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him. He’d grumbled and shaken her off. Told her to go paint something.

A shuddering breath. Mr. Nettle rubbed his eyes: red and yellow trees everywhere, blurring.

Two more fingers of whisky. Somehow, the bottle was almost finished. His eyelids were heavy, his head nodding. Limbs feeling like pounded meat. He’d work out his trap for her after some sleep. He needed to be fresh and clear-headed to make his plans. Exhaustion drained the last of the blood from his muscles, and he sank further into the chair. He closed his eyes. He’d need to be clever, cunning. And sober. Wouldn’t do to let Carnival come at him while he was drunk.

* * * *

He was standing on a high tower, looking out across a pale city of delicate spires and slender bridges. A black moon rose swiftly into a sky the colour of bone. Streams of dark cloud boiled across the horizon, as though dragged along by ferocious gales. Black stars pierced the heavens.

The streets below were empty, and at first he was sure he was alone, the only person in the whole city, but then someone touched his hand.

Abigail stood next to him, her shroud fluttering in the wind. She looked up at him with sad eyes and clutched his hand in her cold grip.

Deep, she said.

Aye.

Then he saw the lights. Warmth seeped through shuttered windows. The houses were suddenly full of people. Distant sounds of song and laughter drifted up. But up here on the tower it was bitterly cold.

Ulcis’s army, Abigail said. They’re waiting for Heaven .

He shrugged.

You still have a choice, she said. Do you really think you can defeat her? If she doesn’t take your soul for herself, she’ll send it to Hell .

What’s one hell compared to another? he said. Lived in Deepgate all my life, haven’t I, and never complained. The Maze can’t be any worse .

Iril is endless, she said.

His heart cramped at the thought of her there. He wanted to say that at least they’d then be together, but he knew it was a lie. Everyone who wandered the Maze was alone, damned to walk for ever through corridors of blood, searching for their soul. He couldn’t bear to look at her any more, so he fixed his gaze back on the sky. A dark shape moved across the heavens. Wings? He reached for his cleaver.

Don’t, Abigail said.

Don’t what? he asked, like he didn’t know.

She squeezed his hand tighter. Please, Da, don’t do it .

He shook her hand away. Don’t bother me, he said.Go away . He’d almost said Go paint something —and the pain in his heart tightened.

I’m scared, she said.

He wanted to hold her then, wrap her in his arms, but he couldn’t. It’s not up to you was all he could think to reply.

Go home, Da.

To what?

10

A Secret Place

Hidden among the temple spires, an ivy-strewn tower broke free from a nest of rooftops. Its once arched crown had crumbled, but gargoyles still squatted between the remaining fingers of stone; beasts with lion feet, wings and tusks. Lichen scarred their soft scowls, moss furred their wings, and tiny white flowers sprouted from cracks between their toes, but the gargoyles kept their endless watch undaunted.

Dill sat on a fallen keystone with his wings outstretched, the sunset warm on his feathers, and watched finches lace the air around him.

“Is this it?” he said.

Rachel Hael was leaning against a gargoyle. “You cast the same shadow as these.” She patted the head of the stone creature.

Dill glanced round at his own shadow and his eyes began to nip.

“Pink is embarrassed, right?”

He felt the colour deepen.

She exhaled deeply and looked past him, out beyond the stones and the temple spires. “I haven’t been up here since I was little. They used to let me wander all over the temple whenever Father was here. This was always my favourite place.” She circled him slowly, brushing stone dust from the gargoyles’ wings. “It didn’t seem so neglected then.” She tentatively reached out and touched his feathers. “Can you fly with these?”

Dill drew in his wings. “I’m not allowed to.”

“But you must have tried. I would have.”

“Codex law forbids it. We have airships to defend us now, poisons, assassins.” He stressed this last word.

If she noticed his emphasis, she didn’t show it. “Are they afraid you’ll fly away?”

He shrugged. “Rules are rules.”

“What a stupid thing to say.”

Dill bristled. Her fingers brushed his wings again, and he drew them in tighter. He had felt tempted to fly in the