He giggled again, rubbing his hands together, his eyes dancing gleefully, almost beside himself with joy at the prospect ahead. He was almost salivating—no, not almost, he was salivating, drops of spittle falling to the ground in front of him as he squeaked his happiness.

‘First we cut off the ear, see if ’e likes how it tastes.’ He was blurting out the words faster and faster, talking to himself more than Albert. ‘The tongue last, so’s we can hear ’im screamin’ to us to stop till the end … Oh yes, that’ll be nice …’

Albert had been afraid before, but not like this, faced with this slavering, giggling maniac—this psychopath who was so excited at the chance to cause pain he was almost crying with joy. He took a step backwards, feeling the hard, smooth wall against his back.

Squeaky was still giggling as he brought the knife up, one finger caressing the blade lovingly. ‘It’s not too sharp. That’ll make it slower, gives you more time to scream.’

He took a step forward, then another, and Albert raised his hand to protect his face from the inevitable slash that would follow. He heard a whooshing sound and then a soft thud, and a squeal, strangely similar to the ones the monstrous creatures in the clearing outside had been making, as the knife fell from nerveless fingers and Squeaky pitched forward, falling on to Albert, slamming his head back against the earthen wall. Half-dazed, he pushed at the man, who fell to the floor, a short projectile somewhere between a dart and an arrow protruding from the back of his neck. Albert stepped shakily forward, then hurriedly back again, once more cracking his head against the wall behind as Smashed Nose cried out and toppled over as well, rolling over to come to a stop on his back at Albert’s feet, eyes staring sightlessly upwards, another projectile sticking out of his throat. He looked up, and saw another man, jogging down the corridor towards him, some sort of weapon in his hand.

Stepping round the corpses on the ground, Albert stood there, his heart beating fast as the man came closer, stopping when he was only a short distance away.

‘Are you all right?’ he called out. His voice was clear and calm, like he often asked this question. Although it was hard to be completely sure in the light in the corridor, he looked like a young man. He was about the same height as Albert, with a smooth, unlined face and short cropped hair that was so fair it looked white. He wore a long loose flowing half-gown-half-shirt that hung down to his knees, and below it, trousers. Now that he was closer Albert could see that the object in his hand was a crossbow, which he recognized from a video on antique armaments he’d once seen.

He nodded at the man, who nodded back. ‘Good.’

‘Theo! June!’