The wind made any communication useless. Even when we arrived at the side of the wreck the blizzard was all that could be heard. Fourteen clamped itself on the hull and carefully extended one huge talon, effortlessly ripping a hole large enough for two men in a few elegant sweeps.

I plunged through after the Master to find him being held at gunpoint by a group of men holding sleek lightning-guns of a design I hadn’t seen before.

“Who are you?” their leader demanded.
“I am the Messagemaster at Aery Irwell,” the Master replied calmly, “and we are here to rescue you.”

At this the men relaxed a little, although the weapons were not lowered.

“We appreciate your concern, but I can assure you that matters are in hand.”

The Keeper looked incredulous, as did a number of our men. He ignored us and carried on.

“We have arranged a pick-up for ourselves and the cargo on board, which should be arriving very soon. We would ask that you leave as soon as possible.”