Stanislav lowered his stick, not in a feint or a ruse, but in a way that meant they were no longer sparring. ‘Undress,’ he said, and when Dalip hesitated, he grunted: ‘Just do it.’

Dalip dropped his stick at his feet and wrestled the heavy zip down to his navel, then shucked the top half of his boilersuit. He pushed it down to his knees, and straightened up.

‘Look,’ said Stanislav. He walked around Dalip. ‘Look at yourself.’

Reluctantly, he did so. It was him. It was still him. Yes, he had visible muscles now, even at rest. He had broadened, and he stood taller even if he hadn’t actually grown.

‘This. This should not have happened. Not this quickly. Training, yes, over weeks and months, to make you strong and fast, will bring about such changes. Not days.’ He stood in front of Dalip, his hands on his hips, appraising him. ‘There is something else at work here.’

‘I just thought …’

‘You thought wrong. It is this place, with its wolves and its dragons and whatever else.’ He looked pensive for a moment, disturbed even. ‘I thought this was a new start. For all of us. Perhaps it would be better if we just went home, yes?’

He jerked his head, and Dalip pulled the boilersuit back on. They were still alone, and Stanislav took up a place under the geomancer’s balcony.

‘Let us make use of this gift you have been given,’ he said, and crouched down, feet planted wide, forearms on his thighs and hands cupped. ‘Go and stand by the wall opposite.’

When he was ready, he nodded.

Dalip understood what was required of him. He pushed himself off the wall and started his run-up. Speed was good: he needed forward momentum, but what he wanted was height. Timing was everything.

He lightly jumped off one bare foot and pressed the other firmly into Stanislav’s already rising hands. He straightened his leg and swept his arms up. He was flying. He clawed his fingers, caught the edge of the balcony, and the rest of his body smacked hard against the stone. The impact tore him loose, and he bent his knees before he broke his legs.

Stanislav grunted his irritation. ‘You must hold on.’

‘I can’t. I don’t think anyone could. I haven’t got a grip of anything at all, and when I hit the wall, my hands just slide off.’

‘Is there nothing you can hold?’

‘The top of the wall’s too wide. If,’ he said, staring at his target, ‘I went straight up, I could hang there, but then I’d have to pull myself the rest of the way.’

‘You can do that.’

‘Yes, and the steward would be hitting me with his cane all the time. And she: we have no idea what she can do.’

Stanislav scratched at his chin, where a white beard was showing through.

‘Can you go higher?’