She wavered between flying and falling, caught between what she knew to be true and what her dreams told her to believe. The wind whirled around her bare legs, her exposed midriff, her outstretched arms. Her hair, still damp in its depths, quivered with anticipation.

How could she contemplate this? This was craziness, drug-fuelled, bad trip psychosis. She wasn’t going anywhere but back, on to the wooden beams and down the stairs and collect her meal that was steaming merrily away over its bed of brightly glowing coals.

But despite everything, she knew that if she missed this opportunity, that she’d wake in the morning and the gift would be gone. Down gave, and Down would take away. There was no guarantee that she’d ever find this road again.

Tricked by the wolfman, abandoned by Crows, alone in two worlds, and only Down had stepped in to save her when death had seemed certain, each and every time, hiding her in the folds of its land and rising up to drive off the dragon.

She steadied herself, gripped harder with her toes, and shouted out over the tops of the trees to the lake and sea beyond.

‘You seem to be helping me. I don’t know why. I can live small, and regret it for however long I’ve got, or I can risk everything now to live large. And I’m tired of living small.’

She leaned forward, over the parapet, over the pavement, and stretched her whole body out towards the sky.

22

22

There was no fight. Not that day, and not the next.

Stanislav was the one who became like a caged beast, prowling and snapping, being forced to wait and finding that waiting impossible to endure. Dalip was calmer than he thought he’d be: he had the prospect of a fight to the death, yet he’d come to some measure of acceptance that the older man had not. He’d accepted the plan they’d devised, and it was now Stanislav who wanted to change it, strike pre-emptively while the geomancer was incapacitated.

The guards bore the brunt of his bad temper, and it was a constant surprise to Dalip that they wore it as well as they did. They were the guards, they were in charge, and they should have had no qualms about putting him back in his place. But they understood. Perhaps they were waiting for something too.

The day’s work had ended, and the slaves were being herded chaotically back to their cells. They were, briefly, all together. Mama, as usual, waited to be pushed across the threshold.

Then Stanislav turned around and said he had had enough.

Pigface pushed past the other guard. ‘We don’t want any trouble, Slav. Just do as your told.’

‘No. Now is as good a time as we will get. Dalip? Take his knife.’