Gazing past him she was shocked to see the archway spitting flame and sparks; for a few moments it fizzed and crackled and then went black, and she could see the bodies of two Watchmen lying still.

‘Are they dead?’

‘Stunned.’

‘How can he do that?’ she marvelled, as the shapes of Raffi and the Sekoi came slithering up the broken street.

Raffi raced up to Galen and stood staring at him. ‘She did it,’ he said, in a choked voice.

Galen smiled grimly. ‘Indeed she did.’

Raffi touched the keeper’s arm, hesitantly. ‘We thought you were lost…’

Galen shook his head. ‘Always keep the faith, boy,’ he said gruffly. ‘Sometimes the Makers act in ways we could never imagine. Have you got the chart?’

‘Here.’

‘Then let’s go from here. Before more of them come.’

Following the list of streets, they twisted between houses and past palaces whose windows were empty, and through whose halls the wind moaned uneasily. Rain began to fall; a black, oily drizzle. The city was changing; they were coming to the oldest part, the citadel, and the ruins here were of great temples and palaces, shattered by the terrible destruction. The darkness grew deeper, and more silent; even the rats and owls were left behind, and all they heard now was the sound of their own running, soft footsteps pattering in alleys and doorways, as if the city was full of ghosts that fled endlessly.

After half an hour, Galen stopped them. ‘Here,’ he gasped. ‘We rest here.’

It was a small window; climbing through they found they were in the kitchen of some villa. An empty hearth was black with soot, and one table still stood, huge and immovable in the centre of the room.

Galen crossed to the wall and sat down, easing his leg with a groan.

Raffi crouched beside him. ‘Did they hurt you?’

‘Not much. They were just warming up.’

Carys sat too, more slowly. She looked at Raffi, who bit his lip. The Sekoi stretched its legs out and scratched its fur. ‘Are you going to tell him, or shall we?’ it said severely.

‘I will,’ Carys muttered.

Galen looked up at her. ‘I should thank you, Carys. I owe you my life. Maybe more, my honour as a keeper.’ Gathering the black hair from his face, he knotted it in the dirty string and looked at her, his hawk-face grim and dark. ‘It’s a debt I’ll pay, if ever I can.’

‘You may not want to,’ she muttered.

He frowned. ‘Why not?’

She was silent, looking down. Raffi rolled the glass globe nervously in his pocket.

‘I’ve got something to tell you.’ But Galen looked at her so sharply that she couldn’t say it; for the first time in her life she felt afraid to speak. Lies leapt to her mind, convincing stories, excuses; fiercely she drove them away.