As though it was a signal, the woman and two men burst away from the table at the same instant, whirling round to respectively punch, kick and head-butt the three men nearest them; Dloan and Sharrow overpowered the two men who’d taken their guns while they were still trying to get their own rifles to work. Miz made a grab for Lebmellin, but he had pushed himself away from the table and fell back, stumbling across the deck of the red-lit bridge.

Four black-clothed bodies lay on the floor round the chart table; everybody else seemed to be fighting; another man fell to the deck; the aristocrat followed him down, straddling him and punching him and tearing something from his clothing. Lebmellin saw two of his men at the bridge doorway pointing their guns at the melee and shaking the rifles when they didn’t work. Sharrow fired the gun she’d taken back and one of the men at the door fell to the deck, screaming and clutching his thigh; the other threw his gun down and ran.

Lebmellin ran too; he got to the end of the bridge and hauled himself out of the shattered window. Somebody shouted behind him. He fell to the deck aft of the broken window, landing heavily.

Sharrow got up and ran after Lebmellin; she saw him hobbling along the deck outside. She jumped out of the window, landing on something small and hard lying on the metal deck, like a pebble. A big, sleek, jet-engined powerboat was idling by the hull of the ferry. She levelled the HandCannon at Lebmellin, twenty metres away. Somebody shouted a challenge from the far end of the deck; the bulky figure of the Vice Invigilator skidded and stopped; Lebmellin glanced back at her, hesitated, then threw himself over the rail and fell through the darkness.

Sharrow watched him tumble; he hit the starboard engine nacelle of the powerboat below and bounced slackly into the black water. A second later a door gull-winged open half-way along the craft’s cabin and a figure threw itself out, also splashing into the waves.

“What’s happening?” Miz said from the broken bridge window.

Sharrow glanced back at him and shrugged. “Lots,” she said, and looked down at the deck to see what her foot was resting on. It was the Crownstar Addendum. “Oh,” she said. “Found the piece.” She picked it up carefully.

“Good,” Miz said. The muffled engines of the powerboat below revved up; it started to drift forward, then its engines screamed and it pushed away across the small waves, spray billowing from its hull as it accelerated and rose up on two sets of A-shaped legs to reveal itself as a hydrofoil.

Miz and Dloan joined Sharrow at the rail; the black hydrofoil powered into the night, twin blue-pink cones of light pulsing from its engines. Dloan held the metal box Lebmellin had called a Mind Bomb-its top hinged back-and one of the guns the black-dressed men had carried.

“Look,” he said to Miz, while Sharrow squinted at the dark water. Dloan opened up the stock of the rifle, pulling out some wires. “Ordinary synaptic stunners with a radio-controlled off switch.” Dloan held up the Mind Bomb, which was empty save for a single tiny piece of electronic circuitry. “And a radio transmitter…”

Miz looked mystified, from the empty box to Dloan’s face.

“I think I can see somebody…” Sharrow said, shading her eyes.

“Hello!” a faint, female voice said from the waves below.

“Zefla?” Dloan said, setting the gun and box on the deck.

A voice floated back sarcastically. “No, but I can take a message.”

Sharrow thought she could just see Zefla, her blonde head bobbing in the water. “What are you doing down there?” she called.

“Waiting for a rope, perhaps?”

“If you’re going to be cheeky you can look for Lebmellin. He’s down there somewhere. Can you see him?”

“No. About that rope…”

Just before they lowered her a rope ladder, Lebmellin bumped into Zefla. His body went drifting past face down, his distorted skull oozing blood.

Zefla held on to the corpse for a moment. Miz frowned, looking down. “What are you doing, Zef?” he called.

“Checking the double-crossing son-of-a-bitch for the emeralds,” Zef shouted back.

“Na, don’t bother,” Miz told her. “They were fakes anyway.”

Zefla made a growling noise. Sharrow gave Miz a hard look, and he beamed a broad smile at her.

“Isn’t this great?” he said, sighing happily. “Just like the old days!”

Sharrow shook her head, secured the ladder and threw the end down to Zefla.

They helped her over the rail; she was dressed in knickers and a short black under-slip.

“You all right?” Sharrow asked her.

“Oh’, fine,” Zefla said, dripping. “Chief Invigilator’s been killed, his yacht’s sunk and I was kidnapped.” She started to wring her hair out. “How’s your evening been?”

“Tell you later,” Miz said, turning from one of his hired men. “Jam security and Marines on the way,” he told Sharrow.

She shoved the Addendum into her satchel. “Let’s go,” she said.

Their route took them down into the bowels of the ship and past a couple of Miz’s nervous-looking hired hands; he told the guards to stop anybody else from following them.

A gangplank just above sea level led from the stem of the ferry into a larger passenger ship; as they crossed they heard shooting and the sound of helicopters. Miz kicked the end of the gangplank into the water after they’d passed.

They ran through the echoing, deserted space that had been the vessel’s engine room. On the far side was a crudely welded-in doorway, half-burnt paint still peeling from annealed metal near where the flame had burned.

A short corridor of large-bore pipe led to a similar door; when Miz closed it behind them they were at the bottom of a huge, tall, clangingly echoing space; naked metal walls towered into the darkness above. A single yellow bulb shone weakly,, suspended at the end of a skinny wire descending from the shadows. The air smelled stale and metallic.

“Old oil tanker,” Miz said breathlessly, leading the way across the water-puddled floor of the huge tank. Their shadows swung across the tank floor like the hands of a clock. “Boat’s in a dock a few tanks along.”

“Something fast, I hope,” Zefla said.

“Nup,” Miz said. “The hired hands have chose; we’ve got an ancient sail-boat with an electric motor. It’ll take us to a marina on shore. Not what they’ll be looking for at all.”

“You hope,” Sharrow said.

They jogged on, leaping the I-beams that were the vessel’s ribs and ducking through a couple of torch-burnt doors through to other tanks.

A pain hit Sharrow in the lower ribs, making her gasp. She ran on, holding her side. “You okay?” Zefla asked.

Sharrow nodded, motioned the others on. “Just a stitch; keep going.”

Then the lights went out. “Shit,” Sharrow heard Miz say. The sound of footsteps in front of her slowed.

The faintest of glows came from ahead, light spilling from a couple of tanks beyond. “Probably just a fuse, not enemy action,” Miz said. “Watch out for the I-beams. Ouch!”

“Find one?” Zefla inquired.

There was a muffled explosion somewhere behind them, followed by a distant banging noise. “Oh fuck!” Miz shouted.

“Just one of those nights really, isn’t it?” Zefla said.

“Yeah,” Miz said. “I bet we get to Aïs City and it’s raining. Well, come on.”

They ran. The pain in Sharrow’s abdomen got worse and her legs started to hurt as well: stabbing pains piercing her with every step.

“Sharrow?” she heard Dloan say in the darkness, as the silhouette of Miz climbed through to another tank.

“Here,” she gasped as she staggered. “Keep going, dammit; I’m here, I’m here.”

The others drew further ahead. They crossed another tank, stumbling up to the I-beams and splashing through unseen puddles of water. Her legs burned with pain; she gritted her teeth, tears coming unbidden to her eyes. Zefla then Dloan made it through the door to the next tank. The pain was getting worse. She heard one of them asking her something.