The stone steps were weather-worn, narrow and steep. I could only fit the ball of my foot on them, giving me the feeling that I was balancing precariously in space. I leaned forward, one hand touching the steps above to keep my balance. The stairs were so steep that climbing them was more like trying to scale a steep hillside. You didn’t stand up straight to do that; lean back a little and you’d topple backward and fall. I noticed that Rafael was doing the same—and concentrating intently on the stonework right in front of him. He was such a daredevil on his motorcycle that it had never occurred to me that he might be afraid of heights. The rebels chuckled to themselves and moved as if they were climbing a normal flight of stairs. But I noticed that they were sweating as much as Rafael and I were. Even for someone used to this heat, the climb was a real workout.