Greeneye dropped straight through the resin, bellowing as he went. His swords had gone flying as he tripped over the edge.

But Serif stopped just short of the pit’s edge, his arms spiralling. He balanced himself and stepped back. ‘You did this?’ he hissed at Rocastle, who stepped out from behind the monument.

‘I did,’ Rocastle said. ‘And my lads killed your girl.’ He jumped back behind the monument as an energy bolt hissed past his head.

Serif glanced down at the pit beneath his feet. Greeneye was staring up at him angrily from about twenty feet below, his face a mass of blood, one eye caked shut.

‘Throw both of them down here,’ he bellowed, ‘and I’ll toss you the scraps!’

Serif nodded and stalked towards the monument, firing energy bolts at intervals into the ground in front of him.

Hutchinson scrambled to climb over the edge of the flint workings, but Alexander grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back.

‘Not yet!’ Benny whispered. ‘If I let any of you get into danger, Rocastle will kill me.’

‘But he’s⁠ —’

‘He’s armed. We’re not.’

Serif had reached Old Meg. He stepped slowly around it, anticipating an attack at any second.

Rocastle stepped out behind him and raised his gun. ‘Now⁠ —’

Serif spun and knocked the gun from his hand. ‘You should not have warned me.’

He swung his own pistol up.

Rocastle lunged forward and slammed the alien against the stone. ‘You destroyed all my dreams, you know,’ he told him as they struggled, almost conversationally.

‘But, strangely, I feel almost as if I ought to say⁠ —’

Serif spun him round, smashing the human against the base of the statue. Rocastle fell, winded, and looked up as Serif aimed his pistol at his head.

‘Thank you.’

The force of the explosion threw Hutchinson and Alexander back off the edge of the flint diggings. The others threw their hands over their heads as debris rained down, small lumps of the stone that had made up Old Meg.

Benny peered up over the edge. The monument was a crater in the ground, at its centre a mass of flaming debris that was sparking up into the sky, small detonations still going off.

She climbed out and walked over to the flaming pyre, Alexander and the boys following her.

‘He knew that it would explode,’ Hutchinson said. ‘It was the only way.’

‘No it bloody wasn’t,’ Benny whispered.

There might have been an argument then, but Merryweather had turned to look in the direction of the pit. ‘Look!’ he yelled.

A hand had gripped the rim of the pit, and was scrambling against the crumbling earth, trying for a solid hold. As they watched, Greeneye slapped another hand after the first and began to haul himself over the edge, his face a mask of rage and sorrow. ‘Serif!’ he was bellowing. ‘You animals! I’ll cover this hill with your blood!’