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Corbin

Corbin rolls up to them on a scooter. She looks about eleven, with dark hair and serious eyes.

“–In an hour,” Thierry is saying, “it won’t matter! We bet our lives!

“We don’t have to untie it if we run–hello?” snaps Guido. “Yes, little girl?”

They’re standing over a tangled rope-pile, topped by a knot as big as her head.

“There are two ways to untie every knot,” Corbin says. Guido follows her gaze to a wall: there’s a glass-fronted firebox there, and inside, an axe. He looks back at her, astounded.

She’s already gone, rolling downhill and away.

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