Текст книги "The Spell of Undoing"

Автор книги: Paul Collins

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 8 страниц)

A SPELL BACKFIRES

As dusk fell, shadows lengthened, grew deeper. Some detached themselves from walls and doorways and even slithered from culverts. No ordinary shadows these, they moved through the city with enormous stealth.

Most of the shadows converged on a grand-looking building a short distance from the Archon's palace. This was the Royal Treasury. It was protected by overgrown goblins and warded by spells, but there were noticeably fewer goblins than usual, and those who stood guard were in a jovial, festive mood, and less vigilant than they might have been.

The shadows came from all directions, joining to form several small clots of darkness arranged at strategic points about the Treasury. In one of these clots a voice, barely a whisper, spoke, and another answered.

‘A fool's money is easy pickings,’ muttered the first voice. This belonged to a man called Borges, an expert thief and a somewhat better fighter. He was a great bear of a man with a shaggy beard and a bulbous nose that turned red when he was angry.

‘And who is the bigger fool? The one who pretends to be a fool, or the one who falls for it?’ asked his colleague.

Borges scowled softly in the dark. ‘You saying they're just faking? Tryin’ to trick us in?’

‘I'm saying,’ said the other man, whose voice held calm and unquestioned authority, ‘that whatever appears to be to our convenience, should be distrusted. I want you to proceed as if a trap has been laid for us. Be on your toes, Borges!’

‘As you wish, m'lord.’ Across the street a curtain was lifted as someone peered out, but just as quickly it fell back and the window was latched for the night. But in that brief radiance the second speaker's face was revealed. It was a handsome, honourable face, though slightly scarred and weathered. Dark, piercing eyes shone with a deep intelligence, and the ready grin and raised eyebrow suggested an ironic humour born of old follies and an appreciation of the foibles of human beings.

‘I will leave you now,’ said Lord Verris, though strictly speaking he was only a lord when on the bridge of his pirate ship, the Proud Mary. Many a city watchman considered him no more than a prince of thieves, the emphasis being on the word thieves. Even those who sought him most ferociously, respected him. He had never killed a man except in fair fight or self-defence, and only stole from those who – by all who reckoned such things – had too much anyway.

‘You are still determined to go alone?’

Verris paused before answering. ‘I will take Vrod, to appease your worries. But the job itself can only be accomplished by one alone. And as you keep pointing out, most of the army and half the City Watch have been seconded to the war with Tolrush.’

‘Where you're going,’ said Borges unhappily, ‘that may not count for much.’

Verris laid a hand on the other man's arm. ‘You know when to strike. We will meet later. Good hunting!’

Aye, and the same to you, m'lord.’ Only after Verris had slipped away into the darkness, did Borges add in a worried whisper, ‘And may all the sorcery in hell, stay there this night… ’

It had grown dark outside the tavern. Tab patted her full stomach and for the first time in her life felt close to contentment. The worry of how she was to steal back her silver coins and where to find lodgings had plagued her from the moment she'd escaped the orphanage. The thought of being alone in Quentaris, a city she only knew from cleaning its streets of dung, made her stomach do flip-flops. But now she had Fontagu and the promise of money.

They left the tavern and headed down Soothsayers’ Lane, trying as much as possible to look like father and daughter out for an evening stroll. They needn't have bothered. The streets of Quentaris were unusually empty, due to the festivities along the river. As Fontagu had explained, that was the precise reason they must carry out the burglary tonight. Tomorrow, the festive crowds would flood back into the city, along with a platoon of City Watch that had been detailed to police the celebrations.

Fontagu suddenly dragged Tab into a dingy lane between two towering tenements. Facing them at the end of the lane was the rear wall of some large ornate building, painted a deep maroon.

Tab's eyes widened. She whirled angrily on Fontagu. ‘The Magicians’ Guild? You want me to break into the Magicians’ Guild? Are you insane?’

‘Keep your voice down!’ hissed Fontagu. All of a sudden he looked – well, frightened. It wasn't very reassuring.

‘There's no need to keep my voice down,’ said Tab, lowering her voice. ‘Because I am not, repeat not, burglarising the Magicians’ Guild.’

‘Now, now, Tab -’

‘You know what they'd do to me if they caught me? Boiling in oil would be a lot more fun!’

‘Tab, my dear girl -’ began Fontagu, whose own voice was a squeaky quaver in the gloom.

Tab stamped her foot. ‘Don't you “dear girl” me,’ she snarled. ‘You lied to me. You said it would be a walk on the pier – and I just remembered something about piers. They're dead ends!’

Fontagu suddenly straightened and it was actually quite eerie what happened next. He seemed to change. His voice deepened, even sounded different somehow. It was as if he had just put on one of his acting roles. And of course that's exactly what he had done. It was a role he had played many times before: Bassardo the Brave, from the extremely popular play, Borrowed Trouble.

As Bassardo, Fontagu tut-tutted. He now oozed confidence.

‘My dear girl,’ he began again. ‘Ordinarily I would be forced to agree. But there are three reasons why tonight that isn't so.’ And he ticked them off on his fingers. ‘First, between the war and the celebrations, most of the magicians are away… ’

‘Yeah, but some of them can fly pretty fast when they want to,’ muttered Tab.

‘Second, almost all the safeguards are designed to protect against other magicians. One like yourself, and a Dung Brigader to boot, who hasn't a speck of magic, has little to fear – you are as a flea to a dog, almost invisible to them.’

Tab's heart sank. She didn't want to be invisible if that were the case.

‘And third, you will be wearing this.’ Fontagu produced a bronze bracelet which he clipped around Tab's thin wrist. It fit snugly.

Tab eyed it suspiciously. ‘It looks like a market trinket. What is it?’

‘It is a talisman of great power, and will make you almost completely undetectable by their most powerful charms and spells.’

‘Why didn't you say that in the first place?’

‘Please, child, allow me my art. The greatest actors – the artistes – know best how to deliver an immortal line.’

Tab eyed him. ‘So you're really just a plain out-of-work actor?’

Fontagu drew himself up. ‘How dare you! There is nothing plain about my talent. I have played the greatest houses in Quentaris, I've been the talk of towns, admired by kings and queens. Plain, indeed. Why, once, I played the balcony scene in Much Ado About Everything. Besides, it's a well-known fact that actors make the best spies. Ask anyone.’ He lashed out and grabbed Tab as she headed off to do just that. ‘Some other time. Let us get back to the business at hand. Do you see that storm pipe outlet up there?’

Tab nodded. ‘The one with water trickling out?’ The pipe in question was about eighteen inches in diameter.

‘That's… erm… run-off from the roof,’ said Fontagu quickly. ‘You must climb in there. Take the first right-hand turn in the pipe and you'll come out at the kitchen. Head for the pantry. There's a lever on the inside of the door. It's disguised as a bean grinder.’

‘How do you know all this?’

Fontagu sighed. ‘The Archon's spies know the city's best-kept secrets. The Archon has known where his icefire gem has been stashed for many years. And he's decided that now is the time to reclaim it. With few people in the city there's less chance of anyone getting killed if anything goes wrong.’

‘Killed?’ Tab asked. ‘You never said anything about getting -’

Fontagu managed a nervous little laugh. His persona was slipping. ‘Did I say killed? Silly me. I meant billed. That's an acting term. It means… erm… people finding out, knowing about you. Can't have that now, can we?’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘Well, come along now,’ Fontagu said quickly, shooing her towards the end of the lane and the drainpipe. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. A fake wall will slide across when you pull the lever. You'll find the icefire gem resting on a pedestal. From the moment you touch it you have five minutes to get out of the building.’

‘What happens after that?’

‘That's when the billing begins.’ Fontagu didn't meet her eyes as he said this.

Tab was having serious second thoughts. ‘Maybe we should employ a professional thief,’ she said. Now her voice was sounding squeaky. ‘Crocodile Sal's still around. She's -’

‘Ten silver moons,’ hissed Fontagu. ‘Besides, you owe me. Rescue from that gutter. Protection against one seriously ugly troll. And you told me you are the best thief around!’

‘Yeah, but… ’

‘No time for buts,’ said Fontagu. ‘And this Sal girl isn't here and most of her thieving friends followed the army. No, we've got to move now. Here, let me hoist you up.’

Tab found herself placing a foot in Fontagu's cupped hands. ‘I still think -’

‘Allow me to do the thinking, Tab. On the count of three, then,’ said Fontagu. ‘One, two, three!’

Tab catapulted up. She clung to the edge of the drainpipe then swung her legs up to gain a better purchase. Straddling the pipe she regained her breath. ‘It doesn't half stink up here,’ she said. ‘You sure it's rain water?’ The colour of it turned her stomach. Although she'd swept muck from the streets, she never wanted to crawl through it.

‘Time is of the essence, remember!’ Fontagu called cheerily.

Tab scowled. Fontagu hadn't mentioned anything about squeezing through narrow pipes that dripped sewage. Still, there were ten silver moons to consider. She slid one foot then the other into the pipe, took a deep breath, and began crawling backwards along its length. It was a tight squeeze. Anyone even slightly bigger would never have managed it.

She'd learnt that breathing through the mouth was much better than through the nose when shovelling muck. This helped her reach the kitchen without losing her pie. She forced open a rusted grille and wriggled from the pipe, sprawling onto a cold flagstone floor. No alarms had sounded, and she blinked back sudden tears.

An angry buzzing sound filled the room. Stepping carefully, she crept past the stoves and stopped at the sight of a pot of rancid dripping. It was crawling with flies, and this was the source of the buzzing.

Used as she was to sickening smells, this one still managed to make her feel queasy. She hurried over to what looked like the door to a pantry and swung it open. Nothing looked remotely like a grinder. She snuck over to another door and easing it open she stifled her elation.

Tab reached for the grinder handle, then suddenly stopped. Did she really know what she was doing? There was something fishy about Fontagu. How did he really know where to find the icefire gem? She didn't buy the bit about the Archon's spies. If they knew where it was, they would have stolen it back themselves. And was it really a coincidence that he had been passing the drain hole just as she got stuck? Had Mrs Figgin set her up? If so, it had been a rather elaborate way to press-gang her…

Tab was furious with herself. But she was here now, and whatever else might or might not be true, she needed the money. On top of all this, a terrible loss burned deep inside her. There had been no alarms. And that meant that either Fontagu's bronze bracelet really did work, or she had no magic in her, not even the tiniest bit.

‘I don't care,’ she muttered to herself. She wiped away angry tears then yanked savagely on the lever. A wall laden with shelves of jars and bottles slid aside and a startled rat scampered out of view.

Tab froze.

The icefire gem was a crystal the size of an orange. It glowed with a beautiful bluish light, but that wasn't what bedazzled her. Deep inside it, burnt a living flame. And suddenly, it flared.

Tab felt a blinding shaft of pain in her head. ‘Eek!’ she yelped, staggering sideways, groping blindly to steady herself.

She took a deep breath then, and forced the pain away, squinting at the icefire gem. Was this some magical attack? If so, it had failed. She was still on her feet. Tab reached out, but before her trembling fingers could touch the gem, alarms began to wail throughout the building.

The pounding of running feet came from above. Swiftly, she snatched the gem from its pedestal and whirled. But the wall behind her was faster. It slammed shut, imprisoning her inside the fake pantry.

She rammed her shoulder into the door. Her teeth rattled, but still it held. At the same instant something touched her. She let out a frightened cry.

But the touch wasn't on her body. It was inside her, as though someone had dragged a ghostly feather across her mind. With it came a dizzying fragmented glimpse of the pantry door – only it was from the other side, looking up as if from the floor.

Tab began to pant. The strange vision had shaken her. It had seemed utterly real.

But she had no time for wondering. She must get out of here, and fast. Five minutes, Fontagu had said. She had less than five minutes to escape.

She pushed against the sliding door but it did not budge. Panic rose in her. Something faint and whispery touched her mind. She felt rather than saw the word ‘Danger!’ and instinctively flinched back from the door just as it whipped open.

Standing there was a tall man dressed in black. He seemed as shocked to see Tab as she was to see him. Clearly, he was no magician, but his eyes went straight to the icefire gem in Tab's fist.

He held out a hand for it. ‘Please give it to me,’ he said politely. ‘Fear not, I won't harm you.’

Oddly enough, she knew he was speaking the truth. But her survival relied heavily on the gem.

She held out the gem, then dropped it on the floor. As he moved for it, she darted past, shoved him from behind, then reached into the tangle of limbs as the man lost his balance, and snatched away the gem. She jumped backwards and hit the door lever. Instantly, the door slid shut, entombing the stranger inside. She heard an almost merry chuckle and a muffled, ‘Well done.’

Tab barely had time to gather her wits. Doors were slamming elsewhere in the building, and the running feet were coming closer.

Tab scurried across the kitchen and put her ear to the door. No, not this way. She slid a bar across, locking it, then darted to the grille by which she had entered. She thrust her head inside and heard strange barking coughs. White-faced, she withdrew. They were using ferras. The rift world predators loved tunnels. And shredding their prey when they caught it.

That way was closed. Worse, the ferras would soon be in the kitchen. She dragged a heavy cabinet in front of the grille and hoped it would slow them down, then looked about frantically. The creatures could pop up anywhere!

The rat she had seen earlier suddenly darted out from under the kitchen worktable and disappeared beneath a bench. Tab blinked. A second later, she heaved the bench aside revealing a drain used for washing down the floor. But it was too narrow, even for her. She would never fit into it. Not with her clothes on. Unless…

Tab ripped off her tunic and tore down her breeches. Stripped to her underclothes she grabbed the cooking pot of putrid dripping. An ugly swarm of flies rose to defend it. Her gorge rising, she scooped out two handfuls of the rancid muck and smeared it all over her body.

A loud impact jarred the barred door. Tab raised her hands, ready to jump. There was a soft knocking from inside the pantry. Oh, no. She had completely forgotten about the man in black. If the magicians caught him in there they would assume he had stolen the icefire gem and he would be tortured in the most horrible ways.

But there was no time to worry about anyone else's welfare.

Grunting, she snatched the grille from the drain and flung it aside. Then she grabbed a ball of string from a wall peg, the kind used to tie up turkeys and legs of lamb. She knotted one end to the pantry lever and wrapped the other in her fist.

Then she expelled all the air from her lungs and sucked in her stomach.

‘This is becoming a habit,’ she said breathlessly, and jumped into the drain. At once the string pulled tight. She heard the pantry door slam open, then she was falling.

Down she swirled, around and around. Narrow walls scraped her, corners slashed and bruised her. Tab turned around so many times, she became dizzy. At one point, she slid to a stop then realised she had breathed in. Maybe that was why she had become dizzy. But there was nothing for it: she expelled her breath again, wriggled frantically, and resumed her downward plunge.

Finally she came to a jarring halt that would have winded her if she had had any air in her lungs. Holding up the icefire gem and using it as a source of light, she saw that she had landed in a slightly larger drain. Far above, she could make out the noises of a battle. Though it was nothing to her, she nonetheless hoped the polite stranger had made it out of the building in one piece.

Gasping for breath, Tab slithered forward but quickly realised the pipe led to a dead end. Then she heard it. The soft barking cough of a ferra.

Shivering, she scrambled back up the way she had come, scrabbling at the slithery sides of the pipe. Fortunately, there were big patches of furry mould growing everywhere and these gave her some purchase. She made her way back to a fork and without hesitating dived into the other branch.

She plummeted, picking up alarming speed. With all her might she dug her knees into the sides of the pipe, but slowed only a little. Then she saw a light at the end of the tunnel. The pipe levelled out and her headlong plunge slowed to a stop.

Luckily she had landed in the main drain.

A petulant voice said, ‘Well, are you going to sit in there all day? You have no idea of the danger I've been in, waiting out here.’

‘The danger you've been in?’ Tab exclaimed. Muttering, she crawled towards the exit on hands and knees. As a precaution she stuck the gem into the waistband of her undergarments, then found she was stuck fast.

‘Come on,’ said Fontagu. He sounded frightened. The alarms were still ringing up in the Magicians’ Guild.

‘I'm stuck!’ Tab tried to free herself but whatever had snared her wasn't letting go.

‘I can't stay here forever,’ said Fontagu. ‘My legs are cramping. I know, throw me the gem and I'll get help.’

Tab had no intention of parting with the gem until she had her money. It wasn't only Fontagu's frozen-on smile, it was just that she had learned in her short life not to trust anybody.

‘Get me out of here first,’ said Tab.

‘Give me the gem and I'll reward you with a gift more precious than anything,’ said Fontagu. Oddly enough, this time Tab thought he was telling the truth – or as much of it as he could bring himself to tell.

‘You've already offered ten silver moons,’ Tab said, struggling to free herself.

‘Nothing compared to what I'm offering you now,’ said Fontagu, reaching into the pipe as far as he could. Then his eyes widened in fright. His feet were slipping. ‘Hurry!’

Their fingertips touched.

Tab heard the now familiar sound of the ferras. She didn't need to see them to know they were coming for her. With tremendous effort she stretched, feeling her joints crack. She managed to hook her fingers into Fontagu's.

‘Suck in your breath!’ he said.

‘I am!’ Tab wheezed. ‘I think I'm stuck on something!’

Something ripped. Tab slid forward. She collided with Fontagu and both toppled to the ground. Tab cracked her head on the cobblestones of the laneway, dropping the gem.

When she sat up, rubbing her temple, Fontagu was holding the icefire. It blazed its sepulchral light. ‘Mine!’ he crowed.

‘Your cloak would be nice,’ said Tab, trying to cover herself and thankful for the darkness.

Fontagu blinked, then looked away, unclasping his cloak. Tab wrapped herself in it. Despite everything that had happened, she wrinkled her nose at the smell of rancid dripping.

‘I'll have my ten silver moons now,’ she said. ‘You've got what you wanted.’

Fontagu sniffed, his lip curled. ‘Normally, I would suggest a bath for someone in your condition, but as promised, I will give you something of far greater value than that paltry sum.’

‘That paltry sum will do fine, thank you,’ Tab said, holding out a greasy hand.

‘You can't pocket what I offer,’ said Fontagu. He shook his head. ‘Oh no. What I have is priceless. Advice. Leave the city within the hour. Your life may depend upon it.’

‘Give me what's owing!’ Tab demanded, but Fontagu had turned and bolted from the laneway.

Speechless, Tab stared after him. At the end of the laneway, Fontagu called back over his shoulder. ‘Flee!’ he warned, then hurried from sight.

Tab wanted to scream. She looked down at the useless bracelet he had given her. With a quick tug she yanked it off her wrist and threw it as hard as she could down the alleyway.

In one day she had been kicked out of the orphanage, chased by a troll and promised riches beyond belief. She had robbed the Magicians’ Guild at risk of life and limb and had achieved absolutely nothing for it.

Unbelievable.

‘That's it,’ she said, bridling. ‘I've had enough.’ Tab broke into a run and went after Fontagu.

But when she reached the street, the shyster was nowhere to be seen.

She cursed. How was she to find him in the dark? As though her words had caused it, thick clouds parted and a full moon shone through, bathing the street in silver. That was better, but it still didn't help.

She hurried to the end of the street and looked up and down the cross-junction. Fontagu could have gone either way. It was hopeless.

Hot tears stung her eyes and she sat down on a doorstep. It was still her birthday, but it was the worst birthday she had ever had. She almost managed a smile when she thought back to the morning. There she had been, homeless and destitute… and yet ten times better off than she was now. At least she had had clothes.

Tab sighed. Could things get any worse?

Suddenly she stiffened. She had felt that feathery touch again. Fear flooded her. But before she could react she had another vision, only this one made her feel physically ill: it was as though she was on a storm-tossed ship, but what she saw also made her gasp…

She was high above the Square of Dreams, pitching from side to side in the gusty wind. Even though she was high up, she saw everything on the ground with a startling clarity. And one of the things she saw was Fontagu Wizroth. As she watched, he skirted the night market and slipped into an old abandoned building in one of the alleyways off the Square. A faint hooting, like the noise an owl makes, reached Tab's ears and she saw a horde of magicians sweep across the rooftops of the city, peering down at the streets, their faces stark and angry.

Tab recognised the old slaughter-house Fontagu had entered. It had also had holding pens in years gone by but its owners had fallen on hard times and their business had closed down. A good thing too. Their livestock used to make the streets around there run with dung. She leapt up and ran.

Taking every short cut across the city, she soon stood outside the slaughterhouse. She thought the name very apt, considering what she would like to do to Fontagu when she got her hands on him. She hurried forward but at the next moment stopped in her tracks. What was she doing?

Fontagu couldn't actually be here, could he? She hadn't seen him with her own eyes, she had just – it hit her then: she had seen him with someone else's eyes!

The idea made her shiver. Crazy people thought like that. How could you see with someone else's eyes? Maybe… maybe she was hallucinating; maybe the icefire gem had affected her mind. A deep pang of fear struck her then, but she quickly pushed it aside. She took a deep breath. There was one way to find out if she was mad or not – though a small voice in her head whispered that it might be better to be crazy than to be right – just this once…

No one saw her climb through a broken window.

The inside of the shuttered building was large and spooky. Low-ceilinged, gloomy, criss-crossed with enormous beams blackened with age, the place was a museum of shadows, cobwebs and long-forgotten death, still smelling faintly of stale blood and urine.

Tab stepped on something sharp.

‘Ouch!’ she yelped, hopping on one foot. She peered under her foot and saw a sharp angle of glass protruding from her instep. Gritting her teeth, she pulled it out. Blood flowed, and after that she limped, muttering curses under her breath.

Tab prowled around the enormous space. There were dozens of pens and stalls and even some quite large enclosures hidden away from view. She limped from one opening to another, peering into each, and leaving a speckled trail of blood wherever she went. After ten minutes of this she stopped, inclining her head slightly to listen. She had heard something. A soft murmur. She moved closer, careful to make no noise. Chanting. That's what it was.

Tab crept forward. There. Pulsating light stabbed the ceiling like rays of bluish sunlight. Tab came to a doorway. The door was slightly ajar. Through the gap she could see Fontagu squatting beside his open bag. In front of him was some sort of pedestal. The magicians’ gem was clutched within a metal fist on top, the bronze fingers glowing with each pulse of the icefire.

Tab didn't have a plan. She considered dashing in, knocking Fontagu off his feet, grabbing the gem, and running for it. There were, however, a couple of hitches to this. One was that the gem looked firmly embedded within the metal fist. Another was that her running days were temporarily over, thanks to her injured foot. Pity. Fontagu would have had to pay her a lot more than ten silver moons to get it back.

Silently, she pushed the door open and edged into the room. Fontagu was absorbed by his task and did not look up. Whatever he was up to, it was not going well. He was sweating, and repeating certain parts of the chant.

‘No, no, not like that, you fool!’ he muttered to himself. He started again, reading from a torn scrap of paper, chanting the words, but the sweat kept getting in his eyes and he blinked and wiped his face with his shirt sleeve.

Tab realised he was frightened.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked suddenly.

Fontagu jumped and clutched his chest, as if he were having a heart attack. ‘You? What are you doing here?’ he hissed. ‘Go away.’

‘You owe me ten silver moons.’

Fontagu must have seen she was determined to stay. ‘Oh, very well!’ He reached into his bag, quickly counted out some coins, and threw them at her. Tab scurried about, collecting them. The money paid, she now felt inclined to forgive and forget past grievances; besides, curiosity was burning a hole in her head, as they say in Quentaris.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked again.

‘None of your business,’ said Fontagu. ‘Now, if you must stand around and gawk, kindly do so silently.’

Fontagu took a deep breath, held up the scrap of paper where he could see it, and recommenced his chanting. The words were strange. Tab had heard nothing like them in her life. They sounded old, and filled her with a bleak sadness and a kind of wistfulness for something lost long ago. Then the tone changed, and an ugliness crept into the language. These words made her think of death.

Just then, Fontagu happened to look up and catch her eye. He had nearly finished the chant and had only to apply the sealing phrase, and all would be done. But with Tab's quizzical, innocent look upon him, he suddenly grew terribly nervous, and stuttered.

‘Ab-ab-abathtir – ku-ku-kumeer… ilso ibn ye-ye-yethris… ’

And it was done. But Fontagu didn't appear happy.

‘Something wrong?’ asked Tab, still fascinated by what she knew must be magic.

Fontagu was packing his bag.

‘Wh-what? Don't be ridiculous. Everything went according to plan.’ But he didn't sound convinced and he was now perspiring more than ever.

He gave a sudden yelp as the icefire gem began to glow a deep, ugly, purplish colour and emitted a cascade of golden sparks which burned wherever they landed. Tab dodged a couple.

‘What's happening?’ she asked.

The bronzed fingers unclenched with sharp clinks as though they too had just been burnt.

‘Erm… that's quite normal,’ he said. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

‘Then why are you so scared?’

Fontagu gave her a look that could kill, and drew himself up. ‘I, scared? Preposterous!’

‘You're sweating.’

‘I'm merely portraying a role, something you would know nothing about. This particular role requires sweating.’

The icefire had begun to vibrate. Somehow, it seemed to make the whole building tremble. Fontagu swallowed hard.

‘I think it might be time to -’

A blinding flash of light burst from the icefire, searing everything around it. This was followed by a roar so terrible that it made both Tab and Fontagu cover their ears and double over in pain.

‘Run,’ cried Fontagu^* when the noise had abated. ‘Run for your life!’ He didn't wait to see if Tab heeded his advice. He took off, showing a surprising turn of speed in one his age.

Tab stood transfixed. But only for a second. Now the building was definitely shaking, and she feared it might come down on her head at any moment. She half-ran, half-limped after Fontagu. Outside, she staggered as the wind, screaming like a banshee, hit her and nearly threw her back inside the slaughterhouse. Glancing back she saw several of the enormous crossbeams crash down onto the floor.

Almost inconceivably, something told Tab she had to go back upstairs. No matter what, her future depended on the next few minutes. She saw Fontagu then, making his way back to the slaughterhouse. On impulse more than desire, cursing her conscience, she fled back upstairs.

She scrambled over debris and peered into the room where the icefire lay. It seemed harmless enough – discounting the white vapour trails that were even now dissipating like ghosts.