‘Don’t think about shouting for help,’ said Drusher.

‘I won’t. You won’t get out of here alive, because I’m going to kill you.’

‘Let’s see how you do when you’re bound and gagged,’ said Drusher.

Streekal raised her hands.

‘Go on, then,’ she said.

‘Don’t get close to her!’ Voriet hissed.

‘Valentin, what are you even going to tie her up with?’ demanded Macks, shaking the cage door again. ‘Valentin, just shoot her!’

‘I’d prefer not to kill people unless I absolutely have to,’ said Drusher.

‘Then give me the gun and I’ll do it!’ snapped Macks.

Her hands still raised, Streekal took a step closer. She moved with slow poise, like a ballet dancer.

‘Come on then, magos,’ she said. ‘Tie me up. Make it tight.’

‘Stay where you are,’ Drusher warned.

She took another step.

‘For Throne’s sake,’ growled Voriet. ‘Kill her, magos! She is lethal!’

‘He’s right,’ said Streekal, taking another step.

‘Please stop coming closer,’ said Drusher. His hand was really trembling. ‘I’d really be very upset if I had to kill you.’

Streekal took another pace forwards.

‘Throne forgive me,’ said Drusher. ‘I’m sorry.’

He pulled the trigger.

The gun clicked.

Drusher stared at it in disbelief. He remembered taking the clip out to remove the bullet. The clip was still in his pocket.

‘Valentin!’ Macks screamed.

Streekal leapt forwards, grinning. She was faster than any human being he’d ever seen. She slammed into him and kicked him in the chest. Drusher flew back against the bars of Macks’ cage. He could hear Macks shrieking his name. He was winded. His chest burned. The world was spinning.

Streekal grabbed him by the front of his coat and hauled him to his feet. He tried to hit her with the useless gun. She blocked and sent it spinning out of his grasp.

‘You’re so dead,’ she said. She shoved him backwards. He staggered and grabbed the bars of Voriet’s cage to steady himself. The platform surface was uneven and sticky with oil residue. Voriet and Macks were yelling at him. Macks had started to kick furiously at the door of her cage. It reminded Drusher of the way they had kicked the firebox out of the parlour grate: desperate and frantic. Macks was putting every ounce of her strength into kicking the iron door.

A door that would not open.

Drusher had no idea what he was going to do. He didn’t know how to fight. He hadn’t the first clue how to throw a punch.

Streekal was on him. She was smiling broadly. She had drawn a wicked-looking punch dagger. The blade glinted in the candlelight.

Drusher scrambled. He had to dodge somehow–

Streekal lunged. Drusher tried to evade. He felt so clumsy. So slow.