Master Quell was sweating, gasping, fighting through the soft sand as he prob-ably fought through all of life, one wheezing step at a time. He was sunburned on one side of his body, face and neck, bared forearm, ankle and foot, the result of falling asleep in an unwise position. That he had been pursuing Gruntle for some time was clear in that his footprints completed an entire circumlocution, leaving Gruntle to wonder why the man had not simply called out to capture his atten-tion. Indeed, if Gruntle had not noticed the new trail upon his own, they might well have gone round all day, one pursuing, the other simply walking at a pace the pursuer could not achieve.

‘A simple shout,’ he said as the man drew closer.

‘I did not, uh, want, uh, to call undue attention, uh, upon us.’

‘You do not sound well.’

‘I need to pee.’

‘Then-’

‘I can’t. Well, I can, but intermittently. Generally when I’m not, er, thinking about it.’

‘Ah. A healer could-’

‘Yes, yes, I know. Never mind that. Listen-’

‘Master Quell,’ said Gruntle, ‘this was not the way to avoid undue attention-everyone else is sitting right there in the shade of the carriage, and they have been watching us for some time. Me, at least. Why, the Bole brothers wave to me with every pass I make.’

They both glanced over and, sure enough, Jula and Amby waved.

Master Quell rubbed at his bicolour red and pasty face. ‘I need an escort.’

‘For what? To where?’

‘Back to the realm of the dead. No, not in the carriage. Just you and me, Gruntle. I need to get a sense of what’s going on. We need to just, er, slip in. A quick look round, then back out.’

‘And then?’

Quell’s brows lifted. ‘Then? Well, we resume our journey, of course.’

‘You want me to escort you into Hood’s realm, as what, your bodyguard?’

The man bristled slightly. ‘The shareholder agreement you have made with the Guild includes discretionary tasks as assigned by the Pilot.’

Gruntle shrugged. ‘I was but wondering, Master Quell, what possible use I could be, given that the realm is awash with rabid masses of miserable corpses.’

‘I said we’d go in quiet!’

‘We could ask the passenger we picked up back there.’

‘What? Oh, is he still here?’

‘Under the palm trees.’

‘Under them? Only a dead man could be so stupid. Fine, let’s see what we can find out-but I still need to see some things for myself.’

The rest of the crew, along with Mappo, watched them walk over to the twin palm trees, edging into their shade to stand-nervously-before the gaunt, with-ered undead who was piling up coconuts into pyramids like catapult ammuni-tion. Even as he worked, unmindful of his new guests, another nut thumped heavily on the sand nearby, making both Gruntle and Quell flinch.

‘You,’ said Quell.

The ghastly face peered up with shrunken eyes. ‘Do you like these? Patterns. I like patterns.’

‘Happy for you,’ Quell muttered. ‘How long have you been dead?’

‘How long is a taproot?’

‘What? Well, show it to me and I’ll guess.’

‘It’s three times the length of the aboveground stalk. In the baraka shrub, any-way. Does the ratio hold for other plants? Should we find out?(

‘No. Later, I mean. Look, you were marching with all the rest in Hood’s realm. Why? Where were you all going? Or coming from? Was it Hood himself who sum-moned you? Does he command all the dead now?’

‘Hood never commands.’

‘That’s what I thought, but-’

‘Yet now he has.’

Quell’s eyes widened. ‘He has?’

‘How wide is the sky? How deep is the ocean? I think about these things, all the time’

Gruntle noted the Master gaping, like a beached fish, and so he asked, ‘What was your name when you were alive, sir?’

‘My name? I don’t recall. Being alive, I mean. But I must have been, once. My name is Cartographer.’

‘That sounds more like a profession.’

The corpse scratched his forehead, flakes of skin fluttering down. ‘It does. An extraordinary coincidence. What were my parents thinking?’

‘Perhaps you are but confused. Perhaps you were a cartographer, trained in the making of maps and such.’

‘Then it was wise that they named me so, wasn’t it? Clever parents.’

‘What did Hood command of you, Cartographer?’

‘Well, he said “Come” and nothing more. It wasn’t a command to create confusion, or arguments regarding interpretation. A simple command. Even dogs understand it, I believe. Dogs and sharks. I have found seventeen species of shellfish on this beach. Proof that the world is round.’

Another nut thudded in the sand.

‘We are perturbing this island with our presence,’ said the cartographer. ‘The trees are so angry they’re trying to kill us. Of course, I am already dead.’ He climbed to his feet, bits falling away here and there, and brushed sand and skin from his hands. ‘Can we go now?’

‘Yes,’ said Master Quell, though his eyes were still a little wild. ‘We’re going back to Hood’s realm and we’re happy to take you with us.’

‘Oh, no, I’m not going back there. It’s not time.’

‘Yes it is and yes you are,’ said Master Quell.

‘No it isn’t and no I’m not. Hood issued a second command, one just to me. He said “Go” and so I did. It’s not time. Until it is, I’m staying with you.’

‘Everyone who rides the carriage,’ Quell said in a growl, ‘has to work for the privilege.’

‘Yes, and I have begun.’ And he gestured down at the coconut pyramids. ‘You have netting bundled to the sides of the carriage, presumably to hold people on board. If we are to cross water, then we should place these nuts within said net-ting. As flotation devices, in case someone is washed overboard.’ He made a heav-ing motion with his emaciated arms. ‘With a line attached for retrieval.’

‘That might work,’ said Gruntle.

‘Gods below,’ Master Quell muttered. ‘Fine, I’m not arguing with a dead man. Gruntle, draw your weapons. We’re going now.’

‘My weapons?’

‘Just in case. And now, no more damned talking back!’

Quell fashioned a portal into Hood’s warren that was but a thin, elongated slice, like a parting of curtains, from which cool lifeless breath gusted out, sweep-ing the sand into the air. Eyes stinging, Gruntle glanced back just before follow-ing the mage into the rent. And saw Amby and Jula wave.

They emerged on the summit of a hill, one of a long spine of hills, each one so similar to the next that they might he enormous barrows although why there would he barrows in the realm of death Gruntle could not imagine.

In the valley before them the broad basin was a solid river of grey figures, tens of thousands on the march. Ragged pennons hung from standards as if impervious to the moaning wind. Weapons glinted in muted flashes.

‘Gods below,’ muttered Quell. ‘He’s assembling the entire host.’

‘Looks that way,’ agreed Gruntle, feeling like an idiot with his cutlasses in his hands. He slid them back into the underslung scabbards. ‘Do we make our way down?’

‘I’d rather not.’

‘Good. Seen enough? Can we go now, Master Quell?’

‘Look, a rider approaches.’

The horse was clearly as dead as the man who rode it, gaunt and withered, mot-tled where hair had worn off. Both wore armour, boiled leather tarnished and cracked, flapping on frayed leather thongs as they climbed the slope. A ragged cape lifted like a tattered wing behind the warrior. As they drew closer, Gruntle swore under his breath. ‘He’s wearing a mask-he’s a damned Seguleh!’ And he reached for his weapons-

‘Gods’ breath, Gruntle, don’t do that!’

It was a struggle to lower his arms. Gruntle’s blood felt hot as fire in his veins-the beast within him wanted to awaken, to show hackles lifted and fangs bared. The beast wanted to challenge this… thing. Trembling, he made no move as the rider drove his horse over the crest a dozen paces to their right, sawing the reins and wheeling the beast round to face them.