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they were this shift’s relief, they wouldn’t be racing up the line as fast as they could go. Maybe, then, they weren’t hurrying towards him but away from something else - such as a raiding party, or a cave-in about to happen.
    Be that as it may; they were on their way here, and when they found him they’d kill him. He felt for the nearest of his seven dead friends, found the man’s knife and took it for himself. Under normal circumstances, robbing the dead was slightly bad manners, but in this case he was confident they’d see their way to making an exception.
    ‘Look out!’ someone yelled - it was either Alexius or one of the seven dead men, he couldn’t tell which - just as the whole gallery jolted, as if it had been dropped. Dust filled his nose and mouth, as a second tremor jostled him on to his knees, and a third brought the roof down on top of him.
    Camouflet , someone said. Big, big camouflet. We’ve undermined their gallery, hooray!
    ‘Wonderful,’ Bardas said aloud, and the falling dirt filled the space like an hourglass.

CHAPTER TWO
    Garlic.
    ‘. . . Glorious bloody genuine hero of the war. Dug the bugger out like a truffle, we did. Thought he was one of them till someone noticed the boots.’
    Bardas Loredan opened his eyes, and the light hit him. He closed them again, but not quickly enough. The pain and fear made him cry out.
    ‘He’s coming round, look,’ said a voice from the light. Unbelievable, that living things could survive in that scorching, agonising glare; couldn’t be real, had to be a hallucination. ‘Absolutely fucking amazing. No way he should have survived that, should have been killed instantly.’
    Shows how much you know; can’t kill a man who’s dead and buried. He tried to move, but his body was all pain. The light was burning its way through his eyelids.
    ‘Sarge? Sarge, can you hear me?’ The voice was vaguely familiar, which was odd. What were those funny little lizard things that lived in fire? Salamanders. Where on earth would he know a salamander from, and why would it be calling him Sarge?
    ‘It’s quite normal,’ another voice said. ‘He’s just had a city fall on his head, it’s hardly surprising he’s feeling a bit groggy.’ That voice was familiar, as well. Two salamanders.
    Alexius? Alexius, is that you? Stop playing silly buggers and put that fucking light out.
    ‘Sarge? Here, he’s coming round, look. Who the hell’s Alexius?’
    Who are you? I can’t see you so you must be real. Did I kill you just now, in the gallery?
    ‘Dear gods,’ said yet another salamander, ‘he’s well away. Crazy as a barrelful of ferrets.’
    ‘Like I said, he just had Ap’ Escatoy land on his nut, what do you expect? He’ll be right as rain in a day or two.’
    There was no getting away from it, he was going to have to open his eyes sooner or later. The light was seeping in under his eyelids anyhow, getting into his brain. Did I die and turn into a salamander too, Alexius? You should have warned me. He opened his eyes.
    ‘Who the hell are you?’ he asked, blinking.
    All he could make out at first was a shape: a big brown oval, looming over him. This is how humans must look to a carp in a fish-pond. No wonder the buggers swim away.
    ‘Sarge?’ said the oval. ‘It’s me, Malicho. Corporal Malicho, you remember?’
    Loredan shook his head; painful operation. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said. ‘You don’t look anything like him.’
    ‘It’s me, Sarge, straight up. Here, Dollus, tell him it’s me.’
    There was another oval, on the edge of the salamander pool. ‘Think about it, Malicho. He’s never seen you before. Never seen any of us, come to that. And we’d never seen him before now, if you think about it.’
    ‘Then how do we know it really is him?’ someone else asked. ‘Maybe he really is one of them. Hey, don’t look at me like that, I’m just saying it’s possible.’
    ‘It’s him,’ said the salamander Malicho, firmly. ‘I’d