Liam's lips tightened. 'She's only a little girl. She doesn't know anything about swords. What if she cuts herself? It's sharp, right?' 'Of course it is sharp, Liam. What would be the point ot having a sword that wasn't?

We sit in the ruin, each reading a book, or three of us read out of four. Three different voices speak to us. We have taught the children to read again this week. Here, where there is no voice, apart from ours, they are desperate for any other. They will even sing to themselves, sometimes. The boy whistles. He makes his voice croak. He sings the same thing again, but breathing in. A bird echoes the first notes of Vivaldi.

Couldn't I just take up juggling fire over a pit of alligators?' Liam muttered. 'I think it might be easier.