“Let’s get this business over and done with before littlenight,” Hlawnvert said to his lieutenant. “We have wasted too much time here already.”

“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant marched ahead of him to the men who were ranked in the lee of the restlessly stirring airship and raised his voice. “Stand forward all airmen who have reason to believe they will soon be unable to discharge their duties.”

After a moment’s hesitation a dark-haired young man took two paces forward. His triangular face was so pale as to be almost luminous, but his posture was erect and he appeared to be well in control of himself. Captain Hlawnvert approached him and placed a hand on each shoulder.

“Airman Pouksale,” he said quietly, “you have taken the dust?”

“I have, sir.” Pouksale’s voice was lifeless, resigned.

“You have served your country bravely and well, and your name will go before the King. Now, do you wish to take the Bright Road or the Dull Road?”

“The Bright Road, sir.”

“Good man. Your pay will be made up to the end of the voyage and will be sent to your next-of-kin. You may retire.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Pouksale saluted and walked around the prow of the airship’s gondola to its far side. He was thus screened from the view of his former crewmates, in accordance with custom, but the executioner who moved to meet him became visible to Toller, Sisstt and many of the pikon workers ranged along the shore. The executioner’s sword was wide and heavy, and its brakka wood blade was pure black, unrelieved by the enamel inlays with which Kolcorronian weapons were normally decorated.

Pouksale knelt submissively. His knees had barely touched the sand before the executioner, acting with merciful swiftness, had dispatched him along the Bright Road. The scene before Toller — all yellows and ochres and hazy shades of blue — now had a focal point of vivid red.