It’s like a badly cut trideo. One moment I’m sitting comfortably in the Tsarina’s front seat, the next I’m sprawled grotesquely across something hard and jagged, head down, hoop in the air. My face is freezing, my back’s scorching hot. There are sounds in my ears, but the horrible shrieking-ringing inside my head’s too overpowering for me to make sense of them. When I try to open my eyes, I feel the eyelids move, but I’m still blind. I try to move, but my body’s not paying attention to the messages my brain’s sending it. I feel like I’m in a fragging nightmare, which suddenly sends me into a panic. Or maybe it’s the turbocharged nerve-jolts of fear that do it. My legs and back spasm, and I roll over onto my right side. Something sharp and cold lances into my left buttock.