‘Pirates,’ said the boy. His eyes were wide, he was bathed in sweat, and Avatak saw that his shirt was stained red with blood. ‘Yes-yes-yes. Hide me!’ He dived at the floor, into the heaps of scrolls and books, and burrowed in like a rat into garbage.

‘Get out of there!’ Pyxeas ineffectually pawed at the papers.

‘I’ve never seen pirates like these. Monsters. Killers! Yes-yes-yes!’

Avatak was bemused. Pirates? ‘Bayan, come on. Al-Quds has beaten off pirates and nestspills before—’

‘They killed al-Quds! Slit his throat with a single swipe – near enough clean took his head off – they killed him, yes-yes-yes, the first heartbeat they were aboard! Oh, they’re coming, they’re coming . . .’

Avatak heard it now, heavy footsteps, shouting, the scrape of steel – screams. He tried to think. ‘Maybe we can block the door – maybe if we hide—’

It was too late. The door crashed open, smashing off its iron hinges, sending Avatak tumbling back into the little cabin, landing on top of Bayan in a mess of scrolls and parchments.

Pyxeas stood and faced the intruders. ‘You have no business here—’

A gloved fist slammed into the scholar’s mouth, and Avatak heard the crunch of breaking teeth. Pyxeas fell back, landing against the outer wall with a thump, his mouth a bloody mess.

Two men pushed through the door. They seemed huge, their arms and necks bare, their trousers blood-soaked leather, their hair tied back. They had weapons at their waists, cruel-looking swords and axes. Each had his face covered in intricate tattoos, like a tracery of black-walled veins. Avatak scrambled back against the bunks and reached for his own weapon, a blade hidden in his mattress. Before he got there one of the pirates grabbed him by the shirt front, raised him with one unbelievably strong arm, and drove his fist into Avatak’s belly. Avatak fell back, doubled up, hollowed out by pain.

Bayan took his chance. The little Mongol scurried on all fours through the men’s legs and out of the cabin.

As Avatak and Pyxeas lay helplessly, one pirate brutally rummaged through the cabin, lifting the bunks, ripping through heaps of paper, shaking out bundles of clothes. Uzzia’s coat, with the jewels sewn into the quilting, hung unnoticed on the back of the sagging door.

The other man, who had punched Avatak, grabbed him again. ‘You! The old man’s bum boy, are you?’ He spoke a guttural Persian. With his free hand he roughly frisked Avatak, soon finding his pouches of coins. ‘That what you are? Bum boy?’

‘Take it,’ Avatak said, his voice a mumble.

‘What? What’s that?’

‘It’s all we have—’

The pirate slapped Avatak. ‘All? Where’s the rest of it? An old man like this, a ship like this – where’s the rest of his treasure, boy? Up your arse? Because if it is I’ll slit you open to get it.’