‘There she is, just like I told you.’

It was Piri.

Doncia opened her eyes, saw Piri pointing down, and Isolde and two guards behind. The floor tilted and she closed her eyes again, but her stomach boiled. She vomited onto the red carpet. Acid burned her throat.

‘She’s been drinking.’ It was a male voice—one of the guards.

‘Look, she has stolen Countess Sabra’s jewellery.’ Piri’s voice, in an unfamiliar tone.

Doncia could not work out what was happening. She put her hands to the floor and tried to push herself up. Every muscle burned. Her head throbbed. Something fell from her clothes and bounced gently on the carpet. It registered in Doncia’s foggy brain with a slight delay, but with the power of a thunderclap.

It was a brooch with a large bright crystal, and seeing it cleared her head enough to remember touching it lightly, once, in Sabra’s bedchamber the night before. A feeling she’d never felt burned all the way down into the pit of her stomach, draining all the bile and saliva from her insides. Then it seemed to creep back up and grip and squeeze her heart.

Piri had betrayed her.

‘No,’ was all she could manage to say.

How could Piri treat her like this? What had changed? When had it changed?

She glared up at Piri, tried to find out what was happening. Why would her best friend, her absolutely beautiful, wonderful, trusted best friend, betray her and accuse her of stealing from the countess?

Piri’s eyes were like glass beads.

Doncia tried again to get up. A guard helped, keeping a tight hold on her wrist as if she might try to run. Piri picked up the brooch and handed it to Isolde. Nothing strange seemed to happen to either of them, the crystal seemed only a shiny bauble.

‘Doncia,’ Isolde said. ‘Doncia, Doncia. What has got into you? Why would you steal from the countess after everything we’ve done for you?’

Doncia knew Piri had put her into a position where anything she said would appear to be a lie, but she had to try. She was a truthful, honest person, not a thief, but even in the face of Piri’s betrayal it was impossible to accuse her friend. Their friendship went back forever. Piri may have stopped being her friend, but Doncia could not turn it off just like that.

‘I didn’t steal the brooch. I only just touched it with my fingertip. I don’t know how it happened. It seemed to grab me and force me to dance. I don’t know how I got out here in the antechamber. I can’t explain....’

‘Really? I think perhaps you can’t explain because that would mean telling the truth,’ Isolde said. ‘What were you doing in the countess’s apartment?’

She looked at Piri. There was no way to answer except with the truth. Piri’s face remained emotionless.

‘Piri suggested we look inside. She said she wanted to show me something.’ The truth came out with a stab of pain; she was implicating her friend. Piri had left her no choice.

Isolde looked at Piri. ‘Is this true?’

‘No Isolde,’ Piri said. ‘I didn’t go to the countess’s apartments. I went straight to the attic. Moni was there. She will vouch that it is true.’

Doncia’s heart tightened into a knot of pain which seemed to reach up into her throat. Piri was lying, looking straight into Isolde’s eyes and lying.

‘Very well,’ Isolde said, her mind made up. She spoke to the guard: ‘Take her to the lockup. I’ll tell Ma’am. Piri?’

‘Yes, Isolde.’

‘Clean up this mess.’

‘Yes, Isolde,’ Piri said, and gave Doncia a nasty look, her first show of emotion.

‘Why did you do this to me?’ Doncia asked.

Piri just stared as the soldier tugged Doncia away, his grip on her wrist unbreakable.

She twisted around and called back. ‘Isolde, Piri is lying! Somehow she tricked me. It’s not fair. I don’t know why this is happening!’

They just stared. Behind them the walls went black. She began to cry and just could not stop. She thrust her free hand into her apron pocket and grabbed her pocketwatch, squeezed it tightly, and stumbled to keep up.

The staff they passed looked on at her with pity, then looked away quickly. The guard took her down the tower stairs, along the blue corridor, and through the closest exit to the courtyard. They crossed the open area where many people saw her, and she shrivelled in shame. They passed the pond with the bronze porpoises, and continued across the parade ground to the rear of the castle. By then half of Doncia’s crying was from the pain of her wrist being crushed and tugged.

He took her through a heavy gate and down stone steps. At the bottom was an obese man in a leather coat with many straps. On one strap hung a ring with many iron keys.

‘Mellon,’ the guard greeted him. ‘Put this one away safe, will you? They’re saying she’s been thieving the countess’s jewellery.’ The guard thrust Doncia’s arm out with enough force to almost wrench it from its socket. She cried out in pain.

The jailer grunted at him and grabbed her arm. His grip wasn’t quite as crushing as the guard’s, but his arm was like a tree trunk. His face was greasy and his red bulbous nose was pitted with hundreds of black spots. He flung ropes of greasy hair out of his little eyes and sneered at her.

The guard marched back up the stairs and away.

‘Been a bad girl,’ Mellon said.

Doncia shied back. He wore a dirty cloth cap, and stank of urine.

‘It’s a mistake,’ she said.

‘It always is,’ he nodded sagely, then smirked. He unlocked another gate, never letting go of Doncia’s arm, and thrust her through into darkness.

‘Come now lass,’ he said. ‘What’s yer name?’

‘Doncia,’ she said.

He whistled. ‘Doncia Beltran, be it?’

She nodded. She’d given up being surprised that people knew her.

‘I’ll put you in a clean cell, then, miss, a right pretty one. I don’t want her wrath, do I?’

Doncia wondered who he meant. He might be quite as mad as he seemed.

‘Turn yer pockets out, then.’

Doncia thought fast.

‘There’s just the one in my apron,’ she said. ‘It’s empty.’ As she turned it inside out she caught her pocketwatch in her hand and hoped he couldn’t see it in the dark.

‘Not so quick,’ he said. ‘What you got there?’

He snatched it.

‘A pocketwatch,’ he said. ‘More thieving, then.’

Doncia had never been without it. A wave of dread hit her.

‘It’s mine! Give it back!’

‘No. It probably belongs to Countess Sabra, does this. Let’s say we try her out, and if it’s not hers, we’ll give it back. Can’t be fairer, can we?’

‘It’s mine,’ she screamed at him. ‘You are the thief!’

He stared at her for a long moment, as if controlling himself.

‘Actually,’ he said, ‘give me the apron too. Don’t want you hurting yerself.’

Doncia untied it and pulled it off, and held it out with tears streaming.

He just chuckled and threw it in a corner. He took her along a filthy stone corridor, and down another stairwell. There were gaslights but their glasses were so grimy the light was brown and dim. They headed past the cells to one with 37 scratched into the heavy door.

‘Your new home.’

He counted slowly through his keys, mouthing the numbers, and chose one. The lock tumbled and a blast of dank air hit her as the door opened. He pushed her hard in the middle of the back so she stumbled forward into the gloom, and the door thundered closed. The lock turned.

She collapsed to the floor, curled her knees up to her chin, and wept.