Yellow shadows fell on the railing on which he was leaning. Confused, he turned. Spirits! He saw the monstrous shapes of twisting, dancing flames in the rooms of the towers. In the darkness, they looked like the fire-wraiths the Shamans conjured in tales to scare young Valkas. Smoke slowly squeezed through the gaps in the curtains. Move your feet, Nala! He heard Varcin’s voice in his head. He willed life into his legs, and ran to wake the others. But he was barely inside when he collided against something. He did not remember falling to the floor, but there he was, his ears ringing. He felt as if he had run into an iron wall. He tried to get to his knees. Looking frantically around, he saw a giant shadow approach him. Thank the Spirits. ‘Sir! Pray help me!’ he cried urgently. ‘My family is still inside. Your family too! We must get help!’

Bheem did not seem to hear him. ‘You were supposed to be inside,’ he said.

Nala did not understand what he meant. Bheem was dressed in filthy brown clothing, and stank of mud and dirt. ‘Sir, my brothers! My Matre! They are in danger! We have to get them out!’

But Bheem remained unmoved, his brow furrowed in thought, as if making a complex calculation. His eyes looked pale in the flaming torch he held. Nala thought Bheem must be in shock. He tried to move past, but a giant hand stopped him, grabbing his arm. ‘It was mercy, you know,’ he said. ‘That is why I mixed henbane in the wine.’ Nala had not had the wine. ‘They won’t feel the flames and will die almost painless deaths. I’m glad you are here, though. You were the extra one, and you look too womanly to pass for one of us. Maybe, Nakul,’ he snickered. ‘But we needed only five and one woman. You were extra,’ he repeated.

‘What?’ Nala stared, not comprehending a word Bheem said. And then it hit him like a hammer blow. The torch in Bheem’s other hand, the traces of fire behind him, the smell of lac in the mansion. ‘You!’ Nala tried to wrest free, but Bheem held him like an insect pinned to a wall. Nala struggled desperately. He felt Bheem’s nails dig into his shoulder bone. He tried to scream, but Bheem clamped a hand over his mouth. Nala wondered whether he was fated to die of strangulation, or if Bheem would crush his bones to oblivion? Why? he wanted to ask, but could not.