‘You’ve been busy,’ Chel said, taking it all in.

‘I’ve been working.’

‘It’s ready? We can use it now?’

Kosh looked around. The night sky was scattered with great washes of sparkling stars, rivers of twinkling light in a blanket of black so deep it seemed almost violet. Around them, the wind snapped at the silken pennants on every tower-top, at the long silken banners that hung in the streets. They were between bombardments, and for a moment, high over the city, everything seemed peaceful.

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘We must relocate to another platform for the launch. We need the right conditions, a strong and consistent wind, and greater height.’

‘Then why are we up here now? To show off?’

‘Someone must transport them to the launch location. And … there is another complication.’

Kosh moved forward, setting to work on erecting one of the constructions. A boxy structure of silk and thin wood took shape, something wide and multi-tiered.

Rennic had taken a few cautious steps onto the platform, eyes narrowed, prodding at one of the stacks with a wary boot. ‘Fuck’s all this, little man? You going into dressmaking up here?’

‘You,’ Kosh said, pointing past Rennic to Foss. ‘Hold this.’

Foss peered from the doorway, where he’d remained. ‘Not much of one for high places, you understand, friend.’

She scowled and demanded Rennic approach. He did, taking the boxes in his hands, allowing her snaps of care and criticism to wash over him. ‘Now over your head.’ He lifted, his eyes now little more than black lines in the gloom. The uppermost tier surpassed the wooded barrier at the platform’s end, fluttering in the fierce wind from the plains.

Kosh beckoned Chel. ‘Hold this.’

A thin pole, attached to a narrow cord.

‘And sit back on this.’

Another pole, a little longer than the first, secured at either end with rope. Kosh looped the rope over him, cross-wise, then tied it at his back.

‘When you said “complication”,’ Chel said, watching her activities with growing unease, ‘what exactly did you—’

‘You, savage,’ Kosh gestured to Lemon, who flicked a gesture involving two of her fingers in response. ‘Take hold of that pulley.’

‘This one?’

‘That is your pudendum.’

‘Aye, right, so it is. This one, then?’

‘Yes, that one.’

Lemon gripped a rope, which Chel’s nervous eyes connected to the wind-shield.

‘Seriously,’ he said, one hand tugging at the rope that wrapped him, ‘what’s the complication?’

‘Now, hold these strings. Do not release your grip on the handle.’

Chel did his best to grip both the small pole, and the fistful of thin cords she passed him. They looped up into the arms of the structure that Rennic held over his head, separating and running over its bones through tiny metal loops.

‘Why exactly am I—’