‘Alben,’ Fidele cried as she struggled down the corridor with Maquin’s arm about her shoulders. Alben glanced back at her, hovered, clearly on the brink of decision, then sprinted after them.

They reached a staircase that spiralled both up and down. Alben began to lead them up but Ektor grabbed him.

‘No, they are loose on the floors above us; listen.’

The sound of combat, screams drifted down the stairwell.

‘The Vin Thalun behind us will head up, to the gates,’ Ektor said. ‘We should go down, to my chambers. They won’t go that way.’

Alben nodded sharply and they were running downwards, feet slapping on stone, sconced torches sending their shadows flickering on damp stone walls. Fidele and Alben stopped Maquin from tumbling down the stairwell. Even so he was drenched with sweat and breathing hard when they reached Ektor’s chamber.

‘Torch,’ Ektor said to Alben, who reached up and took one from a wall sconce. Ektor rattled a key in a lock, threw the door open and ushered them in, closing it hastily and locking it again. The only light was from Alben’s torch, but Ektor quickly used it to light a few lanterns, then he doused the torch in a bucket.

‘Can’t be too careful,’ he said, gesturing into his chamber. Fidele remembered his fear of naked flame and the thousands of scrolls that were kept in this room.

It didn’t seem to have changed from when Fidele had seen it last. The first half looked as if battle had raged through it: chairs over-turned, bed sheets strewn on the floor, half-eaten trenchers of food left to rot. Beyond this wreckage was the library, a great curved stone wall with a thousand alcoves carved into it.

She helped Maquin into the chamber and he collapsed onto a long table, rolling onto his back with a moan.

Ektor shrieked at Maquin and none too gently started pulling him upright.

‘Ektor, he is injured,’ Fidele said, something in her tone giving Ektor pause. He looked at Maquin, saw the wound low in his belly. ‘My maps,’ he said. ‘He’s crushing my maps. And he’ll be more comfortable on my bed.’

Fidele and Alben helped Maquin to a huge bed on one side of the chamber. Alben went back to the door and put his ear to it, listening for any sound of the Vin Thalun.

‘You need to stop saving my skin,’ Maquin said to her through gritted teeth. ‘This way I’m never going to be out of your debt.’

You saved me from something far worse than death. From a living hell. No matter how many times I save you from a knife through the heart you will never be in my debt.

‘You need to learn how to keep out of the way of sharp iron, then.’

He started to grin at that, but it shifted into a pained grimace.

‘Quiet,’ Alben hissed and they all froze.