‘Taking care of business. Catch.’ He threw the bag up, and Dalip caught it neatly, setting down beside him. ‘Now the knife.’

That, he threw slightly to Dalip’s right, so that it landed ringing on the floor. Then he reset the chair on the table, put the lantern next to it and climbed deftly up. He held up the lantern for collection, then both hands.

‘Pull.’

Dalip didn’t. ‘When you said … You’ve killed him, haven’t you? The other guard.’

‘You are so squeamish. Have you never seen Spartacus?’

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘When the slaves revolt, they kill their overseers. They have to. They are owned. This is the only way. Now pull me up.’

Dalip looked at Mama, at Elena. He didn’t want to be a slave, and he didn’t want them to be slaves, either. He warred with himself, balking at killing, railing against what he’d already been forced to do. Of course Stanislav was right. He was squeamish. He’d never thought of himself as someone who’d kill even in a just cause. Southall wasn’t like that.

Clearly, wherever Stanislav had lived had been exactly like that. He was uncomfortably comfortable with violence. And they needed that. They all needed that. Without it, they were as good as back in their cells.

No matter what the others thought, then. He reached down and Stanislav clamped both his hands on Dalip’s wrist. He pulled him up, more difficult than Elena, easier than Mama. Once he could reach the parapet himself, Stanislav could haul himself over.

While he did that, Dalip collected the knife, and hung on to it. The bag contained Pigface’s club, and smaller knives from the kitchen, which he distributed. They were all armed now. Just how dangerous they collectively were was doubtful, despite the two corpses they were leaving behind.

‘Any sounds?’ Dalip asked Luiza.

‘No, nothing.’

‘Then we have to go. Find the bridge to the geomancer’s tower. Cross it without being seen. Then we find her, and—’

‘Take her hostage. Knock her out, tie her up. We need her to get past the dragon.’ Stanislav heaved the throne out of the way and raised Pigface’s – his, now – club. ‘If she tries to use magic on us, we might have to kill her anyway. Any one of us who has the chance.’

He lifted the latch on the door, and to forestall any further qualms or questions, swung it wide. ‘Bring the lantern, Mama. Hold it high.’

They were in uncharted territory now, outside what any of them had seen. The light showed mainly shadows, and the glimpse of stonework, a wall, stairs up – and another door. It rattled on its own, making them jump and step back, but it was just the mountain wind, whipping cold around the ill-fitting frame.