‘I’ll say it again,’ he said, ‘just in case you weren’t listening: I’m not Karl Vyotsky.’ Her gun was still shaking, violently now. Jazz looked at it, said: ‘Hell, you’d probably miss me anyway!’
‘The man on the radio?’ she said. ‘Before Vyotsky? I … I recognize your voice.’
‘Eh?’ Then Jazz understood. ‘Oh, yes, that was me. I was trying to give Khuv a hard time – but I doubt if he could hear me. It was Khuv sent me through the Gate, just like he did it to you. Only he didn’t lie to me about it. I’m Michael J. Simmons, a British agent. I don’t know how you feel about that, but … it looks like we’re in the same boat. You can call me Jazz. All my friends do, and . . . would you mind not pointing that thing at me?’
She sobbed, a great racking gulp of a sob, and flew into his arms. He could feel her straining not to, but she had to. Her gun went clattering to the stony earth and her arms tightened round him. ‘British?’ she sobbed against his neck. ‘I don’t care if you’re Japanese, African, or an Arab! As for my gun – it’s jammed. It has been for days. And I’m out of bullets anyway. If it was working and I had the ammunition – I’d probably have shot myself long ago. I . . . I . . .’
‘Easy,’ said Jazz. ‘Easy!’
‘The Sunsiders are after me,’ she continued to sob, ‘to give me to the Wamphyri, and Vyotsky said there’s a way back home, and -‘
‘He what?’ Jazz held her close. ‘You’ve spoken to Vyotsky? That’s impos – ‘ And he checked himself. The antenna of a radio was sticking out of her top pocket. ‘Vyotsky’s a liar,’ he said. ‘Forget it! There isn’t a way back. He’s just looking for a chum, that’s all.’
‘Oh, God!’ Her fingers were biting into his shoulders. ‘Oh, God!’
Jazz tightened his grip on her, stroked her face, felt her tears hot in the crook of his neck. He smelled her, too, and it wasn’t exactly flowers. It was sweat, and fear, and more than a little dirt, too. He pushed her away to arm’s length and looked at her. Even in this deceptive light she looked good. A little haggard but good. And very human.
She couldn’t know it, but he was just as desperately pleased to see her.
‘Zek,’ he said, ‘maybe we should find ourselves a nice safe place where we can talk and exchange notes, eh? I think you can probably save me a hell of a lot of time and effort.’
‘There’s the cave where I rested,’ she told him, a little breathlessly. ‘It’s about eight miles back. I was asleep when I heard your voice on my radio. I thought I was dreaming. By the time I realized I wasn’t it was too late. You’d gone. So I headed for the sphere, which was where I was going anyway. And I kept calling every ten minutes or so. Then I got Vyotsky . . .’ She gave a small shudder.
‘OK,’ Jazz quickly told her. ‘It’s all right now – or about as right as it can be. Tell me all about it on our way to this cave of yours, right?’ He stooped to pick up her gun, and the great wolf went into a crouch, screwed its face into a ferocious mask and snarled a warning.
She patted the animal almost absently on its great head where its ears lay flat to the long skull, said: ‘It’s all right, Wolf – he’s a friend.’
‘Wolf?’ Jazz couldn’t help smiling, however tightly. ‘That’s original!’
‘He was given to me by Lardis,’ she said. ‘Lardis is the leader of a Traveller pack. Sunsiders, of course. Wolf was to be my protection, and he has been. We got to be friends very quickly, but he’s not much of a pet. There’s too much of the wild in him. Think of him in a friendly way, like a big dog -1 mean really think of him that way, as your friend – and he won’t be any trouble.’ She turned and began to lead the way down from the crest toward the misty orb of the sun sitting apparently motionless over the southern mouth of the pass.