‘We’re not going to hide in one!’ Raffi caught his arm. ‘Galen, they search them! Stab the flour sacks!’

‘Not inside.’ Galen shook him off, irritably. ‘Underneath.’

They were silent. He went on quickly. ‘They’re strong, and small. The axle bars don’t look too far apart, and there’s a wooden brace between them. We should be able to crawl above it and lie there, just under the planks.’

‘It’s crazy,’ Raffi breathed.

‘What about your leg?’ Carys asked.

The keeper glared at her. ‘I’ll manage. Once we’re all through the guard-post we drop off and meet.’ He nodded at a tall spire that rose in the darkness. ‘That building. Or as near to it as we can get. Understand?’

Carys thought, then nodded, reluctant.

‘Raffi?’

Shaking his head, he said, ‘There’s got to be a better way…’

‘There’s not.’ Galen gave him a sharp look. ‘Trust me, Raffi. I’ll take the pack. Let’s get nearer.’

They worked their way through the scrub to the road, opposite the third waggon in the line. Two men leaned on the front of it, talking. Their voices were clear in the stillness. Far back, a dog barked. Galen touched Carys on the shoulder. She gave one exasperated look at Raffi, then dropped to a crouch and sprinted soundlessly out to the waggon. She slipped under it like a shadow.

‘What if they find her?’ Raffi whispered, appalled.

‘Then they’ll find all of us. You next.’

The waggons jolted forward; the pack-beasts, mostly mules, plodding a few weary steps among shouts and one whip-crack. Galen touched Raffi and he ran, stooping low. Halfway there he froze, heart thudding, as the waggoner walked by, kicking the wheels, but the man’s back was to him, and in seconds Raffi was ducking underneath, the stink of mule-droppings close to his face. Grabbing the front axle, he hauled his chest up over the brace, jamming his feet wide against the planks at the back.

Above him the waggon base was bowed with its load – Galen hadn’t thought about that. It lay heavy on his back now, and in a moment of terror he imagined the Watchmen climbing on board and crushing him, and he gripped the greasy axle tight, his cheek lying sideways, the stink of dung in his nostrils.

It was a long time before they moved.

The first jolt almost shook him off; he grabbed tighter, feeling the axle slither and turn. Wrapping himself round the narrow brace, he clung tight, arms and legs aching, hoping he wouldn’t slip under it. Then they stopped again and he could loosen his hold.