Cullis opened his eye and watched this for a moment. " Whattime did you say it was?"

He buttoned Cullis" jacket up halfway. "Time to go, I think."

"Hmm. Fair enough. You know best, Zakalwe." Cullis closed his eye again.

The young man Cullis had called Zakalwe walked quickly to one end of the great table, which was covered by a comparatively clean blanket. A large, impressive gun lay there; he picked it up and returned to the large, unimpressive form snoring on the floor. He took the old man by the collar and backed off towards the door at the end of the hall, dragging Cullis with him. He stopped to pick up the oil-stained bag full of weaponry he'd sorted out earlier, slinging that over one shoulder.

He'd dragged Cullis halfway to the door when the older man woke up, and with his one good eye fixed him with an upside-down bleary stare.

"Hey."

"What, Cullis?" he grunted, heaving him another couple of metres.

Cullis looked round the quiet white hall as it slid past him. "Still think they'll bombard this place?"

"Mm-hmm."

The grey-haired man shook his head. "Na," he said. He took a deep breath. "Na," he repeated, shaking his head. "Never."

"Cue incoming" the young man muttered, glancing around.

Nevertheless the silence continued as they reached the doors and he kicked them open. The stairs that led down to the rear entrance hall and out into the courtyard were of brilliant green marble edged with agate. He made his way down, armaments and bottles clinking, gun bumping, dragging Cullis down step after step, the big man's heels thumping and scraping as he went.

The old man grunted with each step, and once mumbled. "Not so damn hard, woman." The young man stopped at that point and looked at the old man, who snored and dribbled saliva from the corner of his mouth. The young man shook his head and continued.