‘Oh please,’ said Sark. ‘I want to get out. I want to get out.’

Gobleka crouched in front of the cage door. He put his hand on the grip of the Scipio tucked in his waistband.

‘Power down, magos,’ he said. ‘Just bring the Loom back to idling. I’ll get you out, and you can rest.’

Sark nodded. He muttered something that wasn’t words. The light radiating from him diminished, as if it were sucking back into him, light running the wrong way and draining into nothing. The great gears and wheels of the Loom began to chug and clatter as they decelerated. The industrial roar faded back to a hum.

Panting, Sark looked out at Gobleka.

‘Let me out, please, Goran,’ he said. ‘I so long to be let out. This cage is crushing me.’

Gobleka said an un-word Chase had taught him. The cage door clicked unsealed. Gobleka swung it open.

Sark began to crawl out. He clearly needed help, but Gobleka didn’t want to touch him. He wanted to watch him closely and draw Eisenhorn’s gun fast if he had to. Outside the bounds of the psychometric cage, anything was possible. Anything could be coming out. Anything could be crawling free.

Sark pawed his way out onto the deck and flopped on his side like an exhausted dog, the plasmic residue dripping off him and pooling around him. Some of it was drying to a crust on his shrivelled skin.

Slowly, he began to rise.

‘H-help me,’ he called out.

‘You can do it,’ Gobleka replied, his hand still resting on the pistol.

Sark stood up. He raised his head and looked at the light of the lamps in the rigs around the gantry.

‘How long?’ he asked, his voice thin and frail. ‘How long have I been in there?’

‘A long time,’ said Gobleka.

‘A week?’

‘Longer.’

‘How long, Goran?’

‘Seventeen years, I think,’ said Gobleka.

Sark didn’t reply. He looked down at himself, at the wreck of his body.

‘I won’t go back in,’ he said at last. ‘I have earned my reward. I have earned my place at the King’s right hand. I have served. You will not force me back in there again.’

Gobleka saw that Davinch was looking at him, anxious. Gobleka shook his head quietly. They’d deal with Sark in due course. If they could keep him contained and happy, they’d find a way to get him back in when it was time for another weaving.

‘I’m going to rest, now,’ Sark said. ‘Make arrangements, Goran. I want passage to Sancour by the end of the week. A fast ship, a crew that can be trusted. I will make my report to the King personally.’

‘I’m going to need to run some tests on you,’ said Gobleka.

Sark looked at him sharply. A ripple of violet light flickered in his eyes.