‘Where is it, Zita, where is it?’

‘Only a few steps further.’

They fell to the ground now, all three of them, and crawled. It was hard. What was under their fingers was cold, earth-like, unyielding. They stayed as close to each other as they could.

The beam, tracking from side to side, was getting nearer. As it lit up a strip behind them, they saw, directly in front of it, a mere hand’s-breadth away, a darkness greater than all around it.

‘All at the same time,’ breathed Tom.

They reached forwards, just as the beam focused on them and grew stronger and the roar of Jack’s rage reached a terrifying pitch. They touched the darkness, and something gave way, and there was a pitching and a lurching as they were heaved about, and then there was nothing but silence, a light and a pair of eyes, glinting.

Chapter 20

Trap us, and we are yet free.

— From the Sayings of the Samdhya, transcribed by Margaret Ravenswood

A warm golden light came from some source Tom could not see. They were in a large square room with no windows, decorated with tapestries, a comfortable-looking bed to one side, draped in rich clothes. A loom stood near it. There was no door.

His heart quailed. They had escaped from one prison only to arrive in another. Zita stumbled and was sick, retching violently, and stood for a moment with her head resting against the wall. Kit was at least upright.

But he was staring at something, his body trembling, his mouth gaping, an unmistakeable look of terror in his eyes. Tom could see a whiteness reflected in them, like the flicker of a ghost. He turned round.

In the centre of the room, iron chains on her wrists and manacles on her legs, with long dark hair streaked with white and a leopard tattoo on her right cheek, dressed in a long, simple white robe, was a tall, willowy Samdhya. She was gaunt, and dark hollows were under her eyes. She was shivering.

She looked up slowly, taking in the three of them, drinking in their faces.

She paid particular attention to Kit. A cruel smile spread over her face.

‘You … the one who took me … you have come to mock me in my captivity?’ She laughed gutturally. Her accent was the same as Rohenga’s, slightly foreign with the syllables sometimes stressed in the wrong places. ‘For only the one who captured me can release me. Why else would you come? Surely not to pass the time of day.’

Kit whimpered.

‘No, it’s not like that.’ Tom tried to think. ‘We’ve come to set you free.’