The old man raised the jug and took a long pull then wiped his mouth with a greasy sleeve. He squinted blearily at the trail, shook his head in a long drawn out negative. ‘No, Temp- that is, Master Sergeant. I'm not a Warren-mage. Blood and the Elders is my path. And you don't want me opening it. Not yet.’

The master sergeant looked like he was about to savage the man with a few good curses, but then he stopped. He scratched his stubbled cheeks while studying the old mage and actually appeared unnerved. He tilted his head, accepting the explanation. ‘Yeah. Let's hope it don't come to that.’ He raised a hand to sign a return. It was dawn before they sighted camp and when they returned they found everyone packing for another day's march.

Ho came and kicked Grief – that is, Blues – awake where he dozed in the shade under canvas hung at the bow of the Forlorn. ‘Yath's drowning another of us.’

The man cracked open one eye. ‘Why're you telling me? I'm not his keeper. You lot can rule yourselves – like you were so proud of.’

‘We're on board your ship! If you can call this rotting wreck a ship. You have authority.’

Blues groaned, fumbled to his feet. Ho still could not get used to calling the man by his real name. Real? More like his earlier alias. Who knew what his real name was? To him, he'd always be Grief. Ho chuckled aloud – he liked that. Blues gave him a puzzled glance. ‘The stern.’

‘Right. The stern.’ He motioned to two of his companions. ‘Get Fingers.’ Grumbling, the two headed below.

The Seven Cities cargo ship Forlorn boasted two decks, the main and a raised second stern deck. The gap between was tall enough for most save the tallest of the men. At the very stern, where the keel rose up tall and curving, Yath and Sessin were overseeing a party of his most enthusiastic supporters teamed on a rope. Seeing so many of the inmates all crowded together almost made Ho laugh aloud again; what a ragged, seedy and just plain scrofulous spectacle they all presented! Most had hacked their hair to brush-cut length to rid themselves of the clinging dust; most wore no more than blankets or rags taken from the ship's stores. All the pale-skinned ones were sun-burnt red with cracked, bleeding skin. Ho ran a hand over his own shaved head and winced as he was sun-burnt just as badly. And to make it worse, they were already nearly out of water.

‘That's enough,’ Blues called.

The men looked to Blues then glanced at Yath. After a moment the Seven Cities priest allowed an indifferent shrug. The men hauled on the rope. It was amazing, Ho reflected, how the revelations that followed the arrival of the Forlorn with the rest of Blues’ squad, or blade, had instilled a spirit of cooperation among the fractious band of inmate mages. The truth that Blues and Treat and his squad were not just secessionists working against the Empress, but in fact were Crimson Guardsmen, and not only that, all six were of the Avowed: well – it certainly ended the talk of throwing them overboard.

The rope team pulled an old man up over the railing to splay naked and unconscious on to the deck. He had tightly curled greying hair and brown skin, and scars of swirling designs covered him. Ho recognized him as Jain, a Dal Hon warlock. ‘Yath! You idiot!’ Blues snarled. He knelt over Jain, listened at his chest, then tilted his head back and blew into his mouth. The man coughed, spluttered, inhaled a great gasping breath.

‘Wasted effort,’ sneered a voice from behind Ho and he turned to see the skinny, almost skeletal shape of Fingers, the mage, with Treat and Dim. While of the Avowed, the mage had the appearance of a gangly apprentice.

‘He must be cleansed of the taint,’ Yath said. ‘All of us must be.’

‘Have you gone under?’ Blues snapped.

‘I have.’

Blues waved curtly to the grinning Sessin. ‘Has he?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you're finished. Everyone's gone.’

Yath stepped closer. He appeared even more hungry and wiry now that he'd shaved his beard. He leant forward on his staff – a new staff he'd found on board – to tower over Blues. ‘Not everyone…’

‘Now wait a minute. Why should we-’

‘You were in the Pit.’ Yath raised a brow to Fingers. ‘Your friends nearby were exposed to the dust. Your continuing contamination spreads dust anew. All of you must wash. Cut your hair. Scour your skin with stones. Just as we have. And wash again. Your people and the women inmates as well – all, Su, Inese and that Korelan sea-witch.’

Blues eyed the man as if he was insane. ‘Why in the Abyss would we do that right now, right away? I mean, I plan on getting cleaned up – eventually. What's your rush?’

The Seven Cities priest's dark wrinkled face broke into a self-satisfied grin. He caught Ho's gaze and Ho realized that the man knew – that somehow he'd sensed what was going on – or had been informed by one of those he'd browbeaten into following him. ‘Tell him, Ho,’ Yath invited.

Blues turned to him. Ho rubbed his scalp and winced again. He pulled his hand away. ‘Something's going on at Heng. A lot of us can sense it – bits and pieces – glimpses, now that we're far from the islands. Something important. And Laseen is there.’

‘This insurrection you're talking about?’

‘… Yes… and more.’

‘More?’

‘Your mercenary company is involved,’ Yath said.

Blues’ gaze narrowed on Ho. ‘Is that true?’

Ho was unable to meet the man's eyes. He lowered his head. ‘Yes. They've come back. They are in the field near Heng.’

Blues was silent for some time. Jain continued coughing. Waves washed the sides of the Forlorn. Cordage creaked and rubbed overhead. ‘Why didn't you say anything?’

Ho raised his eyes, tried to plead for understanding. ‘I said nothing because I do not agree with Yath's proposal. What he is talking of is too dangerous. Far too risky for all of us. We will most likely all be killed.’

Blues’ mouth twisted in his clenched anger. He took his hands from the twin blades he now carried at his sides – his own swords had been left behind when he came to the Pit. Without moving his gaze he said, ‘Talk, old man.’

The Seven Cities priest made no effort to conceal his triumph. He bared his sharp yellow teeth. ‘A ritual, mercenary. We have among us more than thirty mages of considerable power. We will enact a ritual of movement through warren by ship. It is more common than you might imagine. Ask our Korelan friend – with her aid we are assured of success.’

‘Provided we can cleanse ourselves of the Otataral.’

‘Yes. Provided.’

Blues’ gaze slid past Ho to question Fingers. ‘Interesting…’ the mage said.

‘Now I'm definitely nervous,’ Blues muttered. But he waved a hand. ‘All right, Yath. We'll get cleaned up. In the meantime, set your people to scrubbing the deck.’

The Seven Cities mage actually bowed. ‘Excellent – Captain.’

Blues ignored the man, pointed to Treat. ‘Take down the sails, wash ‘em.’

Treat just rolled his eyes.