a weakness, he encountered the plans that you and Lord Hufferton had drawn up for war machines. That’s when you suddenly became useful to him.”
“So that’s why the blueprints were going around and around in my head!” she exclaimed. “But, Aiden, I was immature when I dreamed up those machines. It was done as an exercise, nothing more. The designs are impossibly extravagant. I doubt they would even function.”
“Perhaps not if constructed by men on Earth, but here on Ptallaya, with Mi’aata science, who knows what’s possible?”
A long moment went by, silent but for the air whistling past, then Clarissa said, “There’s something I still don’t understand. Why are the parasites entering fewer and fewer Yatsill? Why is the Ritual of Immersion failing?”
“I have a theory, but if you don’t mind, I’ll wait until I have evidence to support it before I share.”
“I don’t mind, but why keep it to yourself?”
“Because,” I answered, “if it’s true, I will have to completely revise my understanding of what it means to be evil.”
I saw that the sunlight was streaming through a large orifice in the side of the cavern. I steered our vehicle into it, sped through a short tunnel, and shot out into the open, veering around and down to fly low along the base of the mountain.
Dock Twelve was easier to find than I’d anticipated. There were a great many caves around the base of Phenadoor, nearly all of them with docks visible just inside, mostly empty, the fleet of underconveyances obviously out at sea. However, after completely circling the vast mountain, we passed a solid vertical cliff along which vast doors were lined—all closed.
“The manufacturing plants,” Clarissa declared.
“How do you know?”
“The Quintessence was obsessing over them. I picked up his thoughts when he was digging around in my head.”
The twelfth cave to the right of the plants was occupied by one of the underwater vessels—Underconveyance 98.
I brought our vehicle to a halt and allowed it to sink down until it was just five feet or so above the gently rolling water.
“That’s the ship we’re looking for,” I said. “The one that’ll transport us back to the mainland. Shall we try it?”
“I don’t see that we have much choice.”
“Hopefully, Colonel Spearjab will be somewhere nearby.”
“The colonel? Here in Phenadoor?”
“He’s Mi’aata now, but hearing me speak English restored his memories. I wouldn’t have found you without him.”
“Then I owe my life to both of you.”
I turned to face my one-time sexton. She was almost naked. Like my own trousers, hers had been reduced to little more than tatters. Her shirt was lacking sleeves and buttons and did little to cover her. The goggles still hung about her neck. Her skin was smudged with dirt and bruises and scored with scratches, her hair lank and matted, and her weird yellow eyes slightly wild with urgency, fear, and excitement.
She looked spectacular.
“I love you, Clarissa Stark.”
She smiled, and her face, already stained red by the crimson light, blushed a deeper hue. I didn’t need any other response.
We stood. I took the pikestaff from my friend, we climbed over the side of the flier, and jumped into the sea.
It wasn’t far to swim but, even so, I’d underestimated the severity of my exhaustion and found myself struggling, especially with the heavy weapon—its shaft was made of buoyant wood but it was difficult to drag through the water—and Iriputiz’s robes tangling around my limbs. By the time we climbed up onto a shelf of rock beside the cave entrance, I could do nothing but lie on my back panting. Clarissa put her hands under my shoulders and dragged me a few feet to one side to ensure we couldn’t be spotted from the dock. She sat beside me and said, “Rest a moment. Get your strength back.”
We were silent for a while, before Clarissa asked, “When did you realise the truth?”
“When the Quintessence showed no knowledge of the Yatsill. I remembered all those Workers entering the sea, thinking they were going to Phenadoor. Suddenly I recognised that they were the Yatsill in their most natural form, just animals sporting in their natural environment, free from telepathic influence.”
“And free of the parasites,” my friend said. She touched the two lumps on her forehead and grimaced.
“Yes.” I thought for a moment, then asked, “What does Phenadoor normally make in those manufacturing plants?”
“From what I could gather, underconveyances and large dome-like structures that the Mi’aata affix to the seabed to house farming communities. Also, Phenadoor’s infrastructure is constantly being