

With His Captains

“WELL, WELL, GENTLEMEN. Some sort of civil disturbance, we gather.” The golden voice came from the wizened throat and the sharp black eyes darted this way and that at the gathered masks before them.

“It is treason, Noble Monarch,” a Mantis mask said. His uniform was untidy and his mask singed by a flame lance.

“Civil war, Great Emperor,” another emphasised.

“And very nearly a fait accompli,” murmured the man next to him, almost to himself. “We were totally unprepared, Excellent Ruler.”

“Indeed you were, gentlemen. We blame you alland ourselves. We were deceived.”

The eyes moved more slowly over the assembled captains. “And is Kalan amongst you?”

“He is not, Grand Sire.”

“And Taragorm?” purred the sweet voice.