The life-sizer spun from Alex’s grandfather and stumbled to try to catch the falling man. It didn’t succeed, but it managed to break his fall. As von Sudenfeld crashed onto it, his wig flew from his head. Man and machine collapsed in a heap together, then lay still.

Alex hung by one arm, gazing down at what he had done, then turned to the rock and pulled himself over the top. He crawled forward and slumped facedown, gulping damp air, wondering if the pain in his arms would stop.

“Alex?”

At his grandfather’s voice, he stood shakily and stepped to the edge. He could see the old man peering up, bag in one hand, stick in the other. Just behind him, the other life-sizer still lashed around on the spot, furiously fighting nothing.

“Are you okay?” Alex called.

“Ha, just what I was going to ask you! Stand back, I’m going to try this.” The old man raised one foot and indicated with his cane. He wore the spring-heels. Alex stepped back, there came the familiar creak, then his grandfather was there, tripping a step on landing, stumbling forward. Alex caught his arms, supporting him until he steadied.

“That really was a sterling effort, Alex.” A dark brown bruise was growing on the old man’s face. He looked as drained as Alex felt.

“Is he . . . ?” Alex gestured below. “Von Sudenfeld. Is he . . . ?”

“Eh? Oh, no. Unconscious. He should be okay, I think. Well, as close to okay as that man ever comes.”

“I . . .” Alex pulled out his grandfather’s wallet and the cards. “I found these. You dropped them.”

“Marvelous, thank—” The old man broke off and tapped one of the cards against his nose, then flipped it around so it faced Alex.

DEATH

“You read that, then? Recognize it?”

Alex nodded and pulled out his wallet, taking from inside the fortune cards he’d been given by the Marvastro machine at Harry’s office. He held one up.

POWER

Unmistakably from the same set.

“Well, don’t read too much into it, Alex.” His grandfather tucked the cards into a pocket. “It’s the oldest trick in the book. Fortune tellers, prophets, politicians, poets, charlatans of all stripes do it: offer some vague statement that seems to mean something, then let you fill in the blanks yourself, until you think they’ve said something profound.

“Anyway, if you’re idiotic enough to have your fortune told and you pull the death card, the great mystic charging you for the experience will always tell you death doesn’t actually mean death, it means . . . change. One thing ending, another beginning. Or something equally open to infinite interpretation.”

“But the card Marvastro gave me said power,” Alex pressed. “That came true.” Along with his growing concern for his grandfather, frustration was beginning to build inside him at the old man’s eternal evasiveness.