Llian was slumped in a chair, his head still echoing from the drumming, which had gone on half the night, when Ifoli burst into Snoat’s salon. Her breathing was ragged, her ivory cheeks tinged with pink, and she stumbled as she entered. Her left hand was pressed to her stomach as if she were in pain.

“Ifoli!” snapped Snoat, clearly irritated that she had strayed so far from the perfection he demanded.

“Gurg —” Her voice was higher than usual, almost shrill.

Snoat scowled.

With a visible effort of will she calmed herself, regularised her breathing and pressed her left hand down by her side. Llian could not remember seeing anyone so young – she could not have been twenty-five – having such extraordinary self-control.

“Gurgito said he’ll come when he’s damn well ready.” She bowed and stood back, trembling a little.

“Did he now?” A muscle jumped in Snoat’s jaw, then he laughed. “What a fellow he is.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Cumulus.”

“In his way, Gurgito Unick is as perfect as you are. You are perfectly lovely, perfectly competent and, almost always, perfectly composed. Unick is a perfect brute who lacks all impulse control. He’s as vicious a mongrel as you will ever see, and one of the prizes in my collection.”

“He’s worse now! The Origin device has corrupted him.”

“Come now. He only finished it at midnight.”

“And it’s utterly transformed him. He’s a danger to you, Cumulus.”

Llian sat up. The drumming had began suddenly at midnight, louder than he had ever heard it. He had lain in bed for an hour, fighting an almost overwhelming urge to sneak down the hall to Thandiwe’s room. He had tried everything to defeat it, though in the end only one thing could hold him back – the thought of Sulien’s crushing disappointment in him.

“He hates men like me,” said Snoat. “But he hates clever women even more.”

Ifoli’s hand slipped to her stomach again. “He hates all women.”

Snoat frowned. “He struck you?”

Ifoli unfastened the central buttons of her gown. Her midriff bore a fist-sized red mark. She fastened the buttons. The flush reappeared on her cheeks but faded at once.

“Have him brought here. By the tetrad.”

“Sir!” cried Ifoli. “I implore you —”

“At once! And never call me sir again, or the tetrad may pay a visit on you.”

She bowed and went out.

Snoat, now agitated, dismissed the secretaries and Thandiwe. He turned to Llian, who had no idea what was going on or what the tetrad was.

“Unick is the most brilliant maker of enchanted devices in the world,” said Snoat. “There’s no one else like him. But I can’t allow him to damage my possessions, can I?”

“Am I your possession?” Llian had begun to think he was.

“You’re a unique and precious part of my collection, the teller of the first new Great Tale in hundreds of years. Though I’m not sure you’re going to be a permanent part…”

Chills formed on the back of Llian’s neck. Snoat’s words could be interpreted in a number of ways but he could only focus on the obvious meaning. Snoat planned to have him killed, and, trapped in this walled and heavily guarded estate, how could he hope to escape?

The drumming sounded, very faintly this time. Some distance away a man roared like a mad beast, then let out a stream of obscenities fouler than anything Llian had heard since his reckless student days. Then came an almighty crash, as if one of the exquisite vases that lined the corridors had been smashed to pieces, followed by another series of berserk roars, obscenities and crashes.

Ifoli burst through the doorway, skidded on the polished floor, recovered and said redundantly, “They’re bringing him now, Cumulus. He’s… reluctant.”

“The Oolian vases?” said Snoat.

“Three of the four.”

“Bring the last.”

She went out. The roars grew louder until they rattled the windows, then Gurgito Unick was dragged in. He was a very big man, but the tetrad who had tamed him were bigger. They were giants, as muscular as weightlifters, yet it took three of them to hold him, and his wild lurches and furious lunges were dragging them several feet one way and then the other.

It was hard to comprehend how anyone could have changed so radically, so quickly. Unick’s face was as bloated as that of a five-day corpse, his tiny eyes were so red they seemed to be dripping blood, and he stank as if he had slept in the same clothes for a month. Had his Origin device focused the drumming on him?

His ruddy eyes touched on Ifoli, who had returned with the last of the Oolian vases, a lovely piece almost three feet tall. He leered at her. Then Unick noticed Llian staring at him and rage overwhelmed him.

“Stinking teller!” he roared.

In an explosion of violence he tore free of the tetrad and ran at Llian, who was in a corner and had nowhere to go. The tetrad lumbered after Unick but he was too quick. Llian was sure he was going to die – one blow from those mighty fists would drive his nose out the back of his head.

He put up his own fists, though he had never won a fight in his life. Unick sprang ten feet, landed in front of Llian and swung at him with terrible force. Llian ducked late and the blow clipped him on the side of the head, knocking him to the ground. He lay there, stunned, seeing the threat but unable to move.

“Ifoli!” said Snoat.

Unick leapt, intending to land with all his weight on Llian’s head. This would have killed him had Ifoli not leapt into Unick’s path like a ballet dancer, swinging the Oolian vase by its rim. She slammed it into Unick’s face and it shattered, driving him backwards. Llian crawled the other way, then the tetrad had hold of Unick again.

For a moment he was silent, dazed by the blow, which had broken his nose and cut his face in a dozen places. Ifoli stood there, her breast heaving, staring at the fragments.

Snoat scowled. “For pity’s sake, Ifoli, close your mouth. You look like a yokel.” She did so, and he smiled. “You saved the life of one of my most precious possessions and I won’t forget it.”

“But… the vase was the last in existence,” said Ifoli.

“It was one of a set. Better none at all than an incomplete set.”

Another insight into the character of the man. Llian liked Snoat less every second, and feared him more.

Snoat addressed the tetrad. “You will beat Unick to a pulp and lock him in his workshop. Then you will beat each other to a pulp for so failing me.”

The tetrad battered Unick with ruthless efficiency, sickening to watch. Such a beating would have killed Llian, but Unick, an experienced brawler, had an astonishing ability to absorb punishment. He did not look at his attackers or try to resist them. His bloody eyes stayed fixed on Llian the whole time.

Finally he slumped into unconsciousness and the tetrad dragged him out. Servants came in, barefoot so they would make no noise, to clean up the blood and the shattered porcelain.

“It doesn’t do to let me down,” Snoat observed.

Llian squirmed.

A messenger appeared at the door. Ifoli spoke to him for half a minute. “Ill news, Cumulus. Will you hear it now?” She looked meaningfully at Llian.

“I will,” said Snoat.

“Ragred caught up with Karan some miles east of Chanthed but failed to get her chain, and now he’s dead. A Whelm killed him.”

“A Whelm?” cried Snoat, vexed. “What name?”

“We don’t know. Karan gave her daughter into the Whelm’s safe custody.”

“Why would she give Sulien to them?” cried Llian. He appreciated all Idlis and Yetchah had done for Karan but did not share her faith in them. “Where are they taking her? Is she all right? Where is Karan now?”

Snoat raised an eyebrow at Ifoli.

“The messenger did not know where they were taking Sulien, chronicler,” she said to Llian, “but Karan was heading to Chanthed.”

Snoat looked Llian up and down. “Escort Llian to his room. He’s got a lot to think about.”

The night that followed was one of the worst of Llian’s life. Possibly, the worst. What a fool he had been, voting against Thandiwe. Karan must have heard that he had been accused of murder and had come after him, and then she had been attacked. He could only imagine what she and Sulien had gone through before Ragred was killed.

But why had she sent Sulien away with the Whelm? She had been afraid of them since Idlis lurched up the path to Gothryme when she was a toddler. She had screamed herself hoarse.

It did not make sense, for she came first, always. Llian could only think of one reason why Karan would send her away. The magiz must have got to her, and she believed that Sulien was safer with the Whelm than with herself.

It must be Karan’s worst nightmare. It was certainly Llian’s.