Carnelian was alone. As he lay back, the vision darkened, contracting down to the black ship outside with her distending belly. Most of what brought warmth and comfort to his people she had consumed. Tomorrow he and his father would go down too and she would have eaten everything. He ached for his old life. He begged for sleep, but the night was merciless.

They were woken by the rapping on the door. A voice cried something on the other side. Carnelian sat up, confused. The voice cried out again.

'It's time to leave,' said Tain from somewhere nearby. He sounded surprised. He coaxed a light into being.

Carnelian squinted through his fingers at him bustling round the room. 'Yesterday, the Master sent this and that for this morning.' His brother was holding a jar and pointing at a bundle on the floor.

Carnelian rose and braved the cold. Tain pulled something on then came back and started cleaning him. 'It'll not be long now,' he said as he felt Carnelian's body shudder. He broke open the wax seal on the new jar and stirred the stuff inside. 'It's thicker than the usual paint and apparently proof against the sea air.' He began to apply it in wet strokes of chalky white.

'It smells disgusting.' Carnelian was still only half awake.

After he was finished, Tain produced some old clothes.

'I'm really to wear these?' said Carnelian.

Tain shrugged. The Master sent nothing other than the jar and the cloak.'

They finished dressing him. Tain shook out the cloak like a billow of tar smoke. He threw it over Carnelian, then did up its belts, managing to hoist it up so that only a little of it would drag upon the ground. He nodded sagely. 'You could be wearing anything under it and nobody'd be any the wiser.'

'At least it's warm,' said Carnelian, and pulled the hood over his head. Tain's clothing was flimsy by comparison. Carnelian went into a corner and came back with his gull-feather cloak. 'Wear this, Tain, it'll be better than that rag.' His brother put it on, protested that it was far too big but was clearly delighted.

There was another rap at the door. Tain went to see who it was. He came back. 'Well, this is it, Carnie.' He looked very young, very grave. They've come for our things and I'm to go with them… onto the ship.'

'We'll go together.' Carnelian put on his mask and stood by the wall, out of the light, as Tain let in the bearers. When he saw they were his people he came out of the shadows.

'Master,' they cried and fell flat on the floor.

'Oh, for the Gods' sake, get up.' Carnelian took his mask off and scowled at them. They gave him watery smiles and then started picking up the bundles.

Carnelian and Tain followed them out. Every door they passed was closed. There were no sounds other than the scuffling of their feet. Carnelian was glad. He was feeling numb enough already and could not bear any tearful farewells. 'Better to just get it over with,' he muttered. The face Tain turned to him was wooden.

They came down into the alleyway. Carts lay angled among a scatter of debris in the Sword Court. Brown snow was carved by wheel-ruts, littered with straw. The place already looked as if it had been a hundred years abandoned.

The bearers were staggering down the alleyway to the Holdgate. They came into the court before the gate towers. The sky beyond them was paling grey. The wall all around the court was black. Carnelian could see the gate was open. When he and Tain reached it they stopped. The cobbled road curving down to the quay was lined with a long line of their tyadra. Each man held a torch aloft. Behind them were all their people. The ship was down at the end amongst a dense fluttering of torches.

They've been gathered to see us off,' said Tain, his voice breaking.

Carnelian reached out to steady him, then together they lurched forward towards the wall of grey faces. At first the people bowed, but soon they just nodded so that they could follow the two of them with their eyes. Carnelian's mask felt to him like cowardice. He took it off so that they could see his face. It cost him dear. Their eyes were like wounds. He forced himself to look from face to tattooed face. He counted them like beads. Swollen-eyed, stressed tight, lips just holding the narrowest of smiles, all but the youngest having the winding tattoo, the mark of the chameleon, his mark, his servants, his people.

He moved down that avenue of faces sideways, a step at a time. He nodded at each face. He knew most of them. Children stared from between the guardsmen. They could feel the tension but did not really understand it. He smiled at them, and some smiled back but others had already begun to cry. Pain ran up and down the line and was wafting on the morning air. At first he thought a wind had come up from the far distance. But then it swelled into human keening. The women's mouths were holes in their faces. The guardsmen looked back over their shoulders, embarrassed, telling them to hush. But the noise was catching the throats of the men in the crowd and soon they were adding their feelings to the dirge. The guardsmen could not resist for long. Their torches wavered as they too began to groan.

The wailing cut Carnelian to the bone. His tears distorted the hands they held out to him. He could not deny their grief and went to touch them. Their moaning enfolded him. He stretched into the crowd as far as he could reach. The guardsmen who had not kissed him since he was a child did so and were left white-lipped by his paint.

He noticed that their cries were fading all around him. Everybody was drawing away until he was left behind like a rock by the tide. A clink of armour made him shove his mask up before his face. The people were falling down into the prostration. The act of abasement ran down the road and out along the quay. Carnelian turned and saw with consternation the Masters sweeping down from the Holdgate like narrow black flames. He felt Tain brush against his leg as the boy knelt. A glance showed that he was pressing himself down against the cobbles.

The Masters were upon him. Chinks in their hoods showed slivers of gold. Carnelian knew his hand must look obvious against the rim of his mask. He expected reproach but they ignored him.

'… so many aged,' he heard Aurum say.

'And where does my Lord think I could obtain replacements?' Suth replied with a tightness in his voice.

'Famine will winnow the aged from the young,' said Vennel's woman-voice.

Jaspar had thrown back his hood to reveal the long, painted volume of his head. He was looking out into the bay where the clouds hung like smoke above the mounding sea. 'It seems we shall indeed depart today.' His mask lent him an air of divine indifference.

The Masters avoided Tain's body as if he might soil their feet. Carnelian saw Grane and Brin walking behind them with more of the tyadra. Brin's eyes were red. They paused to gaze at him. His free hand rose, hesitating between several gestures of farewell. Brin clamped her hand over her nose and mouth. Carnelian's hand gave up, fell to indicate Tain. He waited for Grane's nod, then reached behind his head to tie his mask, and followed after the other Masters.

In the spluttering torchlight the ship's wall of tarred wood slid up and down. She was huge. Carnelian had not imagined how large she was. He looked down her curving flank. Hawsers strained to hold her and with each gentle lunge she pulled the stone rings up and, after, let them fall with a clatter. The sea gargled in the murky squeeze between her and the quay.

Grane and Brin were kneeling before his father receiving some last instructions. Beyond, his people formed a mat of flesh that clothed half the quay. Carnelian followed its swathe up to the Holdgate. So many people. He looked at the Hold to stop seeing them. He surveyed those dear grey walls. He knew which of the tiny holes was his own window, which Ebeny's. There, on the southern promontory, was the finer masonry of his father's hall. Only a single scratch of smoke slanted up. There had once been so many.