From the cloth bag over my shoulder I pull out one of the devices, feeling the weight of it in my hand, and pass it to Bit, then I get one for myself. My hands are shaking. Not as brave as I let on, eh. “On the count of three,” I whisper, hoping that my throw will be true.

Bit nods, and his thin face is solemn. This is his first time out and I’m not sure if he’s loving or hating it. Bit’s the pacifist in this relationship.

“Toss yours over to the left, at the fire.”

“Where are you throwing yours?” Bit asks in a low voice.

“You’ll see.” I take a deep breath and risk standing up, my gaze fixed on the hated officer. Then I call softly, out loud: “One, two, three!”

I lob the device at the man in the goggles, dimly aware of Bit’s throw from beside me. We crouch down again immediately, wild animals watching their prey. The device smashes at the man’s feet and explodes. He falls back with a shout. It’s brilliant.

“Take that, you bastard,” I mutter, though my voice trembles.

An explosion comes from the fire – a great gout of flames leaps towards the stone figures on the building – and pandemonium is loosed. Shouts ring out. Books clatter freely down the steps. Men scatter.

And I yell, “Run!”

* * *

It’s late by the time I get back to the ghetto, but I know my mother, Freya, will still be awake. She spends most of the night pacing her cell-like room in our area at the back of the building. I see the weak glow of the lantern Nanna leaves in her room as I go down the corridor off the kitchen.

“My son, where are you? Let me see you–”

Ma reaches out her hand to me, still skulking at the edge of the room. I always notice when she uses the word “see”, even though she’s blind. Her milky-white eyes turn at the slight rasp of my breathing.

“Leho,” she says softly, coaxing me forwards now, like I’m still a little kid and not turned fifteen last solstice. “Come closer, so I can touch you.”