He turned and looked to the mouth of the passage. He could see Henry slumped against the wall, half visible beneath the light of a street lamp. It felt like the report was still bouncing back and forth between the walls, but really it was just bouncing around inside his skull. His memory of the last few moments was a blur. He recalled the familiar crunch of fist upon bone, Henry being spun by a punch and his head striking the wall. The raising of a pistol; Raven lunging to deflect the arm that held it. A gunshot. Then they had run, and Raven had chased.

Raven hurried to his fallen friend and crouched before him. He lifted his chin to look at his face, upon which blood was running in streams. Happily, his eyes were open, though not exhibiting their usual focused scrutiny.

‘Where are they?’ Henry asked.

‘Fled. Are you hurt? Your face is bloody.’

‘I could say the same. This is just a scalp wound. They bleed out of all proportion. Think I struck my leg on something on the way down, though. That hurts more. What about the ladies?’

Raven looked down the street, where he saw Liselotte and Gabriela by a fountain on Schlossplatz. He had yelled at them to run when the attack started, but they hadn’t got far. These things were always over far quicker than one realised. Events that seem an hour’s battle pass in the blink of an eye to those merely observing. They had stopped and were looking back towards where Henry had fallen.

Raven attempted to help him to his feet, at which point Henry howled.

‘Gods!’

They both looked down, seeing a glistening darkness on Henry’s thigh. Instinctively Raven put a hand to it, whereupon Henry howled twice as loud.

‘I think you’ve been shot.’

Henry’s expression was a mixture of pain and confusion.

‘How did he manage to shoot me in the front of the thigh? I had my back to him and was in the process of bouncing face-first off the wall when he pulled the trigger.’

‘An unfortunate ricochet,’ Raven replied, conscious that it could have been so much worse. He was sure the coward holding the pistol had been aiming for Gabriela when Raven grabbed his arm.

Liselotte and Gabriela had hurried back to assist, concern on both their faces.

‘We heard the shot,’ Gabriela said. ‘Which of you was hit?’

Raven looked at her quizzically, thinking the answer obvious: the one who is bleeding. Then he put a hand to his face. There was blood spattered upon it, and all over the sleeve of his right arm.

‘This is Henry’s,’ he told her. Not entirely the truth, nor entirely a lie. ‘He was struck in the leg.’

‘We must get him to a surgeon,’ Liselotte said, urgency in her tone.