‘Yes, she did. Either she’s a very bad aim or a very good one, depending on what she had in mind. You were never going to die from those. It was the injuries from the crash that got you.’

Zidarov winced. ‘I didn’t think they were that bad.’

‘Yes, that’s why you got up and walked around for a while. Very silly. But then I guess you had things to do.’ Vipa went over to one of the consoles and studied the feed on the lens. ‘We had some trouble just working out what had happened. You weren’t found by the intersection. You and Draj were eventually located on a patch of waste ground seven miles away. We got a call telling us where to go to find you. And after that, a routine patrol found the mess you made on the transitway, plus a burned-out Bulwark.’

Zidarov found himself trying to piece together what must have happened, right at the end.

‘You might easily have died in the time it took for us to find you,’ Vipa went on, talking as calmly about it as if he were commenting on the volume of rain this season. ‘They weren’t overly careful. Draj was always going to pull through – he’s got the constitution of a Tempestus Scion. You, though. It got cold. You’d lost a lot of blood. And your insides were arranged in some very unusual combinations. By the way, how did you get that scar on your chest? I’ve never seen one quite like it.’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘Really? Well, if you ever do, tell me about it. I’d like to know what causes something like that.’

A week. A lot could happen in a week. ‘What happened to her?’

Vipa shook his head. ‘The woman who shot you? No idea. That’s operational – you’ll be debriefed when Vongella finds out you’re awake.’ He came over to the cot again, and pulled out a thin scanner. ‘Given the mess you made of yourself, I wasn’t sure you’d make it. They call you lucky for a reason, I guess.’

‘When can I get back up?’

‘Not for a long time.’

‘Does Milija know?’

‘Who?’

‘My wife. You’ve met her before.’

‘Oh, yes. She’s been in every day. I’ll make sure she’s informed.’

He found he was getting dizzy again. He looked at the tube running up his left arm, and wondered if Vipa had put something in it.

‘And Brecht,’ he added, weakly. ‘Gyorgu Brecht. He wanted to tell me someth–’

But the words wouldn’t come. Vipa had indeed put something in it. Zidarov slipped back into a deep, cold sleep.

The next time he woke, Vongella was there. She sat in the corner of the chamber, legs folded, watching him. The door was shut, and there was no sign of Vipa.

‘His Hand,’ said Zidarov, groggily.