Cosca split a crack-lipped grin. “Where women will be waiting for him, I take it?”

“One with black hair and one with red.” Murcatto exchanged a hard look with Vitari.

“A surprise fit for an emperor,” chuckled Cosca, wetly.

“When Ario’s dead, which will be quickly, we’ll move next door and pay Foscar the same kind of visit.” Murcatto shifted her scowl to Morveer. “They’ll have brought guards upstairs to watch things while they’re busy. You and Day can handle them.”

“Can we indeed?” The poisoner took a brief break from sneering at his fingernails. “A fit purpose for our talents, I am sure.”

“Try not to poison half the city this time. We should be able to kill the brothers without raising any unwanted attention, but if something goes wrong, that’s where the entertainers come in.”

The old mercenary jabbed at the model with a quivery finger. “Take the courtyard first, the gaming and smoking halls, and from there secure the staircases. Disarm the guests and round them up. Politely, of course, and in the best taste. Keep control.”

“Control.” Murcatto’s gloved forefinger stabbed the tabletop. “That’s the word I want at the front of your tiny minds. We kill Ario, we kill Foscar. If any of the rest make trouble, you do what you have to, but keep the murder to a minimum. There’ll be trouble enough for us afterwards without a bloodbath. You all got that?”

Cosca cleared his throat. “Perhaps a drink would help me to commit it all to—”

“I’ve got it.” Shivers spoke over him. “Control, and as little blood as possible.”

“Two murders.” Friendly set the pot down in the middle of the table. “One and one, and no more. Food.” And he began to ladle portions out into the bowls.

He would have liked very much to ensure that everyone had the exact same number of pieces of meat. The same number of pieces of carrot and onion too, the same number of beans. But by the time he had counted them out the food would have been cold, and he had learned that most people found that level of precision upsetting. It had led to a fight in the mess in Safety once, and Friendly had killed two men and cut a hand from another. He had no wish to kill anyone now. He was hungry. So he satisfied himself by giving each one of them the same number of ladles of stew, and coped with the deep sense of unease it left him.

“This is good,” gurgled Day, around a mouthful. “This is excellent. Is there more?”

“Where did you learn to cook, my friend?” Cosca asked.

“I spent three years in the kitchens in Safety. The man who taught me used to be head cook to the Duke of Borletta.”

“What was he doing in prison?”

“He killed his wife, and chopped her up, and cooked her in a stew, and ate it.”

There was quiet around the table. Cosca noisily cleared his throat. “No one’s wife in this stew, I trust?”