I felt the arm began to suck itself away from my stump, and for the first time since leaving the Limb Broker there was pain, and plenty of it. I yelped. Quindar got another hand on me, pinning me by the good arm. ‘This ain’t your business,’ he snarled at all and sundry as a space opened up in the flow of people. ‘This girlie’s not of legal age, and she’s run away from home. And look at the ’arm she’s done herself, left unsupervised!’

I struggled, but it didn’t do me any good. Out of the corner of my eye, though, I saw Paladin, closing the distance he’d opened up, wobbling from side to side like a metronome as his wheels slipped on the ruts and cracks, and then Paladin boomed out:

‘Let her go.’

Quindar settled his gaze on the robot.

‘You’re the pile of metal I smashed up in Granity’s. Don’t remember that, do you?’

‘I do remember it.’

And that was a lie but I was proud of Paladin for saying it.

‘What’s your problem – not enough dents for your liking?’

‘You are the problem, Mister Quindar.’

The tone of the robot’s reply drew a twitch of unease from Quindar, but it wasn’t enough to have him relax his hold on me. He was still clutching my false hand too firmly, and his nails were jagging into my flesh on the other arm. ‘You’d be wise to watch your tone, robot,’ Quindar said. ‘You machines ain’t top of the pecking order, not in this Occupation anyway.’

Light flashed from Paladin. Quindar screamed and let go of me immediately.

‘It’s all right,’ I said, shrugging past him. ‘He did that to Morcenx, too, but it won’t be permanent.’

But there was a different quality to the screams coming from Quindar.

These were shrieks, not moans.

Cat Gate was just a few dozen steps away, and beyond its neon arch all I saw was the ordinary drift of loiterers and pedestrians wondering whether to chance their luck down Neural Alley. Paladin had rolled to my side. Vidin Quindar was crouching at my feet, oblivious to my presence now, pushing his knuckles into his eyes as if they belonged there.

‘Paladin . . . what did you do to him?’

‘I used great restraint,’ the robot informed me. ‘He still has a nervous system.’

‘You blinded him.’

‘A leniency. He was about to do worse to you.’

A commotion of uniforms and flashing epaulettes swept around the curve of Neural Alley. People scattered. The constables were blowing whistles, drawing truncheons and stun weapons. One of them slipped and went crashing through a shop window and onlookers laughed. But the rest were still coming.