Joe took a deep breath. ‘All right, Ren. If you don’t want to be left, you’ll just have to come along.’

‘Are you sure? She’s never been aboveground before!’ Winter said. ‘Nor has Fidell!’

‘Her choice, I think,’ Joe said. ‘Ren, would you rather come along, or stay here and wait for me? If you come, you have to be quiet and do as I say.’

Ren pulled her head out, raising herself tall so her head was level with Joe’s, and chittered softly. She understood. It was a risk, but so was every choice he made right now.

‘We go together,’ he said firmly. And he shouldered his way through to lead everyone through the tunnels with his dragon by his side. 251

Fidell made the same choice, padding along next to Winter as if he really was her shadow. Winter had one hand resting on his neck, as if she were glad not to be parted from him after all. Joe could see her lips moving as she spoke to Fidell under her breath.

The heat of the tunnels seemed to increase as they filed silently through them. Joe could feel Ren walking close against his hip. The deep comfort and strength he drew from her presence was plaited tight with terror that anything might happen to her. All his senses seemed heightened with tension. He could feel the coarse texture of the tunnel walls, the way it snagged on his sleeve and grazed his fingertips. The familiar weight of his father’s compass in his pocket felt reassuring, like a link to his past. The noises were subdued: occasional whispers, the steady tramp of their boots and sandals on the sandy rock.

And then relief, as the cool air hit Joe’s face, smelling of damp earth and straw and horses, as he poked his head out of the little iron gate behind the palace stable block to find no one there waiting for him.

‘This is for you, Dad,’ Joe whispered quietly, climbing out and putting it all in motion.

They’d gone over their plan, time after time, till everyone knew it by heart, scrawling pictures in the sandy earth of the cavern to show where they would hide. To the north-east of the palace, beyond the stables, sprawled the barracks: rows of low brick buildings, the bunkhouses and the burned-out armoury. A shadowy figure peeled itself away from the side of the armoury: Yannic, there to meet them. 252

Joe felt his world shrink to this: his breath coming fast, his feet moving across damp grass.

Winter and Fidell were fastest – they sprinted ahead, searching for patrols, greeting Yannic as they passed him.

Their courage gave Joe speed and strength. ‘I hope your idea worked,’ he whispered to Yannic as the man fell in at his side.

‘Trust me,’ Yannic muttered back. ‘They’ve been puking since daybreak. Weak as kittens they’ll be.’

Joe didn’t reply. So far he had no actual evidence that trusting Yannic was the right thing to do. Just how good an actor was he? They might be running into a trap.