‘You said you took his piece. Show it to me.’

Davinch pulled Eisenhorn’s Scipio from the pocket of his jacket and handed it to Gobleka.

Gobleka popped out the clip and examined the uppermost round.

‘Enuncia,’ he said. ‘Look, he’s marked the rounds with Enuncia.’

He pushed several bullets out into his palm and showed one to Davinch.

Davinch swallowed hard.

‘Is that what it looks like?’ he asked.

‘You said this was his back-up piece?’ asked Gobleka, reloading the clip. ‘Right. For special targets. I think these custom loads were the trick you reckoned he was hoping to pull.’

‘So what?’ asked Davinch.

Gobleka slid the clip back into the Scipio’s grip.

‘If we’re going to put the old bastard in the cage, we’re going to have to take Sark out,’ he said. ‘I want to make sure we’re covered.’

‘Against what?’ asked Davinch.

‘I don’t trust Sark,’ said Gobleka. ‘I don’t think he really is Sark any more. I don’t know exactly what we’re going to be letting out of that cage.’

They took Eisenhorn by the shoulders and began to escort him up to the gantry. He was slow and unresponsive, like a sleepwalker.

‘This is a bad idea,’ Davinch murmured.

‘Then have a better one,’ Gobleka snarled. Gobleka had been trained to improvise, even in the deepest crisis, and he wasn’t about to let any possibility go.

They struggled with Eisenhorn up the steps onto the main gantry. In the cage, the magos was sitting cross-legged like an ancient shaman, radiating light and muttering un-words. Gobleka and Davinch could see at once that Sark was close to the end of his strength. The glow coming from him was beginning to falter, like a dodgy filament. Plasmic residue was slick on his skin, oozing like glue. He was starting to blister.

‘Hold him,’ Gobleka ordered. He left Davinch watching the silent, lobotomised Eisenhorn and walked over to the cage.

‘Magos? Magos Sark?’ he called out.

The glow flickered.

‘I… I want to stop, Goran,’ Sark murmured. ‘Can I stop now?’

‘There’s a fire, magos.’

‘It’s in me, Goran.’

‘No, sir. A fire. Down below. The sump. Can you snuff it out?’

Sark opened his eyes and looked at Gobleka. Beads of blood trickled from his tear ducts.

‘I’m so tired,’ he mumbled.

‘All right,’ said Gobleka. ‘Magos? Magos, listen to me. You stop now. I promised you, didn’t I? It’s time to rest. We have another subject.’

‘You do? I can rest? Really?’

‘Just like I promised, magos.’

‘It worked again?’ asked Sark. ‘You got it to work again?’

‘We did.’

‘Who?’ asked Sark. Gobleka gestured at the figures waiting behind him. Sark peered through the bars, trying to focus his eyes.

‘Eisenhorn?’ he asked. ‘You made it work with him?’

Gobleka nodded.

‘Let’s get you out of there,’ he said.