Alex hesitated. The little robot seemed to look at him from his hand. He shook himself, then bent and started scooping out a hole in the ground under the hedge. As he placed the flier inside, a sharp memory of being trapped down the well shivered through him. He covered the flier, being very careful about just how he did it, gently patting the dirt down.

“Okay,” Alex said, when he was satisfied.

“Thank you,” the old man said quietly. “And thank you for Harry. What you did was extraordinary, Alex. And I know it wasn’t easy for you, in more ways than one. I’m sorry for snapping. But I’m very glad you’ve decided to give this up. When we get through this, I want you to be done with all of this business. Out of it. It’s . . . not for you. Come on, let’s go.”

As they started walking, Alex’s grandfather put an arm around Harry’s shoulders, speaking in a confidential tone. “Harry, just out of interest: can you remember anything about when you were, y’know. Out. Away . . . Dead.”

Harry chewed his lip, head bowed in silent concentration, then looked up. “Coconut.”

“How’s that?”

“There was a coconutty smell,” Harry said decisively.

“Absolutely fascinating.”

Alex sighed and dropped behind a few steps, leaving them to it. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Back along the road, the patch of dirt he’d left as loose as possible trembled, and his flier came bursting out. Damp earth fell away from it as it climbed for the sky. Alex held it high in the air behind them as they walked, far enough back that no one would see.

XXIII.

DEAD MAN TALKING

The drizzle became a mist over the country. Alex’s grandfather kept up a largely meaningless conversation with Harry, mostly, Alex suspected, just to get the dead man’s mind working. Harry was still having trouble with his memory.

Alex let them talk, more focused on scanning the roads around them using the wavering overhead images coming to him from his flier. They seemed safe, so far.

He hated lying, but he was sure his grandfather was wrong. The old man had said as much, more than once—his thinking wasn’t clear. There was something wrong with him, Alex was increasingly sure. With his grandfather’s concentration waning, and with Harry . . . being in whatever state Harry was in, Alex had taken the decision, to protect them all.

With his flier, he could watch for anyone following, anything waiting around the bend. It was eating up his energy, but the more he used the machine, the more he understood how to control it. It could prove useful in whatever lay ahead. Then, once it was all over, once he was out of this deranged dream life, he would give it up and get rid of it.

He would.