''Really? OK then, I will.''
''And speaking of pats on the back,'' Steven said, ''excellent job in Libya, Dave. Fucking fantastic. I've been watching one of the Libyan national networks.'' He nodded at the television. ''Reception's crap but the message is loud and clear. Our little invasion is all over the news. Tripoli's up in arms. They've lodged a formal complaint with Cairo and they're lobbying the Afro-Arabian Synodical Council to take action. The hawks on the Council are arguing for military retaliation and even the doves are cooing about some form of 'robust response', which is liberal-speak for the same thing. Whether they end up approving reprisals is open to debate, but it's looking likely. The Libyans are pretty hot under the collar about it all and say their priests have been having visions of disgruntlement from on high, which, if true, is hardly surprising. We've stopped worshippers worshipping. It's only temporary but that doesn't stop the gods feeling the pinch. Meanwhile the parliament in Cairo is strenuously denying any involvement in the attacks and blaming a terrorist element in Upper Freegypt.''
''That'd be us.''
''It would. They've even named me, in the hope of diverting the blame. For the first time Freegyptian politicians have publicly acknowledged the Lightbringer's existence. They're pointing the finger of blame right at me, but it's not helping. They still look bad, weak, because it appears they're not in full control of their own country.''
''Which they aren't.''
''Not down here they aren't. Down here, I am. So Cairo can whimper all it wants about its innocence but Libyan tempers aren't going to be soothed, and if retaliation is sanctioned, you can bet the Libyans won't do it by halves. They'll mobilise everything they've got, and they'll have backup from the Sudan and Chad, who're scared we might go in and do something similar to them and would like to pre-empt that if possible. All in all it's looking good. We tweaked the Nephs' noses and they're going to react exactly as hoped, lashing out. And it's thanks to you, Dave.''
Steven clinked the neck of his bottle against David's.
''You don't look completely delighted,'' he said. ''Why not?''
''I'm exhausted,'' David replied. ''A week on the move, without a decent night's rest…''
''And?''
''And we lost four men, don't forget that.''
''I regret it, truly I do,'' said Steven, sounding sincere. ''I've already sent my condolences to their families. But we knew, going in, there'd be casualties. I was hoping it wouldn't be so soon, but still. Troops die. Leaders have to be prepared to accept that, otherwise they have no business starting a war.''
''I know. But I saw those men die, with my own eyes. You weren't there. I was. You can talk casually about casualties, but watching it happen is a whole different thing. It's not something anyone can ever get used to. I just want you to bear that in mind, Steven. You sent four of your men out to their deaths. And they're only the first. There will be others.''
''Fair point,'' said Steven. ''Duly noted. What you haven't mentioned is that I nearly send you out to your death.''
''You didn't send me. I volunteered.''
''Even so, I could have said no. Would have, if you hadn't been so damn insistent.''
''The mission needed someone in charge who had proper military experience.''
''Well, for the record, I was worried sick all week. If you'd been killed, I'd never have forgiven myself. What was I thinking? I must have been crazy to let you talk me into it. Zafirah would have managed fine without you. Fuck it, I shouldn't even have sent her. She's not expendable. Neither are you.''
''No one is,'' David said firmly. ''That's what I'm getting at.''
''OK, OK.'' Steven put up his hands, surrendering. ''Enough of the lecturing. I understand where you're coming from. I don't disagree.''
''Just as I promised, I'm here to make sure you don't do anything rash.''
''My brother, my conscience.''
''Bingo.'' David drained his beer. ''And now I'm going to stop giving advice and ask for some instead.''
''Advice? From me? Well, there's a turn-up. Fire away.''
David hesitated, then said, ''Zafirah.''
''Zafirah? What do you-?'' Steven stopped, and his mouth curled into a sly smile. ''Oh, don't tell me. You're smitten. Dave's smitten with Zafirah. Who'd have thought?''
''I wouldn't say I was-''
''It's written all over your face,'' Steven said, the smile turning gleeful. ''And I can't honestly say I blame you. She's a looker all right. Nice tits. Firm, round arse. And those eyes…''
''You know her. Pretty well. Don't you?''
''Could say that. As well as anyone can get to know Zafirah. It's been three years — more — and I like to think she and I have a pretty good understanding of each other. Even so, I feel I've only scratched the surface with her. She doesn't let people in easily.''
''I've noticed.''
''Desert girl. Hard, hot, beautiful, inhospitable. And so now you're the mole-rat, wanting to make himself a burrow.''
''Don't take the piss.''
''I'm not taking the piss. I am surprised, though. She doesn't seem your type.''
''I don't have a type. Do I have a type?''
''Blonde. Wealthy. Brittle. That's the woman I always remember you going for.''
David cast his mind back over his past relationships. Girls like Kismet, Aida, 'Titi, Alex. Each had seemed as different from the others as trees in a forest. But they had all belonged to the same forest; that was undoubtedly true. The same species of tree, moreover.
''Alex wasn't blonde,'' he said, adding, ''Well, not naturally.''
Steven chuckled. ''A collar-cuff mismatch, huh? Well, be that as it may. Your choices were never anything less than classy. Never anything less than frosty, either. The kind of women you could keep at arm's length, because they didn't mind. That's how they kept you. Zafirah, though, she's a whole different proposition. And if you really want my advice…''
''I do.''
''I'd steer clear.''
''What?'' David was startled.
''For one thing, that's a father-fixated girl you're dealing with. She told you about her daddy, the great freedom fighter and martyr? She still worships him. He's dead and no man will ever live up to him in her estimation. So you're competing against his ghost, and you're unlikely to win. Plus, she's wedded to the cause. This cause. My cause. It's what drives her on. It's all she really cares about. There's an emptiness inside her and this is what fills it. This is what gives shape and meaning to her life.''
''Oh.''
''Oh? You haven't noticed?''
''I knew she was… committed,'' David said. ''I didn't see it as anything more than that.''
''Committed to the hilt. She wants the Pantheon's hold over the world broken as much as I do, maybe even more.''
''And in the meantime she's not interested in anything else?''
''Nothing you can offer.''
David pondered this. He supposed Steven was right. Steven had had three years to get the measure of Zafirah's character. By all accounts they had been working closely together.