“I will try to make a count.” Zuri slipped her pencil from behind her ear, wagging it at each child as she made a quick circuit of the room, each flick of its point a whole life to be rebuilt, from the ground up. Even counting them was no easy task. There were some wretched bunks, three high, but their blankets were crammed onto every available patch of floor as well, stuffed into every corner.

“It gets worse each day,” said Citizeness Vallimir as Zuri slipped from the room to continue the tally. Savine felt faint at the thought of the whole house like this, from cellars to attic. “Those orphaned, abandoned, those who have found their way to the city from hopeless conditions in the country. The stories they tell… things no child should have to hear of, let alone suffer.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, eyes darting sideways

as though worried she might be overheard. “And with the executions…

there are no provisions made for the children of those who fall from the Tower of Chains—”

There was a crash in the hall and Savine jerked around. Another crash, splintering, raised voices.

“Whatever is that?” asked Citizeness Vallimir.

Savine closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She already knew.

Burners were tramping through the shattered front door, their armour spattered with red paint, pushing children out of their way, squeals of fear spreading through the house. They were already stomping up the stairs, getting their pikes hopelessly tangled with the banisters. They were everywhere.

So it seemed Judge would finally have a genuine conspiracy to expose before the Court of the People. Teufel had been caught, or Orso had talked, or Leo had failed. While Savine was thinking that all was lost, she was also thinking that pikes were an absurd weapon for a confined space, and she felt tears in her eyes and almost giggled at once.

Citizeness Vallimir drew herself up. “What is the meaning of—”

“It’s all right,” said Savine, easing her aside. She appreciated the gesture, but it could not do the slightest good. “I expect they are here for me.”

“Got it in one,” said a sinewy Burner with a red handprint on his breastplate and a broad grin on his face. The grin of a polite tradesman, here with a much-anticipated delivery. “My name’s Sarlby.”

“I remember. From the barricades in Valbeck.”

He gave a disbelieving laugh, then. “You’re the girl who lived with the Broads! Well I never. Hey, Bull, it’s—”

“I know who it is.” The floor creaked as Broad stepped into the hall. He had grown a scruffy beard and there was something crusted at the corners of his mouth. Savine remembered his first visit to this house, with Liddy and May, hunched and overawed. He stood tall now, bridge of his nose creased in permanent rage, the menace that he had once tried to hide, that she had coaxed out to use against her striking workers, put on savage display. The children inside the door frame shrank away into the corners. It was the most Savine could do not to shrink away, too.