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It doesnt take long to spoil it for himself. Slowly, inexorably, the doubts wash in. The questions about what is real and what is projection. Does he really believe something has happened Violet or is he just pretending to so he has something to tell his editor and agent? Hes worked this way before – starting with a headline and trying to make the story fit the mould. Tuesday, November 14, 1988 Armed rebels turn up at your gates, looking for help against your ruler, who has already demonstrated an extremely heavy hand with treachery in the past, Shan went on. Wouldyou offer them help and comfort? Hes terrified. Let me talk to him. His fist almost splintered the floorboards and made her heart leap. He was there, feeling everything. Still fighting. Among the names on Derricks list was one Cormac Pearl. He went missing in June 1985, disappearing from the family home near Blackpool, aged 19. The mugshot shows a good-looking, dark-eyed lad; young for his age, with longish curly hair and slender, strangely feminine features. Hes smiling for the camera: an incongruous thumbs-up obscuring a portion of his lower face. Hes bare-chested, but the image is black and white so it’s impossible to say if it was an intimate snap, or simply a candid moment on a sunny day. Beside it is a graphic projection of what Cormac might look like now. Digital software has been employed to age his fine features. Hairless, a little jowelly, the fifty-something version of Cormac Pearl looks thoroughly unremarkable and any hopes Rowan held that he might recognize him were quickly dismissed as fanciful. Despite that, he is getting better acquainted with the young man’s disappearance, cross-referencing the name against the National Crime Agency’s missing persons archive: a grisly database full of digitally reconstructed faces of corpses as yet unidentified. He knows that Cormac was the only son of Deaglan and Siobhan Pearl, but can find little other information online about the family. He’s managed to track down an In Memoriam announcement in the Blackpool Gazette, dated 1992. Siobhan died at a private nursing facility after a short illness. She was 44. The family asked that donations be made to a charity set up in memory of their son. The accompanying memento mori was in Gaelic but translated as: No matter how long the day, the evening comes. He glances at the screen again and begins to think about the Irish families he has had dealings with – great sprawling clans of half-cousins and step-nephews spread out across the globe, united by the faintest bonds of blood. He widens the internet search and changes the language settings. Quickly finds mention of Siobhan Pearl and her untimely death: the accompanying classified notice incomprehensible to his English eyes. He runs it through a translation service and the jumble of consonants turn into names he can search for. Sisters, brothers, nieces. He sits forward, all other thoughts forgotten. Types a half dozen keywords into a generic search engine and finds himself grinning as he spots what he’s looking for. He often hopes to proven wrong in his cynicism about the nature of people but it hasn’t happened yet. People need to share. They need to have their stories told. The internet has been a true leveler: an equalizing platform granting the illusion of an audience to those who may otherwise have had to stand at bus-stops shouting their stories into the air. The family history website administered by one Tegan Pearl, based in Boston, USA, is ab abominable collusionof lurid yellows and pinks and seems designed entirely to give the user a migraine. Rowan has to squint to navigate his way through the mess of anecdotes, family trees and links to other, paid-for sites, with links to the family surname. He searches under the name Cormac’. It comes up with twohits. One is under the heading:A Prayer for Cormac. She stopped off at the ladies room. Shell be here in a minute. Just the creeps, I answered. Look for a place that might have a basement. Shans knife. Ylandra had Shans sect knife. And what if he kills you? Shan grabbed her shoulders, shook her hard. What if he has his way and destroys you? What if he has his way and does something worse? Gabriel was only doing what he thought was best for me, and I would miss him.Emmas alive. I know she is. Once I know shes safe, I can put an end to all this. It wasnt that he was bossy, not really, but he was always trying to protect her. She ought to be used to it by now, although for years shed let people do that without a fight. Having finally broken free of it, she wasnt eager to return. But this was Shan. She wriggled in closer against him, turning her face to his chest. The scent of him filled her nostrils, sweetly seductive. Is that the porridge-thing again? Halfway through the file, the slowly burning pain turned into a gasoline fire. He closed the folder.Nobody comes out of that kind of torture sane. Just let her do it, Indarin, the Ariah said, her words slicing through the intimacy like knives. Thats an order. I command it. What the hell is this? He snarls at the memory– at the unfairness of the cards that Fate had dealt him not so long ago. As hed dug around for a new story, Rowan had been thrown another seemingly golden opportunity when a production company in Manchester approached him to present the pilot episode of a new true crime series on a digital channel. Rowan had given the role his all, convinced this was going to be a permanent gig and a truly life-altering moment. Three months after they finished shooting, Rowan was replaced by a former soap actress. She was going to present, to film the links, to be credited as star. Rowan was reduced to a talking head, a named onlooker offering a journalist’s perspective, filmed in front of a wall of old books. Rowan had told them to shove it. None of his old contacts took him back. Nobody wanted to give meagre freelance budgets to somebody who had left on a megabucks publishing deal.And his book publishers were starting to ask for updates. For some pages or an outline at least. If he failed to deliver a manuscript before December 31, he would be in breach of contract. He would have to give a great chunk of money back. And he didn’t have the money any more. He’d drunk it and smoked it and snorted it benevolently from bellies both fleshy and taut. He’d had a wonderful time. Now it was gone. He found himself having to do late night subbing shifts at right-wing tabloids; missing from his girlfriend’s London flat for such long periods that she presumed they’d brokenup. In her distress, she’d turned to a handsome gym-bunny called Donnie for emotional support. Laras hands saved him the humiliation of falling. Youre exhausted, Shan. The young lord lowered his gaze. Elayne was back at his side holding a roll of parchment tied with blue ribbon. An official River Holt decree. Vertigern took it without a glance to the bearer, though he hesitated as he pulled it from her hand.My thanks, Elayne, he murmured, before offering it to Jeren. His eyes did meet hers then. They were angry. Shan moved like the shadows, fluid and silent, blade bare and mind keen. They were everywhere now, Holters talking, snoring, belching from their dinner. The Shistra-Phail clustered around Indarins tent, silent, attentive to duty, alert..