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night fall?’
    Bellepheros blinked. The sun had barely set when they'd entered the storm. He felt drained and exhausted and deadly tired, but now his heart ran cold. His mouth fell open but he couldn't find any words. It should be dark. It should be the middle of the night. There should have been stars and the moon. How? How was it possible?
    Tuuran's grin ran right across his face. ‘Yes, Lord Master Alchemist. And it's always this way when we cross. They don't understand. No one does.’ The mad wonder in his eyes made Bellepheros want to hide for there was nothing wondrous in this, only a dreadful wrongness. ‘And when night comes, Master Alchemist, look at the stars. Oh, you'll see a few that are familiar. But only a few. We are in a different world. It is theirs, not ours, and there are others beyond both.’ He laughed and wagged a finger. ‘Still think you'll take us home now, do you?’

5
    The Enchantress
    Tuuran left him long before the land resolved into more than a distant blur. He slipped out and locked the door behind him and Bellepheros heard it click. The alchemist lay back on his little bed and shivered. When he closed his eyes he saw the storm and the purple lightning and the Nothing that lay in the middle of it. When he opened them he saw the same, images and ghost memories flitting across the sea.
    Alchemists were cold people. He'd come to see that many years ago. It was the dragons that did it. Dragon-riders learned to ride their emotions, to guide them and turn them. They were passionate and fearless because that was what riding dragons demanded of them. Alchemists didn't ride dragons, they worked with them. They kept them dull and stupid. Sometimes they quietly poisoned them. There was no place for any bond with a dragon for an alchemist, none at all, and yet they had to be fearless every bit as much as a rider did. So alchemists put their emotions away and learned to be cold, to stand back and aside from everything but their duty. A rider, he knew, would have fought the Elemental Man back on the road, tooth and nail. A rider would have fought in the Paratheus. A rider would have fought in the docks, on the boat, every day. An alchemist sat by and watched, waiting for the moment when action would be certain of success.
    He'd had lovers when he'd been younger. Alchemists weren't supposed to but a lot of them did. Back when they'd been in their first flush of adulthood, fresh full of secret potions, before the awe of the dragon secrets they were learning had lost their chill. He remembered being afraid of dragons once too. In a way it had never gone, but he'd turned it into something else. A sort of shrugging acceptance that one day he might die. Out of nowhere, something he'd never see coming. He was careful and cautious and measuredin everything he did – an alchemist didn't live long otherwise – but with dragons accidents happened. He'd lost count of the number of friends who'd gone to some distant eyrie and never come back. Accidents, nearly all of them. It was what came from dealing with monsters. It was part of what they were.
    He picked up his splinter and stabbed it carefully into his thumb. Squeezed out a drop of blood and smeared it onto the wall. He reached into it and found he could. The touch was still erratic but another few days and he'd be himself again. Satisfied, he lay back and closed his eyes. Trying to collect his thoughts and formulate a plan. Something. Some way to persuade the Taiytakei that what they'd chosen to do was wrong, more than wrong, was folly. Calmly and rationally. Make them realise they should take him back, but he couldn't see it. The storm-dark kept filling his head. The darkness in its heart. The Nothing, as Tuuran had called it. He couldn't remember when something had frightened him so much, not even when the Elemental Man had been choking him to death in the quiet autumn sun. A part of him knew that one day a dragon would carelessly flick its tail without