Culham, near Abingdon, Oxon

'And you said nothing?'

'Nothing at all!'

'You're sure about that?'

'Yes!  Please stop!'

'When we're ready.  Did you speak to the doctor?'

'Only once.  Then you turned up.'

'And you are positively absolutely sure that you said nothing about… all this.'

'Yes.  I'm sure.'

'Leave him.'  The man releases Jack Farrell's neck. 

The man and woman walk down the corridor together.

'He's probably telling the truth.'

'He's got no reason not to.'

'True.  Why did it have to be him?'

'Parry?  I don't know.  Just bloody awful bad luck, I suppose.'

'Did he spot us?'

'I don't know.  I don't think so.'

'We ought to do something about him.'

'What are we going to do?  For fuck's sake, he's a bloody doctor!'

Oxford

'That was…'

'Absolutely…'

'The most…'

'Dreadful…'

'Appalling…'

'Incredible…'

'Utter and complete…'

'Totally…'

'Disgusting…'

'Waste of time…'

'That I…'

'Have ever seen!'

Will and Judy have collapsed against each other in the car park.  They lean against Will's car, gasping for breath.

'I'm sorry!  I really am!'  Judy can scarcely put three words together, she is laughing so hard.

'You will be!'  Will does his best Wookie impression, which would, if he were a foot taller and covered in orange-brown fur, be quite convincing.  Parents hurrying their children home are careful to cross to the other side of the car park and avoid the two, no doubt stoned, lunatics who are giggling helplessly at each other.

'Let's get out of this madhouse.  Fancy a coffee?'

They get back somehow, although there is a close call when Will remembers David Hyde Pierce's impersonation of a Jedi Master and goes the wrong way around the railway station.

And I thought this was turning out to be a disaster!  But, thank God, he's actually got a sense of humour.  Judy can feel herself melting inside as she takes a sneaky sideways look at Will from the passenger seat of his car.

They park outside Will's flat and go inside.

'What a beautiful cat!'  And so it is, indigo-black with soft, silky, fur.  Judy gathers Kirjava up into her arms.

Will is startled, but hides it well.  'Ah, I see you're going to get on with Kirjava.'  How did Judy see her?

'Kirjava? What an unusual name! Is she Norwegian or Finnish or something?'

'Every bit as English as me, as far as I know.  Why don't you go into the sitting-room?  I'll grind the beans.'

Damn.  No sofa.  Disappointed, Judy takes one of the fireside armchairs and waits for Will, with Kirjava purring on her lap.  There is already a light on in the room, or so it seems, shining golden-yellow in one corner.

Will comes in with two mugs of coffee on a small tray.  He reaches for the light switch, then turns and looks into the illuminated corner.  He freezes rigid for a moment, and carefully places the tray on the floor.

'Remiel?  Is that you?'

Siemione

Giancarlo wakes, and wishes he hadn't.  His head aches abominably, there is a dull pain in his side, and he has no feeling in his arms and feet, which are tightly bound.

Betrayed!  The thought gnaws at him.  I trusted these people, and they were using me and laughing at me all the time.

What will happen now?  Probably he will be taken back to Cittagazze, and Signore Fratelli and the other man will force him to use the Knife. They will not threaten him personally, of course.  They will bully his father, or his aunt, or his friends.  They will hurt them until he agrees to do as they tell him.  He feels sick at this thought, and realises that he has been sick already and that there is a pool of vomit on the ground next to him.

They will hurt Guili.

His sister is lying on the other side of the sandy floor of the hut in which they have been imprisoned.  Like him, her arms and feet have been bound together. He can hear her breathing in the half-darkness.  It must be early morning outside.

He still has the Knife, in its sheath by his side.

That makes sense.  It is a holy object and they would not dare to touch it.  Perhaps there is hope for them after all, but it is the very last hope they have, and he must search his conscience for any possible alternative.

'Guili?'

'Carlo?'

'Guili, are you all right?'

'Yes, Carlo, but my arms hurt.  They are tied up very tight.'

'Guili, listen.  We are in terrible danger.  You must do exactly what I tell you if we are to get away from here.'

'Is it the bad men again?  The ones who were hitting Papa?'

She saw that!  'Yes, sweetheart, it's them.'

'What must I do?'

'Good girl!  Can you crawl over to me?'

Guilietta wriggles snake-like across the floor to her brother.  'Is this right?'

'Yes.  Look, I want you to get the Knife out of its sheath.'

'How can I do that?  They tied my arms up.'

'Use your teeth.'  Giancarlo bends himself at the waist as he lies.  'Bite on my shirt and pull it out of my trousers.  Here, on this side.'

'Yes, I see.'  Guilietta twists herself around until she can reach Giancarlo's waistband with her mouth.  Her sharp teeth grip on the fabric of his shirt and steadily, inch by inch, with her tugging and Giancarlo moving to help, it is pulled out of the way revealing the Knife in its sheath, next to his body.

'Well done!  Can you see a strap?'

'Where?'

'Around the handle.  There's a strap holding the Knife in its sheath.  To stop it slipping out.'

'No…  Yes, I see it.'

'You'll have to tug at the strap.  It goes all the way round.  Use your teeth again.'

It is agonisingly slow.  Giancarlo has always tied the strap tightly, to avoid any chance that the deadly blade will accidentally come out.  After ten painful minutes it is still only slightly loose.  The light from outside is becoming brighter – sunrise is coming.  The Capo, or his men, may turn up at any time to check on them.

At last, and the first rays of the sun are now sliding through the gaps in the wall, the strap is free.

'Now Guili, this is the most dangerous part.  I want you to grip the end of the handle with your teeth and pull the Knife straight out.  As soon as it is free from the sheath, turn away from me and drop it onto the ground.  Don't touch the blade.  Drop it away from you.'

'Carlo, I'm frightened.'  There is blood around her mouth, from pulling and biting at the strap.

'Don't be.  Just pull steadily at it.'

Guilietta nods.  Giancarlo sits up and bends forward, so that the handle of the Knife stands clear of his body.  Guilietta manoeuvres her way around behind him and kneels towards his waist.  Her teeth close around the end of the handle.

Slowly; slowly and with infinite care, she pulls the Knife out of its sheath.  She turns towards the wall on her knees, not daring to breathe, ready to drop the Knife from her mouth onto the floor.  But she is tired, and she is tense and shaking, and the weapon slips from her grip too soon and falls between her legs, cutting into her left thigh.

Guilietta screams and falls back, away from the lethal edge.  Blood is running down her leg.

'Guili!'  Giancarlo's whisper is tense, desperate. How deep is the wound?

'I'm… I'm all right, Carlo.'  Giancarlo looks over towards her.  Her face is deathly pale with shock.  The pain of the Knife-cut has not yet hit her, but when it does it will be terrible. The Knife itself is standing with its point embedded in the ground.  There are about four inches of blade visible between the hilt and the sand.

Enough.

'Guili, one more thing and then we can get away from here.  I'm going to try to use the Knife to cut through this netting they've tied us up with.  Can you tell me where to put my hands so I don't get hurt by it?'

'I… I'll try.'  Guilietta's voice is shaky.

Giancarlo moves cautiously towards the Knife.  Guided by Guilietta, he puts his wrists by the blade.  One slip now and I will lose a hand.  Or both hands.

The first few strands of netting part as he rests them against the edge.  Then more, and, remembering how old and rotten the nets were that he and Guillietta and the traitor Demio mended the previous afternoon, he twists hard on his wrists, feeling the threads snap.  As his hands become free, he hears voices coming from outside the hut.

'I heard something, I tell you.'

'It was a seagull, that's all.'

'I don't care.  I'm going in to check on them.'

'But it is a holy place, consecrated to Saint Tullio.'

'Get the key, sciocco!'

Now there are no choices left.  Giancarlo can cut their way out of the hut very easily now, but the men will be back in a few minutes.  Guilietta is injured – how badly he cannot tell – so they cannot run away.  There is only one thing left that he can do. He takes the Knife in his right hand and cuts away his and Guilietta's remaining bonds.  Then, for the first time in more than five years he holds it high, probing at the air, looking for a place in the warp and weft of the fabric of the worlds where he can find the node he seeks.

Snick.