As he said this, he clamped his will down over the strangely-dressed man's, as he had done with the Grivense knife-seller in what seemed another age, but which must have been only the previous day.

Foster smiled. "Certainly, Questor Grimm. How may I help you?"

Grimm suppressed a gasp. His potent spell had not affected the man in the least. Engaging his Mage Sight, he saw what had thwarted his magic: the man's mind was shot through with metallic tendrils, identical to those he had seen in the assailant who accosted the group on its way to Griven. The man was under the control of another's will, a puppet of the dark art of Technology.

"Perhaps my questions can wait until later, Master Foster. I see my companions are beginning to bestir themselves. Perhaps it would be better if you were not here when they awake."

The man nodded. "I do have a few maintenance chores to do on my helicopter anyway, Questor Grimm. Take all the time you need."

Foster drew a strange mask over his face, donned a pair of gloves and exited the hut through a small door the mage had not noticed before. For a brief moment, Grimm saw snow whipped around by a vicious wind. Then the door closed behind the man, and Grimm could no longer make out where the door had been.

Xylox, still lying on the floor, turned his head towards Grimm. "Who was that man? Where are we?"

"Questor Xylox." Grimm kept his voice low. "I believe that this man, Foster, and his organisation, which he calls Haven, are in some way connected with General Quelgrum. His mind is not his own, just as we saw with the man at the outskirts of Griven. I recommend that we do nothing to arouse suspicion, but that we accept his offer to visit Haven. I think that we may be able to learn more concerning our quarry."

Xylox frowned. "This is a Technological artefact, is it not?" he demanded, and Grimm nodded.