He pulled down the neck of his tunic and peeled back a bandage. Below it were four deep gouges. The skin surrounding them was a milky, bloodshot gray. “They look like poltergeist wounds,” I said.

“Wouldn’t know.” He secured the bandage over the wounds. “I can’t move. The thing’s coming toward me, dripping blood on me. 10’s been trying to help 5, but now he gets up. He’s got a guardian angel, the only spirit that hasn’t flown the coop. He throws it at the Buzzer. I send another image into its dreamscape at the same time. It screams. Really screams. Starts crawling away, making this awful noise, dragging a chunk of 5 with it. By this point 21 has set fire to a branch. He throws it after the Buzzer. I smell burning flesh. After that I passed out. Woke up in Oriel, covered in bandages.”

“And they gave you all red tunics.”

“Not 20 and 14. They got yellow. And had to pick up what was left of 5.”

We stood in silence for a few minutes. All I could think of was 5, eaten alive in the woods. I didn’t know his real name, but I hoped someone had said the threnody. What a horrific way to go.

I cast my gaze further afield. In the distance I could make out a spot of light, little more than a candle flame from here.

“What is that?”

“Bonfire.”

“What for?”

“Buzzer corpses. Or human corpses, depending who won.” He tossed away his roll. “I’m thinking they use the bones for some kind of augury.”

Ash drifted past my eyes as he said it. I caught a flake on my finger. Augurs touched the æther through signs of the natural world: the body, wildlife, the elements. One of the lower orders, in Jaxon’s eyes. “Maybe the fire attracts them,” I said. “They did say this city was a beacon.”

“It’s an ethereal beacon, 40. Lots of voyants and spirits and Rephs together. Think about how the æther works.”

“How the hell do you know so much about it?” I turned to face him. “You’re not from the syndicate. So who are you?”

“A cipher. Just like you.”

I fell silent, grinding my lower jaw.

“You’ve got more questions,” he said, after a brief silence. “Sure you want to ask them?”

“Don’t you start.”

“Start what?”

“Telling me what I want to know. I want answers.” The words came fast and hot. “I want to know everything about the place I’m supposed to be living in for the rest of my life. Can’t you understand that?”

Looking over the balustrade, we gazed down at the Room. For fear that it might crumble under my touch, I tried not to put too much weight on the stone.

So I said, “Can I ask these questions?”