But this Randur was someone who was finally interesting. The fact that she’d heard through servants’ gossip that he went to the caves made him more so. What was it he got up to? For some unaccountable reason she wanted to find this out, but it looked like nothing was going to happen tonight.

No sooner had she thought that, when the door opened. Randur stepped out.

She pursued him down the corridor, her careful footsteps whispering over the tiles. Guards queried her route, but she lied to each of them, stating a Night Guard soldier was to meet her shortly. For a place that pretended to be so secure, it seemed remarkably easy to slip away.

It took Randur half an hour to reach the Garuda’s Head. The door was open, as it nearly always was, throwing a square of light on the street outside. There was little noise from within, but Denlin sat at a table with a fat man, several cards laid out before them under the glow of lanterns. Denlin noticed Randur’s entrance, but remained focused on his game.

A crowd stood around them, whispering amid urgent laughter.

The fat man he played with, dressed in a scruffy brown tunic, held his head in his hands. There were beads of sweat across his forehead as he stared at the cards with his mouth slightly open, as if a knife had been shoved in his stomach.

‘What’s it to be?’ Denlin said to the fat man.

His opponent poked one thick finger at a card in the middle. Denlin flipped it over to a gasp from the crowd. An image of a dragon on the upturned card meant Denlin was the victor.

The fat man simply gazed at the card for some time as those watching gave an almost embarrassed laugh that suggested they’d seen this guy lose a lot of money before, that this might even be his weekly routine before he disappeared penniless into the deep night. He clutched the table, shook his head.

Denlin held out his hands to collect his coins. ‘A pleasure.’ He gathered up the cards, left the table.

‘You’re late this evening,’ Denlin said to Randur, as they walked to the bar.

‘Yes. She fell asleep on me. Twice.’

‘Not during, I hope?’

‘As if.’

‘Well, spare me the tales, lad. Been a long time since I dipped me wick, like. My drought’s moved into its second year.’ Then, to the landlord, ‘Two lagers.’

Randur glanced around, noticed a stranger standing at one end of the bar, a hood pulled over his face.

‘So,’ Denlin said between sips, ‘what you got this time?’

Randur handed over two gold rings, each set with a precious stone. ‘Either of these any good?’

Denlin put the items under the light, tilted them this way and that. His face screwed up into wrinkles, highlighting his age. ‘Not bad at all, lad. Who’s this lot from?’

‘A Lady Iora,’ Randur replied. ‘Recently widowed, and damn wealthy as a result.’

The hooded stranger gasped, then looked down at a tankard.

Denlin glanced quickly over to the figure, then at Randur. ‘You gonna tell me who your mate is?’

‘I’m sorry?’ Randur said.

‘Your pal who came in here with you.’ Denlin indicated the hooded newcomer.

‘I came alone,’ Randur said. Then, to the stranger, ‘Mate, does our business interest you?’

The figure made to leave, then Denlin grabbed one arm. The stranger gave a high-pitched squeal.

‘Den, stop that.’ With a shocked realization, Randur walked over, pulled aside the hood. ‘Lady Eir, for fuck’s sake, what are you doing here? How the hell did you get out of Bal-macara?’

Her eyes widened with uncertainty, then all she could do was stare at the floor. Her hair was dishevelled. No make-up, no jewellery, nothing that might indicate her position, but down here they only knew her as a title, not a face.

Randur drew her hood back up, then took her outside, Denlin following.

‘Eir,’ he hissed, ‘what’re you doing here?’

She spun around in the dark street, and suddenly she was as passive-aggressive as usual.

‘Actually, Randur Estevu, I think it’s you who should be answering that question. I’ve just witnessed you admit to stealing, and from a lady of the court, what’s more. You’ve stolen within Balmacara, so I should have you executed. You’re nothing but a common thief. I should’ve known better.’

‘She’s got a point there, lad,’ Denlin concurred from the doorway of the tavern.

Randur looked back at the old man. Fortunately there was no one else within earshot in the dirty backstreet. ‘Thank you for that, Denlin.’

Randur looked to Eir, sighed. He took some time to think of a suitable answer, then shrugged. ‘You’re right, I’ve stolen. Maybe I can explain. Though I reckon I should be getting you back to Balmacara before the sun rises. It’s not safe here.’

‘I think a common thief is the last person who should be responsible for my safety, don’t you think?’ She folded her arms, glared at him.

Randur took a deep breath. Be careful what you say, Rand. You’ve blagged your way into the city, and now your mouth might get you kicked right back out again.

Denlin stepped forward, stood in between them. ‘This, uhm, who I think it is? Jamur Eir?’

Eir stared at Randur, unspoken questions in her gaze, waiting for reassurance.

‘Go on,’ Randur prompted.

‘Yes, yes, it is,’ Eir said. ‘And who are you?’

‘Friend of the lad, here, that’s all.’

‘A thief too?’ Eir said.

‘Ha! No. Though some might call me that, especially in there.’ Denlin gestured vaguely towards the tavern, then scratched his head, ruffling his already messy grey hair. ‘No, I’m an odd-job man, like. I do a bit of this, a bit of that. You need something, I’ll find it – for a price of course. At your service, my lady.’ He took a bow.

Randur couldn’t decide if he was being sarcastic or not. ‘Den, you think you could leave us alone for a bit?’

‘Anything you have to say,’ Eir snapped, ‘you can say here, in the open.’

Randur looked between them, sighed. ‘I don’t know about you two, but I want a drink.’ He went back into the Garuda’s Head.

Denlin scratched his crotch, followed, muttering, ‘At last, some sense.’

‘What, you’re going to just leave me out here alone?’ Eir protested.

Randur turned in the doorway. ‘You want answers, step into my office.’

‘I’m a thief, yes,’ Randur admitted, then took a swig of his lager, staring at Eir across the table. She clasped a cup of watered wine from which she took occasional sips, making a face as if she’d sucked at a lump of salt. ‘But, I’m stealing with good reason.’

‘Doesn’t every thief?’ Eir said.

‘She’s got a point, lad,’ Denlin said, then belched.

‘Thank you, Denlin.’ Randur glared at him. Back to Eir, he continued, ‘I’m stealing because I need the money to…’ He paused for a moment. He might as well tell everything. ‘To save my mother from dying.’

Eir’s expression softened.

‘From tunthux.’

Denlin whistled. ‘Nasty.’

‘What’s tunthux?’ Eir enquired.

‘The slow death, they call it,’ Denlin volunteered. ‘Can take a few years for someone to die from it. At the end they say you bleed from every orifice, blood pouring from your arse-hole-’

‘Thank you, Denlin!’ Randur interrupted. ‘We don’t need to hear all that.’ Then, to Eir, ‘My mother is dying and I came to Villjamur to find a cure, from a cultist. I need to raise money, you see, since a cultist won’t do it for nothing. And that’s why I’m taking things – jewellery, gemstones – from certain women I give… satisfaction to. As you yourself explained, Eir, I can’t exactly take stuff from Balmacara, so…’

‘So you seduce vulnerable ladies of the court for their wealth,’ Eir sneered. ‘How honourable of you.’

‘I give them plenty in return. I give them excitement and attention, albeit for a short while. They certainly aren’t getting it from anyone else, so is that so bad? That I satisfy them? And besides, who would say a thing if it was a young woman accepting the odd trinket from her older male lover.’