‘Don’t worry, lad.’ Einar’s face beamed in a lecherous grin. ‘I’ll be sure to peace the Hel out of her before the night’s much older.’

Erlan chuckled and was about to turn away when he noticed someone moving fast and furtively under the shadow of the portico on the other side of the street. A silhouette he would now recognize anywhere.

‘Hey,’ he said sharply under his breath. Einar was already heading for home, but his head turned, then tilted in a question. Erlan ghosted a finger across his lips. The light fog of the wine in his head cleared in an instant, the scent of action blowing it away like a gust of wind.

His eye was on the figure – Lucia. The movement the same, even the dress. So here was his second chance. She crossed the street a little further down the road, heading downhill towards the sea.

‘What is it?’ hissed Einar.

‘The assassin.’

‘What? How do you—?’

‘I know,’ he said firmly. ‘Follow me on the other side of the street. And keep out of sight.’ The Fat-Belly might have sunk enough wine to render most men unconscious for a night and a day – but it seemed to make little difference to him. He grasped the point admirably and slunk across to the opposite colonnade.

Lucia’s shadow flitted onwards, not running, but moving fast. Erlan lurched after her, gripping the buckles of his sword and long-knife to keep them from jangling. About halfway down the hill, she turned left, this time heading straight for the dark shadow of the Hippodrome.

Not this damn place again, thought Erlan, checking to see that the fat man was with him. It took him a few seconds to identity the bulky shadow moving through the gloom with surprising stealth.

They were holding the distance, more or less. Sooner or later Lucia would run slap into the gates of the great stadium. For a second he wondered whether she was on her way to break into the palace again but when she reached the wall she turned right, and flew along it. He waited at the end of the portico. He could see Einar waiting too. There was a sudden tramping of hobnailed boots further up the hill behind them. A torchlight passed across the end of the road and under it a patrol of nightwatchmen.

He glanced ahead. Lucia’s silhouette froze, then backed against the wall. It was a dark night – the streaks of moonlight trying to break through were mostly blotted out by the low cloud hanging overhead.

He watched the patch of shadow she had melted into, waiting for her next move, staring at it for so long he thought perhaps he had missed her moving on. He was about to break from the portico when a black shape detached itself from the murk and set off again.