He’d also made enough noise to wake the dead. If there was anyone within earshot, they’d be busy raising the alarm and arming themselves. A slave uprising always had to be a possibility for a slaver: even though there were only five of them, and calling it an uprising was nothing more than a bad joke.

He staggered to his feet, spitting, and leaned back out over the pit.

‘The knife. Throw me the knife.’

The lantern was there, but Stanislav wasn’t. The confusion at the door was Luiza shouting at Elena, trying to get the table through the gap. They tried repeatedly, and only succeeded in blocking it for Mama.

Dalip spat on the ground again, wiped his mouth, and realised that if anyone came through the door behind him, he’d have to deal with them himself. His only weapon was the throne, too solid to break up, too heavy to wield. He could still drag the chair against the door until they were ready, so he did, and went back to the parapet.

They’d finally negotiated the doorway and were carrying the table in.

‘Here, just here,’ he called. They looked up, changed their path, and placed the table against the wall below him. Mama stacked the chair on top of it, and Luiza climbed up straight away.

When she stretched up her hand, Dalip could reach down and clasp her wrist.

‘Okay?’ he asked, and he could make out her nodding.

He thought that it’d be a strain, an effort, something he’d struggle with. It turned out that either she was very light, or he was now very strong. When he could, he used both hands, and was even able to ease her over the top, rather than dump her like a sack of rice on the floor.

‘Still okay?’

‘Yes … yes.’

‘Go and stand by that door. Listen out for anyone coming.’ He pointed, and she nodded again, brushing her hair back from her ear in readiness.

Elena was next, and again, despite all her weight being on one arm, he could lift her and hold her until she was able to swing herself over the edge of the parapet.

Mama was next. A more substantial challenge, and there was still no Stanislav.

‘Mama, get on the table, then on to the chair.’

She was surprisingly limber despite her rolling curves.

‘Oh, that poor man. That shouldn’t have happened,’ she said as she clambered up on to the tabletop.

‘Yes, Mama. I know. I … it’s wrong, but what else are we supposed to do? Ask them nicely to let us go?’

‘Oh, he was a bad man for sure, but kill him?’ She put both hands on the chair back and looked up. ‘Can’t you, I don’t know, keep Stanislav under control?’

‘You’re joking, right?’ He lowered his hand over the side. ‘Come on. Whatever happens next, we need to stay together.’