assuming that the Stain didn't claim them all, but she wasn't about to dwell on that cheery prospect. Tylus had other ideas, wanting to use slings suspended between two of his airborne officers to ferry the dead out of the Stain, but Kat persuade him to reconsider.
  "You're here to pursue a mission," she reminded him, "not split your forces to act as body boys for the rest."
  He agreed, though he didn't much like it. Nor did she for that matter. Half-hand deserved better, but then again, so did they all.
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The Prime Master listened impassively to the latest reports. Jeanette, Thaiburley's senior physician, sat beside him. She had been as intimately involved in the efforts to stem the spread of bone flu as anyone and the Prime Master saw no reason to exclude her; besides, he valued both her company and her opinion. Verrill, the man making the reports, had been captain of the Council Guard for the best part of five years. The Prime Master had watched him develop from enthusiastic over-achiever to consummate professional with a certain degree of satisfaction and pride â the man had been his preferred choice for the position. He both liked and respected Verrill and knew him well enough to realise that the reports were proving as difficult to deliver as they were to listen to. The captain's demeanour and expression remained neutral and wholly professional, but the slightly raised pitch of his voice gave him away.
  The reports made grim listening indeed. Much of Artists Row had been sealed off â all those unaffected having been evacuated long ago. As many as could be, at any rate. No one knew how many Rust Warriors were bottled up down there. The Blade held them at bay. There were similar if smaller "quarantined" areas in the Residences and throughout most of the Heights. If he could assemble the Blade in strength, he could take the initiative and purge the Rust Warriors from any given area, but he daren't. That would leave too many other sectors of the city exposed. The Council Guard and even the Kite Guard had been mobilised, equipped with weapons treated by the arkademics to be effective against Rust Warriors; but despite their undoubted qualities they weren't the Blade.
  For some reason, there had been no reported cases of bone flu in any Row below the Artists, which lent credence to the theory that the blight was in some way a targeted attack, that a malignant intelligence directed events. But who?
  He suddenly realised that the officer had finished speaking and was standing a little awkwardly waiting for the Prime Master to respond.
  He nodded to the man and smiled â that warm, reassuring expression that had served him so well over the years; a creasing of the face that told the recipient he was appreciated, that his words were valued.
  "Thank you, captain," the Prime Master said. He'd reached a decision as the man spoke and now acted upon it. "Authorise the reassignment of officers from lower Rows. We need more men up here." More targets, more victims, but what else could he do?
  "Yes, sir!" With a slight nod, the captain pivoted on his heel and marched smartly from the room, leaving the Prime Master alone with Jeanette. She wouldn't have missed his momentary distraction and now regarded him, concern etched in every line of her face.
  "Will the extra men help?"
  "Oh yes, they'll help⦠a little."
  Jeanette was one of the many Heights citizens forced to abandon their homes, the Row of Medics being among the worst hit. As soon as they realised that the calcified off-white shells that enveloped bone flu victims represented the pupal stage of a transformation from human to Rust Warrior rather than a clean death, they had destroyed all those stored for research. No easy task in itself; pneumatic sledge hammers, fire, and arkademic talent had all been deployed. Hundreds of pupae were destroyed that way, but many hundreds