Xindii and Bliss mirrored each other, both sitting on some rather rickety chairs liberated from the canteen. Brick and The Don looked onward, keeping their distance but eager to see the practice of 'Hitching' take place. A more concentrated form of Coherant Thought where the Mapper 'hitched' a ride – funnily enough – on another's subconscious. Xindii likened it to riding on the back of a motorcycle and feeling the rush, but warned of the dangers of letting go, of falling and grazing your flesh, the trouble here would be if you let go it wouldn't be the flesh you had to worry about but your subconscious adrift – possibly forever – and your shell of a body empty, yet living.

'No pressure, then?' the Krazzi had jokingly remarked.

'Not for a practiced Mapper, no.' Xindii had fervently replied.

It was a lucid sleep. Xindii and Bliss had formed a perfectly solid connection, their eyes still open. But it was their periphery that was degrading; distorting into a shell of dream. Bliss noticed the faces of Brick and The Don slipping, as if she was watching heavy rain fall against a window pane and the world shimmered; split its self into malleable convex and voluminous concaves.

'Don't fret, Bliss. We are slipping. Feeling the tide of the hitch. The Beat.'

'Xindii?'

'Yes. Of course. Go with it. I am tethered to you now. There is nothing to fear.'

The distorted dream rain was now creating a visage of new colour. Cobalt split into a soft almost sensual grey. Hard granite. The foundations of a house, Bliss's foundations, her base. Her core.

Xindii walked down the steps to the cellar and looked at the solid floor, bare and grey. There was something almost liquid-like about it. Its scent like that of a new born. As still as a mill pond but a cornucopia of chemicals and nutrients. Bliss had indeed come back to her core. This was her birth. The birth of her human vessel at least. Xindii tipped the tip of his shoe into the amino acid and wiped it on the step.

Dead centre, at the heart of the grey pool, a form rose from the liquid. Bliss rose from the chemicals of life, her AI interface still acting as midwife, the liquid solidifying beneath her into a cradle to carry her to the edge of the steps where Xindii waited, arms open. Her head shook under the pain of birth, grey liquid akin to a congealed porridge slipping down her covered face to suddenly reveal the first piece of a terrified child. A red hole opened in her face to reveal a raw cry, her mouth, blood red and sore, screaming for a would-be mother to suckle.

The dripping cradle passed Bliss into Xindii's arms and he held her close. The liquid now solidifying, protecting the child, her armour, her blanket; the placenta nourishing the new born.

Xindii waited days – it seemed –or possibly was. There was no sense of time here. No one had ever clocked dream before. Bliss's placenta had grown hard and every now and again a crack would appear, urging Xindii to pull and peel the matter away from the shrouded form.

Over a number of days – or minutes - Xindii pulled the placenta away to reveal the sleeping form of a fully adult Bliss. House Felstrom born anew.

'Bliss? I think we lost ourselves.'

She opened her new eyes. 'I'm so sorry, Xindii. I didn't realise this was where we would start. We must have wasted days.'

'No not at all. Days for us possibly. Mere minutes to the Don and the Inspector. Don't fret. You were not to know that this is where your subconscious would lead.'

'Then how will we find Gustaf? I can't control –'

Xindi helped her up and she realised she was wearing nothing and hid her modesty with the palm of her hand. Half a second later she was wearing some trousers and a red blouse.

She shrugged it off and the Mapper just smiled. 'We must dig deeper, cross the divide.'

'And how can I do that? Where do I begin?'

Xindi placed the tip of his thumb to her forehead. 'It's in here. The capability to see. I just have to prod. And burrow.'

Bliss looked at him sincerely. 'Will it hurt?'

'Probably more me than you?'

'Okay.'

'Dig' he said to himself.

The once still pool of grey amino acid then fell away into chunks of grey granite to reveal a gaping cold abyss.

'And what happens now?' Bliss asked.

'Whatever happens we are tethered . . . we fall.'

'You first.'

They fell into a maelstrom of shifting tidal black.

Xindii?

'Yes?'

'Where are we?'

'. . . by Papal, Bliss. I think I've done it.'

'What?'

'Look!'

'It's dark.'

'No. It's not. You had your eyes closed when you jumped. You missed, a truly beguiling sight.'

'What's that smell?'

'Bread. Open your eyes.'

She did as she was bid and noticed she was walking through the Dally with Gustaf and Xindii. Passed the food stalls and street theatre.

'How the hell. It isn't possible.'

'I am rather good.'

'How does he not notice us?'

'It's a memory, nothing more. Adrift in the recesses of your own. I've accessed it. You and I are now tethered to him.'

'Is this it. Is this the night he dies?'

'I sure as well hope so. I don't think I've got the reserves to try again. You are now human but the matrices you were born from still hold a hefty charge. It's like printing oil on water. It will take some concentration.'

Gustaf and his two phantom stalkers made their way from the sights and smells of Brentish across the cobbled bridge of Yu-ran-taa toward the three-storey townhouses along the embankment. Gustaf stopped at the second one in and tried the bell. Moments later he knocked and still no one came to his call. He peered on tip-toe through the window and then clenched his fist and slammed it against the ornate door.

'Gwendolyn, please. It's urgent.'

Bliss and Xindii exchanged glances.

Gustaf struck the door again. 'Gwen –' The door gave way to some ambient light spilling onto the step.

He looked about, right through Xindii and back at Bliss, looking for any passer-by who would see him breach the property. He slipped in and Bliss and the Mapper followed.

Gustaf carefully tip-toed up the ornate staircase, his fingertips skimming along the banister, careful not to leave a fingerprint. Tapping the varnished wood with his overgrown nails, through nervousness or keenness they were not sure, but his breathing was erratic.

Half way up they all heard the first pangs. The sound of a woman spurring on her lover, coaxing him to delve deeper and fulfil his promise. Gustaf stopped in mid ascent. Pulling Bliss and Xindii to a halt. The Felstrom took a deep breath and then continued the climb, his fingers tapping the wood again with a rigorous vigor.

Gustaf placed his head against the cold wood of the door, letting the sounds of sex pulverise his ear drums. He eased the door open and stepped in, Gwendolyn's white legs coiled around the man's waist like a hungry boa, her hands clasped around the circumference of his neck, bringing him further in, galvanising her rapture, enticing his hunger.

'Yes. That's it. Deeper.'

Gustaf could see her through the arch of his arm, her sheer enjoyment, the sweet itch of her pleasure reciprocated through the licking of her top lip. Her mouth opened with a burning need as he found a comfortable stance and ran with it, working his hips with a mechanic fervor.

'That's it. Yes. Yes. My boy. My sweet boy.'

The room seemed to spin then. As if gravity itself had choked and fought to reclaim its claim.

'Fill me. Fill me with your sweet stories.'

Bliss took her hand to her mouth, through embarrassment or sheer pity for Gustaf she wasn't sure.

The man ploughing into Gwendolyn reared up like a victorious stag, revealing his crown of bone which sprouted from his scalp. Gwendolyn welcomed his warm release, pulling her hips down into the mattress, keeping him hard so that she could take as much of his seed inside as possible, flexing the muscles of her cervix, almost ripping the cock from its stem, bleeding him dry.

The man looked back and he gazed straight through Gustaf into Xindii and winked, licking his lips with his Hotch tongue. The sheer confidence of the man made the Mapper stagger back. Not through his assuredness but through his familiar countenance.

'Hadigan . . . No.'

Gustaf ran across the room and dragged the man from the sated Baroness, throwing a punch to the goading horned fool.

Hadigan – if that was him – accepted it gladly, so Gustaf threw another and another, barely scratching the surface of the toned and spry lover.

Gwendolyn jumped into the middle, naked and flushed, smelling of another man. She pulled Gustaf from the room and the horned lover pulled a robe from the bed and wrapped himself, blowing Xindii a kiss!

The Mapper began to feel uneasy. This was a memory. Pulled from Gustaf Felstrom and yet, here, now, Hadigan goaded him. Knew he was in the room. What power did this man hold? Had Josiah lied all those years ago? Perhaps his learned teacher hadn't killed him after all? Or perhaps it had all been an illusion? Perhaps the man of pockets had brought something back from Mo'Katha all those years ago. Something ancient? Something that made you cheat death? Something that hid in your thoughts? Something?

Hadigan walked past Xindii and chuckled. A hollowness gripped the Mapper from the inside and turned itself inside out forming a gaping chasm of dread.

'Bliss, we have to get out.'

'What? We just got here.'

'I know, but . . . it's a trap.'

'A trap. How can it –'

A scream broke their conversation and they looked about into the living room and saw Gustaf trying to throttle Gwendolyn. Hadigan stepped in and threw the jealous Felstrom across the carpet. The new man of pockets cradled her and stroked her hair. She placed her head against his firm chest.

'We just wanted to be a family, Gustaf. There is no need for this rage. This is no way to treat your son.'

The Mapper and Bliss looked to the floor and saw Gustaf sobbing. 'Treat your son? You're fucking him woman.'

Gwendolyn stroked her son's limber frame. 'All boys need their mama's Gustaf. Whatever their needs.' She then placed her lips on Hadigan's and he fingered her labia, stirring Gustaf's hate.

Gustaf pulled the wine glass from the coffee table, holding the stem in his hand and launched himself through the air, aiming the glass at Gwendolyn's neck. Hadigan was ready, holding the glass in his palm, bringing his father's mediocre onslaught to a head. He then untangled himself from his mother and took his other hand around Gustaf's and squeezed the glass tight shattering it. Gustaf cried out in pain as half a dozen shards of glass split into the soft flesh of his hand. Hadigan leaned over and kissed Gustaf on his forehead.

'Goodbye father.'

Hadigan turned his back and continued to cuddle Gwendolyn leaving Gustaf in ruins.

Bliss and Xindii looked on.

'I'll give you one hour to make your peace.'

Gustaf sobbed. 'You're going to kill me?'

'Oh I'm going to do more than that father dear. I'm going to take your little soul and feed it to my pet, so I suggest you say your goodbyes. No one harms my mother. No one.'

Gustaf picked himself up and made for the door, picking the glass from his palm.

Hadigan kissed Gwendolyn and sighed.

'And as for you master Xindii. I suggest you start running too.'

Bliss looked to the Mapper. 'He said your name?'

'Yes.'

'But that means?'

The Mapper sighed. 'Run.'

Bliss almost fell down the staircase, her feet and legs cushioned – it seemed – by an invisible force of luck. Her legs haphazard, surely outweighing the law of probability that they should keep her upright. But they did, and for her sake she was grateful.

Xindii wasn't far behind, overtaking her on the smooth banister at the last quarter, smiling like a child. He landed on his feet beaming. 'I haven't done that in years.'

The roof of the townhouse creaked like an old tree. Its beams bending to the point where the plaster and foundations of the townhouse cracked and came forth the first tendrils of red fog. Seeping through the ramparts like tidal water, spinning and wheeling down the steps to the fleeing duo.

'Quick, out,' demanded the Mapper.

'What is it?'

'Trouble, go.'

Bliss didn't hesitate, almost pulling the door from its hinges and shattering the glass. The Mapper followed and ushered her across the road to the flowing black water of the Lillius. The red fog spewed from the door of the townhouse and crept across the wet tarmac, shapes formed in the moisture, phantom faces or mere trickery of the eye it was hard to discern but Bliss pulled herself back to the wall, weary.

'Ah, little Mapper man. So you have returned to me. And you have brought lunch? Most kind.'

'She's not to your liking I'm afraid,' remarked Xindii.

'I'll be the judge of that. I do admire your guile little Mapper man. To race back into the lion's den so soon. I can't wait to taste you and your bitch whore.'

Bliss looked at Xindii. 'Does he mean me?'

'I'm rather afraid he does . . . get ready to jump!'

'Its water! I can't swim.'

'Then its time you learned,' he replied, knocking her off the wall into the cold black water.

The fog smiled with its Mutter-Sloth visage. 'You think you can escape me a second time. I already see the intricate pathways of your dreamscape, they are transparent to me.'

Xindii smiled to himself and climbed the wall and then bent down, gauging the entity. 'You have no power even here, you are bodiless, hopeless. What can you achieve swimming in the subconscious of dreams? You are adrift. A shipwrecked mariner with no hope of rescue.'

'You know so little my scared little boy.'

'Oh, I know a lot. I know what you are. I know what Hadigan brought back from Mo'Katha.'

The red fog seemed to grow with a fearsome intensity. 'Then please, indulge me.'

Xindii smiled. 'Not today,' and he fell into the water below.