She frowned, evidently surprised by his tone. ‘Not at all. It’s a duty. I found that apart from a little ice on the walls—’

‘Why didn’t you come back?’

‘Well, I did get lost then. Found myself wandering around empty corridors.’ Now she looked as if she had been badly frightened, despite the front she was putting up. ‘Nobody to ask for help, of course.’

‘By the mothers, Xree, if you’d been found—’

‘So I thought, I know, I’ll go to the Wall front and find Thaxa’s shop, and get in that way. How clever! Wasn’t I?’

‘But were you followed? Oh, never mind, never mind – get in! Come on, climb through the snow, I’ll catch you.’

‘Yes. All right.’ She held out her arms.

But she was snatched back with a muffled cry, pulled out of his sight. He heard voices, a struggle, torn clothing.

‘Xree! Xree!’

He jumped up at the ice blocking the doorway. Of course he couldn’t climb its slick surface. He fetched a short ladder, used for accessing high shelves in the shop, propped it against the ice, climbed, and thrust his head through the gap at the top of the doorway and into clean, fresh air.

Dark shapes, looming over him. Hands grabbed him immediately, his shoulders, arms, even, agonisingly, his hair, and he was dragged out through the gap. He should have gone to get Ayto, he thought now, too late.

He was flipped on his back, in the cold snow. There were forms all around him – legs, hands reaching for him, a stink of blood and piss. They didn’t even seem human. It had happened in a heartbeat, from the security of the shop, to this.

He saw Xree; they had her on her back and were pulling at her clothes, her coat. He tried to roll that way. He bowled into them, two, three, four, and they staggered, stumbling in the snow. ‘Xree! Get away!’

The first kick was to the mouth, knocking him onto his back again. He felt broken teeth, agonising. Yet he raised his arms, tried to fight. Make them come to him, and give Xree the best chance she had to get away, to squirm into the shop, to get to Ayto. But he was weak, ineffectual, he always had been, and there was no force in his punches. His reward was more kicks, more blows.

Then they surrounded him. They got him pinned down, on his back, five of them, one on each limb, one sitting on his chest. He bucked and squirmed in the soft snow, but more punches and kicks rained in; he felt something crack in his chest, more horrific pain in his mouth that might be a dislocated jaw. And the cold dug into him, aiding his enemies. What little energy he had drained away, and he started to grow limp, blood filming over his eyes.