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ge space

underneath.

The main floor area contained a low, box-type table and two sitting

mats, a large drafting table set at an angle on trestles, a stool, a

stand holding jars of what Steve presumed to be drafting implements,

and a rack which held rolls of what the dinks called 'paper'. Apart

from the drafting table set-up which indicated an untidy human

presence, the room bore the usual stamp of stripped-down anonymity that

Steve had come to associate with Iron Master interiors.

'Not bad."

Cadillac responded with a dry, mocking laugh. 'Not bad! It's

fantastic! Can you imagine what it's like, after all those years

living on your hands and knees in a skin hut, to actually be able to

stand up and still not be able to touch the roof?." He shook his head

dismissively. 'I tell you - these people know what living is all

about."

The dwelling place Cadillac had taken him to lay outside the Heron Pool

compound, some two hundred yards down the road towards Mara-bara. Set

amidst shrubs and trees on a well-tended patch of ground, it reminded

Steve of the stand-alone unit at the post-house where he had met with

Clearwater and the Man in Black.

For some time now, Steve had been wondering if there was a 'hidden'

Basic vocabulary that held the word-concepts to describe the things he

had seen since entering Ne-Issan. Coming, as he did, from the

underground world of the Federation where military organisation and

terminology shaped the lives and thoughts of everyone from the

President-General down, Steve had been unable to give full expression

to what he had seen and felt during his travels across the

overground.

Even something as simple as the small collapsible huts used by the

Plainfolk Mutes had been a new idea to assimilate. The wheelboats had

been less of a problem.

Although they were totally alien structures, they could be viewed as

primitive, sea-borne wagon-trains and thus understood in terms of past

experience. But the bewildering variety of Iron Master architecture

which was the outward expression of a totally different lifestyle

opened up a whole new world. Palaces, houses, pavilions, cottages,

shops, markets, towns, villages and hamlets were word-concepts Steve

had never encountered before, just as he had once been unaware of the

existence of words, states such as 'love' and 'freedom'.

Meeting Clearwater had changed all that, and he was conscious that the

memory of her stood between Cadillac and himself at this very moment:

invisible yet as tangible and as disturbing as if she had been

physically present in the room.

Cadillac slid open a wall panel, revealing a row of shelves. He took

out a porcelain bottle of sake and two small bowls bearing the same

glazed design. Placing the bowls on the drafting table, he filled them

with a professional flourish and motioned Steve to pick one up.

They raised their bowls to each other and touched rims.

'To old times,' said Cadillac. His voice and face gave no hint as to

whether he viewed them as being good or bad, but he swallowed the

contents of the bowl at one gulp - an indication perhaps that he needed

something to kill the pain or to give himself an extra boost in order

to deal with his unexpected visitor.

Mindful of the tongue-loosening effects of the sake he'd drunk with

Noburo, Steve took it nice and slow and concentrated on reading his

rival. He hadn't anticipated meeting Cadillac this early, and in this

fashion, and wasn't quite sure how to play it.

Cadillac refilled his bowl, stoppered the bottle and bolstered himself

with another big swallow. 'So... what brings you here?"

Steve adopted the same low-key approach. 'Ohh, various things. I

brought you a message from Mr Snow."

He saw Cadillac's eyes flicker at the mention of his teacher's name. A

guilty conscience, fond memory, a lingering sense of loyalty, it didn't

matter. It was a gap in his defences that could be exploited.

'He sent you here?"

'Not exactly. He was worried about you. When he discovered you hadn't

come back on the wheelboat ' 'You were at the trading post?"

Steve had a simple rule in situations like this. Stick to the truth

wherever possible, deflect the awkward questions by appearing dense,

save the lies for real emergencies. And if you had to lie, go for the

big one and frame it in a way that would exploit the weakest aspects of

the recipient's character.

'Yes. That rig you and I built gave up on me. I never made it back to

the Federation."

'I didn't think you would -not without a motor."