Thanks for reading along, or dropping by, and for the reactions and feedback.

So far, serialising online has felt like the right choice. In terms of numbers, subscribers have risen over the year while readership has fallen—not a complete surprise. But it’s helped me stay focused on drafting the rest of the book, with an allowance for a few edits each week before posting an episode. I added a little more text here and there, but the total word count for Part 1 remains just under 50,000 words—a long novella or a short novel depending on your definition.

The book could easily be much longer—certainly if it was told in a more straightforward way, with missing action and more traditional narration included, and would perhaps find more readers that way. But The Amazing Adventures of Tortoise and Gecko is a novel of four parts rather than a four-part series, and Part 1 is in most ways the simplest and least ambitious of the four. I’ve tried to keep it as short as possible while still establishing the characters and introducing some of the themes and formal elements the novel will be wrestling with in the remaining parts—as well as (hopefully!) telling a fun story.

By some measures Part 1 is a rough draft; one of the challenges of the rest of the book will be to show that different criteria could be applied. I’ll no doubt also (re)discover things that don’t work; my plan is to fully revise the book after all four parts have been published, and then find an editor.

Part 2 of The Amazing Adventures of Tortoise and Gecko, ‘The Temple of Silence’, will continue the story in a different register. If Part 1 was Winter (presto), Part 2 will be Summer (adagio). I don’t know if everyone will make the leap from Part 1 to Part 2 (and to Parts 3 and 4), but I hope so—I’m looking forward to sharing it with you. My secret hope is that the book will spawn six kinds of readers.

Partly to let ‘The Pegasus’ sit and breathe for a while, but also because I want to finish drafting all of Part 2’s episodes before I start posting them, the weekly posts will pause until July 2026, when regular transmission will resume for another year. For those subscribers who took out a paid subscription this year, thank you! Your contribution helps support the website, including the cost of commissioning new artwork to add to Yana Smolinska’s wonderful Pegasus figurehead. Feel free to pause your paid subscription until Part 2—I’ll send another update before the serial picks up again.

My marketing skills and inclination being what they are, subscribers have mostly come through emails to friends and family, so if you enjoyed what you read, please let other people know. The complete Part 1 is now available for free as an e-reader friendly PDF on the website and can be downloaded and forwarded to anyone. It’s suitable for older tweens, teens, and adults—I’ve told parents who’ve asked that if they think the first 13 episodes are suitable, then the rest of Part 1 will be too. I’ve been cross-posting on two younger demographic sites for original and fan fiction: Royal Road (with 3 subscribers, but higher pageviews than Substack, I suspect because Royal Road has better discovery) and Wattpad (where T&G has consistently ranked in the top 50 on the site for talking animals and fable, and 80% of its readers are under 35s in Nigeria).

Well, so long to 2025. Thanks again for your support—to find room for Tortoise and Gecko in your inbox is no small thing. I hope you had a good year, or planted some seeds for this year. All the best for Planet Earth 2026.

Take care, take risk,

Chris

Akar, who had reached the boat with Tortoise, was helping him brace the line, which was wrapped firmly round the bow bollard, and shouting at the others to hurry up. The ones who’d made it grabbed the others as they reached the boat and hauled them over the gunwales. Most of them hadn’t done it in rough seas before and Tortoise could see a few of them were shaky. Cadge half-fell into the ocean when he got to the boat but was quickly seized and dragged in by his crewmates. He wasn’t wearing any wet weather gear so was completely soaked: he would be a risk for hypothermia during the night. But the first principle is to stay afloat.

Tortoise realised they had stopped coming down. “Number off,” he ordered.

Akar: “One.”

Mahogany: “Two.”

Stone: “Three.”

Mfoniso: “Four.”

Jing: “Five.”

Jonah: “Six.”

Cadge: “Seven.”

Talulah: “Eight.”

Brigid: “Nine.”

Alinta: “Ten.”

They were aboard. A couple of them helped Tortoise with the line while Akar went forward and bent to slip the bridle—Tortoise and the others let go and the line vanished into the water. They were on their own now.

Tortoise stumped his way aft and took the tiller. The towering bulk of the ship was already moving away. “Make ready to bail,” he said, struggling to get the boat back perpendicular to the swell. Akar repeated it loudly to everyone, and they all reached for their pots and bowls. Tortoise felt a tightness in his chest. Everything was happening very slowly all at once. They were all there. Had he forgotten something? He kept a firm grip on the tiller, trying to watch all of them as well as the swell as they rose and fell in the rain, and the sea began to slop into the boat. The tiller was almost useless. They needed to—

“The sea anchor!” Akar and Tortoise shouted to each other through the rain. Akar nodded and pulled the anchor out from a locker near the bow. He quickly deployed it, the anchor disappearing into the water, and the bow slowly swung round until the boat was at right angles to the waves.

Their course had barely steadied when the boat lurched, suddenly out of time with the rhythm of the troughs. They looked to backboard.

“A cross-sea,” Akar shouted. The wind was shifting. This was dangerous. The bow of the boat needed to face toward or away from the swell to limit the risk of being swamped or overturned. But the cross-swell meant that whichever way they turned, a wave would hit them broadside. The question was which way was worse. The boat rose up with the swell and they strained to get a good look to backboard and then to the fore before they fell into the next trough. The sky was black and the wind was up, white foam scudding across the waters and leaping from the caps. The rain lashed them. “We have to turn!” Akar cried.

Akar had better eyesight. But they needed the right moment. The boat rose and Akar and Tortoise looked again. Alinta shouted to the others: “Stand by to trim!” On the third wave, which was smaller, Tortoise waited until they were mostly down the wave then slowly leaned into the tiller; the boat groggily turned to backboard, but they didn’t quite come round before the new wavefront was upon them—they crested and fell roughly down into the trough. Then came the first cross-swell, which hit awkwardly, sloshing their lifeboat with water and foam and drenching them in salt. The ocean wanted them. They bailed frantically. Tortoise was gripping the tiller so hard he thought he might break it. The ocean and the rain was closing in around them, some of the recruits—several of whom couldn’t swim—close to utter panic. With quick wordless breaths, Alinta and Brigid shipped an oar and Brigid sculled while Akar adjusted the anchor line, and they turned some more. Tortoise craned anxiously for a view of the next wave as they rose up and fell again, fearing the worst. To have escaped only to drown! For the moment at least, Fortune favoured them, for within a minute or so the wind had swung round and, though they still had to bail on the cross-swell, it moderated a bit. The boat fell into a rough new rhythm, rising and falling with the crest and trough of the waves, which began rising again with the reintensifying wind. The rain poured. They continued bailing. Somehow in all this they must’ve drifted closer to the Pegasus, for someone suddenly cried: “The ship!”

The boat swept up and crested the wave, and Tortoise looked back into the cold, driving rain and the darkness of the storm. For the rest of his life, which was going to feel very long and be full of adventure and love but was probably going to be shorter than he would’ve liked, Tortoise would remember what he saw when lightning struck the Pegasus and lit up the Kraken, and the crew, fighting for their very lives.

####

“It’s in the water!” someone cried.

“Keep furling!” the bosun shouted. “Rubberneck when you’re dead!”

The Pegasus was moving well past the other ship now, which was shattered and listing in the rising seas. The crew who had abandoned ship a few long minutes before were desperately attempting to reboard with the help of their surviving crewmates.

A waister on the main deck turned from the gunwale, horror in his voice.

“It’s coming towards us! We’re all gonna die, we’re all gonna—”

The busun strode over, roughly turned the man around, and slapped him. “You wanna live, do you? Snap out of it. All of youse. Get moving now.”

The great wave was here. An enormous concentration of the mind all at once overtook us. Every sailor on the ship—and upon my life I do not embroider—every sailor fell at once into an intense awareness of what was before them and what needed to be done. And so we did it. We did what needed doing. In all my life, in all my years at sea, I have never felt more at one with a crew than I did right then. We sprang into action, with the utmost efficiency and purpose, without the slightest alarm, or should I say with complete alarm but without the slightest panic. Our best selves were present and accounted for: we knew what to do, and we did it. Rope, sails, wood, wind—the entire ship humming and coursing at every touch and turn. Easy does it, lasses and lads! That’s what I remember when I think back on it: Captain Polly completely at ease, looking on calmly, the wind in her feathers. The crew at work, the Pegasus straining in her harness as she ran before the storm. In truth, those minutes, though portending so much, though finite and unalterable, those minutes were a thing of beauty. I often dream of them, and am stunned to awaken in the soft light of morning to safety and comfort, the wind caught in my chest. To awaken, I almost want to say, to a lesser world. I cannot say if you would love those moments like I do, or feel what I felt in those moments of dark grandeur, only that—if you were me—you would treasure them, and know not what else to compare them to.

The storm was rising around us. The cry went up and I held onto the gunwale as the ship heeled suddenly round and the deck plunged precipitously. With a faint cry someone tumbled from a fighting top down into the big waves. I looked around to see if my other shipmates were safe, and glancing abaft the starboard beam I saw suddenly a small boat in the sea, the great back of my friend Tortoise at the tiller. He was facing the darkness of the storm, but my heart leapt. He was alive!

I looked to the fore along the tilted starboard gunwale, just in time to witness a waking nightmare—for out of the sea and over the gunwale boiled a horror of which I cannot speak, so small were the bodies of my living comrades, their blades like toothpicks in their hands, so great the many-handed horror’s seething fury and monstrous, devouring form. I picture it still, its gargantuan rings pulsing with unearthly light. It was time.

Horror boiled out of the sea, and hell followed.

##

Next episode: The Kraken

“No, don’t do that,” Polly said.

Things began to move very quickly once the ice kraken attacked the whaler. It’s grey-green arms reached up and grabbed the harpooners, dragging them kicking and screaming into the water. Other arms, monstrously long, shot up around the whaler’s mast and pulled the entire ship towards it. The whalers cried out in alarm and terror as the rigging began to snap and tangle.

Polly turned to Aberra. “We can run before the wind, but when it gets to us we need firepower,” she said. “We need as much of it as possible in the line of fire.”

The sailing master nodded grimly. “So we give it something to climb. We beam reach to starboard and broach at the last possible moment. We’d better hope it attacks or we’ll be thinking about keeling over.”

“Ice krakens don’t mess around,” Polly said.

“Then we take in as much sail as we can and the rest as soon as we heel. This storm might be on us before it is.” Aberra shouted orders and the deck crew got to work. “Stay focused on the bloody sails,” he added, half to himself.

“Modura, all gunners to starboard. I’ll call it on the pipe. Reload and fire if you can. Sasha, I want sharpshooters in the fighting tops and on the afterdeck. Aim for the eyes. Things will be busy, but even one shot could do the trick. Ọya, I want you on the foredeck. We need calm.”

The other ship’s mizzenmast snapped and splintered. The kraken flickered a greenish blue. They could hear men and women screaming. The mast toppled.

“Umah save us,” someone said fervently.

“An ice kraken,” Geoff said. “Holy mother of God.”

Tortoise turned to Gecko. “What’s the difference between a kraken and an ice kraken?”

“No time for difficult questions!” Polly was standing at the quarterdeck rail overlooking the main deck. “Now listen up lasses and lads! Our very lives could be at stake! Remember: it’s good to be afraid, it keeps us frosty, but a block of ice will sink the ship. Watch each other’s backs and chop those tentacles faster than the cook. No offence, Cook.”

Polly looked around at everyone present. “This is the best crew in the Seven Seas. Prepare to be boarded.”

#

“Tortoise, I’ve got a job for you,” Polly called out, as everyone got to work. “Where are the rest of the recruits? Get them up here now.” She disappeared into her day cabin.

Tortoise looked around to see who was present. Heavy drops of rain began to hit his face. Most of the recruits were waisters; the ones who weren’t already busy looked back at him expectantly.

“I’ll find the others,” Alinta said. “I think I know where they are.”

“Thank you,” Tortoise said. “Meet back here. Hurry.”

Alinta dashed off, and the rest of them moved up to the quarterdeck.

Tortoise looked around for Gecko. He couldn’t see him; he’d probably gone up the shrouds with the other lofters. He looked across to the whaler. The kraken’s body had emerged from the ocean a little as it pulled itself up, water pouring off its back. The rain front had reached the whaler and paused over it like a grey sheet veiling the whaler and her grisly new crew member—glowing blueish green in sudden fits and starts—as if the very spirits of the air wished to conceal what was within.

A few muskets cracked, but the creature itself made no sound other than the violence of its plaything being methodically taken apart. Some of the crew had managed to launch one of the boats, casting off before it was full, and dozens of sailors were jumping into the sea now, others who had been thrown from the rigging crying out in the water or drowning silently. Tortoise shuddered. Would the kraken really attack the Pegasus? Everyone seemed to think so. But why? Why couldn’t they rescue them? He looked away, breathing heavily.

What could Polly possibly want him to do?

#

Polly emerged from her cabin wearing her sword. She took the whole ship in with one quick glance, then turned her gaze to Tortoise.

“Tortoise, you’re getting the recruits off the ship. Head east to the coast, then south to Akasha. Find a tailor named Iñana and give her this.” She held out a bracelet, perhaps silver.

He stared at it, then slowly took it.

Polly put her hand on his shoulder. “Tortoise, are you with me?”

She held his gaze. He took a deep breath. “Yes, sir.”

“You know what to do. Remember Gudge. Use the stern jolly boat. East then south. Go.”

Tortoise nodded and turned to Cadge. “Wait for Alinta and meet us there.” Cadge nodded. Tortoise looked at the frightened recruits. “That means the back of the ship,” he said. They all stared at him. “Run.”

They ran.

##

Next episode: The Lifeboat

He’d had a strange dream during the night. He lay there in his bunk and thought over the dream. It was strange. The dream was about snorkelling on a reef on a hot sunny day. He was a child, and somehow he was able to swim. The reef was in shallow water and close to the beach and he felt safe: he was swimming with one of his friends, another tortoise.

The tide was going out and they came in to explore the rock pools. Somehow he had a glass jar in his hand, and he scooped out a tiny fish from one of the pools. He lifted the jar up to the sky to look. They were the colour of sand and glinted in the light. He decided to name the fish. He was proud of the name in the dream, but now it seemed odd.

Why had he dreamt about naming a fish?

Tortoise sat up and began meditating.

#

There were many changes on the Pegasus. The ship herself was different, for one. And with so many dead from the battle with the Black Remora, and many having settled square and retired to a quieter life in its aftermath, the ship’s complement had scores of new faces, with many of the younger members of the old crew in positions of authority. Ọya was First Mate now. One of the gang had asked about Molly the first day they were back aboard, and everyone had gone quiet and looked away.

“She went home,” someone said.

Tortoise, of all people, had been put in charge of the greenest lubbers, the ones who had signed up in Lagh. He’d protested, but Polly had brooked no disagreement and impressed upon the recruits that they needed to listen to his every word. He focused on teaching them the names for things, their first knots, and what they needed to know about safety and the general running of the ship, as well as making sure they were where they needed to be when they needed to be there.

He soon realised how much he’d learnt in his time aboard—he hadn’t even known what the stern was, or which was starboard and backboard, never mind the difference between aft and abaft, or tacking, gybing, wearing, and heaving to. It was strange going into his old room and seeing them all there around the card table. They were all so young and eager for action. And—surprisingly—they seemed to like him. They called themselves the Red Tails, even though none of their tails were red, and made lots of in-jokes that Tortoise didn’t understand. He oversaw their work as waisters, though they mostly trained and did chores. He felt protective of them.

The rest of the gang had new roles and old. Dee was teaching the Red Tails how to fight. Ibrahim took them for the principles of sailing, and Miguel for gardening and food preparation. Penny and Penguin initially weren’t given teaching roles, but after they protested to Ọya, who asked what they knew how to do, Penny decided on book-keeping, and Penguin chose science.

Gecko didn’t protest. He was spending less time with all of them, including Tortoise, and Tortoise felt sure he was up to something. He seemed to have changed since Ghustloch, but Tortoise wasn’t sure what exactly was different about him. He’d tried to ask him one day, but Gecko had been vague and said that he’d lost some money gambling in Lagh. Maybe that was true, but that wasn’t what Tortoise had meant, and he was pretty sure Gecko knew that. One day when he and Gecko were sitting in the sun and talking, Gecko asked him what he thought of Captain Polly, and why he’d returned to the ship. Tortoise thought it an odd question. He told Gecko that he’d returned to the ship because he trusted Polly, and his friends were all here.

On his time off, Tortoise took to reading in the library. Sometimes he wondered if he’d changed, too. He never used to remember his dreams.

#

It was a high-pitched ringing sound. At least, it seemed like it.

#

Tortoise was reading in the library when Dee knocked on the open doorway. He looked up.

Dee smiled. “Hey, Tee. Sorry to interrupt—just returning a book.”

“Sure,” Tortoise said, making some room as she squeezed past and reached up. Dee turned and plonked herself down in the opposite alcove.

“This is comfy! Can see why you spend time here.”

“Mm, it’s quiet and warm,” Tortoise agreed. “How are you? I feel like I see you but don’t see you. If that makes sense.”

“Totally! That’s how I feel too. I kinda miss being on the road.”

“The trees.”

“Yeah, the trees, the mountains. Rivers. Butterflies.”

“Me too.”

“Also not knowing what was going to happen that day. And being in it together. I mean, we are here too, of course. But it’s different. We don’t talk like we used to.”

Tortoise thought about it.

“I remember talking with Gudge about that,” he said. “About not knowing what was going to happen.”

“What did he say?”

“He said it was okay not to know what to do, as long as you’re sure of something. I wish I’d written it down. I’ve kind of forgotten the way he said it.”

Dee was quiet for a while. “I miss him,” she said. She huffed a little, and when she hurriedly wiped her face Tortoise realised a sudden rush of tears had welled up.

#

One day Tortoise and Gecko were on the afterdeck when the ship sighted a prize, their second since leaving Lagh and returning to their old hunting ground. It was mid-afternoon, with storm clouds brewing on the horizon.

The captain had decided that there was enough time to capture the ship, and so they made chase.

Tortoise felt restless. He’d never liked battles, but he liked them less and less. Especially since Ghustloch he’d been trying not to think about some of the things he’d seen. The ship was still some way off. The Pegasus had the weather gauge, and would catch up with them, but it would take hours.

Tortoise and Gecko were leaning against the taffrail watching the waves.

“I’m thinking about going home,” Tortoise said suddenly.

“What?” Gecko said.

“I’ve been thinking about going home,” Tortoise repeated.

“Why?” Gecko seemed genuinely surprised.

“I miss the island.”

“But there’s nothing there,” Gecko said.

“My house is,” Tortoise said. “I miss the garden.”

“I know, but I thought that this was your home now. Isn’t it? What about all of us?”

“I don’t know,” Tortoise said. “I don’t think I’m really a pirate. I’ve been wondering where Song and Mole are now. They were my friends too. Haven’t you thought about leaving the ship?”

Gecko looked taken aback. He looked away. “Maybe,” he said. “Once or twice. But not to go home. Just for something different.”

Tortoise didn’t know what to say. Neither, it seemed, did Gecko. They stared into the ocean.

#

The prize was closer, but still a couple of hours away. Tortoise’s stomach was squirming, but he couldn’t stay seated for long. He wandered about, this way and that, then went below deck. He knew he should be with the recruits. But he just wasn’t ready to put on a brave face.

It was only when he was almost there that he realised he was making his way to the galley.

#

Polly and Ọya were discussing plans on the quarterdeck.

“I don’t like the look of that storm,” Ọya said. “He’s on the move and in the wrong direction.”

“I agree, sir,” Aberra said from behind the wheel. The sailing master and his antlers towered over both of them, even Ọya.

“We’ll see,” Polly replied briskly. “It’s good to shake out and put the new recruits through some paces. Maybe this one’s a smash and grab.” Polly turned. “Ah Gecko, just the hand I wanted to see. A quick word.”

#

It was getting darker, the clouds thickening, and the wind starting to pick up. The prize was much closer.

They were passing Gibbet Island, little more than a rocky peak, and on the other side came upon another ship hove to. It was a whaler processing a large whale carcass floating alongside it, some of her crew on its back flensing the blubber. They were working quickly.

“Captain?” Ọya asked, passing the spyglass.

“We’ve missed our chance with the other one, at least before the storm,” Polly said. “But I doubt this one has more than food and oil, and we’re fully stocked. Time to batten down the hatches and heave to. Let’s have a closer look on the way past. I don’t recognise her.”

The Pegasus began battening.

“She’s fresh out of the dockyard by the looks,” Ọya said. “Laudanese.”

“Sir,” Aberra said with sudden alarm. “That’s two dogwhales they’re flensing. This far north? Ai! Have they lost their minds?!”

Polly raised the spyglass again. She tensed. “Dogwhales. Fools and damn fools. Aberra, get us out of here now.” Polly raised her voice. “Deck and marine officers and mates to me. Where are Modura and Tortoise?” Bells rang.

“What’s wrong with hunting dogwhales?” Ọya asked.

“Dogwhales aren’t the problem,” Polly said. “It’s what eats them.”

There was a commotion on the whaler, and their bells began ringing as well. Something was surfacing near the whales.

Ọya frowned. “What’s that?”

“I think we’re about to find out,” Polly said.

##

Next episode: An Ice Kraken

“We were lucky, you mean,” Ibrahim said. He collapsed to the deck against the gunwale of the ferry next to Thip, still breathing heavily. They’d had to run the last eight miles through the woods chased by dogs. “If the guards hadn’t been cudgelling the gaolers there’s no way we would’ve got out of there.”

That was true: it had been a close thing. Once they’d made it to the surface, Polly had made a beeline for the ferry with Penny and Tortoise while the others led their pursuers on a less-than-merry chase. Most of them were nursing cuts and bruises of one kind or other.

“Chaos is just opportunity going to waste.” Gecko took off his helmet. “Trust me, luck had nothing to do with it.”

“Alright, that’s enough out of you, Gecko,” Polly said. “We’re not there yet. Save the celebration for after the ferry.”

They all looked back at the riverbank. The last of their pursuers were milling about on the jetty.

A flock of geese landed in the water, honking softly.

#

In the end it took a few weeks to get back to the Pegasus.

The morning after crossing the river, they’d woken in rainforest to find Polly gone. Indira and Dee, who’d stood last watch, said she’d be back and, sure enough, an hour later Polly returned on an imposing black horse with a change of clothes for everyone, three daggers and a sword, and a small bag of gold. She told them she had a few loose ends to tidy up, and sent them on ahead to Lagh to wait for the ship, if they wanted to rejoin her.

“Watch out for devil bears,” she added before riding off. “This place is crawling with them.”

The gang spent the rest of the day arguing over whether devil bears were real and who should get one of the daggers.

Late in the afternoon they came across a sounder of boar foraging beneath an ancient tree. That evening they feasted on succulent wild meat, forest peppers, mushrooms, roasted ferns, and honeycomb, and sang old songs and told stories around the fire late into the night.

##

Next episode: The Emperor

At breakfast, everyone kept their heads down while Gecko whispered with one of the gaolers. Polly had a coughing fit and everyone thought it was real.

The gaolers left: the door clanged shut. Now they just had to wait for lunch.

Gecko cleared his throat. “We have a slight change of plan,” he said, peering from his cell. “We’re going to have to improvise.”

“Why?” Vee asked, apprehensive. “What’s happened?” Everyone came to the bars of their cell.

“The gaolers are all going on strike. The whole prison’s going into lockdown right after lunch.”

“Oh. So much for the plan, then. We have to postpone.”

“Except we might not get another chance,” Gecko said. “Hank suspects they’ll bring in strike-breakers. He might not be back for a while, if at all.”

“Fabulous,” Vee said. “How are we going to get out of here now?”

##

Next episode: The Cauldron

It was the evening before the big day, and he was ready for action. The others paced about in their cells—even Tortoise was stretching.

He felt good. He felt really good.

#

Tortoise was stretching. He went over the plan again. He hoped he was fast enough, and didn’t kill anyone. It seemed hard to believe they could pull it off. Maybe this time would be different.

Lately he’d been thinking a lot about what had happened since he’d left home. He’d been struggling to meditate, and there wasn’t much else to do. He’d tried to think about other things as much as he could, but sooner or later he would remember something, like Gudge ahead of him silhouetted against the sky, the feeling of the rope around him and his feet sinking into snow, the great voids on either side, and his thoughts would turn again to what had happened. He kept seeing things. The bodies after the battles. Lt Worley hanging like a cocoon, blood slowly colouring the white canvas.

He went over the plan again. He just hoped he was fast enough. He was beginning to get annoyed they were still in here. They hadn’t even done anything.

#

Indira sat against the wall and quietly watched the others for a while, then went back to sleep.

#

Vee paced, flexing her talons. She lay on her rack for a while, staring at the ceiling. Got up and paced. She lay down again. Got up, paced. She lay down, put her hands behind her head.

Why had she said that?

#

They awoke during the night to the voices of gaolers.

The prison wing door unlocked: and Captain Polly strode in.

Polly was in overalls and handcuffed, surrounded by gaolers.

“Captain!” Everyone was stunned. Polly took them all in and smiled slightly, but said nothing. She waited with the air of someone watching a child attempt a difficult task while the gaoler unlocked the sixth cell, locked her in it, and undid her handcuffs.

The gaolers left, unaccountably embarrassed. The prison wing door closed and locked loudly.

Polly looked out of her cell. “Tortoise, Vee, Gecko, Indira—finally!”

“How did you find us?” Vee asked. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Clearly in the wrong direction. How did you all wind up in high security?”

“Reconnaissance,” Gecko said. “This place is a maze.”

“Alright everyone, I’m taking over this operation so you’d better start being useful. I have to say, I’m pretty unimpressed with your efforts to date. What do we know so far?”

“Captain, the good news is I’ve got an escape route. We also have a new plan.”

“Yes,” said Vee, sceptically. “And it requires someone who can talk their way out of anything.”

Polly laughed. “John’s never around when you need him. Alright Gecko, you’re up. So what’s the plan? I hope you’ve all succeeded in snaffling a spoon at least. That includes you, Tortoise.”

##

Next episode: The Great Escape!

The cells and the white tiles were grimier than their previous quarters, but the lights were just as bright, and the air just as stale. It was still cold. There was a blanket, but it was thin. He lay on his rack with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, painted white and sloping roughly down to a central point, as if collapsing in on him. The others were quiet or asleep.

An hour later the main door clanged open: new inmates being shown to their cells. The guards quickly bundled the prisoners into their new homes and undid their shackles. The main door clanged shut and they were alone again.

Gecko jumped up and looked out from his cell. “Hello?”

The woman in the cell diagonally across from him came to her door, her talons lightly grasping the bars. “Hello,” she said gracefully. Her face feathers shimmered in the light. “I am Vermilion. May I know you?”

“Gecko. And that’s Tortoise beside you.” Tortoise came to the bars of his cell rubbing his eyes.

“Hello,” a deep, mellow voice rumbled out of sight to Gecko’s left. “I’m Indira.”

“A pleasure—I only wish I could see you, Indira,” he said. “To be honest, no disrespect to my dear friend Tortoise, it’s good to have some more company.”

“How long have you been here?” Vermilion asked.

“Quite some time, unfortunately. This is the maximum security wing.”

“About a month,” Tortoise said. “What about you?”

“Since yesterday,” Vermilion said. “We tried to escape this morning.”

“Excellent!” Gecko said. “What went wrong?”

“A dead end. We didn’t get far.”

“Everyone goes the wrong way the first time. I think they designed it that way.”

“How many ways are there?” Indira asked.

#

Tortoise was chatting quietly with Indira. It was late, and Gecko and Vermilion had gone to bed. Gecko had been sleeping a lot lately. Tortoise liked Indira: she was easy to talk to. She seemed very relaxed for someone in prison, but then he didn’t suppose there was much that could faze her.

“Why were you arrested?” Tortoise asked, leaning against the cool bars. They hadn’t spoken about much else besides escape before the others turned in.

Indira shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “One minute we were in the forest on the way to Sündalǚ, and then we woke in this place. We’re really not sure what happened—it’s hard to remember. And you?”

“The same thing. We think we must’ve been drugged—everyone’s memories of that night are fuzzy. There were seven of us but they split us up after we arrived. We’re fairly sure they’re still here though. One of the gaolers mentioned a couple of them recently.”

“You did nothing wrong?”

“No, we were just on the road as well—they surprised us one night. We’ve all been charged with something. Well, I think Gecko’s been charged with more. But we don’t know what the charges are, exactly. Apparently we’ll find out soon, if we’re lucky.”

“The gaolers said that?”

“No, the advocate. She visited us a couple of times early on. We haven’t seen her since we were moved here though.”

“The advocate? Who is she?”

#

Gecko woke to the gaolers bringing the daily meal in a trolley. Gruel again.

Hank gave Gecko his bowl, then spooned out the steaming gruel.

The gaoler leaned in, slipping him a small package, and whispered: “A lotta the lads think you were set up. There’s a lot of support. Things are starting to move… I’ll keep you posted.”

“What were you two whispering about?” Vermilion asked, after the two gaolers had left.

“I’ve got a friend or two,” Gecko replied, casually scratching his head. “To be honest, I’m not sure they’re going to be of much help.”

“Something is better than nothing,” Indira said. “Would he bring something in for you?”

“Yes, he might do,” Gecko said. “I’ll sound him out next time.”

They ate their gruel in the usual silence.

#

Tortoise woke one morning—if that’s what it was—to find the others talking animatedly. Gecko had learned they were going to be moved the following day.

“Yes, but how would the rest of us know when?” Vee asked. “And what about the other gaoler?”

“What’s going on?” Tortoise asked, coming to the bars of his cell.

“We have an idea,” Indira said languidly. “It might even be a good one.”

“We’d have to trust that he wouldn’t notice for a minute or two,” Gecko continued. “But I think we can.”

“And then what?”

##

Next episode: The Plan

Underbelly was an older, hotter, more relaxed part of the city, full of lizards and other Wayfarers, including some of my own kin, though I mostly kept to myself. The place was packed most nights. It was a huge cavern, with tables everywhere, people playing go, chess, mancala, mehen, backgammon, all sorts of board and card games. At the back, beneath an array of lit up stalactites, was a raised dais with the band, surrounded by huge pillars of cave coral. As it turned out, I was there the night the Mancala Sextet debuted—harp, flute, kudulhu, frame drum. A great night.

But I was here on business as well. I ordered a ginger beer, and scoped the place out from beneath a large cream mushroom. “Very refreshing,” I said, when I returned to the bar with my empty glass. “Mr Underbelly?”

“I don’t like that name.” The big man behind the bar was drying a teacup. “I’m a teahouse proprietor. Everyone who knows me calls me Karim.”

“Karim,” I said. “I’m sorry. Good to meet you. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot—I’m Jason.”

“What do you want, Jason?” Karim asked. I’d picked my moment, and there were three other bar staff, but the place was starting to fill. I judged I only had a minute or two to gain a private audience.

“I’m here with a proposal and—to be perfectly honest, Karim—a request for your help. Some people call me an emissary. Really I’m just a middle man.”

“A middle man?” Karim slowly dried another teacup.

“Yes, I represent a diverse network of well-placed merchants, aristocrats, and free agents with a mutual interest in new discoveries. Along with security and discretion. The Laudanese—”

“If you represent dogs or monkeys, I’m not interested. They can kill each other for as long as they like for all I care.”

“Yes, if only they kept their wars to themselves, I’m sure the rest of the world would be happy to keep them well-supplied with every kind of luxury. Unfortunately, the war continues spreading south. And we have reliable intelligence that the Laudanese have excavated several intact devices from the ruins of Na’avinh, and are well on their way to repairing them and deducing their function and operation.”

“Glyph tech.”

“Yes, glyph tech.”

“Everyone thinks they’re going to find or fix or make a glyph. You can buy fake ones in the children’s market.”

I placed the glyph on the bar. I depressed the centre of the cube, and it popped open elegantly. Clearly a very expensive toy. “See the well in the centre? We believe this is where “the offering” is placed. Exegetical analysis of the cuneiform suggests a blue liquid was poured in here, but scholars have been unable to determine what kind of liquid, or whether it was actually the colour blue as we know it.”

Karim leaned forward. He was beginning to get interested.

“You’re welcome to take it and examine it for yourself. The alloys are extremely difficult to replicate. Many of the engraved icons remain undecrypted, but most glyphs are functionally interchangeable, at least mechanically. The devices that have been recovered, on the other hand, have various and seemingly quite specific purposes. And it so happens that the network I represent has acquired one: the Anopheline Device. Named after the mosquito-headed god of the Nasreen.”

“I know who Anopheles is. Look, this is all very fascinating, Jason, but I fail to see what all of this has to do with me.” Karim turned the glyph in his hand, and took another look inside.

“We have reason to believe that representatives of the Laudanese government have just arrived in Ghustloch for secret talks with the Council of Lords. I believe that they’re here partly for that.” I pointed above the dais.

“The coral?”

“Yes, the coral. What if the devices have a living component? The blue liquid isn’t power—it’s food. No wonder the devices never work. The other reason, of course, is money.”

I ducked down the alley and through the beads of a Cintorian street shrine. Dozens of candles lit the small roofed space, the altar crowded with flowers and figurines. Above the altar on the bare wall of the building hung a red cloth with the sacred sigil stitched in gold. I tossed a copper in the bowl and lit an incense stick, mumbling a prayer.

The veiled priestess sitting motionless by the altar reached out and gripped my arm painfully. “Numbers,” the mole-rat whispered urgently, pulling me closer.

“What?” I asked, trying to politely pull away. Her breath was fragrant.

“Numbers. Notice the numbers. The numbers.” She was smiling freakishly from behind her tassels, as if she knew something I didn’t.

“What numbers?”

“All of them. Notice today, notice tomorrow. Numbers. The numbers.”

“Okay,” I said, realising what I was dealing with. “I’ll notice the numbers.”

She cackled. “You won’t, you won’t. Doesn’t matter, see. They notice you.” She cackled. “You will, you will.”

“Okay,” I said. “Okay.” I prised my arm free from her grip as gently as I could, checked the coast was clear, and hurried on, her cackles following me down the alley.

By that time I’d been cleaning prison cells for a while. Everything was coming together, and I felt sure that before too long my friends and I would be back on the road again. Unfortunately, even the most brilliant of plans can go awry. There’s really no rhyme or reason to these things—sometimes it’s just the way of the centipede. I was getting ready for work one evening when there was a loud knock on the door. I opened up to find in the dim corridor a mole-rat accompanied by a couple of burly guards.

“Good evening, sir,” the mole-rat said crisply. He was smartly dressed in a black coat with a red cravat and a silver pin. “Sorry to bother you at this hour. My name is Mr Spindle. Here’s my card. As you can see, I’m a scrutineer calling on behalf of the Office of Restricted Non-Citizens. It’s purely a routine inspection, it won’t take long. We appreciate your cooperation. Papers, please.”

I adopted the scrutineer’s expression of seriousness and, after he politely declined to come in, obediently fetched my identity card and work permit from my locker. My mind was racing. This didn’t look good, but I didn’t want to overplay my hand either. The documents were expert forgeries. Absolutely top notch. I needed to trust that.

“Here you are, gub,” I said respectfully, bowing my head. He took the card and permit from me and inspected them carefully, placing them side by side on his clipboard, making notes, officiously checking the time on his golden fob watch and writing it down. Mr Spindle clearly meant business.

I glanced over his shoulder at the two armed guards, and debated making a run for it. There were only three exits from the building, and really only one: the front door. The guards looked like they knew what they were doing—one of their colleagues had killed another cleaner only three days before. I’m by no means unskilled when it comes to the arts of fist fighting and swordplay. The corridor wasn’t long, the lighting was poor, the stairwell narrow. But they had pistols. Ghustlochs. It was a dicey call.

The guards were expressionless. They were either mediocre or very good.

I was just about to take a calculated risk when the scrutineer smiled in satisfaction. He looked up from his work, and I relaxed. Panic: that’s the worst thing you can do in these situations.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You’ll have to come with us.”

“What?” I said.

“Guards,” he said.

##

Next episode: Prisoners