‘Can you throw me harder? And move a bit away from the wall. Ideally, I’d want to hit the top when I wasn’t rising or falling. If I can get my elbows on it, I can push myself up and over, before they can react.’

They took up their new positions. Dalip would have to run faster now, and timing was critical. The first time, he was too tentative, and missed the wall completely. The second time, he left it too late.

When they’d both picked themselves off the ground and thought about blaming each other for their bruises, they tried again.

‘Concentrate,’ said Stanislav.

Dalip bit back what he was thinking, that this was all too much like school except there, if he’d failed a chemistry test no one would have had him killed.

‘Just, just do your bit.’ He bared his teeth in a grimace and launched himself at the tiny sweet spot contained within Stanislav’s hands.

His heel connected and he pushed off hard. At the same time, he was propelled upwards. If he missed this, it was going to hurt.

He reached up, always closing on the wall. Then his head could see over. He bent his elbows, spread his fingers wide like nets, and slammed them on top of the parapet. He was still moving forward. He was almost bent double over the wall before his legs hit it. He started to go backwards, and no matter how much he scrabbled, his weight was always off balance, always dragging him down.

He slipped down the face of the wall with a gasp of disgust and landed in a heap at the bottom.

‘You had it,’ said Stanislav, standing over him.

‘I know I had it! You don’t need to tell me I got it wrong. I know I got it wrong.’ He angrily waved away an attempt to pull him upright, and got to his own two feet. ‘Again.’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘No. Now. We practise until I can do it.’

‘But can you do it?’

‘Yes.’ Dalip was breathing heavily, and his humility regained momentary control. ‘Eventually.’

Stanislav chewed at his already bleeding lip. ‘Okay. Again.’

He didn’t manage it the next time either. The same thing happened. Almost, then he lost his grip on the smooth stone and the sharp edges. He couldn’t judge how many attempts he had left in him. He was tired. His legs hurt. He felt like he’d banged his ribs one too many times. And Stanislav couldn’t keep this up all day.

One more, then stop. Two more, then he’d slink back to his cell and lick his wounds.

He pressed his back to the wall on the far side of the pit, one foot against the stone work. Stanislav readied himself, gave him the nod, and tensed.