“You mean we should go that way?” Conrad gasped. “To the very place where the things come from?”

Yanderman cocked his head. “Has it only just struck you?” he said with genuine astonishment. “Logically, if we’re hunting for survivors in the middle of the barrenland whose duty is to try and stop the things emerging into the world, we have to go where they are-to the middle.”

“I suppose so,” Conrad said. “But I wish …”

Yanderman clapped him on the shoulder. “Bear up!” he said. “Tomorrow afternoon at latest we should reach the centre of the barrenland, and all our questions will be answered. Mark you, for every question that’s answered we’ll probably learn to ask a score of new ones, but that’s hardly to be helped.”

Conrad essayed a smile at the joke, gave a last glance at the dying monster, and moved on.

It was more disconcerting than ever when late that night Yanderman mentioned the possibility of the survivors at the centre regarding strangers with hostility. Again, Conrad had had the information to go on, and hadn’t used it. If Rost and the wise men of Lagwich could argue that a man from the barrenland was by definition a devil, the cut-off community here-if it existed-might feel similarly.

Yanderman had a precaution against that risk, however. He sketched in a line of rocky hills to the east of the centre point, which he had located in one of Conrad’s visions. A detour in that direction, he argued, would give plenty of cover for their final approach, and a chance to sum the place up before showing themselves.

It made sense. But when he was scrambling among the rocks late the following afternoon, Conrad found himself once again wishing he was anywhere but here. His mouth was dry, his feet were blistered and cut, his hands were scratched, his shoulders ached from the weight of his equipment-

And he had forgotten all his discomforts within the past second. Flat on his belly beside Yanderman, peering over a rim of rock, he saw the most incredible sight he had ever dreamed of, far surpassing anything in his familiar visions.

A sort of dome lay ahead, between them and the setting sun, so vast that one had to turn one’s head to take it all in. Gashed and holed, slightly buckled, it was still mind-shaking. Like a super-monster it lay stranded in the sea of the desert, blotched with smears of greenish vegetation, creepers and free-standing plants. At one end there was a cluster of smaller buildings-buildings, for all that they were tiny and ramshackle. At the other, so dwarfed by the immensity of the dome, there were …

“Are those people?” Conrad said in a shaking voice.

“Yes!” Yanderman’s answer was equally unsteady, and when Conrad glanced around he was astonished to see that his companion’s cheeks were bright with tears. “Yes, Conrad, they’re people, and it’s true, it’s all true! I was so terrified we might come here and find only desolation, but we were right!”

Conrad stared towards the insect-sized group of human beings again. They were moving purposefully, following a plan, under orders. They knew what they were doing. They must hold the key to the mystery of the barrenland and the origin of the terrifying things which wandered out of it to Lagwich … And surely they couldn’t be hostile to visitors from the outside world. They’d know there was an outside-why, if Rost’s “devil” had been a man, that implied they’d even attempted to reach it! What could have gone wrong? He and Yanderman had made the crossing uneventfully enough, but of course they’d had a compass and the aid of his own vision-memories-

He was so lost in thought that at first he didn’t realise what was happening at the foot of the dome before him. Only a cry from Yanderman and the snicking of a rifle-bold brought him to full awareness.

Something had emerged from the dome, from among the jungly green vegetation there, and the group of people off to the left had scattered and run. Something monstrous had come out!

A thing twenty feet tall, waving uncountable limbs like whips, shrieking now as though maddened by pain and being driven by some invisible force straight towards the rocks among which Conrad and Yanderman lay hid!

XVII

That day began like any other for Nestamay, although an hour earlier than most, for it would again be her turn to keep overnight watch after sunset, and shortly after midday she would have to try and catch up on her sleep; that apart, everything was as usual.

Washed, and having attended to baby Dan’s vegetable-like needs, she fetched their day’s rations and prepared a quick breakfast. She hardly spoke to Grandfather-indeed, since that unexpected cracking of his self-control which had followed her accusations against Jasper, he seemed deliberately to have hardened the shell around himself again, and spent more time than ever in silent anxious musing.

Their frugal meal was almost over when there was a bang on the door of the hovel, patched together like the rest of the building from salvaged scrap. The caller didn’t wait for an invitation to enter, but stepped in at once.

It was Keefe, a burly man with only one eye, the other having been lost years ago to a newly-hatched thing. He carried a large cracked plastic dish in which rested a clump of soil containing a sickly plant.

“Sorry to disturb you, Maxall,” he said. “We found this out towards the East Brokes, or rather my kid found it. She doesn’t think she’s seen one like it before, and nor do I.”

Grandfather grunted. “It could happen,” he said sceptically. “Let’s have a look at it.” He reached out a casual hand and took the dish.

Rubbing his hands, Keefe waited. It was logical that he should bring a problem of this kind to Grandfather, Nestamay knew-nobody else had so much information so clearly memorised. But it was obvious he didn’t like the chore. If only Grandfather didn’t have this gift of making even grown, knowledgeable men feel like ignorant children …!

“Nestamay!” Grandfather’s sharp voice broke into her meditation. “Get my microscope, will you?”

Nestamay jumped to her feet and went to the row of shelves at the back of the hovel on which were kept the few serviceable scientific instruments their family had culled from the mess below the dome. She took down the microscope gingerly and bore it to the old man wrapped in its antirust cloth.

“Is it something new?” Keefe ventured.

“D’you think I’d be bothering with the microscope if I was sure?” Grandfather retorted, picking off a sample leaf and sliding it into place under the objective.

Keefe rolled his eye as though seeking strength from above, then caught Nestamay’s attention and gave her a grin which he probably intended to be sympathetic. But the girl had a sudden attack of family loyalty and tossed her hair haughtily.

“Hah!” Grandfather said a moment later. He put aside the leaf and held out a hand towards Nestamay. When she didn’t immediately understand the gesture, he snapped his fingers. “Knife, you little fool!” he exclaimed. “Do I have to tell you every time what it is I want?”

Flushing, Nestamay fetched the knife. Maybe she shouldn’t have made such an unfriendly response to Keefe after all, she thought. Grandfather could be incredibly maddening. Sulky, she dropped back to her seat.

His age no handicap to his deft fingers, Grandfather sectioned the stem of the plant and selected a tiny roundel to examine with the microscope. Adjusting the focus minutely, he addressed Keefe.

“Out towards the East Brokes, you said?”

“That’s right. The way the thing went after we kicked it out of Channel Nine the other night. I thought it might have come through on the thing’s hoof, perhaps-in a lump of mud.” He hesitated. “That is, if it is something new.”