The headache and the visions returned at twice their former force and she doubled over, holding her hands over her eyes. Then, as they passed above the largest structure, for a fraction of a second it was as if they’d flown through a vertical beam of light. Tiaan saw right through Malien, her bones just shadows, even through the wall of the thapter to the world outside. She blinked and the spectral image was gone. The whine of the thapter stopped, and just as suddenly rose to a scream before settling back to its familiar whine. Tiaan closed her eyes but could still see the images.
‘What was that?’ came Flydd’s voice from beside her. He did not seem to be overly concerned.
‘Something to do with the node, I suppose,’ Malien replied, no less casually.
‘Did you see the light?’ said Tiaan.
‘What light?’
‘A boiling column of it. I saw something similar the first time I flew over an Aachim camp, before I crashed on Booreah Ngurle. It wasn’t as big as this one though.’
‘Curious,’ said Flydd; then, after a moment, added: ‘We’ve seen enough. Head for home, Malien.’
The pangs eased once they were over the sea. Tiaan went below and lay on the floor with her eyes closed. She could not work the node out. Its field radiated away in a perfect oval centred on the Hornrace, but inside that it gained strength in a series of concentric ovals whose fields were reversed to each other.
Still thinking about it, she fell into sleep and didn’t wake until the following morning. She couldn’t map at all that day, and fell asleep before Malien stopped for a few hours’ rest in the afternoon. She’d spent so long puzzling over the eight layers of the globe and how they fitted together that, even in sleep, her mind would not turn off. It ran the mental model over and over, rotating each layer this way and that. In the early hours it began to fall into place. The first and the second layer clicked together. The third.
The thapter hit a bump and Tiaan threw out her arms in the darkness, as if for balance. Shortly she turned on her side, pillowed her head on her hands and the dream continued. The fourth and the fifth layer snapped to the others, just a few seconds apart, then there was a long pause to the sixth, but straight after that, the seventh.
The last layer eluded her as she drifted from restless sleep to dream, to deep sleep and back again several times. But finally, not long before they began to pass over the swamp forests of Orist, the eighth layer slid into position. She had it.
Tiaan smiled in her sleep and turned the other way, giving a little sigh. She woke just as the thapter settled to the yard at Fiz Gorgo.
Tiaan wavered across the yard, still half-asleep. The great space was practically full now. Sheds had been erected everywhere, there were piles of dressed timber and rolls of canvas, stacks of firewood and cauldrons with black runs of tar down their outsides. On the other side of the yard stood the timber frames for the cabins of three air-floaters. And there were people all over the place: hundreds of labourers, carpenters, sail-makers, artificers and every other kind of craft worker imaginable.
Everyone was staring. Hadn’t they seen a thapter before? She supposed most had not. As she headed toward the front door, Nish came out, looking harried and thinner than before. He went to go around her then started.
‘Hello, Tiaan,’ he said distractedly. ‘How was your trip?’
‘Very good, thank you,’ she said formally.
She dodged around him and went inside, longing for a bath and time to herself. As she passed through the doors, something made her look back. Nish stood on the step, looking at her. She tossed her head and continued on. Going by the kitchens, she cadged some chunks of brown bread and a couple of boiled eggs from the red-faced, perspiring cook, and went to her room.
There Tiaan took off her boots and sat at the little table, munching bread. She idly spun one of the eggs on its pointy end, spun it the other way, then laid it aside uneaten. Taking out Golias’s globe, she weighed it in her hands. There was one final puzzle to solve but it still wasn’t clear how to begin.
She scratched her head. She’d not had a bath since Taranta, itched all over