‘…I hereby swear allegiance to…’

Some looked earnest, or ardent, excited, apprehensive, jubilant, glassy-eyed. A few were tearful. One or two seemed bored.

‘…oppose those who subjugate us and cause us…’

He glanced at Karr and saw that he was silently mouthing the oath, gazing unwaveringly at Goyter.

‘…vow my mind, my body and my spirit to the…’

Kutch was transfixed too, fascinated by the flow of lofty ideals and noble phrases.

‘…to protect the weak, fight for the downtrodden, speak out for the voiceless…’

Had the emotions in that room been uniform, had sentimentality and pious conviction been the crowd’s only mood, Caldason could have dismissed it all.

‘…the inalienable right of all…’

But it seemed to him there were as many reactions as there were different types of people present. That somehow gave a power to what was happening. Not a power he was unfamiliar with, but one he hadn’t felt for a very long time.

‘…nor rest until freedom…’

Widely different people -

diverse

, Karr had called them – yet sharing a connection, an affinity of common purpose. The feeling it gave him dredged something from the pit of his memory. It rekindled the trace of a dream.

‘…This I do swear and affirm.’

The end of the oath brought a hubbub. Clapping, subdued cheers, the resumption of chatter. Caldason refocused on the here and now.

‘Quieten down!’ Goyter shouted, dampening the new conscripts’ noise. ‘Those of you making your way back to your homes and families will be leaving here in small numbers and not all at once. The guards at the door will take care of that. Those who aren’t going back, just stay where you are and your group leaders will come to you. Let’s do this quietly and sensibly, shall we, folks?’

She got a smattering of applause.

‘Aren’t going back?’ Kutch echoed.

‘Some have been selected to work clandestinely,’ Karr explained. ‘They’ll give up the lives they’ve known and be swallowed by the underground. New identities, new objectives. Others serve best by staying in the roles they occupy.’

‘It all sounds very organised.’

‘We’re still learning. It’s taken us years to build the movement’s structure. But now this new alliance means we have access to an even greater network.’

‘It’s quite exciting, isn’t it, Reeth?’

‘You see this as very romantic, don’t you, Kutch?’ Caldason replied. ‘A bit of an adventure.’

‘Well, I suppose -’

‘It’s not. It’s about real people taking real risks and maybe dying because of it. It’s about somebody’s wife or brother or father being maimed, tortured or worse. Why don’t you tell the boy about that side of it, Karr?’

‘You, sir, are a cynic.’ The patrician said it with good humour, though he couldn’t keep a mild undercurrent of genuine criticism out of his voice. ‘It’s all those things, yes. People will be hurt, and die, and misery’s unavoidable. It’s a dangerous enterprise. But Kutch is right, too; it

is

an adventure. Probably the greatest we’ll ever see. As for romance, what grander than the romance of liberty?’

Caldason didn’t answer.

People were leaving, let out in ones and twos by the pokerfaced guards. Those who stayed were being shepherded into units by their minders. Goyter moved among them, urging, smoothing tempers, answering questions.

‘What now for us, Karr?’ the Qalochian finally asked.

‘One more task. Though I hope you won’t see it that way. I thought it was time you met those people I told you about earlier. The little band of escapees who washed up on our shore.

Ah.

’ He turned to the door.

There was a minor commotion there. A small group was being brought in, cloaked and hooded. Several of the newcomers were obviously seasoned Resistance members, acting as guides and protectors. Their charges were a man, two women and a pair of children. Even at first glance they seemed an oddly assorted bunch.

Diverse

, Reeth thought.

No one, least of all Caldason, knew everything was about to change.

The new arrivals rolled back their hoods and doffed their cloaks.

At least, the women did. Both of them shook loose their hair, releasing a cascade of blonde and raven locks. Caldason immediately recognised the brunette as a Qalochian. Such meetings were rare enough to mean something to him, and he thought she had the same feeling. The children, who proved to be a boy and a girl once unwrapped, and quite young, looked bone tired. They all did.

The man, on the short side and well-built, kept his cowl in place. There may have been a good reason for this, but all it did was arouse interest.

Caldason was intrigued by the prospect of meeting another Qalochian. He was curious about the man who remained hidden. But he had eyes only for Serrah Ardacris.

He instinctively knew another warrior, and would have even if Karr hadn’t already spoken about her. She had the effortless grace common to good dancers and good fighters – athletic, supple, light on her feet, with a muscular potency that didn’t submerge her femininity.

There was a certain comeliness, too, under the wear and tear. It was to do with strength. Caldason knew that when people spoke of character it was usually strength they meant, and this woman’s face was etched with it. She had a

presence

, a bearing that spoke of confidence shot through with wilfulness. And maybe a dash of something a little like insanity.

From across the room, she studied him in turn. A natural process when two people who live by violence recognise each other. Her gaze was unblinking, but not devoted exclusively to him. She constantly surveyed her surroundings and the people, seemingly relaxed but actually alert. It was the way of Caldason himself, though he was better at concealing it, having practised for so much longer.

Somebody released the lever and the cogwheels started up again.

‘This is not the place for a meeting,’ Karr shouted over the racket, ‘even if we are among our own. We need privacy.’ He gestured to Goyter. After a hasty, whispered consultation, he said to Reeth and Kutch, ‘One moment, please.’ Then he went to the newly-arrived group at the door.

Reeth glanced at Kutch. ‘Been a long day, hasn’t it? Lot to take in.’

The boy nodded.

‘Are you all right with it?’

‘Yes. Well, kind of. A bit overwhelmed. Knowing I might be a spotter, hearing the Resistance plan… finding out about

you

.’

‘After a flurry of events, things have a way of settling down.’

‘They never seem to when you’re around, Reeth.’

As Karr said something to the new arrivals, they all looked Caldason and Kutch’s way. What Reeth noticed most was the stare Serrah gave him. Proud, penetrating. That strength again.

Karr rejoined them, the fresh group in tow. ‘Come on, there’s somewhere we can go.’

Caldason and the boy fell in behind the newcomers and Karr led everybody to a small door on the far side of the room. He opened it and ushered them through, slamming it behind him at the last.

‘That’s better,’ he announced.

It was quieter, and cooler. They were in a storehouse; a long, low building with sacks and barrels piled along each side of a central aisle.

Glamour globes gave light here too, though there were fewer than in the mill, making it shadowy. Caldason quickly scouted, satisfying himself that they were alone.

‘I think you can remove the hood now, Kinsel,’ the patrician said.

The stocky man did so, revealing an amiable, neatly bearded face. ‘Thank goodness for that.’ His voice was bass and smooth. His open smile was genuine.

Karr returned it. ‘Time for introductions, I think.’ He gestured to the others. ‘Reeth Caldason, Kutch Pirathon.’

Kutch said hello. Caldason gave one of his small, almost indistinct nods.