'Like revenge, Rink. Bloody revenge.’ Vaun's eyes glittered with violence.

Ignis looked away He toyed with the candle some more, making the flame change shape. 'Who are these friends of yours, then? Highborns and top caste lackwits? Why do we need them?'

'For what they can give us, boy. You know the way it is, rich folk only want to be richer. They don't know what it's like to be poor and powerless, and they're terrified of falling to it. Makes them predictable, and fat for the gutting.’

The youth frowned. 'I don't like the way the people around about look at me. Like they see the mark on me. Every time I'm walking down the street, I think I see folks on the vox to the ordos, calling out... "Come and get him. Witchboy!" I don't want to stay here.’ The candle burned brightly, licking his fingers. Ignis seemed not to notice.

Vaun took a long draw on the tabac. 'How about you, Rink? You have a complaint, too?'

'Don't like the priests.’ said the big man at length. They beat me when I was a nipper.’

A slow smile crossed Vaun's face. 'Aren't we all the wounded little birds? Listen to me, lads, when I tell you there's no man alive who hates Neva more than I do. But I have unfinished business here, and with the good grace of the Sisters of Our Martyred Lady, I am now delivered back to my place of birth to conclude it.’ He waved the cigarillo in a circle. 'For starters, we're going to light some fires back in Noroc and give the goodly lord deacon the hiding he so richly deserves. Then we'll move on to the

main event.' A smile crossed his lips. 'When we're done, this entire damned planet will be burning.' Ignis perked up at those words. 'I'd like that.' 'Wait and see.’ promised Vaun. 'Just you wait and see.'

The prison was a monument to deterrence. There were no windows of any kind along its outer facia, nothing but the thin slits where cogitator-controlled autoguns peeked out at the open plaza around it. The brassy weapons hummed and clicked as people passed beneath their sights, ever prepared to unleash hails of bullets into escapees or troublemakers.

There was never any of either, of course. Noroc's central district was a model of pious and lawful behaviour, and had it not been for the less salubrious activities of the commoners in the outer zones of the city, the local enforcers precinct would have had little to do but polish their power mauls and take part in parades. Part of the strength that kept the citizenry quiet came from buildings like the prison. One only had to raise one's head and look to see the cone-shaped construction, with the relief of brutal carvings that covered its every surface.