As far as Grimm was concerned, flight was best left to the birds, bats and insects.

After maybe ten minutes' unsteady flight, Foster brought the machine to a halt in the air. "This is Hotel Romeo Two-Seven, requesting landing clearance this time," he said, although Grimm could not see anyone who might hear his words outside the vehicle.

The Technologist nodded, as if in response to some voice Grimm could not hear. "Ident is as follows, Control: Pilot Foster, two-two-niner-zero."

Grimm heard a buzzing, crackling sound from the pilot's helmet which he took as some response from Haven, and the vehicle began to descend towards a wide ledge far below.

With a gentle bump, the helicopter was once more on firm ground. Foster pressed a few more cartouches and the roar above the craft ceased, the illumination in the clock panel dimmed and the only remaining sound was a decelerating, whipping sound. Disconnecting himself from his equipment, the man turned to face his passengers.

"It's all done, folks. Welcome to Haven."

Grimm started as the sliding door opposite opened, revealing a pair of men standing outside, dressed in padded white-and-grey suits. They seemed well-protected against the vicious, flaying wind hurling needle-like shards of ice into the warm interior of the craft. The young Questor felt a popping in his eardrums, and he saw the elven thief, Crest, clapping his hands over his sensitive ears, his face a mask of pain. The men outside the helicopter carried metal sticks at which Grimm stared.

These must be ancient Technological weapons, he thought, gazing in wonder at the bizarre tubes, although they glisten and gleam as if new.

One of the men stepped forward and spoke gruffly, his voice muffled by swathes of cloth that covered his mouth.

"Welcome to Haven," he said. "Step lively, now! Administrator Armitage is waiting for you."