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the man put his hand to his neck and pulled out a pendant on a silver chain. Where Folly would have expected to see a jewel, there was instead a simple grey stone, irregular in shape. He
placed one hand over the stone and threw the bone out into the tar. Like starving street curs the Lurids rushed towards it, reaching wildly, but it fell through their fingers and landed softly and
began to sink. They hovered menacingly where it had fallen. Folly felt a little shiver run up her spine. No ordinary man, certainly no Degringoladian, would deliberately antagonize the Lurids.
    The man was speaking now and Folly strained to hear what he was saying. His voice was rising and falling with deep emotion. A feeling of cold dread came over Folly.
    ‘
Ades Luride, confestim, ere ossis
,’ he called out with finality.
    Suddenly from the centre of the writhing horde of fiends a single Lurid emerged. It moved quickly towards the shore and as it approached it changed, becoming less nebulous and increasingly
opaque, like cooling fat. It reached the edge of the pit and hesitated. Then, to Folly’s horror and disbelief, it actually stepped off the tar and stood on the shore directly in front of the
man. Quickly she pulled her head in and pressed up against the pillar, her mouth dry with fear.
    ‘
Sequere
,’ said the man clearly. And the Lurid followed.
    Folly held her breath as the pair, one alive, one mostly dead, passed within feet of her hiding place. She covered her mask filters with her hands because they weren’t sufficient to stop
the stench. Nauseated, she watched as they climbed the bank, the man ungracefully, the Lurid stepping lightly behind him with eerie ease. It was no longer ghostly in appearance, being more solid
now than transparent and dressed in filthy rags. As soon as they were out of sight Folly dug her hand into her pocket and pulled out a Depiction. She unfolded the stiff paper and looked closely at
the faded brown image. Despite the creases, there was no doubting that this was the man she had just seen; it was Leopold Kamptulicon.
    ‘Domna!’ she breathed. ‘He’s just freed a Lurid!’
    And behind her the pit surged and bubbled in a chorus of approval.

C HAPTER 7
     
R EVELATION
    Citrine piloted her Trikuklos through the streets of Degringolade with a degree of recklessness that was most uncharacteristic. Her face was creased into an anxious frown and
she was deep in thought. ‘Blast and bother it! What terrible, terrible cards! I almost wish I hadn’t gone.’
    A sudden cry and a violent jarring caused her to brake sharply and look in her mirror. There was a body lying in the gutter beside the Trikuklos.
    ‘Domna!’ She jumped down and ran over to the unmoving figure. Oblivious to the mud and detritus on the road she knelt down beside him. ‘Are you all right?’
    The fellow groaned and then sat up. ‘I think so,’ he replied. Citrine helped him to his feet, though he seemed more than capable of doing so himself. Once he was upright she was
quite taken aback at his height and breadth. He was very much taller than she was and his shoulders were disarmingly broad. Even his own clothes seemed to strain at the seams. He wore a
double-breasted dark pea coat with large turned-up lapels and, to Citrine’s surprise, the white toggles that fastened it appeared to be made from the teeth of an animal – evidently a
very large animal.
    On his head he wore a hat that came low down the back of his neck and covered his ears. She could just see the glint of a gold earring through his black hair. His face was in shadow under the
deep brim. He began to brush the dirt from his clothes with his large weather-beaten hands, and exposed a jagged tear in his trousers.
    ‘I am so dreadfully sorry,’ apologized Citrine, taking a step back. ‘It’s entirely my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’ve had such a wretched
spread of cards, you understand . . . but, good gracious! Listen to me go on;