Greg went the other way, sliding his arms right up to the banister and standing on his left foot. He pushed his right leg through the gap in the railings above Gabriel's left hand.

"Fist your right hand," he told her. "Then disengage all the nerves below the left elbow."

She looked up at him, her shoulders quivering, dry weeping. The sight nearly broke his determination.

Slowly her right hand clenched into a fist, leaving the left open.

"Can you feel your left hand?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Are you sure?" He was worried about the stunshot charge they'd both been hit with; if there was any damage to the cortical node there'd be no chance of pulling this off.

She glared at him.

"Look away," Greg said.

Her head turned.

"Right away," he said, deliberately harsh. He couldn't risk her flinching.

She jerked her head forcibly aside.

He concentrated on the leg he'd stuck through the railings. He had to get it perfect first time. If he didn't, he doubted she would ever allow him a second go.

He was wearing sturdy leather shoes. Grubby and scuffed now, but with a hard, flat sole.

Lining the heel up in the funereal glimmer of light.

Greg pushed up with his hands, as though he was trying to lift the banister off the top of the railings. Bunched muscles tightened the jacket fabric across his shoulders. His left foot was pressed hard on to the floor. He could even hear a feeble groan from the oak as it adjusted to the new stress pattern. Praying the strength he'd built filling up the chalet's water tank would be sufficient.

Ready.

He stamped down.

The heel smashed down on to the top of Gabriel's knuckles, giving. Bone snapped, a liquid-dulled crack.

She convulsed, slumping forward into the railings, her puling muted by the ball of silk.

Greg tugged his leg back out of the railings, and hooked the back of his calf inside Gabriel's left elbow. Her head twisted round, there was a small tail of cloth sticking out of her mouth. Shock-wide eyes screamed up at him in pure terror. He jerked his leg back savagely.

Her arm moved with sickening slowness. Then suddenly there was no more resistance, and Greg was swinging wildly, left foot slipping, backside coming down fast. The cuffs made an excruciatingly loud racket scraping down the railing. He sat heavily, his coccyx trying to punch its way up into his throat.

But Gabriel was free. She lay facedown on the floor, right hand still through the railing, left arm curled limply at her side, its pulped hand brushing her hair. Her whole body was quaking softly. The handkerchief had begun to emerge out of her mouth like some vile glistening imago escaping from its chrysalis.