Gnawing at his fist, Va pulled a variety of faces. ‘I won’t commit an act of violence on him.’

‘It would have been so easy before, wouldn’t it?’ said Elenya. ‘A knife at his throat, dig it in, twist it round. And when he broke, gabbled out all he knew, drive it home, up into the brain. Or side to side, making his throat gape and suck air as he bleeds.’

His hand was shaking. ‘I won’t. I can’t.’

‘You do what you have to do. I won’t tell the patriarch.’

‘But I will.’ He took a series of deep breaths, trying to steady himself.

‘What are you going to do then?’ she hissed.

‘I don’t know.’ He opened the door again and slipped out across the courtyard, ducking through the shadows made by half-formed arrow launchers.

Elenya tried to call him back, but he was already at the base of the tower, exploring the gaps in the stonework with his fingertips. The blocks were hard black basalt: the joints hadn’t weathered much, and there were finger spaces only where they’d been poorly fitted together.

Va would have chosen the door rather than the wall, but he planted two fingers in the wall and wedged them in tight. He leaned back and took two steps up. He was off the ground, and somewhere above him was another handhold he could use, no matter how small.

He spent as much time searching for a grip as he did actually ascending. He was forced to move into the shadow just by the way he had to climb, and after a while he shut his eyes and let his hands see for him. He was a black spider with pale legs, and it would only have taken someone to glance up for him to be discovered.

But the wizard’s tower filled the residents of An Cobh with dread, even the watchmen who were supposed to guard the town’s walls. No one was looking.

His face a mask of pain, Va reached the high window. He stole a peek.

Akisi had his back to him. He was sitting at the table, writing in a book with a quill. He was definitely alone.

Va knew his muscles were starting to lock tight. Another moment and he’d not be able to do anything. He raised one foot onto the window ledge, then worked his shoulders into the space. Akisi carried on his scratchy writing.

He took a moment to recover, then unfolded himself onto the floor. He stretched silently, and he could see the glint of silvery metal over the Kenyan’s shoulder. He remembered the fire, the blood, the cold, the rain, the earth. He remembered the Systema.

From where he stood it was just two steps to the back of Akisi’s chair, and still he didn’t turn round. Va put his right arm across the Kenyan’s throat and squeezed it tighter with his left. He lifted slightly, then pulled backwards to increase the effect.

Akisi’s long-fingered hands came up and tried to dislodge Va’s strangle-hold. He scratched and shuffled for the next few heartbeats, but he was unable to make a sound. Va knew that he’d found the pressure points when Akisi’s arms flopped down, and his whole body went limp.

He could let him die simply by simply standing there and maintaining his hold. He felt the acid rise up in his throat again even as the voices started whispering to him.

‘Oh God, oh God.’ He let go abruptly, instinctively catching the chair as it rocked backwards. Akisi lay on the floor, very still. Va looked at what he’d done – what he’d almost done. He checked Akisi’s breathing and pulse, and decided to turn a moment of sin to virtue.

He had to work quickly. He hog-tied him hand and foot with his rope and gagged him with a strip cut from the hem of his purple cloak. He scanned the desk.

The writing book went into the fire without a second thought. There were some loose papers with it. Some were diagrams, and these joined the flames. One was a map, strange and roughly drawn. He folded it up and tucked in his habit.

The cold metal cover of the User book chilled his hands as he picked it up. This was what he’d come for. The first of twelve. He looked for something to put it in, and found himself staring at the glowing square of cloth hung on the wall. The sight of it, the unnaturalness of it, offended him so much that he snatched at it, ripping it down. The light left the weave immediately, and he was left clutching a bundle of black material eminently suitable for book carrying. He hastily folded the book into the cloth and used more of Akisi’s cloak to tie it closed.

But the room was full of the ghastly works of the Users. The cloth was the least of it. The whole place smelled strange, metallic to the tongue. It had to go. He was suddenly at one with the holy Wreckers: it all had to burn.

Va threw the rest of the cloak into the fire. It hung half in, half out, and the burning wood had already been supplemented by dry paper. Then he was distracted by Akisi coming round and struggling with his bonds.

‘This is justice, thief,’ Va said in Rus. ‘I’ve got the book and I’ve got you.’ He picked up the heavy table and jammed it against the wall underneath the window, then tied the free end of the rope to one of the table legs.

As he started to drag Akisi across the floor towards the window, the man squeaked and moaned behind his gag. He tried to twist and turn, but the rope held him excruciatingly tight, so that he was powerless to resist his progress up onto the table and head-first out of the window.

Va stepped up onto the table behind him, belayed the rope around his shoulder and waist, and pushed with his foot. Akisi tumbled out of sight, and the rope snapped taut with a creak.

Let him fall. An accident. He wouldn’t mean to break the Kenyan on the courtyard below. He could let the rope slide out of his fingers and it would be over. That particular book would be closed for ever.

Eleven more volumes, he told himself. Eleven more. He mustn’t kill Akisi. He swallowed the bile down.

When he could trust himself again, the fire had spread from the hearth to the rug. He forced his hands open a fraction, and the rope started to pay out. He was almost at the end of it when it went limp. Akisi had reached the ground.

He snatched the black bundle of cloth up from the floor, where it was starting to scorch, and slipped his forearm through the bindings. The room was filling with smoke, some of which had to be filtering down the tower. Perhaps firing the room hadn’t been such a good idea after all. He had been too zealous.

Back onto the table, turn, loop the rope once and step in, bringing the loop up across his back. Step out onto the ledge, and fly.

The rope hissed against his callused palms. He didn’t need it to stop him, just to slow him down. The ground rushed up and he pressed his knees together, bent his legs and waited for the hard earth to slap the soles of his feet.

Va rolled with the blow and sprang up. Above him, thick white smoke was billowing out of both the window and the chimney, and the flicker of wild flames lit it in bright orange and red.

Elenya ran out to him. ‘What the hell have you done?’

‘God’s work,’ he said, cutting through the rope that still snaked upwards to the tower window.

‘If the fire spreads to those sheds, what do you think will happen?’

‘I . . . don’t know.’

‘Stupid, stupid man. You’d never have won Novy Rostov like this. You’d never have lived long enough to pick up a sword in the first place.’ She kicked Akisi. ‘Pick him up and get us out of here. I came along to watch you die, not get myself killed.’

‘The harbour,’ said Va.

‘We have to get there first. You going to carry him all the way?’

‘Yes. Here,’ he said, pressing the book on her. ‘Don’t drop it.’

He sliced the rope that joined Akisi’s hands to his feet, then attempted to throw him over his shoulder. Akisi struggled wildly, jerking like a beached fish, and Va couldn’t hold him.

Elenya slapped the Kenyan’s face hard. ‘He won’t kill you, but I will. Be still.’