The Minstrel Boy’s eyebrows shot up.
‘I ain’t going with him. I’ll leave town, but I ain’t going with him.’
Bannion grabbed the lapels of his frock coat.
‘Oh yes you are.’
‘Why? Why have I got to go with him?’
‘So you can lead him to A.A. Catto, and I can be sure he won’t get lost and come back here. Okay?’
‘I’m damned if it’s okay. I don’t mind leaving town. I’ve been thrown out of better towns than this, but him, I ain’t no way going with him.’
Bannion tightened his grip on the Minstrel Boy’s jacket.
‘Oh yes you are.’
The Minstrel Boy tried to pull away.
‘Listen, take your hands off me. You got it all wrong. Shit, I couldn’t even help him if I wanted to. I can’t track people through the nothings. It’s just not possible.’
Bannion pushed the Minstrel Boy forcibly away. He staggered back across the lobby. He was fielded by two patrolmen who held him while Bannion sauntered towards him.
‘You’re a goddamn liar.’
The Minstrel Boy paled.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know what I mean.’
The Minstrel Boy began to struggle.
‘You can’t do it. You can’t do it to me.’
Bannion smiled nastily.
‘I can. I’ll do anything to make sure you two get out and stay out.’
The Minstrel Boy shook his head desperately.
‘You wouldn’t do that.’
‘I would.’
Jeb Stuart Ho interrupted. He looked puzzled.
‘I don’t understand. What are you two talking about?’
Bannion turned to Ho. His grin became meaner and wider.
‘He can follow A.A. Catto anywhere.’
The Minstrel Boy’s voice became hysterical.
‘No I can’t.’
One of the patrolmen twisted his arm, and the Minstrel Boy shut up. Bannion went on.
‘Any guide can get a fix on a single individual, provided you keep him shot full of cyclatrol. It gives them some kind of overall vision. Don’t ask me how it works, but it does.’
Jeb Stuart Ho stroked his chin. He looked at the Minstrel Boy.
‘Is this true?’
Sweat had broken out on his forehead. He shook his head.
‘No, no, it’s all lies. Nothing like that … argh!’
One of the patrolmen had twisted his arm again. He subsided.
‘Yes, it’s true …’
His voice rose again.
‘… But it could kill me.’
Jeb Stuart Ho looked at Bannion questioningly.
‘Is this true? Will the drug kill him?’
Bannion shrugged.
‘It might. But it’s not all that likely. He could go mad.’
Ho nodded.
‘I suppose we’ll have to take the chance.’
The Minstrel Boy began to struggle violently with the men holding him.
‘No! No! You can’t do this to me!’
Bannion swung round angrily.
‘Shut him up.’
One of the patrolmen tapped the Minstrel Boy sharply across the back of the head with the butt of his nightstick. The Minstrel Boy slumped forward. Bannion turned back to Jeb Stuart Ho.
‘I’m taking you down to headquarters. I’ll fix you up with transport for the nothings, supplies and the drugs for him.’
He jerked his thumb towards the Minstrel Boy who hung limply between the two patrolmen. Jeb Stuart Ho ran his fingers through his hair.
‘There’s no alternative choice?’
Bannion shook his head.
‘You’ve got no choice at all. I’d still rather have you quietly shot.’
Jeb Stuart Ho bowed.
‘I suppose I should thank you for this help with my task.’
Bannion’s lip curled.
‘Save it. It’s going to cost the brotherhood a fortune.’
He signalled to the squad of patrolmen. They bundled Jeb Stuart Ho and the Minstrel Boy out of the hotel lobby, across the sidewalk and into the back of a patrolcar. Around them, the camera crews and sightseers were already starting to crowd round the entrance of the Leader Hotel.
***
A.A. Catto sat back in one of the small gilt chairs that were arranged round the edge of the airship’s small ballroom. The entire place was furnished in gold and red plush. A cluster of small spotlights played on the dark mirror of the dance floor. On a small dais a string quartet played muted chamber music. A.A. Catto sighed. After the fear and tension of the last few hours she felt totally drained. Exhaustion made her avoid thinking about what she should do next.
Billy, Reave and Lame Nancy stood in the small observation platform that opened off the ballroom like a tiny terrace. It was totally enclosed in elaborately worked stained glass that threw patterns of colour over them as they stared down at the receding lights of the city beneath them. They all seemed to be avoiding looking at her. It was clear that they were waiting for her to make some kind of decision. She knew it was necessary, but somehow she just couldn’t do it. She hated doing things out of necessity. She was able to act instantly on whim, but since this nightmare of crazy assassins had started her old life seemed to have vanished. It all seemed so unfair. She raised a limp hand, and a white-coated steward was instantly at her side.
‘Yes, Miss Catto?’
‘I want a drink.’
‘We have a fully comprehensive bar.’
‘Can you make me a Doric column?’
‘I’m sure our bartender can make it. He holds a triple A proficiency rating.’
‘He’d better do it right.’
‘I’m sure he will, Miss Catto.’
She closed her eyes as he hurried away. She opened them moments later when she heard a discreet cough. She thought it was the waiter with her drink, but she found herself looking at the pale blue uniform and gold braid of the airship’s captain. He stood at attention with his white peaked cap clutched under his arm. His face was set in an expression of competent neutrality.
‘Miss Catto.’
A.A. Catto raised an eyebrow.
‘What?’
‘I still haven’t had any details of your proposed flight.’
‘So?’
‘We’ve passed the city limits, and need to know what course you want me to set.’
A.A. Catto looked round the ballroom.
‘I ordered a drink. It hasn’t come yet.’
The captain glanced across the ballroom.
‘I’m sure the steward will be along in a moment. Now about the course …’
A.A. Catto’s temper flashed.
‘Bugger the course. I want my drink.’
The captain compressed his lips slightly, and marched quickly across the ballroom. Billy, Reave and Nancy were by now standing at the top of the steps that led to the observation platform, watching the exchange. A few moments later the captain returned followed by a flustered-looking steward.
‘Here is your drink, Miss Catto.’
The steward placed a tall crystal glass in front of A.A. Catto. Beneath a head of crushed ice, the liquid was pale pink. Halfway down it changed to red and finally in the bottom of the glass it was a deep purple. A.A. Catto picked it up and swirled it round once. The ice tinkled. She sipped it, and put it down.
‘I suppose it will do.’
The steward bowed and scuttled away. The captain drew himself up to his full height. With his neatly trimmed beard and rigidly controlled paunch he was every inch the figure of tolerant authority. He cleared his throat.
‘About the course, Miss Catto. I really must insist you make a decision.’
A.A. Catto looked at him with frank dislike. If there were three things she detested, they were authority figures, people who found it necessary to clear their throats before speaking and people who insisted she do things. She ran her finger round the rim of the glass. It made a faint singing sound.
‘I think I want to go into the nothings.’
The captain’s eyes widened.