“Seems not.” Shivers watched the jugglers find a space over in one corner and start to unpack their tools, gleaming knives among ’em.

“I’ve always thought it must be a fine enough life, being a whore. A successful one, at any rate. You get the days off, and when finally you are called upon to work you can get most of it done lying down.”

“Not much honour in it,” said Shivers.

“Shit at least makes flowers grow. Honour isn’t even that useful.”

“What happens when you get old, though, and no one wants you no more? Seems to me all you’re doing is putting off the despair and leaving a pack of regrets behind you.”

Below Cosca’s mask, his smile had a sad twist. “That’s all any of us are doing, my friend. Every business is the same, and ours is no different. Soldiering, killing, whatever you want to call it. No one wants you when you get old.” He strutted past Shivers and into the courtyard, cane flicking backwards and forwards with each stride. “One way or another, we’re all of us whores!” He snatched a fancy cloth from a pocket, waved it at the three women as he passed and gave a bow. “Ladies. A most profound honour.”

“Silly old cock,” Shivers heard one of them mutter in Northern, before she went back to her pipe. The band were already tuning up, making almost as sour a whine as when they were actually playing.

Two tall doorways led from the yard—left to the gaming hall, right to the smoking hall, from those to the two staircases. His eyes crept up the ivy-covered wall, herringbone planks of weather-darkened wood, to the row of narrow windows on the first floor. Rooms for the entertainment of guests. Higher still, to bigger windows of coloured glass, just under the roofline. The Royal Suite, where the most valued visitors were welcomed. Where they planned to welcome Prince Ario and his brother Foscar in a few hours.

“Oy.” A touch on his shoulder, and he turned, and stood blinking.

A tall woman stood behind him, a shining black fur draped around her shoulders, long black gloves on her long arms, black hair scraped over to one side and hanging soft and smooth across her white face. Her mask was scattered with chips of crystal, eyes gleaming through the narrow slots and set on him.

“Er…” Shivers had to make himself look away from her chest, the shadow between her tits drawing his eyes like a bear’s to a beehive. “Something I can… you know…”

“I don’t know, is there?” Her painted lips twisted up at one corner, part sneer and part smile. Seemed as if there was something familiar about that voice. Through the slit in her skirts he could just see the end of a long pink scar on her thigh.

“Monza?” he whispered.

“Who else as fine as this would have anything to say to the likes of you?” She eyed him up and down. “This brings back memories. You look almost as much of a savage as when I first met you.”