“Let him rest,” said Kwarive.
They went out. As they walked through the museum Kwarive laughed.
“What?”
“We’re padding about like a couple with a newborn litter.”
“Don’t even think about it,” said Darvin. “One handful’s enough.”
“What’s the point of all this, anyway?”
“We have to prove it,” said Darvin. “Strange tales are one thing. Right in front of your eyes is something else. We have to show a talking trudge kit to the project high-ups.”
“You know what they’ll say?” said Kwarive.
“Yes,” said Darvin. “They’ll say: ‘What an ugly child!’ ”
“This is hopeless,” said Kwarive, the third morning after they’d bought the trudge. “He’s just not talking.” Handful sat on now grubbier straw, grooming his wings. He’d taken to rattling the cage door whenever Darvin or Kwarive entered the room, but other than that treated them with wary disdain. Every so often he would clutch the towel and chew the corner of it.
“Three days isn’t long,” said Darvin. “In astronomy.”
“I think we should let him out,” said Kwarive. She closed the slatted screen over the window space and moved to open the cage door.
“Hang on,” said Darvin. “He’ll crash into things and crap all over the place.”
“You know what?” said Kwarive. “I don’t care.”
“On your head be it.”
Kwarive opened the barred door of the box. Handful watched, still sitting. He crawled forward and looked out over the edge of the shelf. His head recoiled. Then he stood upright, spread arms and wings, and leaned into the drop, eyes closed. He tipped forward and fluttered to the floor, where he sat down with a bump and peered around. “Ow,” he said.
He stood up, rubbed his skinny buttocks, and opened his wings again and flapped hard. After getting nowhere for a bit he walked over to Kwarive and stretched his arms upward. “Up,” he said. “Up.”
“Did you hear that?”
“Yes, I did,” said Kwarive. “No need to yell.”
She stooped and held out her fists, thumbs extended. The trudge kit grabbed on and she swung him up above her head. Handful made a harsh cackling noise and let go. Suddenly he was flying. Around the room once, not hitting anything, and back to the box.
The telephone rang. Darvin picked it up.
“Museum annexe,” he said.
“Hah!” said Bahron’s voice. “They said I’d find you there. I told you to watch the skies, astronomer.”
“What’s happened?”
“Come to your office and I’ll tell you.”
“No,” said Darvin. “You come down here. Kwarive and I have something to show you.”
“Hah!” snorted Bahron. “All right.”
Bahron arrived a few minutes later. He had company: Orro and a stranger.
“Orro!” Darvin said. “How good to see you again.”
“Likewise,” said Orro. He looked more than pleased. He looked like a different man. “Darvin, Kwarive — allow me to introduce my good friend Holder, from the Regnal Air Force of Gevork.”
The stranger, tall with uniform brown fur over which he wore a complex leather harness with a long sabre at each hip, spread his wings and hands. “Delighted to meet you,” he said. “I’ve heard much of you both.” His diction was clear, his accent stronger than Orro’s.
“I’ve heard much of you,” said Darvin. He looked around. “Please, everyone, take, uh, a perch or whatever…”
Bahron, as was his wont, made for the windowsill. As he rattled open the slatted shutter, Kwarive latched the cage. Darvin saw Bahron take notice, and glance from the cage to the wireless receiver on the table, and the hint of a self-satisfied smile. The Eye missed nothing, and knew it.
“Consider the sabreur one of us,” said Bahron.
“I… see,” said Darvin, hating the awkwardness in his voice.
Bahron laughed. “Nothing like you think. Signal is a joint project now — between Seloh, Gevork, and the Southern Rule.”
“I’m not going to fall for that,” said Darvin. He looked sidelong at Kwarive. “This is a test, yes?”
“Stop acting the amateur,” said Bahron. “The Sight does not indulge in petty intrigues, or set little traps. The word from the Height will come down later today. The situation is far too serious for flapping about. Tell them, Holder.”
The Gevorkian frowned into the distance, as if inspecting a complex display flight.
“As Bahron mentioned,” he said, “we shall hear officially later today. I arrived in Kraighor five days ago by airship as a guard on a diplomatic mission. The instructions of our plenipotentiary were not divulged, but I was given to understand that the moment was fraught. Suspicion had been evinced that Seloh’s Reach had entered into direct relations with the aliens. I admit that some wild talk was indulged regarding our military advantage in the field of rocketry. The impression among the air force personnel was that we were in a position to negotiate from strength, as the phrase goes. When our mission was met and escorted down by four flying machines, such talk was heard no more. Within a day of landing at the Height, I was summoned to the embassy to be told that I had been assigned the post of scientific-military liaison to your Project Signal, on behalf of our own Project Portent, of whose existence I had been unaware until that moment. I can only speculate that I was chosen on the basis of my position of, ah, personal trust with Orro.” He smiled. “Be that as it may, my instructions are simply to share all that we have learned. Portent and Signal are to be merged without delay or reservation. A treaty of mutual assistance between the three great powers has been signed and will be proclaimed. We face a situation where our previous differences are of no account.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Darvin.
“Oh, you could,” said Bahron. “You’ll agree a lot more when you see this.”
The paper was of poor quality, the picture poorer. It was all dots. Narrowing his eyes, Darvin could just about make out a rectangle and two triangles. “It’s the Object!” said Kwarive, over his shoulder. “And it’s broken up!”
“Well done,” said Bahron. “The two conical bits are moving very fast. Not our way, thank the gods. To the little rubbish planets — the Camp-Followers.”
Darvin held up the sheet of paper. “Where did this come from?”
“It’s a wireless photograph from our embassy in the Southern Rule. The Gevorkians also have a copy. The original was handed in by one of the court astrologers. I understand it’s a lot more detailed. Like I said, you should have watched the skies.”
“Indeed I should,” said Darvin. “When did this breakup happen?”
“Four days ago, I gather.”
“Then there may be photographs from the observatory in my office—”
“Yes,” said Bahron. “I was kind of hoping there would. What have you been doing lately, if I may ask?”
Darvin gestured at Kwarive. “We’ve been investigating the trudges.”
“Brilliant,” said Bahron. “And what have you found?”
Kwarive held up an earpiece in one hand and the loop antenna in the other. “Listen,” she said.
Bahron came over and put his ear to the buzz.
“Is this some kind of trick?” asked Bahron.
“Trick,” said Handful. “Trudge trick. Bad trudge!”
In the moments that followed, the midge kit heard some new words, which Darvin rather hoped it wouldn’t learn.
They walked between the towers to the Faculty of Impractical Sciences. They walked as a courtesy to Kwarive, for whom Handful was now an armful. When they’d made to leave the annexe the little beast had set up such a pathetic wail that nobody could bear to leave him behind. Kwarive walked beside Bahron, in earnest conversation. Behind them Darvin walked with Orro and Holder. Darvin observed on the faces of people walking the other way a predictable shift of expression. As they approached their faces tended to bestow the standard vague indulgent smile of noticing a young woman and small kit. As they came closer and passed, the faces of those who noticed what Handful was froze, intrigued or shocked or outright disgusted. Darvin maintained a strut and glare that defied remark. It seemed to work, though he allowed on reflection that Holder’s swords and Orro’s martial bearing helped.