Sam hurried out through the French windows onto the pier, where the dancers were throwing themselves into the river in their desperation to escape the gargoyles. 

He couldn't help feeling a small glow of satisfaction. These were the people who had stood around, watching the rooftops at night and arguing over which family of hell these demons might be descended from. It had all been so fascinating to them – an intellectual conundrum, complete with a scantily-clad woman running for her life. They would never have suspected that the fascinating demons might climb down from the rooftops and start pursuing them.

Miss Syal had warned him of the gargoyles' strength – not that he needed warning. She had said that he would have to chain them to something extremely sturdy, if he wanted them to stay. But the city was his friend there. It was the city they'd wronged, so it was the city that would catch them. He had stashed chains beside the sturdiest buildings he could think of – some at Carfax Tower, some in Tom Quad, some on the dancing-pier by Folly Bridge (which, as the place where Miss Syal was planning to be, seemed like the place of greatest danger).

He'd left them by the bandstand, because they were not the sort of thing you could carry with you in a dance hall. He picked them up now and wound them part-way round his wrist so that he wouldn't drop them in the struggle.

Behind him, one of the gargoyles staggered out onto the pier. It really did stagger, as though it was drunk – reeling into tables, swiping at the air far more often than it swiped at the dancers.

There was something wrong with them, Sam realized. They weren't the concentrated engines of fury they had been when he'd seen them last.

He picked up a wine-bottle from the nearest table and hurled it at the creature to try and get its attention. This made it screech and reel all the more – but for some reason, when it got close to him, it paused and sniffed the air uncertainly. Everything had been chaos from the moment they'd passed through the door, but now the creature calmed a little. It unfurled its wings and flapped them a few times, as though it was testing the air.

Sam – more for the benefit of his watching men than because he expected any response from the gargoyle – said, "You have the right to remain silent-"

The gargoyle swiped an arm at him, narrowly missing his head.

Sam backed away, but soon found the hand-rail at his back, preventing him from going any further. He heard Jack's voice, from a year ago, saying, 'Stay on top of him – back him into a corner – make him carry your weight', and was aware that the gargoyle had done precisely this to him.

But it didn't matter, did it? The closer the creature got, the easier it would be to chain. It was just keeping all his limbs attached while he chained it that would be the challenge.

The gargoyle leapt at him, teeth-first, but Sam grabbed hold of its head. Bracing himself against the hand-rail, he tried to force it backwards. For a second, he could see nothing but teeth and jaws stretched wide enough to swallow him, but then the gargoyle shook him off – with the kind of strength that reminded him of the last encounter he'd had with pointy teeth – and he tumbled to the side, into the band-stand. He heard a twang of strings as the violins toppled over.

The gargoyle recovered its balance and lurched at him again, but this time, Sam managed to hook the chain around its neck and duck down, scrambling through its legs, taking the chain-ends with him.

Then he ran as hard as he could to the end of the pier nearest the bridge. He heard the tell-tale clink and thud behind him, as the chain snapped taut and dragged the gargoyle off its feet, but he didn't look back.

He had to slow down a little, though, because he was now dragging the gargoyle's weight after him, while it thrashed about and tried to pull away. It was unbelievably strong, but it didn't like the iron. He could hear it fretting and tearing at the places where the metal touched its skin.

He threw all his weight behind the chain and dragged the gargoyle forwards. It ploughed up tables and chairs as it slid unwillingly along the pier. At one point, it dug its claws into the wood and left deep scratches in its wake.

But Sam was feeling as strong as Burgess, and every bit as unhinged.

Finally, he got within throwing distance of his men on Folly Bridge, and lobbed the chain-ends up to them. He tried to scream out some instructions, but the gargoyle had finally stopped resisting the chain, and cottoned-on to the fact that it could get free a lot quicker if it could hit the man who'd been dragging it. Something scythed through the air and hit him in the ribs, knocking him sideways with such force that he smashed right through the hand-rail and into the river.

***

Jack skipped in through the French windows, reached up, and grabbed one of the gargoyles by the wing as it bounded across the floor.

God, they were strong! He was dragged along for a few paces before the gargoyle even realized somebody was clinging on. But by the time it came to a halt, he'd already leapt onto its back, with his arms fastened around its throat, and his legs pinning down the wings that flapped and struggled beneath him.

The gargoyle huffed and snorted – it was trying to smell him, but unfortunately, it didn't have a nose in the back of its head. It had powerful arms, though, and it reached back and clawed madly at him. He felt the gargoyle's nails shredding his shirt, leaving sharp, stinging scratches across his shoulders. 

It was wonderful. He hadn't felt pain for what seemed like centuries – it was like a bucket of cold water in the face. He felt as though the thudding of his heart was breaking through all the chemicals and alcohol, like a swimmer surfacing through thick ice. And, when the gargoyle whipped round and threw him off its back, sending him sprawling onto a table, he couldn't stop grinning.

He struggled up just in time, because the creature brought down one of its arms, and smashed right through the table he'd landed on. He ducked another swing, picked up a chair, and broke it as hard as he could across the creature's back.

The gargoyle didn't even stagger. It swatted him away again, and this time, he was thrown half-way across the room, coming to rest against an overturned table, which, he was dimly pleased to see, had Manda crouching behind it.

"For God's sake, get down!" she hissed, grabbing his arm, and dragging him behind the table with her.

But the gargoyle hadn't followed him. It now seemed to be hallucinating little men on its back, because it was lurching and clawing just as frantically as when Jack had had his arms fastened around its throat.

Only a lot of harsh, guttural shouting from the old man – in what seemed to be the gargoyles' own language – induced it to control itself and go after the fleeing crowd, into which Ellini had long since vanished.

"Where is she?" said Manda, as though reading his thoughts.

"I sent her away."

Manda gave him a sharp, inquisitive look, as though she was trying to work out whether this was a euphemism.

"Out of the building," Jack explained. "I said I'd hold them off."

"Oh yes, and you're doing marvellously!" she snapped, motioning towards the gargoyle he had tried to knock out with the chair. It still had bits of splintered wood sticking into its back, but it didn't seem to have noticed.

"This is only temporary, cry-baby," he assured her, searching idly through the heaps of broken glass and dropped cutlery behind the table. "Although, I must admit, I'd do better if I had some kind of weapon." He picked up a fork and grinned at her. "Do you want to see what I did to the Lieutenant-governor of Lucknow?"

"What?" said Manda, half-alarmed and half-exasperated. "No!"

She tried to snatch the fork from him, and it was at this moment that he noticed something long and thin pinned to the skirts of her dress. Its black feathers and black steel tip had been blending in with the fabric, but, once you saw the wooden shaft, it was unmistakable – a sturdy, sharp black arrow.

Jack unhooked it while she was still going after the fork – and only just in time, because the table they'd been sheltering behind was suddenly wrenched aside, possibly by the same gargoyle.

Jack sprang up, gripped the arrow in both hands and buried it point-first in the creature's chest. It took all his strength to drive it in – he could feel it passing through sinews as tough as vulcanized rubber.

It was a pretty arrow, though, so he wrenched it out again – and the creature's howl was almost drowned out by Manda's sharp scream as she realized what he'd done.

"Jack, give me that back!" she shouted, getting up and trying to snatch it from him. Jack threw her backwards just before the gargoyle swiped her head off, but this didn't deter her.

He now had to juggle the gargoyle and Manda – who, in her desperation to get the arrow from him, had climbed onto his back, ignoring the gargoyle's attempts to claw them both into tatters.

Jack ducked, with Manda still on his back, stabbed the gargoyle in the thigh with the marvellous arrow, and lurched backwards, avoiding its out-stretched claws.

"Drop that right now!" said Manda, her hands around his throat.

"Cry-baby, this isn't helping," Jack protested. 

But, in fact, it wasn't hindering either. He was getting the hang of it. He was always terrible at everything the first few times he tried it – and, heavens knew, he was out of practise – but it was all coming back to him now. He felt as though time had slowed down, giving him longer to plan each move, and an eternity to sidestep the gargoyle's frantic swipes and punches.

Even the weight of Manda on his back – even her shrill little cries in his ear – were easy to manage. He felt more alive than he had felt in years, and almost regretted sending Ellini away, because he was sure he would remember her now, in this state of serene sharpness.

Not that there weren't a few close calls. Once, the creature's claws swiped through Manda's hair – and, if it had been half an inch closer, it would have scalped her. But Jack kicked it in the thigh wound, and watched with satisfaction as it crumpled, bringing its head down to a wonderfully convenient height for punching.

He never got to punch it, though, because Manda screamed again, and dragged his head backwards in an effort to get down. 

Sam's name had taken the place of Jack's in her throat, and, when he followed her agitated pointing, he saw the edge of Sam's coat-tails as they disappeared over the hand-rail and into the river.

***

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