“Don’t you like hospitals?” Rose asked, dabbing at the wound.

“Nope,” said Achilleus. “Spent too much time in them when I was a kid.”

“You were ill?”

“Not me, my mom. She had MS. Multiple sclerosis. Bad news, man. That’s how I remember her, as a sick person. Hated hospitals ever since. The only good thing about Mom being ill, she died before everything went bad. I never had to

see her go crazy. Ow! What you doing there?”

“Sorry. It’s your ear.”

“What about it?”

“I’m going to have to try and stitch it,” said Rose.

“You done stitching before?”

“No, not really.”

“You know what to do?”

“No, not really.”

“What are the chances you’ll make a good job of it?”

“No chance at all,” said Rose. “But at least it won’t fall off. Urgh. It looks really nasty. It’s going to be ugly no matter what I do.”

John’s blade had cut through the top of the ear, so that it was only attached by the bottom inch or so of skin.

“I shoulda killed Just John.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“I’m not. I’ve got a enemy now.”

“You had an enemy before.”

“That’s true enough.”

There was a knock at the door, and they looked over to see two of David’s guards escorting a boy into the room. A stocky little lad with cropped black hair. He looked shy and nervous, but was masking it with a macho swagger.

“Sorry to bother you,” said one of the guards. “But this squatter kid’s been hanging around, we can’t get rid of him, says he wants to talk to you.”

“I’ll come back in a minute if you want,” said Rose, putting down her equipment.

“No. You stay,” said Achilleus. “Get stitching.”

Achilleus turned his attention to the squatter. “What d’you want?”

“Can I shake your hand?” said the boy, with a broad Irish accent.

Achilleus gave a snort of laughter. “What you want to shake my hand for?”

“I think you’re cool.”

“Yeah?” Achilleus laughed again and held out his hand. “This ain’t a trick?”

“Nope.”

The little lad came up onto the dais and pumped Achilleus’s hand up and down.

“That was awesome out there,” he said, his eyes transfixed by Rose as she started to push a needle and thread through Achilleus’s ear.

“Shouldn’t you have gone on with the others?” said Achilleus. He was determined to show no pain in front of the boy, even though it was agony.

“Nah,” said the lad. “You were right, what you said. John’s a loser. I’m coming over to your side. Jeez, that must hurt. . . .”

“Meh.” Achilleus gave a dismissive shrug.

“Don’t move,” Rose warned.

“Just keep stitching,” said Achilleus.

“I think I’d faint,” said the boy.

“What’s your name?” Achilleus asked.