Before them the plateau had parted, the abandoned camp at its centre, the seething press of the unwelcomed refugees still choking the bridge and the guide towers. And at the plateau’s far end, slithering into view like a steel-plated blood-snake, came the column. It widened as it advanced, spreading outwards, revealing thickening ranks of marching figures, little more than gleaming crimson blurs. Behind them, the first great engine rolled out of the pass, a giant armoured wagon on steel-rimmed wheels as tall as a man, hauled by a team of indistinct, lumbering beasts. Even at the extreme distance, the scale of the machine was breath-taking.

Chel stared, fighting the urge to rub his eyes. It was too much to take. ‘There are so many of them. So many …’ This was not the modest host of the Gracechurch. This was a horde. ‘How could they have got through so fast?’

‘By blasting.’ Kosh was behind them, dark eyes wide, face solemn. She was wearing Serican clothes, a lot of silk, although she had kept her outfit practical. ‘They have … far more powder than I could have imagined. An impossible volume.’

‘You mean witchfire?’

Her brow furrowed, and her eyes flicked onto him, finding focus. ‘What you call “witchfire” is many things, none of which I have the time or the inclination to distinguish for you. Rest assured, they have more of it than they should. Far, far more.’

She looked off over the rail for a moment, then her gaze snapped back to Chel. ‘The Keeper has requested your presence.’

‘Me?’

‘All of you.’

‘Aye, right, so the old dear came round, did she?’

‘No.’

***

Matil stood beneath the outer arch of the Butterfly Room, the Keeper’s chain held loose in her hands. From the way her shoulders hung, it might have been made of deep lead. Kosh almost raced to her side, taking her hands and relieving some of the weight of the chain, metaphorical or otherwise. Behind her, at the chamber’s centre, angry voices bellowed over each other as a knot of figures, some in robes, some in polished armour, jostled and jabbed at each other, their retainers encircling them in a sheepish ring.

Chel and the others hung back, uneasy at breaking whatever moment was passing between Kosh and the new Keeper.

‘She’s in charge now?’ Rennic’s voice was a growl, but hushed in the confines of the hallway. ‘Why do you think she summoned us?’

‘As it happens, she didn’t, I’m afraid.’ Tarfel stood to one side of the arch, also alone, peering round at the sound of their approach. ‘Not directly, at least. It was me, really.’ He looked a little abashed. ‘Everyone else had a retinue; it was difficult to be taken seriously.’

‘Where have you been?’ Chel asked. ‘You didn’t return last night.’