Storm looked for the old man. He and the monkey had disappeared. She didn’t try to fight the panic: it was too strong. She twisted round, tried to push through the wall of bodies, failed. Storm turned back to face the witch, her heart thudding faster than the drum’s beat.

The drummer bashed out a crashing crescendo that made the subsequent silence shocking. “Show your appreciation!” he cried, casting down his drumstick and picking up a large bowl, which he held out to the nearest members of the audience. Coins showered into the bowl. Cloud threw a handful of coppers, hollering at the top of his voice. People stamped their feet and called out to the Fire-witch, who began a series of regal bows.

Straightening from a bow, the witch glanced around the crowd. Her eyes skimmed over Storm, blinked, returned. The Fire-witch’s gaze locked on to Storm and her face darkened with a look of pure enmity. Death danced in the woman’s eyes.

Storm lurched backwards, trying once more to find a way through the human wall, once more failing. She watched in horror as the witch whirled to the brazier, grabbed up red-hot coals…

The air quivered, stank. There was a deep groaning, cracking sound, and the ground shifted beneath Storm’s feet. She felt sudden, too-familiar nausea. Earthquake!

People around her screamed and began to shove. The old man with the monkey was suddenly standing in front of her, pushing her backwards into a space that hadn’t been there a heartbeat ago. “Run!” he commanded.

She stood frozen and stared at him, thinking that his voice was remarkably youthful for such an old man. Screams filled her ears. She smelled something burning. The ground shook.

The monkey leapt from the old man’s shoulders on to hers and clung to her, holding her around the neck. The warmth of its breath, the feel of its body shivering in terror, released her.

There was just space enough to turn round and stagger away from the stage, the fire, the terrified people. Somewhere in the crowd behind her she heard Cloud shouting her name. The old man grabbed her hand and tugged her away, into the winding maze of streets that was Bellum Town. Still, she held on to Thorn’s boat.

14

Storm’s legs wobbled, and she stumbled to a halt. The monkey clinging tightly to her neck scolded as she swayed, unsteady on her feet.

Balance!

“Did you speak?” She stared at the old man in wonder, remembering a different speaker, place and time.

“I said, can you walk a bit further?”

“Yes.” The dizzy spell was passing. “And thank you. You saved my life.”

“Not I, the Tortoise. We must keep going. We are not safe yet.”