Craven managed to get to the far side of the cellar, and stayed by the steps. If he saw any Necromancer in this room fall, he was ready to bolt.

“There are others outside,” Melancholia continued, “but I’m leaving them for now.”

“Focus on taking the lives of the people in the house,” Craven called over. “And try not to kill our own people upstairs.” He said that with a smile, but his insides were fluttering.

Melancholia took a deep breath.

Ghastly saw someone in the crowd and frowned. He moved to her, took hold of her arm, turned her so he could see her face. “What are you doing here?”

“Mingling,” Eliza Scorn replied, smiling. “I’m not allowed to mingle?”

“I wasn’t aware you were on the guest list.”

“I’m owed favours,” she said. “And I have friends. I have so many friends. I even have friends that you think are your friends. Are you having a good night?”

“You should leave.”

“But the party’s just getting…”

She stopped talking, frowned and swayed, and Ghastly’s vision dimmed. All around him people were dropping. Scorn fell and Ghastly’s strength left him, the ground came up to meet him and then everything went dark.

Melancholia sighed. She kept her eyes closed and didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Craven and everyone else in the room could feel the death seeping down towards them.

“Magnificent,” somebody breathed, and Craven had to agree. To experience the sudden death of that many people in the same instant was a rare treat – but one that would soon be dwarfed into insignificance by the death of half of the world’s population.

“Now,” Craven said, “we’re ready for the Passage.”

Broad smiles broke out, and laughter. Hands were shaken and backs were slapped. A joyous occasion, indeed. The culmination of everything they had worked for their entire lives. Craven barged through them, back to Melancholia. It was important to be seen close to her at a time like this. Such things are remembered, after all. Who was standing next to whom. Who gave the orders. Who took the credit.

Before he got to her, he heard running footsteps, then one of the Necromancers he had posted outside the door appeared at the top of the stairs. “Rippers!” he cried. “They’re coming!”

“Hold them off !” Craven shouted, chopping an invisible line across the basement with his hand, then sweeping it forward. “Go! Hold them off !”

The Necromancers on the losing side of the invisible line stared at him, wide-eyed.

“I command it!” he roared.

They looked at each other, and then one of them moved, and then another, and then they were rushing up the stairs to their deaths.