Broad pulled his lenses off to rub at the bridge of his nose with a shaky hand, but even without them he could smell it. Even in the cold you could smell it from streets away now, the place of execution. The place where the fall passed its final judgement.

Didn’t even shock him any more. Part of his workday, like scrubbing out the tubs at the brewery in Valbeck. The unspeakable made commonplace.

They handed the prisoners over to the Burners at the foot of the tower. Herded them onto Curnsbick’s new lift. A wonder of the modern age. The signal was given, the machinery clattered into life and the platform lurched upwards. The climb had almost been kinder.

The families sobbed and wailed, blew kisses and streamed with tears, a forest of reaching hands. Wives and husbands, parents and children. The condemned tried to stay strong. The same wearying pattern as ever.

Broad turned his back on it. Trudged across the frosty stones towards the Court of the People. Sarlby was whistling a tune. All the faces they passed were tilted up now, the light of torches flickering on their expectant grins, the sunset glimmering in their eager eyes as they waited for the little specks to start falling and knew, for certain, the joy of being the ones still alive.

He took another nip. Easier when you were drunk, so he kept drinking. Helps to have a routine. Innocence and guilt had made no difference in Styria and they made none here. No one was guiltier’n him, were they? But he wasn’t the one falling, he was the one doing the pushing.

All that mattered was what Judge said. That was all the folk on the benches cared about, the folk in the galleries cared about. Guilty, guilty, guilty. How could Broad say different? He wasn’t special. Since the Great Change, being special was not a good idea.

Told himself he didn’t want to do it, but he was scared. A coward. That was better’n the alternative. That he did want to do it, ’cause there was a pit of rage in him there was never any filling. He’d rather tell himself he hated Judge than admit he was just like her.

He looked up the trash-scattered steps to the Court of the People. “I’ll give Judge the report,” he said.

“Oh, aye, you wouldn’t want to miss that.” Sparks was grinning at him. The man liked to taunt him. Maybe ’cause of the beating Broad had given him in Valbeck that time. Some men never learn their lesson.

“Meaning?” he asked.

“Meaning she’s got quite an itch for you, and what Judge likes she tends to get.”

“Leave it be,” grunted Sarlby. “Broad’s a good family man.”

“Perfect!” Sparks’s grin had become a leer, and he did a few thrusts of his hips in case anyone was still struggling to find the point. “While one family’s up in Angland you can start another here—”

Broad caught Sparks by the collar and smashed his fist into his face. Then he hauled him over a plinth some statue had been broken off from, so his neck was over the edge of the block, stuck the heel of his hand on the side of his jaw and started to push.