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The Captain of the Phazel work gang sat sullenly on his own, a little way from the rest of the group. The other three squatted around a makeshift fire built from the overroots and splintered furniture that they had gathered during the bellday's work. The firelight painted fresh shadows up the grey buildings on this corner of the Dial Square, deserted colonnades and balconies long fallen into disrepair or simply fallen, briefly touched with flickering gold. The air was still. The smoke rose in a straight unbroken column into the dark sky. Beyond the fire glow was only star silver and dull drained grey.

The Phazel gang were not cold, despite their ragged overalls and stolen greatcoats. Their eyes were so accustomed to the twilight that they no longer recognized it as anything but normal. But the fire they habitually built had a life of its own. The crew could stare mindlessly into the flames, letting the flickering shapes fill their empty thoughts. Any desperate thing to pass the time.

The Captain unfolded the crumpled piece of paper he had studied any number of times before.

I am Quennesander Olyesti Pekkary, first son of the House of Fordfarding. My mother was Olyes Dryanasor. Her mother was Dryana Shylvarsor and her foremother was Shylvar Karyesti . . .

It meant less each time he stared at it, and he still remembered nothing new. A head full of memories that might be just imagination. Nothing he was certain of.

"Captain," said Amnoni Distuyssor quietly.

He looked up and saw Vael moving out of the greyness towards them. The young man had a new jacket. Dark green with gold cord at the shoulders. He almost swaggered with a cruel confidence.

Captain Pekkary rose wearily. He pulled forward his lank greying hair so that it covered the purple scar on the left side of his face. The other Phazels kept their places, staring too fixedly into the fire, listening as he spoke for them.

"Well?" said Vael.

Pekkary shook his head. He looked sidelong at Vael with his good eye. "You have been told before."

There was a nervous tick that Vael gave to his head when he was angry, as if he was biting back his words. He feigned a smile. "Where do you think that'll get you?"

"We'll see."

"You're half starving as it is, Pekkary. The Process is getting angry.

"My crew won't work in that section of the City. It's dangerous down there. It has a bad feeling. None of us goes further in than the Hollow Hand."

Vael turned sharply towards the others. "You're superstitious idiots," he accused. "You're given food and you fling it away. And where's Shonnzi? Still living off your scraps? He'll be caught soon. He can't escape it."

Pekkary stayed silent, so Vael smiled profusely again and put on his infants and idiots voice. "This is what the Process told me to tell you. That section of the City is subject to minor static shifts. Nothing dangerous. All you've seen is electrical discharge. Not a haunting."

Reogus stood up. His burly form in his long coat dwarfed Vael. "I've seen figures and shapes down there," he insisted angrily. "And Chesperl's heard voices too. Crying and wailing."

"It was something in pain," said Chesperl. She moved in close to Reogus, her face thin and drawn with concern. "A horrible sound."

"We've all heard it," added Amnoni. "None of us goes into that section now. Not since the Beginning."

Vael clenched his teeth. "Then how do you know about 'figures and shapes'?"

"You go in there then," snapped Reogus. "Or send the Process. I want to see how that filthy thing deals with it."

They had begun to close in around Vael, slowly drawing a knot. His eyes darted from one haggard face to another. "That section is not haunted," he repeated tightly. "The Process drove the evil out of the world in the Beginning. We know that. We were all there."

"Perhaps its memory lingers," said Pekkary.

The knot was drawing tighter, forcing Vael closer to the fire. Its flames blazed eagerly up in a sudden crackle of sparks. Vael began to panic. "I can't go on pleading with the Process forever," he insisted. "And there'll be no more food until