Page 23 of Carousel

I think he just did.

Reality hits me as I climb the ladder out of the cellar. Now I know my fate, I’m terrified.

A prisoner of war. It’s awful.

How long will I be away from Eric and Old Mother? What if the Sky Treaty is broken in that time?

Will they survive? Will I?

As I can do nothing else right now, I put all of my energy into keeping up with Dezeeves’ tight, quick steps through Temple’s corridors. We pass a couple of watchers, but they step aside to give us a wide berth the moment they see him. I would be doing exactly the same.

Outside, the setting sun is casting the world in bronze, and a ship has been landed. Against the harsh light, it looks like a perched dragonfly. It comes into focus as we near – a squat machine of brown metal with sharp wings on either side of its body and a long tail.

Even though I’ve seen ships up close before, from when crew rustlers have visited, the dizzying effect they have on me is the same as the first time I saw a ship.

They just seem so out of place. So unrelated to our world. Looking at them is like seeing into the future.

Dezeeves peers into the window and sighs. “Ah. I’m afraid we may have to wait just a little longer.” He eyes the two of us. “Oh, feel free to talk amongst yourselves. I’ll just be a moment.”

Dezeeves tugs at the door of the ship, which slides up with a clang, and he hoists himself inside. He grabs an item that looks like a headband, linked to the ship by a long tube.

Drake sidles up to me.

“You understand what is happening, don’t you?”

“Yes. How did you realise so quickly?”

“Dezeeves has something of a reputation among Rhavnan soldiers. He claims to have invented a way of converting soldiers to Hevalla’s side.” He visibly grimaces. “And his methods appear to work. Rhavnan soldiers have been seen in battle, fighting for Hevalla.”

My chest is sieged. “That sounds impossible.”

“And I agree. But I was taught never to go into something, expecting for only the possible.”

I blink. Those words sounded so wise, so strategic. Maybe he held a senior position on his ship.

“Although,” he adds, “Being taken up together would give us an advantage other prisoners may not have had.”

“So, that’s it, then,” I say, confidently. “We do everything in our power to stay together. Help each other.”

He nods. “An alliance.”

I scoff. “Not an alliance. A friendship.”

“A friendship,” he repeats, the sentence lilting, as if he’s never heard the word before.

“I saved your life,” I remind him. “We were locked in a cellar together, and now a madman is taking us as prisoners on his ship. Shared trauma tends to speed up friendship. Don’t you think?”

I almost add the part about how I feel strange shockwaves when we touch, but I think better of it. I’m not an expert, but I doubt that’s the sort of thing you tell a stranger. Especially one you want to befriend.

“All right, then,” he says, eventually. “A friendship.” He turns stern. Steadfast. “We trust each other. No one else.”

“Agreed.”

I stare at him a moment.

And then I have to look away, because I can feel the hot sting of tears in my eyes.

I’d thought I could hold them back.