A few funny things happened along the Lazy River, heading for Beacon Hill...

You only want to get on the ship, rest your weary self, and drink your way out of a vicious mood. But what happens? There's this bonded slave girl delaying things - giveaway price, and nobody'll take her...

Now that’s something different.

A shackled young thief offered by her Debt Owner on the dockside. ‘For a quarter of what she cost me. I need to be rid of her: she steals, has a vicious temper, and is spite-filled towards children and house dogs.’

 Not all bad, then, Kyre thought.

‘And spits at anyone who offends her. It’s a compulsion with her.’

Kyre watched as she spat at her owner, and aimed a swipe of clawed fingers. That’s some attitude she’s got; very Ant-Aggy-Mystic, he smiled.

The Debt Owner came over, ‘You interested? You been watching. Bargain at that fee. She’s from the far end of Aitierra; she’s a Planeta – wanderer family. Her parents were hanged for burning a farm down and stealing from the bodies. She was vended off on a two-year contract at Three Corners Auction to help the surviving son from the farm. She was shiked off as well as sold off.

‘Cutting my losses: she’s in the harbour if nobody on the RiverMaster wants her.’

In his mind, and in Grantairy's, it was Syrtius who was the brightest star and greatest hope in all the firmament

An arm around each other in affection, Kyre and Grantairy drank dedicatedly; she didn’t even shut the rowdy group up.

‘Is it bad,’ Kyre asked, keeping his voice well down, ‘if I pray to the stars? Only, I find it helps; I feel more comfortable. Not pestering them; the stars?’

Chuckling, Grantairy hugged at him. ‘Bless you. There’ll be one star whose job it is to listen out for you. The stars don’t get tired – they have an infinity of time in every beat.’

‘There are occasions when they perhaps share some of themselves with me, for I move much faster than other men at times. And my body heals as though by spells and sorcery.’

‘That could indeed be it,’ she conceded. ‘Tis a rare thing indeed. Given powers by a star for good or evil. Be careful, Kyre, for some of us believe that not all stars are bright and can be seen: some are black.’

‘Black? So how do you know they’re there?’

‘By their deeds. There are people who do evil, dark things. Their stars must be the same.’

"Vohpats don't like being disturbed at their dinner."

"Nor do I. Pass me that falchion blade, huh?'

‘Frugg!’ was said by every member of the hunting party, as they slowly backed away from the carcasses they were butchering for smoking.

On all fours, claws as long as fingers, and sharp as brad nails, a creature the size of a wagon ambled into the battra enclosure. Barely glancing at the slaughterers as it sauntered towards the laid-out carcasses of the deer. It clearly had every intention of helping itself to whatever it took a liking to. At six times the size and weight of a man, it knew that it could. The brothers, the children and the women knew it, too, and were edging away. So did the tavern staff and a couple of neighbours. The four deer-hounds weren’t quite so sure and were backing off, crouched and snarling.

‘What the frugg is it?’ Kyre wanted to know, easing a skinning knife into gnarled fingers.

‘Back! It’s a silvertip, a vohpat. Give it space.’ No-one was panicking, but everyone was stepping further away as the giant scrub-haired thing looked around, its armour-like hair-plates catching the light dully, like hand-sized fingernails.

Content that it was not about to be disturbed in its forthcoming meal, it decided to pull the male deer carcass over and sink its great yellow teeth into a haunch.

To be honest, it wasn’t Kyre’s fault. He failed to step back any further. Was lowering into a defensive/attack crouch. ‘A year or more’s training; never giving way; some inbuilt sense of justice,’ Kyre explained afterwards. ‘I don’t back away.’

‘Nor do our hounds. Not if someone’s still there, in danger. Military-trained as pups.’

‘Looks like being bother, then.’

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