‘Dat’s not what Nukkit here says, though, is it?’ he asked, gesturing to the bloated grot with the alchemist’s set on his back. ‘Nukkit here is my number one Brewgit, and he says he seen you at dat big glitzy feast-thing wot the city’s boss-king threw. Da one where we ’shroomed him good!’ Skragrott cackled nastily. ‘Nukkit likes to watch his best work, see. Spent years perfectin’ that brew, had to delve into some dark ’n ’orrible places and make sum terrible dealz wiv terrible fings, so after him and his ladz switched dat barrel over in da kitchens, he snuck onto a balcony right up ’igh and watched da fun. And zog me, but what does Nukkit see? He sees yooz and your mates runnin’ about tryin’ to save everyone and spoil every­fing!’ Skragrott’s screech of rage was so sudden that it made Borik jump. The grot smashed his staff into the brazier with a resounding clang, and hot coals showered across the chamber’s floor. Sparks danced in the air, and Borik felt Skragrott’s red eyes boring into him through the rising heat haze.

‘’Urt him,’ snarled the Loonking, and his grot underlings closed in around Borik. Daggers flashed in the gloom. Talons dripped poison, and flasks dripped acids. A green-skinned fist brandished a jar full of scrabbling beetles with vicious mandibles and spiky limbs.

The minutes that followed were the longest and amongst the most miserable of Borik’s life, a cavalcade of horrors and agony that his mind fled from as best it could. When at last Skragrott recalled his underlings with a rap of his staff against the floor, Borik’s vision was swimming and every part of him screamed with raw agony.

‘That’s it fer now,’ said Skragrott. ‘Not fun, lyin’ to the Loonking, is it? I could stop the transformation, ungrow them flesh-shrooms, but you fibbed to me, stunty, and I don’t like them wot fib to me. Makes me think they’re up to sumfink sneaky wot I won’t like. So, have fun sproutin’ and we’ll talk again later.’

Borik managed to grunt weakly, the best show of defiance he had in him, and Skragrott stalked from the chamber. As his consciousness wavered, Borik’s eyes again settled on his gear. There was no way he could reach it; that option was closed to him. But as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, he felt a slight pressure against the base of his back. There was a cold lump there, and as he felt it, Borik realised that he had an escape plan after all.

He just had to work out how to enact it.