The wood shuddered and groaned, and the legs scraped towards her. The impacts came regularly, a continual barrage of heavy concussions that was going to leave nothing in the room intact. She knew that this was treasure the geomancer was wasting, destroying it all in an attempt to destroy her, but also to deny it to her when Mary inevitably triumphed.

She let her pound the table for a few moments longer, crouching behind it as debris exploded in cogs and dust, then retreated a little way. She took a step to the side, then another, and blindly, everything was still directed at the table, taking the brunt of the geomancer’s fury.

Quickly, quietly, she skipped across the room. She hadn’t done so much physical activity as this since she’d faced the dragon: the cuts on her back and the bruises in her flesh dragged and ached as she ran and jumped up on the big bed, leaping down on the other side. Something sailed past her ear, fast and bright, but it was only passing.

She thought she should have a weapon of some sort, but even then, it wasn’t very street. She’d settle this like a true Londoner, with fists and feet and nails and teeth. As the geomancer orchestrated her destructive volleys like a demented conductor, Mary came up behind her and threw herself at her back, pulling at the wild blonde hair with one hand, and clawing at her face with the other.

Mary’s knees punched down, and the geomancer went over. Her face smacked the floor, and there was a spray of blood, thick and red, across the stone flags. Oh, Mary knew how to do this, savage and relentless and utterly without mercy, yanking handfuls of hair and battering her face, half-letting her up only to shove her back down and keep going. There was no one to intervene: no police or social workers or care home staff to drag her away, trailing scraps of skin and cloth, to be forced into some Home Office-approved restraining position until she’d calmed down; not even other kids who’d cheer her on for the first few minutes and end up pulling at her arms because she was taking it just too far.

She could keep on until she’d reduced her opponent to bloody ruin and beyond.

‘Mary. Mary.’

She slowed, and then stopped. Something heavy – one of the wall coverings, thick and rich – draped over her shoulders, and she was gently guided aside. She sat with her back against one of the bed posts, while Dalip peered uncertainly at the geomancer.

‘You’ve,’ he said, dry-mouthed. ‘I mean, she’s really …’

‘I know,’ said Mary, and pulled the covering tighter. ‘What were you going to do?’

‘I don’t know. I talked Stanislav out of just killing her. I wanted to see if I could,’ he shrugged, and his hands fluttered, ‘reason with her.’