The man holding him tottered forward under this unexpected burden and Pinnatte used the movement to bounce his feet off the ground and kick again. None of the kicks found a target, but the Kyrosdyn was obliged to jump back hastily and the whole escapade was greeted by the crowd with a cheer. The second attack further disturbed the balance of the guard and Pinnatte tightened his awkward grip on the man’s wrist, and began to struggle desperately. Abruptly he was on his knees and the man was tumbling over. Then the grip vanished and Pinnatte stood up.

Quite unaware of how he had achieved this, he turned round to see the Kyrosdyn’s guard staggering down the steps of the fountain, his arms flailing to catch his balance. He was fully as large as Pinnatte remembered and now his face was alight with rage. Pinnatte reflected briefly that humiliating some ox of a mercenary in front of his employer was almost as bad as trying to rob the Kyrosdyn in the first place, but he did not dwell on the comparison. With the instinct of a fleeing animal and the cunning of a life-long street thief, he glanced round and, where others might have seen an impenetrable crowd, he saw a score of openings through which he could make an escape. He selected one that lay in the opposite direction to the Kyrosdyn and, scarcely hesitating, made for it.

‘No!’

The Kyrosdyn’s voice, penetrating and shrill, seemed to Pinnatte to wrap itself around him like the claws of innumerable tiny creatures and, abruptly, his legs stopped moving. The superstitious fear of the Kyrosdyn that had only just left him returned in full force and burst openly into his mind as he tried to continue his flight, only to find that his legs would not respond. Several hands caught him as he tumbled forward.

‘He’s done something to my legs,’ he heard himself saying in an echoing distance. ‘I can’t move them.’

‘Bring him here,’ the Kyrosdyn’s voice raked through him again.