Guards slotted an iron railing into place at the edge of the dais. A woman sporting a chain of gilded cogs made a self-important performance of hauling on a long lever. There was a jolt that made everyone totter, then, not with a tortured grinding of gears but a smooth whirr, the whole platform, and the two dozen or more people occupying it, began to rise up the channel in the Pillar’s side.

‘Astonishing,’ whispered Balthazar.

The triumphal columns and grand buildings about the square dropped away, the brightly dressed well-wishers dwindled into an anonymous crowd, the azure Aegean showed itself on the far side of the harbour wall. Higher they rose, and higher still, the horizon stretching off, a maze of streets reaching to the crumbling city walls and beyond, an expanse of tiled roofs pimpled with verdigrised domes, and even a few freshly installed on the palaces of the wealthy, bright copper glinting in the baking sun.

Troy. Jewel of the East. Balthazar had once deemed it inconceivable they would ever arrive. Had been sure the ridiculous Princess Alexia would end up incinerated by sorcerous fire, consumed by crab-men, or interred beneath a collapsing abbey. But there she stood, in the place of honour, feted by the mighty. The Empress-to-be. And looking, one had to confess, almost convincing in the role.

Balthazar realised he was in danger of smiling and was obliged to avert his gaze lest it be noticed. Could it be that he felt the faintest flickerings of paternal pride towards the clueless waif? Whatever her considerable shortcomings, it could not be denied the girl had grit, not to mention a surprisingly agile and inquisitive mind, when properly stimulated by a conscientious instructor. Nor could it be denied that Balthazar had himself played a vital role in her survival. He rather suspected there would be no reward. No honours and no offices. But, when all was said and done, what was the acclamation of strangers truly worth? He knew what he had done. Perhaps that could be satisfaction enough? He watched the gears turning, beside the lift, and felt his smile grow wider.

‘If you are impressed now …’ He turned to find Lady Severa regarding him from close quarters. ‘Only wait until we reach the top.’

‘Well … er …’ For months, Balthazar had dreamed of associating once again with persons of breeding and refinement. Now, addressed by an evident paragon of those very qualities, he found himself tongue-tied. ‘I fear I have been too long among barbarians … I can only apologise for my wretched appearance—’

‘You have helped conduct the princess safely home, braving dangers we dread to imagine. You should wear every smudge like a medal. I am—’

‘Lady Severa, of course. I overheard your exchange with Princess Alexia on the quay …’ And he had been deeply impressed, not only by her immaculate bearing but, to his surprise, by her humility. Not a quality he had previously much celebrated, but he could not help noticing how, by making so little of her status, her status was only enhanced. What manner of person needs constantly to assert their own importance, after all? Only the truly unimportant. ‘I am Balthazar.’ He gave the simplest bow he could, while thinking how laughably pompous the elaborate ones he had once practised in the mirror would have been.

‘Just Balthazar?’

‘There is more to it, but …’ He waved such affectations away. ‘Balthazar is quite enough.’

‘And are you an engineer?’

An engineer of the arcane. A tinkerer with the forbidden workings of the universe. A machinist of the delicately interlocking gears of life and death! Balthazar bit his tongue. ‘Merely a dabbler, and more in theory than in practice. Indeed, I observed some … phenomena, recently, that have me reconsidering the nature of matter.’ He absently put the heels of his hands together, as the twin aeromancer and geomancer had done. ‘I am forced to wonder whether the elements of earth and air might not in fact be opposites, but composed somehow of the same fundamental stuff …’

He realised he had wandered onto territory that few indeed would find as engrossing as he, but Lady Severa was regarding him with eyes thoughtfully narrowed. ‘So you would dare to do battle with Hasdrubal and Cellibus?’

Balthazar stared back. Merciful heavens, all this and a thorough grounding in the pillars of philosophy? ‘I have no desire to duel with giants … but the facts might force me to it …’ Her piercing assessment was having a most unsettling effect upon him, and he cleared his throat as he forced his eyes away. ‘I knew some of the architecture of ancient Carthage survived here in Troy – your magnificent Pillar and Aqueduct – but never guessed that its machinery might still function.’

‘The Empress Eudoxia had her drawbacks.’ Severa counted points on the expressive fingers of an artist. ‘The coven of sorcerers, the overbearing offspring, the summary executions, the abominable experiments.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Balthazar was relieved to happen upon so unromantic a topic. ‘We were accosted by some of them on our journey here. Hybrids of man and beast. Twisted creations, in many ways, though the sarcomancy was undeniably superb.’

‘You thought so?’

‘I have never seen its equal. They made formidable fighters.’

‘It was not Eudoxia’s intention to breed warriors. Or, at least, I understand it was the doing of her sons. She was afflicted from birth with a wasting sickness that left her … far from the imperial ideal of perfection. She sought a way to preserve her own weak flesh. Then she became fascinated by the soul.’ Severa gripped the railing tight, frowning out over the city. ‘With locating it. With releasing it. With capturing it.’

‘Fascinating indeed …’ murmured Balthazar, wondering if the dead Empress had made any progress with the age-old riddle of locating the soul within the body, then realising his curiosity had once again dragged him onto dangerous ground, ‘and entirely insane! A crime against God, and so on. Eudoxia must have been … a most testing employer.’

Severa moved a little closer to murmur under her breath, an occurrence for which he was highly thankful. ‘You could not guess the half of it. But she was an enthusiastic student of history. She repaired long-dormant machines within the Pillar, driven by the waters of the aqueduct, the three lifts among them. They really are the only way to the top. Unless you are a very confident climber.’

‘A noble project.’ Balthazar dared to venture a smile. ‘People, and great figures especially, are rarely all hero or villain.’

‘All things are relative.’ Did he dare to imagine that she had the faintest smile of her own? ‘I presume you are employed by Pope Benedicta?’

His smile twisted into a grimace, as his smiles often did. ‘I … find myself in her service …’ He thought it prudent not to mention the multiple convictions for heresy, necromancy, and consorting with demons that had brought it about.

Severa leaned still closer. ‘Can it be true …’ He fancied he could feel the warmth of her breath on his neck. ‘… that the child is the Second Coming of the Saviour?’

Balthazar swallowed. ‘If you had asked me a few months ago, I would have been obliged, despite the breach of decorum, to laugh in your face. You will not find a more committed sceptic than I anywhere in Europe, and on meeting the infant Pontiff in person I was … not impressed.’

‘I see.’

‘But …’

‘But?’

‘I have always desired, above all, to be thought a wise man. I have begun to realise it might even be a good idea to be one. And a truly wise man must accept that, however much he knows, there is always far more to learn.’

‘Wisdom indeed,’ murmured Severa.

‘Events … have made me reconsider my position on the Pope.’

With a lurch the lift stopped, he stumbled slightly, reached out involuntarily, and felt her firmly catch his arm. ‘You must find time to tell me more about these … events.’ Did she give his wrist the lightest parting squeeze? Or, as she glided away, did he only want desperately to believe it?

‘So far out of your league …’ Baptiste leaned in, speaking from the corner of her mouth, ‘you might as well come from different species.’

Balthazar did not even bother to deny it. ‘Let a man dream,’ he whispered.