Fulcrom seemed to like that.

Jeryd continued, ‘So who the hell d’you think will take over the Jamur Empire? Can you imagine that pompous git Urtica being in charge?’

Fulcrom shrugged. ‘Not our call to make.’

‘No, indeed.’ Jeryd took a moment to rid himself of splenetic thoughts. ‘So, to business. We’ve got some people to save.’

Fulcrom moved nearer to Jeryd. ‘Soldiers have made some movements around one of the tunnels. It’s the one they’re letting the first wave of refugees into, and it’s one of the older tunnels. I’ve got it marked on a map.’

‘Good,’ Jeryd said. ‘Any idea how many?’ So this is it. It’s really happening.

Fulcrom shook his head. ‘No, all I got was the tip-off. As for some help, I’ve managed to round up a few of the young investigators who still have principles.’

‘Can they be trusted, though?’

‘They know what they’re in for and just how secret this must be.’

‘Fair enough.’ Jeryd knew he could rely on Fulcrom’s selection. ‘There’s just one thing we’ve to do on the way.’

Jeryd knocked hard on the metal door of Mayter Sidhe’s house of banshees, as Fulcrom glanced left and right along the snow-covered street. Only a few people were out and about, hunched under so many layers of clothing that you could hardly see their faces.

It took much longer than usual for the door to open. That alerted Jeryd’s suspicions, but he knew something was definitely wrong when Mayter Sidhe answered the door herself.

‘Investigator,’ she said, her blue eyes a shade dimmer than previously. She glanced nervously at Fulcrom.

‘It’s OK, he’s with me,’ Jeryd said.

‘You’d better come in,’ she beckoned.

No fragrance this time, no welcoming fire. The place was as cold as the street outside. A couple of chairs were broken and left in the shadow of the stairway.

‘Where are the others?’

She gestured for the two rumel to sit down, but they insisted on standing.

‘Why are you here?’ she asked.

‘We just want a chat,’ Jeryd said, and told her everything he could about the threat to the refugees, going on to state that he would appreciate it if the banshees would forbear to draw attention to any conspirators’ deaths that might occur during his intended raid on the tunnels.

‘This explains much,’ she sighed. Her expression was full of sadness.

‘Explains what?’ Jeryd said.

‘Wait here a moment.’ She left the room and returned with one of the younger banshees, looking like a smaller replica of herself.

Jeryd was about to say something, but Mayter Sidhe held up her hand to silence him. She turned to the girl. ‘Show the investigator.’

The young woman shook her head, manically, her eyes filled with a fear Jeryd had never seen before.

‘Show the investigator,’ Mayter Sidhe repeated insistently.

After a moment, the girl opened her mouth.

Her tongue was missing. Scar tissue had already begun to blossom. Jeryd grimaced, glancing at Fulcrom who also looked appalled. The girl began to sob, then hurriedly left the room.

‘A few nights ago,’ Mayter Sidhe said calmly, ‘some masked men broke into our house. They did this to everyone – took the tongues of everyone apart from me. I was the only one not at home. A couple of the girls bled to death on their beds, including my youngest who was only ten.’

‘Who did this?’ Jeryd asked horrified.

‘I wasn’t here to see. And none of them can now tell me exactly what went on. All my girls are forever silenced.’

Jeryd couldn’t find the words to express his disgust.

‘So you see,’ she continued, ‘someone has already asked for much the same favour that you did, just a little more forcefully.’

Mayter Sidhe would say nothing further.

Jeryd knew instantly what was going on. Whoever intended to kill the refugees had realized that the banshees would soon raise the alarm over death on such a large scale. Their screams would inevitably draw in someone to investigate.

So the witch women of Villjamur had been made inert, silenced for good.

Jeryd greeted the assembled investigators with a curt nod as they huddled in a damp, mould-covered underground passage. There were a couple of sword tips poking out beneath cloaks, and a ceaseless drip of water somewhere added to the gloom of the melancholy room.

Jeryd had considered it best for everyone to remain anonymous to each other, so he had assigned each of the young rumel a number from one to ten. After briefing them all precisely, he and Fulcrom again consulted some maps. Networks of passageways as old as civilization itself were already committed to memory and the two rumel had discussed the best access routes, the best exits. There was one way out for those refugees who were being brought into the tunnels. Two if you included death.

Jeryd finally checked the crossbow hidden under his cloak, checked the knives tucked in his boots, the small sword that hung at his side.

Now, off to work.

Down here the passages were so narrow in places that you had to walk sideways. Jeryd wondered what kind of people were of this slender girth a thousand years ago. Where there was no light, you relied on touch to get you through until you reached the next shaft of light illuminating the path. The walls were damp and cold, with lichen and mould proliferating wherever light struck the stone. Their companions were the usual rats, which was only to be expected. Still, at least there were no damn spiders – he shuddered to think how he’d react to spiders in such a tight space as this, and in front of so many other men from the Inquisition. Above them, Villjamur was experiencing another day, just like any other, unaware of the thousands of people whose lives were now under threat.

For half an hour they travelled underground until it was too deep to expect any external light. Fulcrom carried a torch ahead of Jeryd to guide the way, while boots shuffled reassuringly behind.

Into Villjamur’s heart of darkness.

According to intelligence reports, refugees would be brought here in small numbers and disposed of over a long period of time. The first and unluckiest refugees were going to be, or already were, confined in one of three escape tunnels leading over to the west. As to how the refugees were to be killed, no one yet knew. Perhaps it would be a simple, brutal execution by the sword, but, on this scale, who would have the nerve to do that to the Empire’s citizens? There would be so much panic probably, so maybe the methods would be more discreet, more subtle.

Fulcrom paused, held out a warning hand that Jeryd saw only when he had walked into it. Everyone else stopped.

‘What’s up?’ Jeryd whispered.

Fulcrom held a finger to his lips, tilting his head as if to better hear some sound. Jeryd listened too. Faintly, they could hear voices through walls. How far away, he could not decide.

‘I’d say they’re a level below us,’ Fulcrom ventured. ‘We’re not far off.’

Jeryd replied, ‘Where will the city guard be?’

‘Probably at the entrance to that same level. There are three access routes, and we’re following one of them. They, however, will most likely approach from the direction of the Council Atrium, so we’re fine here.’

‘Press on?’ Jeryd suggested.

‘Hold this a moment.’ Fulcrom handed Jeryd the torch, then he took off his cloak and let it drop to the floor. Everyone followed suit till their metal weaponry glittered openly in the torchlight.

Jeryd handed back the torch and began loading his crossbow.