She told herself once more: I must use it only as I need to, only to do what must be done. No more.

‘Aziminil. I want you to carry me beyond the waterfall, to the eastern bank of the Ratterlin, and then beyond to Belisaere, as safely and swiftly as you may. And should my garments fray, or my skin somehow be shown, you will not touch any part of me. Do you understand and obey?’

‘I understand and obey, Mistress,’ replied Aziminil, lifting her head, the strange void that served as her face directed towards Clariel. A small cloud of mist wafted across her blood-red skin, tiny gouts of steam blowing up as it touched. ‘But I do not have the strength alone to carry you through the waterfall. It is too great a cascade, the water too swift.’

‘You must release and bind another creature,’ said Mogget from near Clariel’s feet, his emerald eyes intent on Aziminil. ‘Draw up one of the chains; open a bottle.’

‘But which one?’ asked Clariel. ‘There could be anything out there. Is there some record, some register?’

‘Once there was,’ said Mogget. ‘Long neglected, lost these many years. But you are strong, Clariel. Take any bottle, none within the waterfall can stand against your will.’

‘The Mogget’s advice is sound, Mistress,’ said Aziminil.

‘I just draw up a chain?’ asked Clariel. She looked back at the table, and the hooked stick. ‘With that gaff thing?’

‘Yes,’ said Mogget. ‘Best be quick. Rock alone will not stay the sendings long, and a message must already have gone to the Abhorsen.’

‘Again, the Mogget offers good counsel,’ said Aziminil.

Clariel looked at the gaff, then back at the waterfall, and the narrow chain-wrapped outcrop. Even lying down, it would be very slippery, and she would have to edge some way into the waterfall itself, go into that massive down rush of water. It would be so easy to get washed away. But if Aziminil spoke the truth, then she had to bring up another bottle to make her escape …

She could still feel the rage, close at hand. It would not need any great effort to bring it back. She could bind another Free Magic creature, she knew. More than one, if it proved necessary. She could gather all the bottles, bind a score, no a hundred creatures to serve her, and then none could stand …

Clariel lifted her hand to slap herself in the face, but the movement alone was enough to break these runaway thoughts. Which was just as well given she wore a bronze mask. She would have bruised her hand. This made her laugh, and that helped too. She felt more secure, more normal.

But there was still only one way out and that meant getting another bottle, binding another servant …

‘Aziminil. Go to the rocks by the door and do what you can to slow the sendings coming through. Mogget, you go with her.’