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Forty men lay dead or unconscious around the gravel driveway. None of them was his. There was only one sound now, signalling the fight was finished: Magnus screaming.

If he’d fallen a little further from the mansion, he’d have landed on his head and might have died instantly. As it was, he’d caught the rusted steel spikes of the fence just above his knees. About a foot below the points, a flat, horizontal brace had prevented him from sliding to the ground. He was a heavy man and the spikes had not simply pierced him. Because of his forward and downward momentum, the spikes had torn the flesh from mid-thigh to kneecap before penetrating through to the backs of his legs. Two spikes through each limb protruded redly upward from the wounds. Both patellas were dislocated onto his shins, the flesh of which was scraped to the bone. His full weight was suspended there, inverted.

Even as Collins watched, the pain and realisation of the damage was sinking into Magnus’s diseased mind like volley after volley of falling arrows. He begged to be let down, his voice hardly recognisable as human any more. The blood was rushing to the fat man’s head, worse with every forced-out scream, and Collins could see the veins standing out on his neck, his cheeks close to bursting with pressure.

Bruno moved towards his boss and a few other guards made motions to follow. Collins held up a hand and it was enough to stop them. Meanwhile, Magnus tried to free himself. All he could do was push down on the lower ends of the railings, hoping to force himself up and off their points. But the rusted poles were wet with his blood and his hands slipped again and again, dropping his weight more firmly onto the spikes each time. It was clear he was too fat and weak to succeed but You never know, thought Collins,people become capable of extraordinary feats when their survival is at stake. They would see what Magnus was made of.

The man’s great bulk shook now as he cried tears of frustration and agony, as he moaned and begged for help that wouldn’t come.

Collins gestured to Staithe and Vigors.

‘Take these men inside.’

His followers herded the exhausted guards in through the front doors.

‘Wait,’ said Collins to Bruno. ‘Not you.’

Bruno turned back and Collins approached him.

‘Take me to Shanti.’

The light hurt his eyes, forcing him to keep them closed. Magnus or his men had come for him and the ordeal, whatever was planned for him, was about to begin.

The hand that reached into the cell and pulled him up was full of warmth and strength and its touch was enough to assure him he was safe. The hand belonged to John Collins.

‘Let’s get you cleaned up. Can’t have your daughters seeing their father in this condition.’

‘You’ve found the twins. Are they…?’

‘You can see for yourself as soon as we get this filth off you. Come on.’

Without power, the pressure washer was no worse than a hosepipe. With Collins holding the jet on him, Shanti stripped and washed himself with brisk, vigorous strokes.

‘Put these on,’ said Collins. ‘They’re not exactly you but they’ll do for now.’

He handed Shanti the clothes and boots of a fallen guard. Knowing there was no choice, Shanti hardly hesitated before slipping into the clothes. With the black coat over it all and his beard and long hair, he looked exactly like one of Magnus’s men.

‘Did you find my wife?’

Shanti could see that there was more Collins wanted to say or at least that he wanted to say something other than the truth. In the end his words were simple.

‘She died, Richard. I’m sorry.’

Shanti placed his right palm over his mouth, as if making some kind of judgement.

‘They buried her outside. I can show you the place if you want but we’ll have to be quick.’

Shanti looked up.

‘No,’ he said. ‘That won’t be necessary.’

Collins led him out of the basement and up to the ground floor. Hema and Harsha were waiting in Magnus’s living room. When they saw him, they ran straight to him. He knelt and gathered them in, kissing their heads and stroking their hair. He couldn’t find a way to ask them what Magnus had done. When he was able to speak he said, ‘Did he hurt you?’

They shook their heads and his tears began afresh. Collins placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘I’m sorry, Richard. We have to go. All of us. When the townsfolk realise there’s no Meat Baron, they’ll panic. They’ll go and kill the Chosen themselves. There’ll be chaos. The Parsons won’t be able to stop them and there are far too many for us to deal with. If we’re going to do this, it has to be now.’

Shanti nodded and stood up.

‘We’re all going on a long walk,’ he said to the girls. ‘Mr. Collins and I are going to go ahead because we’re faster.’ He gestured to the followers who had been sitting with the girls. ‘You’ll be safe with them until you catch us up. Do exactly as they say. Understand?’

‘We want to come with you, Papa,’ said Hema.

‘I know, sweetheart. I’ll be waiting for you. I promise.’

He leaned down, kissed them both again then turned away. He couldn’t let them see the heartbreak in his eyes. To regain them like this and then let go again; it was almost more than he could bear.

In the hall he said to Collins, ‘Surely there’s a truck left with some gas in it.’

Collins shook his head.

‘They’ve used it all up. There may be some stashed somewhere but we’d be wasting time looking for it. If the townsfolk got here before we found it… well…’

He slit his throat with his index finger.

‘You’re right. Let’s go now. Run with me.’

Together they sprinted for the main door. Shanti stopped when he saw Magnus, still trying to free himself from the railings that had impaled his legs. His weight had snapped him at the knees and now he hung not at an angle but straight down. He wept manic, disbelieving tears. Shanti walked over and stood beside him. He had worked in an environment of pain all his life and had a keen sense for it. He could feel the waves of suffering emanating from the hanging giant next to him. He looked down and caught the man’s inverted eyes. Streaks of tears and blood ran from his face to his forehead and into his hair. The whites of his eyes were yellow and cracked with broken capillaries. There was insanity there.

‘Have pity, Ice Pick. You’re a man of compassion. I understand that now. Release me from the spikes, I beg you. Lay me down on the ground here to die quietly. Do the right thing, Mr. Shanti, please. Help me down.’ The big man snivelled and shook, more tears coming from a place that he could not resist. ‘Down, down, down,’ he said. And then. ‘Forgive me, Ice Pick. Please forgive me.’

Shanti looked into Magnus’s mad eyes for a few seconds longer. Magnus saw the hesitation and hope sparked behind his staring pupils.

‘I do,’ said Shanti.

He turned away.

He and Collins ran down the gravel driveway. Twenty followers fell into step behind them. The rest left the mansion at a fast walk to escort the twins. Inside, the remainder of Magnus’s men and the maids were locked in the basement. Both Collins and Shanti knew they’d find a way to get out eventually but by then it wouldn’t matter.

At the entrance to the mansion they turned right onto the main road out of Abyrne. When the sound of boots, some running, others walking on the cracked tarmac faded, the town seemed very still. But something ugly was rising up behind them and each of them knew it.

The Grand Bishop sat behind his desk and appraised the three Parsons standing on the other side of it. They seemed no different than three schoolboys in a headmaster’s study. There was apprehension. And something else.

Fear.

Not fear of a caning. Not fear of losing their jobs. Not even, and it would have been a most appropriate emotion at that moment, the fear of God. He knew, therefore, that it wasn’t merely the breaking of the news to him that had them so stirred up.