“You look as if you’ve dark thoughts in mind, my friend,” said Cosca.

“Don’t seem the time for jokes.”

The mercenary chuckled. “My old mentor Sazine once told me you should laugh every moment you live, for you’ll find it decidedly difficult afterwards.”

“That so? And what became of him?”

“Died of a rotten shoulder.”

“Poor punchline.”

“Well, if life’s a joke,” said Cosca, “it’s a black one.”

“Best not to laugh, then, in case the joke’s on you.”

“Or trim your sense of humour to match.”

“You’d need a twisted sense of humour to make laughs o’ this.”

Cosca scratched at his neck as he looked towards the walls of Visserine, rising up black out of the thickening rain. “I must confess, for now I’m failing to see the funny side.”

You could tell from the lights there was an ugly press at the gate, and it got no prettier the closer they came. Folk were coming out from time to time—old men, young men, women carrying children, gear packed up on mules or on their backs, cartwheels creaking round through the sticky mud. Folk were coming out, easing nervous through the angry crowd, but there weren’t many being let the other way. You could feel the fear, heavy on the air, and the thicker they all crowded the worse it got.

Shivers swung down from his horse, stretched his legs and made sure he loosened his sword in its sheath.

“Alright.” Under her hood, Monza’s hair was stuck black to the side of her scowling face. “I’ll get us in.”

“You are absolutely convinced that we should enter?” demanded Morveer.

She gave him a long look. “Orso’s army can’t be more than two days behind us. That means Ganmark. Faithful Carpi too, maybe, with the Thousand Swords. Wherever they are is where we need to be, and that’s all.”

“You are my employer, of course. But I feel duty-bound to point out that there is such a thing as being too determined. Surely we can devise a less perilous alternative to trapping ourselves in a city that will soon be surrounded by hostile forces.”

“We’ll do no good waiting out here.”

“No good will be done if we are all killed. A plan too brittle to bend with circumstance is worse than no—” She turned before he’d finished and made off towards the archway, shoving her way between the bodies. “Women,” Morveer hissed through gritted teeth.

“What about them?” growled Vitari.

“Present company entirely excepted, they are prone to think with heart rather than head.”

“For what she’s paying she can think with her arse for all I care.”

“Dying rich is still dying.”

“Better’n dying poor,” said Shivers.

Not long after, a half-dozen guards came shoving through the crowd, herding folk away with their spears, clearing a muddy path to the gate. An officer came frowning with ’em, Monza just behind his shoulder. No doubt she’d sown a few coins, and this was the harvest.

“You six, with the cart there.” The officer pointed a gloved finger at Shivers and the rest. “You’re coming in. You six and no one else.”