There was the small question of the Institute members’ notable naïveté. It was customary for payment to come after the service, yet here he was with the Silver Key in his bag, which he wanted, and the company of three idiots dressed like mechanicals for a production of Henry VIII, which he didn’t. It would be simplicity itself to zig when they zagged, or duck into the shadows while they were otherwise occupied, or, if all else failed, shove them off a convenient cliff. The Dreamlands certainly didn’t seem to be short of dramatic landscapes, so Cabal imagined there must be any number of convenient cliffs to choose from. That he did none of these things, no matter how personally amusing he might have found them, was pragmatic. The Fear Institute Expedition could and probably would run around until it was blue in the face and never discover the Phobic Animus, if it had the decency to exist. He truly did not care. What was important to him was that they would cover ground in doing so, establish protocols of behaviour, perhaps even make reliable contacts. All of these things would be useful to Cabal when he undertook his own projects. So, while the others were under the impression that all were united in the fool’s errand, Cabal knew the true function of the journey was that of a reconnaissance. Plus, as he had realised earlier, there was safety in numbers, particularly when the rest of the party was made up of sacrificial victims to the higher purpose of Cabal’s continued existence. ‘All for one and one for all’ would be their motto, even if only Cabal knew that the former ‘one’ would always be him, and the latter would not.
‘You’re smiling, Mr Cabal,’ said Bose, smiling broadly himself. Cabal’s own slight tightening of a few muscles was not in the same league as Bose’s open and cheerful expression, but it was at least recognisable as a cousin. A fifth cousin of a disgraced forebear. Bose continued, ‘You have faith in our mission, then? You see a happy conclusion ahead?’
Cabal thought of the Silver Key in his bag and pushed his face another few millimetres. The muscles creaked a little, but it had been some time since he had felt something akin to joy. ‘Yes, Bose. I think with a little caution and circumspect prudence, combined with the will to take immediate action when the need arises, this could all go very well.’ He looked on towards the river. ‘Do those look like clifftops over there?’
Bose squinted. ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps. Why do you ask?’
But Johannes Cabal said nothing.
As it turned out they were clifftops, but the drop below them was ridiculous rather than vertiginous and entirely unsuited for ad hoc murder. It was little more than a bluff overlooking, by a height of a few yards, a sandy bend of the riverbank where perhaps once the Oukranos had considered meandering before deciding it was too much effort.
They stood atop the bluff in silence and admired the view because the view was impossible not to admire. The Oukranos river: as mighty as the Amazon, as broad as the Mississippi, yet as clear as a mountain stream. Light penetrated a long way down, allowing them to see the stony riverbed from the water’s edge out until the water grew too deep and blue and shadowed. Fish, extraordinary fish that had never swum in the seas of Earth, passed by or lazily beat their tails to hold position close by the rock- and pebble-strewn bottom.
Beside him, Cabal heard Shadrach breathe, ‘It’s beautiful . . . magnificent.’
‘I wonder what it’s like to swim in,’ said Corde.
Cabal had his notebook out again and was flicking through it. ‘Apparently it is safe, at least by Dreamlands standards. There may be a few things in it that will eat you, but they’re not common.’ He became aware of Corde’s expression. ‘Really, Corde, people swim in waters populated with crocodiles, alligators and sharks every day. Whatever happened to your defeating of fear, hmm?’
‘It is not fear. It is a rational caution,’ said Corde, falling back upon what Cabal now recognised as the standard Institute member’s response when scared. It was not a refutation nearly so much as a mantra intended to settle the speaker’s nerves.
‘As you wish. We should keep moving. The Animus awaits us elsewhere. Unless that’s it behind us.’ Any shame at the childishness of the trick was handsomely outweighed by the pleasure of seeing three grown men leap into the air, spinning about-face as they did so.
After the recriminations and finger-wagging – all of which Cabal ignored – were over, Bose said, ‘Look over there, about a mile or so downriver. Is that a quay?’
Cabal’s binoculars had also undergone a transformation, but only as far as becoming an unforgivably ostentatious telescope, all chased brass and inlaid with semi-precious stones. Cabal held it for a moment, glaring at it with downturned lips as if it were a mortal insult. Then, without comment, he snapped it out to full length and looked through it in the direction Bose was pointing. ‘Yes,’ he said, having finally got the telescope focused to his satisfaction. ‘There’s a small jetty with a boat moored there. Some sort of fishing boat, I think. The mast’s unstepped. I can see three people.’ He snapped the telescope shut and dropped it into his bag, ignoring Shadrach’s outstretched hand. ‘Hlanith is days away on foot, but perhaps only a day or so by boat.’ He started walking.
‘But what if they want payment?’ protested Shadrach.
Cabal didn’t pause, but called over his shoulder, ‘You are a rich merchant here. You can pay.’
‘I? But, sir, what shall I . . .’ At which point he noticed the bulging purse hanging from his belt. He opened it and, before the astonished eyes of his colleagues, discovered a multitude of thin golden coins of the Roman style. Each coin, however, was not stamped with the countenance of a Caesar but of a beautiful youth in profile, wearing a laurel that was not laurel. His expression was of tolerant indolence, almost sleepy, but the eyes beneath the half-closed lids were somehow ancient, knowing, and perhaps even wicked. Shadrach shuddered, and dropped the coin back into his purse. He hastened with Bose and Corde to catch up Cabal.
The fishermen, for fishermen they were, were taciturn, though not hostile. They listened in silence as Shadrach explained how urgently he and his colleagues needed to reach Hlanith, and did not bargain greatly when the subject of payment came up. They accepted a little of Shadrach’s gold, although later none of the party was sure how much had actually changed hands, only that it was ‘a little’.
Still in near silence, but for the occasional softly growled command from the boat’s skipper, they made ready to cast off while their passengers settled in for the journey. Cabal did not like the fishermen, although he was unsure why. They were quiet and competent, qualities he usually found admirable in people, but there was something more about them that gently raised his hackles by the mildest degree. He could not define this sense, however, so he disregarded it as much as he might. Which is to say, he gritted his teeth and attempted to ignore the nagging sense of wrongness that badgered him at an intensity roughly equivalent to the product of a mild headache and a child with a kazoo. He sat in the bow upon a small barrel, oblivious to the conversational gambits from his fellows, and wishing bitterly that he still had his gun.