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indicated the antique memories lying on shelves. Once Etwe’s footsteps had ceased, he tried to interest Crimson Boney in the memories, shaking and rattling them, even connecting one up to a liquid screen in order to show a display of architecture. The gnostician seemed to comprehend that it was attending a show, and Dwllis found himself both mortified and excited that at last he was not being treated as an eccentric. If only his fellow Crayans could cultivate such an attitude. In conclusion, he took the gourd, rattled a few antique memories inside it, then firmly handed back the emptied gourd and led the creature to the door, and outside.
    ‘Go find more!’ he said. His voice was deep and loud enough for it to penetrate the moderate din. He possessed a good pair of lungs, as many friends had pointed out. ‘Find more, Crimson Boney. Good boy.’
    Crimson Boney hesitated, then gazed out over the expanse of the Rusty Quarter. From this altitude it stretched out in shadow, pulsing veins of light marking the wider streets, here and there a cluster of pink or yellow lamps. Then he loped off down the track to Sphagnum Street. Dwllis wondered which of the colonies outside the city it had come from. Perplexed, he returned to the Cowhorn Tower.
    Gnosticians had appeared on Earth some five hundred years ago – so suggested the little historical information that he had so far collated – and the sanctuary of Cray had apparently been built in response to what was perceived as their threat. But the creatures were peaceful, and only xenophobes attacked them. Yet Dwllis found himself troubled by Crimson Boney’s appearance. In those deep parts of the Earth from which gnosticians had sprung, were there leaders with enough intelligence and malice to desire war? Was war even a concept they understood?
    ~
    The afternoon passed by quietly enough.
    It was because he never expected to see the gnostician again that he was taken aback when, at dusk, as diurnal shadows fled under fiery evening light, there stood inside his front door a hunched figure carrying a gourd.
    ‘Crimson Boney?’ Dwllis switched on a lamp and walked across to the gnostician. ‘Good evening, my friend... it really is Crimson Boney, isn’t it?’
    Dwllis took the proffered gourd and extracted another antique memory, a lump of gallium arsenide this time, only two wires visible for connecting an interface. Dwllis, amused, rather impressed, crouched in front of the gnostician and shook him by the hand, saying, ‘Good boy. This is really fine. We could make a team, us two, we could make a damned good team.’ He sighed. ‘If only you could tell me where you stole these from, eh? What are you up to, loper?’
    He rose to his feet. Crimson Boney scampered about then stood waiting at the door. Dwllis found himself intrigued by this gnostician. He must find out what was going on.
    Keeping the gourd back, he visited Etwe’s workshop. ‘Etwe,’ he said, handing her the memory, ‘look what Crimson Boney’s brought us. Listen, I’m going to follow him when he leaves, see what he does, where he goes. You’ll deputise for me.’
    ‘You’re going out into the city?’
    Dwllis frowned. ‘I’m not tied to this place.’
    Chastised, Etwe looked at the floor. Dwllis busied himself before a mirror, dusting off his black brocade jacket and blue kirtle, arranging his fuzzlocks to his satisfaction, then applying a little powder to spots on his face.
    At the door he gave Crimson Boney the gourd, and the gnostician departed. ‘Do I look well?’ he asked Etwe.
    ‘Very nice.’
    Dwllis peered through a slit in the door to spy his quarry speeding down the gravel path that led into Sphagnum Street. He put on earmuffs, slipped out, and began to follow. Suspecting that the gnostician would use back streets, Dwllis was glad when this guess was proved correct. He soon realised, however, that Crimson Boney was not making for the west wall, but hugging the boundary of the Swamps and