He was going to miss his rendezvous with the Brigadier again, Malone mused dismally.

He and the small group of activists he'd been put in charge of were sitting in the dining room of the ‘Hound and Hare’ inn in the Kelvon town of Locksley, eating breakfasts of pastries and beans. Farwell, and the King's Shilling, were three hundred miles away. This would make the third rendezvous he'd missed. The Brigadier would be worrying, but the more important concern was that he hadn’t yet been able to report what he’d learned about Benjamin, one of the top leaders, perhaps the top leader, of the popular uprising. That information would be vital in helping to foil the Radiants’ attempt to plunge the Empire into civil war. If he died before he could pass it on, it would be lost, a prospect that bothered him a lot more than his own death.

He sighed. There was nothing he could do about it, so there was no use in fretting. The Brigadier would just assume he was deeply embroiled in the mission he'd given him, which he was, and hopefully they'd be able to met up next week, if he was back in the capital by then.

That was by no means certain, though. Jamie Fry seemed to have decided that Malone was the perfect man to be his delivery boy, probably in order to get him away from his side as much as possible. He’d made no secret of the fact that he didn't trust him, and Malone was fairly sure he still resented him for being chosen above him by John Martin. By giving him this job, and probably others like it afterwards, Jamie Fry was sending him far away for days at a time, and he suspected that the three men who were supposedly under his command had been told to keep a close eye on him. He’d certainly seen one or another of them looking in his direction now and then during the journey, although that may just have been because he was new to the team, while they'd clearly been working together for some time before. Also, the fact that he was the one with five hundred crowns in gold coins in his pouch was undoubtedly a factor.

They were chatting together, sharing jokes and anecdotes that referred back to things they'd done together before Malone joined them, and which he therefore couldn’t join in with. It was a deliberate act of disrespect, no doubt inspired by the fact that he, an outsider, had been put in charge over them, instead of one of them being given the job. It made him feel lonely and nervous, and he looked forward to the day when he could leave these unpleasant people and go back to the Brigadier.

“Some sausages would be good,” said Porto, using a piece of bread to mop up the last of the bean juice. “Glob pastries are good, but they ain’t sausages.”

“You could've had sausages if you'd paid for ‘em!” pointed out Sykes. “You could've had a whole plate of sausages if you'd paid for ‘em!”

“Don’t see why we should have to pay for our own grub. If they can afford to pay that kind of money for guns, they could afford to...”

“Watch you mouth, Porto!” snapped Malone, looking around to see if any of the inn’s other patrons had overheard. “Could be spies listening!”

The big man turned his head to look at him with eyes that burned with hostility. “Watch how you speak to me, dog man! I’m not a man to cross!”

“Watch what you say and I'll quite happily not speak to you at all! And the name's Malone.”

“People have names,” growled Porto. “Dogs don't.”

“Actually, dogs do have names,” pointed out Lewis helpfully. “My mum and dad had a sheepdog called Shep. Ended up becoming my younger brother...”

“Shut your trap, Lewis! Nobody cares about your stupid brother!”

“Okay, mate,” said Sykes soothingly. “Calm down. We got a job to do. We'll do it best if we don't attract attention.” Malone saw one of the serving girls looking in their direction nervously. Not close enough to overhear, but clearly aware that there were tempers and tensions brewing at their table.

“All I said was that some sausages would have been good, that's all.”

“You got any idea what goes into sausages?” said Lewis. “Everything, that's what. Everything that's left over when they've used everything that can be used, with breadcrumbs to bulk it out. If you'd seen what went into sausages, you'd never eat one again!”

“They taste good. ‘Specially with a bit o’ mustard. Can’t beat sausage to set you up for the day ahead. Set you up right proper, they do. Globs just ain’t the same.”

“Well, get some sausages, then!” said Sykes. “We got time, ain’t we, Malone?”

“Yes, I suppose,” conceded Malone. “We've got twenty miles to go today, and they're expecting us before sunset. So long as we set off before nine or so we should be okay. I'd prefer to set off a bit earlier than that, in case we run into problems. If the carriage throws a wheel, or something.”

“There, you see?” said Sykes to Porto. “Go get yourself some sausages!”

“And who'll pay for ‘em? You?”

“You'll pay for them, you idiot! You're eating them so you pay for them!”

“Well, that's not right! We're working for Benjamin so he should pay! I gave up a good job for this lark, I got no money coming in any more! All I've got is what I put by, and that won’t last forever!”

Malone was forced to agree that he had a point, but they were all in the same boat. It was just another ploy to make them angry, of course. The adoptees at the top of the organisation wanted them snapping and arguing at everyone they met, wanted any confrontation between them and the authorities to end in violence. He wondered how Porto and the others would have reacted if they'd known that Benjamin was, in fact, a millionaire, and could probably have bought up every sausage in the Empire if he’d wanted to. Not well, he guessed. In fact, he was rather surprised that he, who knew who Benjamin was and how rich he was, was trusted not to reveal it to the men.

He dug around in his purse and found a silver crown, which he slapped down on the table. “Here,” he said. “Buy sausages and beans for everyone. We can wait a few more minutes before leaving.”

Porto stared at him in outrage and anger. “What do you think I am?” he demanded. “A charity case?”

Malone stared back in astonishment. “I just thought...”

“I never lived off charity in my life! I work for what I've got! Always have, always will!” He pushed the coin angrily back towards Malone. “Keep your charity, dog man! I pay for my own food!”

“Just now you said...”

“That's different! We're working for Benjamin, so he owes us a fair wage, but I don't take charity! Never have, never will!”

“But you’re quite happy to let someone else buy the drinks!” said Lewis with a chuckle. “Last night at the bar...”

“We take turns to buy the drinks! That's how it is! You buy a round, I buy a round...”

“But somehow it never seems to be your turn! Who was it bought the drinks part night? Let me think. Hmmmm...”

“We had to turn in before it was my turn, you know that perfectly well! We got in late, there was only time for a couple of ales before we had to turn in. Tonight, when we get to Shellton, I'm first shout! Nobody calls me tight! No-one!”

“So, how come you’ve got money to flash around, Malone?” asked Sykes. “Where'd that silver come from?”

“Yeah!” agrees Porto, staring at Malone suspiciously. “How come you’ve got that kind of coin?”

Malone thought quickly. It was one of the last of the coins the Brigadier had given him, but he could hardly tell them that. “Had a bit of luck on the dogs a few days back,” he said. “Bessie came good for me.”

“Never heard of a mutt called Bessie at the Works,” said Sykes. “He one of Picker’s dogs?”

“This was back in Farwell, before I joined the movement. Place called Daisyfield, just round the corner from the glue factory. Know it?”

“Heard of it, never been there. Bit of a dump, I heard. Second rate dogs, second rate races.” He seemed placated, though, Malone was relieved to see. Even Porto seemed mollified. Sharing a gambling win with friends didn't count as charity, it seemed, but Malone didn't repeat the offer, just to be on the safe side. Porto would just have to do without his sausages for now.

A few minutes later, they were leaving the inn and walking around to the stables where they'd left their wagon and horses. Malone made sure their decoy cargo was safe and sound in the back of the wagon, and then he and Lewis took their places on the drivers’ seat, Malone taking the reins and the other man cradling a large shotgun in his arms. Porto and Sykes climbed into the saddles of the two horses that would ride escort, as a defence against bandits, and then they set off, the wagon clattering and bouncing its way down the narrow road that led through the small town and out into the brightly sunlit Kelvon countryside.

Porto and Sykes rode a little way behind the wagon, so they could keep and eye on it and anything that might threaten it. “Here’s to a quiet day,” said Lewis, his eyes scanning the lands on either side of the road. He had particular reason to be watchful. If they were ambushed by bandits, the man riding shotgun was always the first to be killed.

“It's the trip home when we’ll have to be careful,” Malone replied. “If we’re ambushed on the way, we just show them the turnips we’re carrying in the back. They'll just let us go and wait for a better prize. If we’re ambushed on the way back, though...”

“If they ambush us on the way back, we’ll have a load ‘o guns to defend ourselves with!” They both chuckled. “Seriously, though, we do have one thing they could nick if they stop us on the way. All that gold you’re carrying! If you try to keep it from them and they find it, they’ll gut all of us just for the fun of it!”

“It’s well hidden,” replied Malone. “They won't find it. We’re just a bunch of farmers off to sell our turnips at market. Why should we be carrying a fortune in gold?”

“Jamie must trust you an awful lot! Five hundred crowns! How's he to know you won't just ride off with it? Five hundred crowns could set you up quite nicely for a long time!”

“And what would you do if I did? Would you just let me go?”

“Jamie might think we'd all ride off with it. Share the money.”

“Five hundred crowns isn't enough to be worth the risk. Imagine if they catch up to us one day! Take a risk like that for just five hundred crowns? If it was five thousand I might be tempted. No, Jamie knows we’re not going anywhere but where we're supposed to go.”

Lewis nodded, his eyes still scanning the trees, bushes and hedgerows that lined the road, any of which might hide a lone bandit with a shotgun. There wasn't enough cover here for more than one man to be hiding. Further down the road, yes, but not here. Lewis remained alert, though, as did Malone. Would a single man be desperate enough to attack four men? Until just recently he would have answered with a definitive no, but nowadays? With things the way they were? So many starving, desperate people? Even turnips might be tempting to someone who hadn't eaten for several days!

“Never known things as bad as this,” muttered Lewis to himself. “Never known this much crime! Used to be, this was a fairly safe road. Never completely safe, of course, but someone getting killed on this road made the news all the way from Puddleton to Shrewsby! Nowadays, we can pretty much count on trouble of some kind before we get there. Just hope Betsy here’s enough to see them off.” He patted his shotgun fondly.

Malone decided to try sounding him out. He didn't strike him as quite as zealous as the others. Maybe, with a little gentle urging, he could be made to see sense. “It's because the guards aren’t chasing the criminals anymore,” he said. “These days, they spend all their time looking for us!” He eyed the other man carefully from the edge of his vision to see what effect his words had. “Hunting criminals is supposed to be their job,” he replied. “They're not doing it. They've been told not to do it. It's almost as if the Powers That Be want the country to go to hell!”

“The toffs ain't scared of highwaymen,” said Lewis. “Anytime they go out on the road, they can take a whole private army with ‘em. They ain’t scared of burglars either, their palaces are like fortresses! I know, I saw one once! They ain’t scared of muggers, bandits, cutpurses, pickpockets. What they’re scared of is us! And they control the guards. They tell the guards to get the people they’re scared of, and that's us! That's why the roads ain’t safe anymore. Cos of the toffs telling the guards to get us!”

Malone nodded. What Lewis said was right, so far as it went, but there was more. A lot more. “They're scared of us and so they’re out to get us, and we're scared of them and so we’re out to get them, and all that fear is tearing the Empire apart!”

“So what do we do? The guards’ll do anyone who even looks at ‘em funny! Not just us, anyone! If my mum and dad don't show ‘em the respect they think they’re due, they'll do them just the same as us! Same with my brother, the people who live next door to us, anyone! If people knew they had nothing to fear from the guards so long as they kept the law, that'd be something, but they'll do anyone, for no reason, just because they’re in a bad mood or something!”

“Because they’re recruiting thugs into the guard, putting uniforms on criminals, moving all the good guards with ties to the community to some far off province on the pretext of promoting them, which makes the common people even angrier. Makes more of us want to join the movement, to fight back! And the toffs know it! If the toffs really want to wipe us out, why are they doing everything they can to piss us off, to make more of us take up arms against them? Doesn't it seem, sometimes, that maybe what the toffs really want is to tear the Empire apart?”

“Why would they want that? They've got it good! They've got money, big houses, servants... Why would they want to end all that?”

“I'm just saying that's what it looks like, that's all. If they really wanted to protect the Empire, they could end the movement by bringing the guards into line. Make sure they only went after proper criminals, not decent people, like they used to. I mean, none of us wants to kill people, We’re being driven to it by the guards. If the toffs got the guards under control, we could all just get back to our ordinary lives and the toffs would be safe. Their money would be safe, their houses and servants, they'd all be safe. Instead, they're doing the exact opposite, as if they want to put an end to their cosy lives!”

“It's because they’re stupid. They think we don't have the guts to fight back, they think they can keep pushing us and we'll just keep on taking it, but we won't! We're tougher than they think we are! They think that if they keep knocking us down, sooner or later we'll stay down, learn to toe the line, but we won't! They can knock us down as many times as they like and we'll get back up every time! We'll never stop fighting, not until they learn they can't treat us like this!”

Malone nodded. He wasn't going to have any luck with this man, he realised with disappointment. He wouldn't even have tried with Porto and Sykes, he had a suspicion they'd had run-ins with the law even before the current troubles, but he'd had hopes for Lewis. He’d struck Malone as being a little more level headed, a little more amenable to reason. Maybe he'd been involved with the popular uprising for so long that the message had sunk in and properly taken root. Any further attempt would only make him suspicious, he realised. He'd have to let it go. “You're right,” he said therefore. “They're just stupid.” Lewis nodded vigorously, his face set and determined, and Malone leaned back in the seat, his thoughts a turmoil in his head.

Is it just that I know what's going on, and that's why I can see it? he wondered. If I hadn't been with the Brigadier when he discovered the Radiant conspiracy, would I be as blind as everyone else? He found that hard to believe, but none of his three companions were stupid. They were obstinate, rude, bad tempered and belligerent, but they were of around average intelligence. Easily bright enough to see what was going on, he would have thought. And yet they could see no further than that the authorities were out to exploit and oppress the working classes and that they had to fight for their rights and their liberty. It was a brilliant strategy on the part of the Radiants, he mused unhappily. Just what you would expect from a race of higher beings.

I have to stop it! he vowed. He'd met enough Kelvons now to know that most of them were wonderful people. Kind, generous, hospitable, willing to go out of their way to help a stranger. It wasn’t his country, and part of him felt guilty that he was here, trying to help the Empire, when his own country had much more immediate problems, but this was the job the Brigadier had given him, and he could see the wisdom of it. If the Empire fell into chaos and anarchy, the entire human world would be dramatically weakened, maybe fatally so. The power and resources of the Empire might be essential for their victory over the Radiant threat, so if Malone could help the Empire, he would be helping his own country, and learning the identity of the industrialist supplying guns to the popular uprising might be a vital part of saving it.

As it turned out, they had no trouble on the road and arrived at Spennymoor while the sun was still a good distance above the horizon. Spennymoor was a small town which served mainly to house the men who worked in the large industrial complex that sat beside it. They’d known they were getting close for an hour or so beforehand as the traffic on the road increased and they passed wagons much like their own escorted by their own riders. Empty wagons heading in the same direction as them and wagons groaning under the weight of heavy cargoes, sitting low on their springs, heading in the opposite direction. A few minutes later the road turned to run alongside a river, white and foaming with industrial waste, on which barges also ran to and from the industrial town, pulled by large, powerful carthorses walking along the tow path.

“Now, we want unit number 224,” said Malone, looking ahead at the anonymous grey buildings on the horizon ahead of them. “Hopefully they’re numbered. Otherwise, I suppose, we can just ask someone.” He was rambling, he knew. Thinking out loud. He did that sometimes when he was nervous, and he was growing more nervous by the second. They were here to carry out a highly illegal transaction, buying guns that were to be used in an insurgency, and he remembered the Brigadier's warning that if he got in trouble with the law, there was nothing he'd be able to do to help him. I'm trying to save civilisation, he reminded himself. No-one said it would be easy.

The buildings were numbered, thankfully, and were laid out in order, so that when they came across unit number 202, with unit number 204 beside it, they knew that they only had to follow the road to find the one they wanted. Unit number 224 turned out to be on the very edge of the complex, with a barbed wire fence beside it on the other side of which was a waving field of wheat. The huge, sliding doors were open and Malone took the wagon straight in.

Two men immediately closed the doors behind them, plunging the warehouse into darkness lit only by the sunlight filtering in through half a dozen grimy skylights. Malone jumped down onto the ground, while Lewis remained in the drivers seat, covering him with the shotgun. Porto and Sykes brought their horses alongside the wagon and dismounted, their hands hovering close to the pistols they were wearing on their belts.

A man in a business suit was walking towards them. “Mister Crow, I assume?” said Malone. He also assumed that Crow was an alias. His job, his real job, was to learn the man's real identity, if he could.

Mister Crow stared at him. “Where's John Martin?” he demanded.

“John Martin is on assignment. I'm here in his place. Do you have what we came for?”

Mister Crow made a gesture, and three men emerged from the darkness in the corner of the warehouse. Porto and Sykes drew their weapons and stood with their backs to the wagon. “My arrangement was with John Martin,” said Mister Crow. “I don't know who you are. Government spies, maybe.”

“So long as we’ve got the gold, do you care who we are?” Malone produced the bag of gold coins, bounced it in his hand to make it jangle.

“I care if you've got a squad of guards waiting outside, ready to arrest me.”

“You think we’re rats?” demanded Porto, pointing his weapon at Crow's face. “Nobody calls me a rat!”

Malone put a hand on his gun, gently eased it down. He could feel the man quivering with fury, and guessed he was already putting more pressure on the trigger than was safe. This could go bad very quickly. “It's okay, Port,” he said. “It's natural for him to be suspicious.” He turned to Mister Crow. “We were just told to bring the gold and buy the goods. We didn't know you were expecting a particular person.”

“You think I'm going to just hand the goods over to the first person who asks for them? I have no idea who you are, I have no idea whether you can be trusted...”

Malone pulled at the drawstring and opened the money bag, showing him the gold coins inside. “How many people go around with five hundred crowns in gold? We came at the time you were expecting us, with the exact amount of money you were asking for.”

“Maybe John Martin was taken by the guards, made to talk.” The three approaching men were drawing their own guns and looked quite ready to use them.

“John Martin would never talk!” said Sykes. “If you knew him, you'd know it! Maybe you’re the rats, ready to sell us out to the guards!”

“They're as good as rats,” said Porto, his anger growing. “They're bosses. They’re just out to make money! People are suffering and dying, and these bastards just want to make money out of it!”

“Have you got the goods, or haven't you?” asked Malone. “If you have, let's just do the deal and go our separate ways before something...”

One of the approaching men tripped over something in the darkness. As he fell, his gun went off with a deafening detonation. Everyone jerked in surprise, and Porto’s finger spasmed on the trigger. His gun went off, and Mister Crow crumpled and fell. ‘Shit!” cried someone. Everyone was paralysed with shock for a moment, their brains struggling to process what had just happened. Then the other approaching men dropped to a crouch and fired their weapons. Malone dropped the bag of money, several coins falling out and rolling away across the dusty floor, and drew his gun. He and Sykes fired back, neither of them bothering to aim for the moment, just wanting to make Crow's men pause for a moment, give them a moment to think. Maybe Crow wasn’t dead, maybe they could still salvage this... Then Lewis fired his shotgun, a deafening blast in the confined space, and another of Crow's men fell with his head blown apart in red ruin. Unquestionably dead.

That settled it. “Let's get out of here!” shouted Malone. He jumped back onto the wagon, but the other two of Crow's men were shooting and Porto and Sykes both fell. Malone reached for the reins as Lewis fired off the second cartridge, the shot going wide, and then he dropped the shotgun and reached for the pistol at his belt. “Get aboard!” shouted Malone. “Quick!” Lewis was firing his gun in total panic, though, every shot going wide, and a moment later he also fell, a bullet piercing his heart.

Crow's men turned their guns on Malone, who shot back. An icy calm descended as the Brigadier's training came back to him and he took his time to aim before squeezing the trigger. A man fell, then another. The remaining man froze in shock, staring at his fallen companions, then turned and ran. Malone shot him in the back.

A terrible silence fell as the last echoes of the gunshots died away. The air was full of the smell of blood and burned gunpowder, acrid and sour. Malone waited in terror to see if anyone came to investigate the sound. Someone must have heard it! If there were more of Crow's men waiting outside, they'd come running in, guns blazing. If not, people would be running in the opposite direction, to raise the alarm. If the first, he had no time. If the second, he had a little. Not much, but a little...

When five seconds had passed with no more enemies entering the warehouse, Malone jumped down from the wagon. He checked Porto and Sykes, finding them both dead, then checked Mister Crow, finding him dead as well. That meant there was nobody left alive who'd been close enough to get a good look at his face. Nobody who could identify him. Good. He looked at the bag of coins, thinking that he might still be able to salvage his position with the popular uprising if he returned it to Jamie Fry and tried to explain what had happened, but the sound of alarmed voices were coming from somewhere outside. He jumped onto Sykes' horse, therefore, turned it towards the door and spurred it into a gallop.

He had to get off the horse for a moment to pull the sliding door open a couple of feet, and outside he saw people hurrying for cover, staring in his direction in shock. Malone jumped back into the saddle, turned the horse towards the barbed wire fence and spurred it into a gallop again. A half raised goat jumped out of the way with a bleat of terror, and the horse jumped the fence before galloping away across the field of wheat. Malone had no idea what lay in this direction, and he didn't care. His only thought was to get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible. His time as an undercover agent was over. It was time to return to the Brigadier.