Minla's Flowers

'Tell her I appreciated it,' he said.

'I gave the stone to my daughter. She found it pretty.'

'How did you come by it?'

'I thought you were in a hurry to leave.'

Merlin's hand closed around the stone. 'You're right. I should be on my way.'

'The stone belonged to a prisoner of mine, a man named Dowitcher. He was one of their greatest thinkers: a scientist and soldier much like myself. I admired his brilliance from afar, just as I hope he admired mine. One day, our agents captured him and brought him to the Skylands. I played no part in planning his kidnap, but I was delighted that we might at last meet on equal terms. I was convinced that, as a man of reason, he would listen to my arguments and accept the wisdom of defecting to the Skylands.'

'Did he?'

'Not in the slightest. He was as firmly entrenched in his convictions as I was in mine. We never became friends.'

'So where does the stone come into it?'

'Before he died, Dowitcher found a means to torment me. He gave me the stone and told me that he had learned something of great significance from it. Something that could change our world. Something that had cosmic significance. He was looking into the sky when he said that: almost laughing. But he would not reveal what that secret was.'

Merlin hefted the stone once more. 'I think he was playing games with you, Malkoha.'

'That's the conclusion I eventually reached. One day Minla took a shine to the stone - I kept it on my desk long after Dowitcher was gone - and I let her have it.'

'And now it's mine.'

'You mean a lot to her, Merlin. She wanted to give you something in return for the flowers. You may forget the rest of us one day, but please don't ever forget my daughter.'

'I won't.'

'I'm lucky,' Malkoha said, something in his tone easing, as if he was finished judging Merlin. 'I'll be dead long before your Waynet cuts into our sun. But Minla's generation won't have that luxury. They know that their world is going to end, and that every year brings that event a year nearer. They're the ones who'll spend their whole lives with that knowledge looming over them. They'll never know true happiness. I don't envy them a moment of their lives.'

That was when something in Merlin gave way, some mental slippage that he must have felt coming for many hours without quite acknowledging it to himself. Almost before he had time to reflect on his own words he found himself saying to Malkoha, 'I'm staying.'

The other man, perhaps wary of a trick or some misunderstanding brought about by the translator, narrowed his eyes. 'Merlin?'

'I said I'm staying. I've changed my mind. Maybe it was what I always knew I had to do, or maybe it was all down to what you just said about Minla. But I'm not going anywhere.'

'What I said just now,' Malkoha said, 'about there being two of you, one braver than the other . . . I know now which man I am speaking to.'

'I don't feel brave. I feel scared.'

'Then I know it to be true. Thank you, Merlin. Thank you for not leaving us.'

'There's a catch,' Merlin said. 'If I'm going to be any help to you, I have to see this whole thing out.'

Malkoha was the last to see him before he entered frostwatch. 'Twenty years,' Merlin said, indicating the settings, which had been recalibrated in Lecythus time-units. 'In all that time, you don't need to worry about me. Tyrant will take care of everything I need. If there's a problem, the ship will either wake me or it will send out the proctors to seek assistance.'

'You have never spoken of proctors before,' Malkoha replied.

'Small mechanical puppets. They have very little intelligence of their own, so they won't be able to help you with anything creative. But you needn't be alarmed by them.'

'In twenty years, must we wake you?'

'No, the ship will take care of that as well. When the time comes, the ship will allow you aboard. I may be a little groggy at first, but I'm sure you'll make allowances.'

'I may not be around in twenty years,' Malkoha said gravely. 'I am sixty years old now.'

'I'm sure there's still life left in you.'

'If we should encounter a problem, a crisis--'

'Listen to me,' Merlin said, with sudden emphasis. 'You need to understand one very important thing. I am not a god. My body is much the same as yours, our lifespans very similar. That's the way we did things in the Cohort: immortality through our deeds, rather than flesh and blood. The frostwatch casket can give me a few dozen years beyond a normal human lifespan, but it can't give me eternal life. If you keep waking me, I won't live long enough to help you when things get really tough. If there is a crisis, you can knock on the ship three times. But I'd urge you not to do so unless things are truly dire.'

'I will heed your counsel,' Malkoha said.

'Work hard. Work harder than you've ever dreamed possible. Time is going to eat up those seventy years faster than you can blink.'

'I know how quickly time can eat years, Merlin.'

'I want to wake to rockets and jet aircraft. Anything less, I'm going to be a disappointed man.'

'We will do our best not to let you down. Sleep well, Merlin. We will take care of you and your ship, no matter what happens.'

Merlin said farewell to Malkoha. When the ship was sealed up he settled himself into the frostwatch casket and commanded Tyrant to put him to sleep.

He didn't dream.

Nobody he recognised was there to greet Merlin when he returned to consciousness. Were it not for their uniforms, which still carried a recognisable form of the Skylanders' crescent emblem, he could easily believe that he had been abducted by forces from the surface. His visitors crowded around his open casket, faces difficult to make out, his eyes watering against the sudden intrusion of light.

'Can you understand me, Merlin?' asked a woman, with a firm clear voice.

'Yes,' he said, after a moment in which it seemed as if his mouth was still frozen. 'I understand you. How long have I--'

'Twenty years, just as you instructed. We had no cause to wake you.'

He pushed himself from the casket, muscles screaming into his brain with the effort. His vision sharpened by degrees. The woman studied him with a cool detachment. She snapped her fingers at someone standing behind her and then passed Merlin a blanket. 'Put this around you,' she said.

The blanket had been warmed. He wrapped it around himself with gratitude, and felt some of the heat seep into his old bones. 'That was a long one,' he said, his tongue moving sluggishly, making him slur his words. 'We don't usually spend so long in frostwatch.'

'But you're alive and well.'

'So it would seem.'

'We've prepared a reception area in the compound. There's food and drink, a medical team waiting to look at you. Can you walk?'

'I can try.'

Merlin tried. His legs buckled under him before he reached the door. They would regain strength in time, but for now he needed help. They must have anticipated his difficulties, because a wheelchair was waiting at the base of Tyrant's boarding ramp, accompanied by an orderly to push it.

'Before you ask,' the woman said, 'Malkoha is dead. I'm sorry to have to tell you this.'

Merlin had grown to think of the old man as his only adult friend on Lecythus, and had been counting on his being there when he returned from frostwatch. 'When did he die?'