A group of Sanctuarees were hauling a block of stone up to the second tier, using a pulley; Acir could hear the creak and groan of wood and rope, strained to the utmost by the weight of the massive block, the grunts of the men as they heaved on the rope.

Gazing upwards, he saw the stone rise slowly, jerkily above his head – too jerkily.

Instinct saved him – he flung himself to the ground and rolled away as the stone came crashing back down, thudding into the earth at the exact spot where he had been standing.

Guerriors rushed towards him.

‘Captain, are you all right?’

Stumbling to his feet, Acir brushed the earth from his uniform.

‘Unharmed,’ he said shakily.

The whole site had stilled; even the incessant din of chisels and mallets fell silent. Everyone stared up at the Sanctuarees high above on the platform.

‘The rope,’ cried one of the Guerriors, picking up the still-dangling end. ‘It’s been cut.’

‘Show me.’ Acir took the rope from the Guerrior. The rope had not frayed with wear – the strands were evenly severed. A deliberate act of sabotage. They had meant to kill him. To crush him with the block which now lay before him, half-buried by the impact in the earth.

‘Bring those men down!’ The Guerriors made for the ladders and began to climb towards the huddle of Sanctuarees on the platform.

‘Wait!’ Acir detected a flicker of movement, the brief glint of light on an upraised blade.

High above, one of the Sanctuarees teetered on the edge of the platform – and suddenly came toppling down to land sprawled on the trampled grass at Acir’s feet. The sharpened chisel he had clutched speared into the earth a foot away.

Acir knelt and tried to raise the dying man in his arms. Blood glistened on the Sanctuaree’s face.

‘Careful, Captain!’ shouted the Guerrior.

‘Gualtier Tomasin,’ whispered Acir, recognising him. ‘Why? Why this way?’

The Sanctuaree’s eyes opened. His mouth strove to form words.

‘My blood be on… your conscience, Guerrior…’ The musician choked and a gush of crimson flooded from his mouth. The broken body convulsed as the eyes slid skywards.

Acir laid him down and closed the sightless eyes.

‘Go in peace,’ he said softly.

Looking up, he saw the Guerriors had brought down number 137’s companions from the platform; he saw the fear and hostility in their eyes.

‘Don’t you worry, Captain. We’ll get confessions from all three. Attempted murder.’

‘No.’ Acir stood up. ‘There is no need. 137 confessed.’

‘But these were his accomplices –’

‘The incident is over. I’ll be writing a report. There’ll be no further charges.’ Mechanically he began to straighten his jacket – and his hands came away sticky with 137’s blood.

‘“And I believe it was his intention to kill me – or die in the attempt. The attack on my person was unpremeditated, clumsy and spontaneous. Further investigation is therefore unnecessary.” ‘