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– jarring her spine, throwing a boy onto her lap. His red curls brushed against her throat and he cheekily burrowed his freckled face between her breasts. With the roll of the barge he fell backwards again before she could react.
    She hugged her knees for protection as the air gotthick and heavy and the dawn turned abruptly back to dark. The crowd’s eagerness shifted to something fearful.
    â€˜What’s happening?’ shouted one.
    Another. ‘We’re sinking!’
    â€˜Fross!’
    Huddled in the pitch-black, fear-stink of the cabin, the cries unnerved her. She shut her eyes. Joel. She chanted to herself. Joel. Saying his name made her feel safer.
    Heaviness came next, as if gravity had altered. Breathing got hard. The fear-shouts dwindled.
    Then the pain from her obedience strip returned, worse than before. An obscene, tearing hurt that burned from her thigh up to her vertebrae and into her chest. She curled into a ball, biting her tongue to stop from screaming, gouging the flesh of her upper arms with her nails.
    Her mind became all; a giant slug filled with ugly, crawling creatures and bad places. And … noise … music, she guessed … but not like anything she had ever heard before.
    She pressed her hands to her ears to shut out the raw, thick pulse of it. It stripped her mind of everything and lodged in her belly, churning and quivering. It made her want the boy to put his face back between her breasts. She pressed her nipples to stem the sensation. She couldn’t bear the wildness of her thoughts.
    Then, abruptly, the pain dulled and the music quieted. The barge steadied to a gentle roll and the cabinlit. Retra’s eyes flew open, released from the transition. The Riper stood, poised amongst the scatter of bodies, his pale face raised in ecstasy.
    â€˜Welcome to Ixion.’

They filed from the barge, winter refugees in boots and coats, into an unnatural, sticky heat. Music spread across the surface of the night air like spilled oil, and the flitting shapes of thousands of bats partly obliterated the stars. Retra watched them pour above the barge like a black rainbow across a dark canvas.
    So many . Their moist, musky scent assaulted Retra’ssenses. Between her legs and under her arms became damp with perspiration.
    â€˜Look forward,’ said a cold voice.
    Retra pulled her gaze from the sky to the Ripers. They were watching everyone walk down the drawbridge as if memorising faces. The one who had hauled Retra aboard the barge gave her a mock bow as she shuffled past. She shrank from him, not wanting to be remembered.
    The bridge led straight to the back of a large, plain building. Retra tried to see beyond it but bright spotlights along the bridge confused her vision.
    Ahead of her in the queue stood Markes and Cal. He had a bulky case slung across his shoulders, an instrument of some kind. Retra wondered if he’d stolen it. In the Seal compound, only Elders were allowed to own such things. Perhaps it was different in Grave North.
    The pair was nearly at the Register. She wanted to get closer to Markes – just to say good luck, she told herself – but that meant speaking to Cal as well, and the girl’s manner made her uncomfortable.
    Instead, she stopped at the foot of the bridge, suddenly not wishing to leave the barge. Something from out in the dark brushed her throat, damp fingers smearing her with warm wetness. She started, raising a hand against it, but touched nothing.
    A teasing whisper in her ear – no, more a thought. Come to me …
    She glanced around to see if anyone else had heard, but those near her gazed eagerly ahead. Except the Riper; he watched her.
    She bowed her head and hurried on.
    The queue split into three lines, each siphoning into a closed booth. She found herself in the line next to Markes just as he disappeared into one with Cal.
    At the same time a hand tugged at her shoulder. ‘Want to do the same as