“It’s got to be down this way,” said Esea.

Karan raced after her down a high, wide hall, then skidded to a stop outside a set of double doors carved with bunches of grapes and vine leaves. “This must be the theatre.” She tried the doors. They were locked.

Esea pressed her open palms against the doors, whispered words of command and they tore off their hinges. Karan ran in. The stage of the Little Theatre was lit by two small side lamps and a spotlight focused on the centre. Before the front row of seats a small goblet, one third full of a green lime-scented liqueur, sat on a little round table. The seat of the chair was cold.

Karan moaned. “We’re too late. Snoat’s put Llian —”

“Don’t say it!” said Lilis.

“Strong smell of brandy here,” said Esea, who was at the top of a set of curving stairs.

Karan ran down to a well-proportioned mahogany-panelled room which contained sixteen flasks and decanters, each in its own display case. Each decanter was a masterpiece of the glassblower’s art. There was also a stack of small barrels, four by three by two, a flood of brandy on the floor and a loose bung. Near the base of the stairs a cut crystal decanter lay on its side.

“What happened here?” she cried, the panic rising again. “Where’s Llian?”

Lilis caught Karan’s hand and squeezed. “We’ll find him.”

They went back up and searched the rest of the top floor but it was empty. There was a great commotion going on in the North Wing, however – flashes, booms and gushing smoke – and through the window she saw guards running back and forth outside the library.

Karan clattered down the first stairs she came to, turned the corner, and a guard yelled, “Stop!”

He must have dressed hastily, for he was barefoot, but the sword in his hand was longer than she was tall. She skidded to a stop, then backpedalled.

Esea came running up and thrust out her right arm. Zzzt!

The flash struck the guard in the chest, knocking him off his feet, and the sword went flying. Karan grabbed it, but it was far too heavy to use; she sent it skidding down the corridor into the darkness and ran on.

“Llian? Tallia?” she yelled. “Llian? Tallia?”

“Here,” a voice said weakly.

Esea shattered the door and Karan burst in, elbowing screens out of the way. Tallia was sitting up in bed and looked wan.

“Where’s Llian?” said Karan.

There was nothing Tallia could tell them. She had not left this room since her capture and had no idea where Snoat might have taken Llian.

“What do you want to do?” said Esea, now wincing with every step. “We’re running out of time.”

“Escort Tallia back to the tunnel,” said Karan. “I’m not giving up yet.” But in her heart she almost had. Was Llian lying dead on the stones Sulien had seen in her nightmare?

Lilis, who was at the door, hissed, “Library’s on fire and there are people everywhere. We’ll never get to the tunnel.”

“Do you know where the mancery workshop is?” said Karan to Tallia. “Shand and Ussarine were heading that way.”

“South Wing, the level below the ground floor. You’ll smell Unick.”

“We’ll go down, keeping a lookout for Llian on the way. If Shand and Ussarine aren’t there we might have to fight our way out.”

They hurried down. Karan ran ahead, but as she reached the ground floor a big purple-faced man burst up the stairs from the basement. He was looking back over his shoulder and slammed into her, knocking her off her feet.

Karan skidded backwards across the polished floor, his stench thick in her nostrils. His jaw was misshapen as if it had been broken. He reached over his shoulder into his pack; the ends of several brass cylinders protruded from it. His whole body was trembling.

“Karan Fyrn,” he said thickly, stepping towards her. “You’re going to ice my cake.”

She scrambled to her feet, whipped out her knife and raised it, ready to throw. “I can put this in through your windpipe and out your backbone faster than you can blink.”

He froze; even the trembling stopped. Rage suffused his face and for a second she thought he was going to attack, but he must have read certain death in her eyes. Unick shuddered and ground his teeth.

“You won’t always have the advantage.”

He spun on one filthy foot and ran.

Shand and Ussarine reached the reading room of the library without incident. Every part of it, walls and ceiling, was of hand-carved timbers, the wood and the grain seamlessly matched. She gazed around herself in wonder. “It’s the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen.”

“The museum next door is its twin,” said Shand. He took two of the grey egg-shaped objects from his bag. “Smash that window.” He indicated the tall one at the far end on the right. “And another one on the other side, then run for that door. It leads into the museum, and that’s where we’re going next.”

“What are you doing?”

“Making a diversion. When I break these, they burn with a small fire and vast amounts of smoke. Most of Snoat’s treasures are here so it’s bound to bring him and his guards, thinking the place is on fire. We’ll sneak out the other side and look for Unick’s workshop.”

Ussarine picked up a chair and hurled it through the first window. As she ran for the second, Shand lobbed a smoke egg at the wall. It burst with a small boom, a lick of crimson fire, then thunderheads of white smoke exploded out of it. She joined him at the door. He hurled his second egg. She kicked in the door leading into the museum.

“The same here,” said Shand.

She smashed the windows and he hurled the eggs. The room filled with choking smoke clouds within which small crimson flames glowed. They ran out into the darkness and headed for the other wing.

“This is too easy,” said Ussarine.

A door along the long side of the South Wing was wide open; they went in and down.

“What’s that horrible smell?” said Ussarine.

Shand sniffed. It was like a mixture of sulphur, grog and vomit and stale sweat, and oil of vitriol which would normally only be found in an alchemist’s workshop.

“The place we’re looking for.”

As he took the last two smoke eggs from his pack a little glass phial fell out. He snatched at it but missed and the top broke off as it struck the floor, releasing an enchanting fragrance that reminded him of Aviel. He swore.

“What was that?” said Ussarine.

“Aviel asked me to give it to Wilm, a young lad Llian escorted to the college. But after Llian was accused of murder, Wilm disappeared. Oh well.”

They searched the workshop, gagging at the stench, but there were no papers or journals, and no sign of the devices Unick had made.

“It was a long shot,” said Shand.

As they turned to go, a colossal boom rocked the South Wing. Several benches overturned, the equipment piled on others was hurled onto the floor, and Shand heard the crackle of fire.

They ran out into the hall and through the open outside door. One end of the main house was enveloped in flames, roaring forty feet high.

“All things considered,” said Shand, “I’d say it’s time to go.”