‘I gave the trog your message, and he passed it on to his Wamphyri Lord. Then he told me to return to you.’
‘What?’ Arlek was obviously dumbfounded. ‘Is that all?’
Again Jasef could only offer his shrug. ‘He said: “Tell Arlek of the Travellers that my Lord Shaithis will speak to him in person.” I have no idea what he meant.’
‘Old fool!’ Arlek muttered. He turned away from Jasef – and Zek’s radio crackled where its aerial projected an inch or two from her pocket. Its tiny red monitor light began to blink and flicker. Arlek gasped and leaped backwards a full pace, pointed at the radio and stared round-eyed as Zek produced it. ‘More of your foul magic?’ he half-accused. ‘We should have destroyed all of your things long ago – and you with them – instead of letting Lardis give them back to you!’
Zek had been startled, too, but only for a moment. Now she said: ‘I got them back because there was no harm in them and they were useless to you. Also because they were mine. Unlike you, Lardis isn’t a thief! I’ve told the Travellers many times that this thing is for communicating over great distances, haven’t I? But because there was no one to talk to it wouldn’t work. It’s a machine, not magic. Well, now there is someone to talk to, and he wants to communicate.’ And to Jazz, in a lower tone: ‘I think I know what this means.’
He nodded, said, ‘Those ace cards you mentioned?’
‘Right,’ she answered. ‘I think the Lord Shaithis already has one – or if not an ace, certainly a joker. He’s got Karl Vyotsky!’ Then she spoke into the radio: ‘Unknown call-sign, this is Zek Foener. Send your message, over?’
Her radio crackled again, and a once-familiar voice, shaky, a little urgent and breathless but fairly coherent, said, ‘You can throw out the radio procedure, Zek. This is Karl Vyotsky. Do you have Arlek of the Travellers with you?’ He sounded like he wasn’t too sure of what he was saying, as if he simply relayed the requirements of some other.
Jazz said, ‘Let me speak to him,’ and Zek held the radio to his face. ‘Who wants to know, Comrade?’ he asked.
And after a moment’s silence, in a tone which was suddenly pleading: ‘Listen, British: we’re on different sides, I know, but if you foul me up now it’s all over for me. My radio is acting up. Sometimes it receives and other times it doesn’t. Right now I have excellent elevation – you wouldn’t believe the elevation I have – but still I don’t trust this radio. So don’t waste any time with games. I can’t believe you’d let me live once just to kill me now. So if this Arlek is with you, please put him on. Tell him Shaithis of the Wamphyri wants to talk to him.’
Arlek had heard his name spoken twice, and Shaithis’s name several times. The conversation obviously concerned himself and the Wamphyri Lord. He held out a hand for the radio, said: ‘Give it to me.’
If Jazz had held the radio he would have thrown it down, stamped on it and wrecked it. No communications, no deal. Zek might well have had the same idea, but she wasn’t quick enough. Arlek snatched the radio from her, fumbled with it for a moment and finally, a little awkwardly, said: ‘I am Arlek.’
The radio crackled some more, and in a little while a new male voice said: ‘Arlek of the Travellers – of the tribe of Lardis Lidesci – it is Shaithis of the Wamphyri who speaks to you. How is it you have the power and not Lardis? Have you replaced him as leader of the tribe?’ The voice was the darkest, most menacing Jazz had ever heard. But at the same time, while there was something inhuman about it, it was definitely the voice of a man. Deep and rumbling with controlled strength, forming each word perfectly and with unswervable authority, the owner of that voice knew that whoever he spoke to, that person was an inferior.
Arlek had quickly mastered the radio. ‘Lardis is away,’ he said. ‘He may return and he may not. Even if he does, still there are Travellers with me who are dissatisfied with his leadership. The futures are not at all clear. Many things are possible.’