‘That’s different,’ Eir protested, rather uncertainly.

‘Is it really?’ Randur said. He gripped his tankard, took a sip of lager. ‘Is it really so different for a man to expect payment?’

‘Whoring,’ Denlin offered. ‘That’s what that is. At least common whores is more honest about taking money, like. And I’ve known some lovely ones in my time…’

‘Thank you, Denlin.’ Randur wondered if the old man would ever shut up. ‘All I’m doing is giving some emotional and physical attention to certain neglected ladies who need it, and taking an unofficial fee in the unspoken market. The jewellery I take is in order to save my mother’s life. If you’re going to get all moral over this, I still reckon I’ve got the higher ground – so there you have it. I’m working to get my mother’s life back, but I’m still a little short in coin.’

‘How much do you need?’ Eir said suddenly.

Randur tried to read her expression and said, ‘Four hundred Jamúns.’

As he took a sip she said, ‘I can get that for you.’

Randur nearly spat the drink on the table. ‘Really? You can?’ He wanted to be a gentleman, to refuse her kindness, but despite his inherent politeness, despite his pride, he couldn’t refuse something like that – because his mother’s life depended upon it.

For a normally proud man, he wasn’t feeling much pride right now.

‘Yes,’ Eir said, ‘that is, if what you say really is true.’

‘You think I’d lie about a thing like that? If that’s what you think, you can keep your fucking money.’ Randur stood to leave, shuffled along the table. A few customers turned to watch. ‘Fuck you looking at?’

Eir rose with him. ‘Randur, don’t. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.’

He looked at her for a moment, then sat back down. He wasn’t sure he’d really have walked out, but it was one of those gestures, a little drama in a situation that required it. And it was time for him to show a lack of trust – why was she willing to give him so much money, to help him so blatantly? It made him highly suspicious. For someone so solipsistic, he rarely believed in himself.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand though. Why do you blame yourself for her illness?’

‘Because I was more busy having fun than being there for her – being there for my own mother. I was too young and selfish to notice.’

‘You mustn’t blame yourself…’ Eir began.

‘Well, I do. I have to save her. That’s why I’m here, in this miserable city.’

Her brow furrowed. ‘So, does that mean you’re actually not my genuine sword and dance instructor?’

‘No, I’m not the genuine Randur Estevu.’ He then explained how he’d been able to enter the city.

‘And your real name?’ Eir said.

‘Can’t be much worse than the one you’re using,’ Denlin suggested.

‘I’d rather remain known as Randur Estevu, for the time being anyway.’

‘Fine. And you will at least continue teaching me dance until the Snow Ball is over?’

‘If I’m not hanged for theft, meanwhile, sure,’ he said. ‘Although I’ll need to leave soon afterwards – once I get whatever the cultist gives me – and then get back to my mother.’

Randur wasn’t sure what to feel at this moment. Jamur Eir was sitting here, in a dingy tavern in the roughest area of the city. It was not only bizarre enough that she had followed him all this way, but also was now going to give him all the money he needed to pay Dartun Súr. He had assumed it would take much longer to get the funds, so what did he feel now – gratitude, relief?

‘Why’re you being so kind to me?’ Randur demanded.

‘I think what you’re doing here is quite brave – especially since you’re doing it all for your mother. I in particular can appreciate the importance of a mother in someone’s life… And if it means you don’t have to service every rich widow in the city, then I’d feel – then that’s good.’

Randur tried not to show his sudden confusion at her words. He would never understand the female mind. ‘I truly appreciate it, I really do.’

‘One condition,’ she said.

‘What’s that, then?’

‘That I can come with you back to Folke. I want to see some of the Empire. I’ve been sheltered too long. My sword instructor would certainly seem an acceptable guardian in the eyes of those in Balmacara.’

A smile on his face. ‘You have a deal. Now hadn’t we better get back?’

Eir nodded a yes.

Denlin seemed to have fallen asleep. The old man’s head had tipped back, his mouth slightly open.

‘Den!’ Randur banged the table.

‘Whassa… Oh, must’ve drifted off.’ He slapped his own face to rouse himself. ‘What’s happened then? You two all patched up and in love?’

‘We’re friends again,’ Randur said, standing up. ‘We’re off now. Looks like the sun’s nearly up.’

‘Aye. So, I guess you won’t be coming down these parts again, if the lady’s paying your debt.’

Was he really sleeping all that time? ‘No, I guess not as much as before.’ Randur felt a little awkward. Despite Denlin being crude and obnoxious, they had a bond, had spent a good few nights drinking and laughing together. ‘Thanks for everything. We’ve had some good times down here.’

‘Aye, well, don’t be a stranger, will you.’ Denlin offered his hand. ‘Always welcome at my place, too. Enjoyed those card games we had there, without the riff-raff.’

The two men shook, but Randur noticed how the old man had discreetly returned the rings that belonged to Lady Iora into his hand.

Randur shook his head. ‘Cheers, Denlin. I’ll be back down here sometime soon – only, just for drinks this time.’

‘Well, you’ll find me here, doing a bit of this, a bit of that.’ Denlin glanced to Eir. ‘Look after the lad.’

‘He’ll need more help than I can offer.’ Eir stood up quickly, walked out of the tavern.

As Randur reached the door, he looked back and tossed one of the rings back to him. ‘Buy yourself something smarter to wear.’

‘And waste good lager? You’ve a lot to learn, Randur.’ Denlin peered down into the bottom of his tankard.

A smile was all Randur could offer. Anything else would’ve been too awkward.

Randur and Eir stepped out into a bright Caveside morning.

People newly woken were venturing out into the streets, where boys were drawing carts of dubious-looking vegetables to the market. The sign outside the blacksmiths said ‘No Jobs’. Two officers of the watch were talking to a man sleeping in a doorway, demanding if he had nowhere else to live, and would he mind moving on.

It really is another world down here, Randur thought, turning to Eir. ‘Are people going to worry if you’re not back in Balmacara soon?’

‘Why do you ask?’ She regarded him with those big eyes. He thought for a moment that they might trap a man who wasn’t in control of himself. There was a vulnerability in her expression, he realized, something that made him want more from her. You have to be savvy to avoid situations like that. Trouble was, he didn’t think he was much able to deal with it.

‘I want you to see something. I really think you need to see it.’

‘Well, this is home. Ain’t a palace, mind, but I like to think there are those who’d kill for a spot like this.’ Denlin stood back proudly as Eir gazed around his home. He hastily cleared away a couple of cups, as if the gesture would improve the appearance of the place.

The room was tiny, probably just a quarter of the size of her own sleeping chambers. Two lanterns illuminated the room in a dreary shade of brown. Simple wooden furniture, one small table with several chairs and Jorsalir ornaments scattered here and there. Religious paintings on the wall, in frames that had seen better days. The walls were crumbling, and even the incense burning in an adjacent room could not disguise a smell of dampness in the air.

Outside in the streets a banshee began her keening, and everyone turned to face the window instinctively to confirm it wasn’t themselves.