Even from the end of the street, it’s obvious what is happening: the House of Law is alive with orange and black flames. It looks like a huge glass lantern. Smoke billows from the top of it. People are running screaming from the big double doors. Black Marks are scattered, confused. Cerels are throwing stones – whatever they can lay hands on – at the glass walls. There’s the sound of a crack and a jagged line shivers down the glass. A cheer rises up.

It’s unbelievable. Yet somewhere in there is Jorzy.

I run towards the building. Near the entrance is a patch of dark blood, but no sign of my mother’s body. Oh gods, where is she? I don’t have time to stop and think about that. Racing into the building, smoke and heat hits me in the face. I put my arm over my nose and keep on. Muffled figures pass me – lurching out of the smoke, escaping the building. Another crack sounds and a flame leaps up from the floor. I weave past it.

The Travester in his red shoes, his face smeared with ash, appears in front of me like a horror. He’s gripping a metal box to his chest.

“It’s all going up in flames,” he screams, running for the exit.

Stairs, leading down. I don’t hesitate, thinking of underground cells, and skid down them. Funnily enough the smoke isn’t so bad down here. The fire seems to be burning somewhere up above, maybe in the main auditorium. A long corridor, doors. Screaming. “Jorzy,” I mutter. Please don’t let it be Jorzy screaming.

The corridor opens out into a larger room, its steel door hanging open. Smoke is seeping in from vents in the ceiling. There’s a table, chairs. A Black Mark jacket on one of the chairs. My gaze is drawn to a body lying curled in a corner. The face is covered in blood, but I instantly recognise Jorzy, would recognise him anywhere. Dear gods, is he dead?

“Jorzy!” I cry, dropping to my knees, my throat clenched. Please, no. Not after all that has happened. The hellish scene above vanishes from my mind as I bow my head over my brother’s crumpled form. First my mother, now my brother: I’ve gone from one kind of despair to another and my heart feels about ready to break.

Then a groan issues from him.

“Jorzy?” I whisper.

My brother groans again and opens his eyes.

Oh the gods, he’s alive.

The sound of screaming brings me back to reality. There’s no time to waste.

“Jorzy, it’s me,” I tell him, getting my hands under my brother’s shoulders. “Come on, you have to get up.” I move him into a sitting position. As thin as he is, Jorzy is still bulky, a dead weight.

“Leho?”

“Yes, it’s me. But we have to hurry – the place is burning.”