There were some days when she looked round at what they’d achieved and wondered if it was all real. But, of course, it was all Nigel. He knew exactly what to do, how things were built, the components, the tools they’d need. He knew how to handle people. He wasn’t afraid of being forceful when he had to be. He was focused in a way she knew she’d never be, not even with all her bright bubbling Commonwealth knowledge. Which made her slightly envious.

She found herself watching him more and more. He was over a thousand years old – so he claimed – even though he didn’t look much over his mid-twenties. That youthful appearance was . . . nice. It helped conjure up certain daydreams. Not that they were anything but daydreams.

He teased her a lot, which was cool that he felt so comfortable with her. It meant she could tease him back, ask questions she’d never dare ask Mrs Brewster. She’d never known that kind of honesty before. It made her feel good, on a lot of levels.

It was a time she’d have been happy to stretch on and on, but Nigel was keen to find out what had caused the peculiar signal from the Desert of Bone. So with Blair Farm functioning smoothly, they set off as the dry season arrived, leaving Skylady and three ANAdroids in charge.

They had to take a boat to Erond first, which had the closest branch-line station. Nigel hired the whole longbarge to ferry them and their luggage along the Nubain tributary from Adeone. Before they started, he’d ordered five brand new trunks from the general store, which had taken three weeks to arrive from Varlan. Lovely brass-cornered boxes with heavy-duty Ysdom locks, so large Kysandra could practically fit into one if she curled up tight.

Russell and Madeline came with them, as valet and maid respectively, along with two of the ANAdroids who had now modified their faces, giving them real human characteristics. One had acquired Asian traits and had aged himself to about eighty, complete with a receding hairline – nice touch, she acknowledged. Who would ever suspect anything abnormal about that? The second had turned his skin as pale as the Algory mountains’ snowcaps and toned his hair to a matching light sandy shade. She’d spent a few days suggesting facial elements he might want to incorporate, watching in delight as they slowly manifested, until a week later they’d wound up with a wonderfully handsome twenty-year-old’s countenance. Sure enough, every time he visited Adeone, all the girls directed sight and ex-sight his way.

‘You’re projecting,’ Nigel had commented, in not-quite-disapproval.

She and the ANAdroid had laughed at that behind his back. All the ANAdroids had distinct personalities, and this one had a dry sense of humour she enjoyed. ‘What do I call you?’ she asked. Because now that he had a real face, it was impossible to think of him as a machine.

‘I am Three.’

‘That’s not a proper name, and I can’t call you a number in public. Nothing that draws undue attention, remember?’

‘I can’t forget anything, remember?’

Kysandra giggled. ‘Then I’m going to call you Coulan, after one of Mum’s nephews. I always liked him.’

‘I accept the name with gratitude.’ He gave her a short bow. ‘What are you going to call the rest of my batch?’

So it was Demitri, Marek, Valeri and Fergus.

‘Fergus?’ Nigel sighed and rolled his eyes. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yes, Fergus.’ She linked arms companionably with the newly named Fergus, who generated a quick pulse of smug amusement from his bioconstruct brain.

‘All right. But when I start using them as embedded scouts, he might have to be called something else if that’s what it takes to blend in.’

‘Fine,’ she said airily.

But he was Fergus when he accompanied them on the expedition. With their luggage and servants and first-class tickets, they really did fit the ideal of an aristocratic couple taking a grand trip.

The first train took them all the way up the Southern City Line and into Varlan’s Willesden station, which stood on the Colbal’s southern bank. Kysandra had pleaded to spend a few days in the capital before setting off east. Surprisingly, Nigel had agreed easily enough. ‘I need to look around at some point,’ he said. ‘Can’t put it off forever.’

So they booked in to the palatial monolith that was the Rasheeda Hotel on Walton Boulevard, with its diamond-patterned bricks and stone oriel windows, where their fifth-floor suite had a balcony that overlooked Bromwell Park. Kysandra laughed in delight at the ornate rooms, which had wood panelling and lush gold and scarlet wallpaper, then gasped at the size of the four-poster bed in the master bedroom. She couldn’t resist running across the room and jumping onto the vast mattress, giggling as she bounced about. ‘This bed is the same size as my whole bedroom back home!’ She rolled over and ran the tip of her tongue along her teeth. ‘It’s a perfect bridal suite, don’t you think?’

Nigel gave her a faux-lofty glance. ‘I’m sure a lot of brides have had a happy time here.’

‘You say you’re a thousand years old,’ Kysandra retorted with her best coquettish pout, ‘so you must have had a lot of wives.’

‘Kysandra: you’re seventeen, I’m a thousand. That’s just wrong on every level. Just keep thinking of me as your big brother guardian and you and I will be fine. I’ve told you before, when you see a nice boy who’s close to your age, then take him to bed and have as much fun as you want.’

‘I don’t want a nice boy.’

‘That’s an old argument which isn’t actually true. Trust me: you do.’

‘Don’t,’ she insisted stubbornly.

‘And I recognize the way that jaw is firming up, so let me tell you now before you turn any more daydreams into plans: I get that this is all tremendously exciting for you, but I will not offer you any kind of false happy ending. I may have to leave, I may get imprisoned or lynched, I just don’t know. So understand this: you and I are not going to grow old together and watch our grandchildren take over the farm. I’m glad I met you, and I’m pleased that your life has improved because of that, but I have obligations to the Commonwealth and the Raiel that have to be met. Everything else is secondary.’

Her pout turned grouchy. ‘Fine. Okay.’

‘Damn, I’d forgotten what teenagers are like. I love that you know everything and don’t need any help in the world.’

‘Stop being such an arsehole.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ He gave her that grin that admitted he was actually really fond of her. ‘You know, if they’d chosen Ozzie instead of me, it would have been very different. He would have taken you to bed without any hesitation.’

‘Is he likely to come? After all, you crashed on the wrong planet. Will he come and rescue you?’

Nigel burst out laughing. ‘Hell, no. Sorry. I’m all you’ve got.’

‘So who is Ozzie, anyway? You keep mentioning him.’

‘My oldest friend. I can’t even begin to tell you all the things we’ve done together. Not that you’d believe them anyway.’

‘Try me.’

‘Maybe on the train to Portlynn. It’s going to be a long trip.’

‘And he really won’t come to rescue you?’

‘No. He’ll likely laugh and say: I told you so. But he won’t come. I’m on my own.’

*

For two days Kysandra toured the centre of the capital, relishing every moment. The huge stately buildings, the wide tree-lined boulevards, public parks, galleries, theatres, the people, rich and poor – there were more walking along a single street than lived in the whole of Adeone. But as much time as she could wrangle out of Nigel was spent visiting the grand department stores and couture houses. She was dazzled by the furnishings and fittings the stores offered, and constantly asked Nigel if they could have pieces for the farmhouse. Nothing the county carpenters produced could ever come close to this elegance and comfort. He laughed and said perhaps they could order some on the way back.