Trehearne stared at Joris. A small trickle of blood ran from his nose down over his lip. He forgot to wipe it away.
“You’re joking,” he said.
“Not at all.” It was Edri who answered. He had come into the bridge behind Trehearne. He cried good-naturedly, “Blast you, Joris, what are you trying to do—kill us all before we get started?”
“They’ll be after us soon enough,” said Joris. “We need all the edge we can get.”
Trehearne demanded, “Why are we going to Thuvis?”
“Partly,” said Edri soberly, “to rescue the men who are rotting away out there. But chiefly because we must have Arrin. You see, Trehearne, he was arrested before he could finish his calculations. When I tried to carry on I added a good bit of my own material—but the missing factor isn’t there. Arrin knows it. He must or he cou
