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 Peter watched Chris and Jane ride off, then turned to face his father. 
"Well, that's that plan screwed." "Indeed," Alex replied, "But if I'm any
judge, Kirk will make the next move." "Why?" "Because the first thing he's
going to do is check the two ladies he has with him for influence, and when
he won't find any, I think he'll try approaching us directly.  He has no
options left.  And then he'll get the results of the personality debrief on
the man who he sent after you.  You didn't influence him, right?" "No."
"Good.  Kirk should get the message of our honourable approach.  Apply that
to the fact we revealed ourselves rather than simply attack and he'll no
doubt see we want an open conflict.  Which is the only type he can now wage
on us." "You're sure you're not overestimating his intelligence?" "He
managed to connect us to werewolves.  Now, that's inaccurate, but it's
close enough and was done on little enough evidence to give me some
confidence in his deductive ability.  Anyway, come on.  We'll have dinner
at the club." They maintained a peaceable silence, walking the streets of
the capital, until they fetched up at the door of the Wellspring club.  ***
The Suzuki rolled to a halt somewhere in Docklands outside one of the
converted warehouses now populated by the well-off.  In this case, half a
million quid in readies just to buy the flat.  Chris Sayer's cousins had
done a lot better than most of the family. "Jane, follow me up, would you?"
"Yes, Chris." He grinned to himself at that.  She had the absolute perfect
voice for this.  Subservience in the extreme, topped off with that meek and
mild voice.  Once deceptively so, he imagined, back when she'd been a
policewoman first and a slave never.  And then an elaborate piece of
electronics had removed the deception in certain cases.  Now she was just
meek and mild, though he doubted that continued in the bedroom.  The guy's
psychological makeup, or at any rate his original psychological makeup, as
far as Chris could make out, wasn't going to allow demureness in the
bedroom.  He wanted energy, the sensation of controlling so much power at
least as much of a kick as the actual sex itself. He took out his own
mobile as they entered the lift and dialled his cousin, the young
inhabitant of this expensive and, frankly, depersonalised piece of
property. "Mike?  Chris...  Listen, man.  I'm on my way up, and I've got my
girl with me...  Can I borrow the guest room for an hour or so?" *** Chris
was leaving Wellspring as they entered, having returned Jane to her master.
He handed the automatic full of silver bullets to Peter, and grinned.
"Stick this on your coffee table, Pete, it'll make a fuck of a conversation
piece." Peter and Alex watched him go, faintly bemused.  Alex laid a
fatherly hand on his son's shoulder. "Come on in, son." "I'm not a member."
"And your point is what, exactly?" "I...  I know, dad, but..." "Oh, just
come in.  We'll relax the rule this once." Peter shrugged and followed his
father in.  "You think his move will benefit us, then?" "I don't see how it
could do otherwise at this point.  The conflict will come to a clash soon.
And we'll win; we were bred for it." "Yeah," Peter said, distractedly. 
"Well, not specifically..." "We'll still win," Alex said confidently. 
"Let's just sit back and wait, though." "What if he doesn't come after us?
What if he just lies low?  We can't just leave this for future generations
to cope with." "They'll cope, too.  But I don't think that'll happen; if he
doesn't act inside one week I'll call Erin...  afternoon, Philip." "Good
afternoon," Philip returned civilly.  "Finished already?" "No, it sort of
got messed up.  Listen, we kinda need to talk..." Alex fired off a long
sentence in Welsh.  Peter caught the words 'Deryn Corph' in there, but
beyond that he was lost.  He'd never bothered to learn Welsh; it seemed
utterly pointless.  Deader than Latin. "They're dead," Philip said, his
voice faintly stunned.  Peter was impressed; Chris' revelation had
succeeded in creating a genuine emotion in two of the most expert of the
breed. "I don't think so," Alex replied.  "I got a scent; our subject isn't
human." Peter felt insulted, though he carefully didn't let it show.  He'd
been sure Chris was human, and scent had been an important part of that.
*** The tech packed his gear away, and looked up.  "Nothing." "They're not
under some sort of control?" Kirk asked, stunned. "Not as far as I can
tell," the tech said, guardedly.  He decided privately not to mention that
he hadn't been able to prove Adrienne had been under someone's control
unless directly asked; he could see where this was going and figured his
only chance was the slim one that he might be able to bluff his way out of
this. "That's a relief.  Jesus...  when they follow you out you realise
exactly how short three seconds are." "Guv?" "Three seconds," Erin said. 
"How long it seems to take them to induce control," she elaborated, lying
through her teeth.  Alex wanted her to, and in any case she knew she'd
survive this clash.  It could be fun watching Alex take Kirk down, and she
didn't doubt he would. "Shit," the tech whispered.  He picked up his bag.
"Well, if you don't need me any more..." "No, not really." "Uh, good.  In
that case, I'll, uh..." he said, waving vaguely at the door. "You do that.
Oh, did you get the results of Carver's debrief?" "Uh, yeah.  Went clear
through his memory cells; no influence, no induction.  If they did
influence him, they alo managed to wipe out cellular memory of that, which
is unusual.  Normally it gets re-routed through a false set of memories,
but the induction's still there if you trigger the right cell cluster. 
Well, we hit that whole part of his brain with nanonics; nothing." "And in
the process, we killed him," Kirk said, dully. "Uh, yeah." "Great," he
continued, morosely. The tech left hurriedly. *** "How long does it take to
ride back from London?" Jeremy asked, irritated. "Well, he probably stopped
by Chester to deposit that slave back," Debbie replied, magnificently
ignoring her own control.  Inside, she wanted to try her control on someone
else.  But around Trinity Hall everyone knew Debbie was with Peter, and
Peter...  well, he just had this incredible charisma.  Everyone liked him,
even the once-Blues he'd replaced at rugby and football.  So no one was
going to make a move on someone he was seeing, or seem to do so; she'd have
to wait until she got home, and decided to head home for the weekend. "No,
Peter phoned from his dad's club.  Jane's there." "Well...  I dunno." "I'm
going to check the clock on that thing when he gets back.  He could
practically have reached John O'Groats by now." Debbie laughed.  "Now
you're being stupid.  Chris hasn't got your...  our reflexes, and he knows
it.  He's not a boy racer." "How do you bloody know?" "You can't go out
with Peter without learning about Chris.  Those two..." "True enough. 
Damon and bloody Pythias." *** Chris had, in fact, gone to return his
grandfather's flare gun to his family up in the Lake District.  This is
quite a distance from London, and he'd have to travel a sizable chunk of
that distance back down south to reach Cambridge. The sky was darkening; he
blinked once more.  Beyond the reflective visor two eyes flared into fiery
glory, burning like an oil refinery whose employees have been ignoring the
No Smoking rule. Vision suddenly became a thousand times clearer; night was
day. But the change in eyes had a secondary effect on someone not as
accomplished at utter suppression of emotions as the breed; outer flame
mirrored by a burning predatory instinct, which manifested in this case as
a quest for speeds probably beyond the Suzi's ability to produce.  The same
competitive drive that led perfectly normal humans to fling themselves
around grand prix circuits in specially designed kamikaze missiles on
wheels burned within the Deryn Corph and the breed also.  He pulled into
the hard shoulder and started to work up the gears. *** "I don't believe
what you're telling me.  It can't be true." "It is." "But...  shit.  The
only way they're likely to come back into our world is if Master's getting
up another Hunt.  And..." "I know.  I don't want to believe that either. 
We've had freedom too long for that to happen.  We couldn't even become
human last time the Hunt met.  Four and a half millenia of freedom and
Master might be coming back.  On the other hand, all we had back then was
the ability to generate fear in anyone who saw us.  And look what
evolution's done to that in the last three millenia.  Master will still be
the same, if he survives.  We may be able to fight it." "Yes.  It's also
true that the reappearance in our world of the Deryn Corph may be purely
coincidental.  But I rather doubt it, in both cases." "In that hypothesis'
favour, though...  Peter met Chris years ago.  I met Chris years ago.  It
would have to be a long-prepared plan.  We only have our legends to go by,
of course, but Master wasn't one for such subtleties." "Being almost killed
by your peers can instil a regard for such, though." "Indeed.  I do think
he actually was killed, though, insofar as you can kill someone who is
technically Death." "An aspect thereof," Philip pointed out, "and a purely
regional representation of that aspect at that.  His rivals exceeded him in
power." "All of which makes his demise the more likely.  In these highly
undesirable circumstances, Philip, we can do nothing but hope this is the
case.  Master still exceeds us in power." "Indeed.  Still...  I sometimes
wonder whether we did the right thing, not telling our kids about this."
"Arawn-" there was a sharp intake of breath at the mention of his name-
"has been gone for four thousand five hundred years.  If he isn't behind
this...  If he isn't behind this, I think we'll be able to say we were
right." "And if he is?" "Then they're going to find out anyway.  But...  I
really don't think he is.  Sightings have been deluded all this time; and
they're going down in any case.  Despite the improbability of rediscovering
the Deryn Corph otherwise, I think Arawn is gone." "True.  Do we tell the
rest of Wellspring?" "It would probably be best." *** Peter returned to
Cambridge late that night, after even Chris had returned.  More or less
ignoring the irate Jeremy, bent over a road map trying to work out where
Chris would have gone by the mileage he'd clocked up, he went straight to
the pub where he knew he'd find David, the one member of the Breed in
Cambridge who spoke Welsh. "David, I need you to help me on a translation
here." "What do you want to know?" "What does Deryn Corph mean?" David
paused, and slowly turned from his pint to regard Peter.  "Corpse bird?" he
asked.  "Sounds like someone's been pissing you about." "Corpse bird?"
Peter repeated, confused. Debbie walked up behind him and slipped her arms
around him.  "Can this wait till morning?" she asked.  "'Cos this can't."
   TO BE CONTINUED...