TOKER FROWNED. “WHO ARE YOU?” HE SAID TO OLAND, but his focus quickly became Delphi alone. He smiled. It was a remarkable sight – the counterweight to every bleak, washed-out, charcoal corner of a Pyreboy’s existence.

Delphi smiled back.

Stoker had an almost feminine face, long dark hair, sculpted cheekbones and long eyelashes. His face and neck were coated in an even layer of soot. His hands were black and his fingernails blacker.

Oland stood up. “I am Oland Born,” he said. “This is my friend, Delphi.”

“I’m Stoker,” he said, his eyes only on Delphi as she stood up.

From behind Stoker another Pyreboy appeared, pushing in front of him.

“Where do you come from?” he said, spitting out the words. “What do you want?”

“Flint…” said Stoker, his voice appeasing.

Flint pushed him back.

“What do you want?” said Flint again.

“Well,” said Oland, “we are from the Kingdom of Decresian. We are looking for something. And this something may be found here…”

“Do, please, come in.” Flint bowed graciously and led Delphi and Oland into the room. It was dimly lit by half-melting candles and the windows were shuttered. There were armchairs all around the room, draped in dull grey sheets and blankets. A Pyreboy lay slumped on each one, his eyes heavy, his body limp. Along the wall by the door was a row of hooks, each holding the bag the Pyreboys used to carry their birch to the shore. Underneath, each had a crate that held a tinderbox, cloth and a jar of wax to make the torches. The Pyreboys’ names were on the top of each hook: Blaise, Flint, Brennen, Stoker, Tallow and Frax.

“Pyreboys,” said Blaise, “welcome these visitors from Decresian. They are looking for something, though can’t say what, and won’t say why.”

Everyone but Stoker laughed.

“Now,” said Flint, turning to Oland and Delphi. “How may we help you to find this something that may be on Curfew Peak?”

“I… we… it’s a crest,” said Oland.

“We need to find a crest,” said Delphi.

Flint frowned. “For Decresian? Why would—”

“No,” said Oland. “Not for Decresian. For Sabian.”

Flint let out a long breath. “There is no Sabian,” he said. “This is Sabian.” His tone was cruel. He threw his hands up in the air. “You are standing on Sabian ground. Curfew Peak is all that is left of Sabian.”

“We know that,” said Delphi, “but we thought maybe that there might be a Crest of Curfew Peak, and that—”

Flint laughed. “A Crest of Curfew Peak? A prison crest? Are we to travel the land planting our flags and claiming territories? Who told you that there was? And what has it got to do with you? We are hundreds of miles away from your miserable kingdom.”

“Curfew Peak is miserable!” shouted Delphi. “A miserable place! If this is what is left of Sabian, good riddance to it. Maybe Curfew Peak can go the same way and take its hideous beasts with it. And the criminals who live in the half-darkness—”

Flint stepped towards her. “Get out! Go live your lives. What are you doing here, if you haven’t been condemned here? I’ve got one month left and I am doing nothing for no one to jeopardise my freedom. None of us is.”

He pushed them out of the door. The last thing Delphi could see from inside was a look of apology on Stoker’s face before Flint slammed the door. Delphi pounded on the door with her fists until Oland dragged her away. She pulled up the hood of her cape.

From the side of the cabin, they heard the crunching of stones. The smallest Pyreboy, Frax, stuck his head out. “Girl,” he said. “Girl!”

“Yes?” said Delphi.

“Did you see the drogues?” said Frax, shifting from one foot to the other, the stump of his right arm twitching. His skinny left forefinger was pointing to her ripped clothes.

“Yes!” said Delphi.

Frax’s eyes went wide. “Were they scary?” he said, walking over to them.

“Yes,” said Oland. His voice was firm. He was trying to guide Delphi away from Frax.

“Haven’t you ever seen a drogue?” said Delphi.

Frax shook his head violently. “No,” he said. “None of us has! In all these years!”

“Here,” he said, taking two clean kerchiefs from his back pocket. He handed the first to Delphi, the second to Oland. “For your journey back,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Delphi. “Why were you sent here?”

Oland squeezed her elbow, again trying to pull her away.

“Where are you from?” said Delphi.

“Quisknee,” said Frax. It was pronounced quiz-nee. “The place with the funny spelling.”

“Why were you sent here?” said Delphi again.

“For spelling it wrong,” said Frax. He paused before he laughed, which he managed to do through pinched lips so it shot through his nose. Then he jumped from one foot to the other as he half sang, half spoke: “Q is for Quick! U is for You. I is for Me. S is for Show. K is for Knowing, N is for No, E is for Easy, he’s Eager to go.”

He pointed at Oland for the last part. He had clearly been a street performer of some kind. Oland’s face was set. He had no time for cheap tricks.

“Girl, I was sent to Curfew Peak for stealing,” said Frax. “Two slices of Quisknee’s finest bacon slices. From a live pig. And also for beating the farmer I stole them from. And for picking the pocket of the person who came to help him. And for burning down both their houses.” He smiled a black-tipped, tiny-toothed smile.

Delphi felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “Well,” she said, “we better be on our way.”

“Good luck,” said Frax, nodding furiously, his eyes wide. He threw his head back and laughed. “Good luck. Run for the shore,” he said. “That’s what I’d do. Run for the shore.”

A sudden gust of wind swept Delphi’s hood from her head.

Frax recoiled when he saw her face. He struggled to speak. “Stay away from me!” he managed to say. “Stay away!” He began to walk backward.

“Pardon?” said Delphi.

“Stay away from me!” roared Frax.

“I’m sorry,” said Delphi, alarmed. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Mean to what?” said Frax.

“I don’t know… to… to frighten you…” said Delphi.

Frax stepped forward. Delphi froze. He grabbed her with his one hand, then jerked her close. He whispered into her ear. “You didn’t mean to frighten me when you ripped my arm off, either, did you?”

Delphi pulled away from his grip. “Let me go!” she shouted.

“What do you think you’re doing?” shouted Oland, putting himself between Frax and Delphi.

“What do I think I’m doing?” said Frax. His eyes were wide with fright.

“You can’t just grab a girl like that,” said Oland.

“A girl?” said Frax. “A girl?” He snorted. “She ain’t no girl. She’s a roxling witch.”