‘Indeed, chancellor. Anything for you, and for the Ovinists.’ Tryst swallowed, bowed his head slightly. ‘One thing, though: what about the banshees?’

‘What about them?’

‘This many deaths – on a large scale. Surely their screams may attract rather too much attention?’

‘Leave that to me,’ Urtica said grimly, and paced around momentarily. ‘Now, in getting rid of the rumel, I’d suggest some explosives. Make it look like something other than an assassination. I know a cultist open to persuasion, so you can get armed with the necessary equipment to take out his entire house – in case he may have documented his findings. Set a timer to make certain you’re clear, but I can guarantee you a good alibi.’

A strange emotion overwhelmed Tryst, and suddenly his stomach felt sick. He really didn’t want to kill Jeryd. Certainly he had resented the old rumel, but he only wanted him to suffer. Killing him was going too far. But he had to prove himself to Urtica, the man who would soon be Emperor.

Tryst had been travelling so far under Caveside that he feared he’d never see daylight again. Urtica had given him the address of a cultist who worked alone, and, somewhat dubiously, occasionally helping out people when the coin was right, no questions asked.

The bag of money he carried was slowing him down. Coloured lanterns lit the way sporadically, casting light on rats and dogs and grubby children playing games among discarded poultry bones.

Eventually he came to a narrow, solitary street, whose habitations were carved into the cliff. After peering carefully around him, Tryst approached the one he wanted, then knocked on the door three times in quick succession.

It opened to reveal an old woman wrapped in a dark red robe. ‘What d’you want?’ she enquired harshly.

‘I was sent by the chancellor,’ he explained. The lines etching her face creased even further, though her eyes were dazzling in the dreary light.

‘Urtica, eh?’ she said, with obvious interest.

Tryst revealed the bags of money. ‘I need some devices making tonight.’

She eyed it carefully, then himself. ‘By all means, come in.’

The room beyond the rough wooden door was lit by dozens of thick candles. Tryst had to walk awkwardly around piles of books that littered the floor to reach a central table. There were items in bottles on shelves which he couldn’t discern, maybe organs of some hybrid beast, and he swore that one of them was moving.

She indicated a chair and he sat down, placing the bag of money on the table. She turned to face a mirror. She removed her hood, combing her hair with her fingers, pulling long, grey strands to either side of her face. There was something distinctly childlike about her manner.

Eventually, she came over to the table, sat opposite him.

Her eyes were blue-tinted, and she regarded him with a soft intensity, as if thinking him someone from her past. ‘What d’you need?’ she asked.

‘Brenna devices for destroying an entire house. And the person within it.’

‘Four small ones should be enough.’

‘You’ll need to show me how to use these brenna things. I’m not familiar with handling relics.’

She leaned forward, her old eyes sparkling. ‘Don’t worry, lad. I’ll help you out.’

‘Much appreciated.’ Suddenly he felt a little nervous, as if the quality of the conversation had changed. ‘I’ll need a time delay of a few hours before they explode. Could you work that into the magic?’

She said unexpectedly, ‘Down here, it’s not often I get to see someone so… handsome.’

Tryst murmured, ‘Thanks… Sorry, I don’t know your name.’

‘Sofen,’ she said. ‘Not that it means much down here, where so few people ever use it.’

‘What order of cultists do you belong to?’ Tryst said, keen to change the subject.

‘I belong to none. Plenty of cultists prefer to work on their own, lad. Less politics that way and you’re not bound to follow any particular creed. How’s this sound, lad. You stay and keep me company for a couple of hours, while I get your devices made to your exact requirements.’

‘Company?’ Tryst said, beginning to comprehend her innuendo.

She’s sick… Surely she’s kidding? Or is this some test to prove my loyalty to Urtica?

‘Don’t look so surprised,’ Sofen continued. ‘You see old men getting the services of young women all the time, so it should work just as easily the other way.’

‘Right.’ Tryst was beginning to feel desperate. He couldn’t hope to get Jeryd and his house destroyed properly if he didn’t obtain the relics.

‘What’s wrong?’ Sofen interrupted. ‘You don’t find me attractive?’

‘It’s not that,’ Tryst blustered. Although, let’s face it, hag, not even the tide would take you out. ‘No, it’s just that I’m a man of principle.’

‘Principle,’ she said. ‘Ha! What kind of principle is there in asking me for the means of killing another?’

‘It depends,’ Tryst said, ‘on why and who you’re killing.’

She observed him thoroughly. ‘At least you’re honest. I like that. Still, my price remains. You pay me and satisfy me.’

Tryst considered his options again, and didn’t like what he was being faced with.

‘Shall I make it easier for you?’ Sofen said.

‘How d’you mean?’ Tryst said, a little uncertain whether or not this was some form of threat.

‘Wait a moment.’ Sofen walked over to a doorway leading into darkness beyond. After reaching to lift what appeared to be a metal mirror off the shelf, she stepped into the umbrae.

Purple light spat outwards, no sound with it, only a thin waft of smoke drifting like incense.

Tryst stood tensely alert, reaching for the short sword he carried under his cloak. A strange, almost floral smell caused him to frown.

‘Sofen?’ he said, and made a step towards the darkness.

A beautiful woman walked out of it.

Tryst was shocked at this apparition and its obvious similarity to how Sofen must have looked when sixty years younger. Her hair was now luxuriant, a glossy black, her eyes still a dazzling blue. Full lips, prominent cheekbones. She removed her outer robe to reveal an elegant white dress, plain but cut to cling to a slender frame, revealing just enough about the body beneath to win his approval.

The new woman spoke, with a smirk. ‘You can now pick your jaw up.’

‘Who are you?’ Tryst said.

‘The same woman you were disgusted with moments earlier.’ She grunted a laugh. ‘Magic: it’s all wish-fulfilment really. This is an illusion of how I once was, and you’ve got me in this state for an hour, more or less, so take your time.’

The transformation was so remarkable, he was truly lost for words. ‘I… don’t know.’ He hesitated.

She leaned in so close he could smell the clean fragrance of her skin, the freshness of her breath. Breasts were pressed up against his chest. All her wrinkles, all the sadness in her expression were gone.

His hand in hers, she steered him towards the darkness.