The satyr dances off. People cheer him and nudge one another to make space. Amara watches. She realizes, as the satyr prances about, stopping now and then to make people laugh, that he is not moving at random. He is slowly heading toward Felix. Her feeling of unease curdles into fear.

She yanks at Rufus, forcing him to stop. Victoria is standing near her boss. Amara shouts at her, but her voice is swallowed by the noise of the crowd. Felix is already aware of the danger. As the red satyr comes toward him, he draws his knife. The red satyr draws too. He is twice Felix’s size, but Amara suspects he has none of her former master’s speed or agility. The satyr lunges at Felix, but he feints, and the blow falls wide, narrowly missing Victoria. She scrambles back, disappearing into the safety of the crowd.

The two men are swiping at each other, and it could almost look as if they are dancing, if it weren’t for the deadly flash of silver. The crowd don’t seem to realize what’s going on, or perhaps mistake the fight for a staged part of the misrule celebrations. They have cleared a small space and are all wedged together, cheering the pair on.

“We should leave,” Rufus says. “He’s nothing to you now.”

“Where’s Dido?” Amara says. “I can’t see her! Where is she?”

“The others will look after her,” Rufus says, losing patience. “This is no place for you.”

She turns back to look again, too afraid to obey him. She can see Ipstilla and Telethusa, arms locked, managing to make a break for it.

“There she is,” Amara cries. “Over there!”

Dido is clearly trapped, alone, unable to scramble her way back into the crowd like Victoria, forced to watch as Felix and the satyr swipe at one another, sickeningly close. A drunk has hold of her arm and is trying to kiss her, unaware of the danger they are both in. Thraso is hovering near Felix, not wanting to get his boss killed by intervening. She spots Britannica on the other side of the circle, close by, avidly watching the fight, unaware of Dido’s distress. Paris and Fabia are nowhere to be seen.

Amara looks desperately at Lucius, the man who promised to find Dido’s family, who has spent so many nights with her at Drusilla’s house. “Can’t you help her? Please!”

Lucius looks uncomfortable but doesn’t answer. Amara feels a surge of anger at his cowardice. She tears her arm from Rufus, shoving her way back toward the fight. “Britannica!” she screams. “Britannica, help me!”

For a moment, Amara thinks she is going to drown in a sea of arms and elbows, crushed in the chaos, then the tall woman is reaching down, grabbing her by the scruff of her cloak, pulling her to safety.