He nods, sucking again on his pipe.

“And they were burning more books last night,” I add quickly, remembering the homemade bomb exploding at the feet of the Black Mark and half-hoping I killed him.

Jorzy glances up, his expression dark. Then he nods again, as if it is only to be expected. The lamplight makes his face seem longer, his eyes darker, and for a moment he seems like a stranger, which scares me a little. Then he smiles and reaches over to ruffle my hair.

“Gerroff,” I tell him, the mood broken. I hate him treating me like a little kid.

“Go to bed, ratfinks. Tomorrow is another day.”

Jorzy stands up and stretches his long arms above his head, then lopes off to his own mattress.

* * *

I don’t go to bed. Instead, I go out into the pinging night, making my way through the streets to walk along the towpath beside the sluggish river. I remember Papa telling me how out in the countryside the river is broad and fast-flowing, full of fine brown trout; looking at the river now, it’s hard to picture it. In some parts of the city, it’s more like a dirty canal. In winter it gets jammed up with creaking ice that makes an eerie, sad sound. I don’t like the river then. So easy to fall in, to slip beneath those sheets of ice and not be able to get out again.

Crossing a bridge, I lean over the stone side and spit neatly into the water below. There are a few people around – it’s not that late – and more gas lamps, so I keep to the shadows whenever I can. Across the bridge, you enter one of the Travester districts. Not that any of them are taking much notice of a skinny Cerel boy. The people in this part of the city are finely dressed, looking plump and confident, striding about the streets at night as if they own the place.

My father’s voice echoes in my head: Well, they do. They do own the city, boy.

Jogging along the quiet cobbles, I come to a street I haven’t explored before. At the corner, I rest my hand on the side of a fine stone building, and peer down the street that flickers with gas lamps. There’s music playing down there, and a swathe of golden light falls out into the street like satin. People are coming and going from one of the houses. The row of lit windows draws me like a magnet.