“Those peasants are a decided threat to us,” he murmured. “A problem easily solved, however. It will hardly be necessary to utilise the King of Poisons. A charitable contribution of a loaf of bread, dusted with Leopard Flower of course, and they would cease to—”

“No.”

He blinked. “If your intention is to leave them at liberty down there, I must most strongly protest at—”

“Protest away. Let’s see if I care a shit. You and Day can take that room.” As he turned to peer into the darkness, Monza snatched the lamp out of his hand. “Cosca, you’re on the second floor with Friendly. Vitari, seems like you get to sleep alone next door.”

“Sleeping alone.” She kicked some fallen plaster away across the boards. “Story of my life.”

“I will to my cart, then, and bring my equipment into the Butcher of Caprile’s hostel for displaced peasantry.” Morveer was shaking his head with disgust as he turned for the stairs.

“Do that,” snapped Monza at his back. She loitered for a moment, until she’d heard his boots scrape down a few flights and out of earshot. Until, apart from Cosca’s voice burbling away endlessly to Friendly downstairs, it was quiet on the landing. Then she followed Day into her room and gently pushed the door closed. “We need to talk.”

The girl had opened her trunk and was just getting a chunk of bread out of it. “What about?”

“The same thing we talked about in Westport. Your employer.”

“Picking at your nerves, is he?”

“Don’t tell me he isn’t picking at yours.”

“Every day for three years.”

“Not an easy man to work for, I reckon.” Monza took a step into the room, holding the girl’s eye. “Sooner or later a pupil has to step out from her master’s shadow, if she’s ever going to become the master herself.”

“That why you betrayed Cosca?”

That gave Monza a moment’s pause. “More or less. Sometimes you have to take a risk. Grasp the nettle. But then you’ve got much better reasons even than I had.” Said offhand, as though it was obvious.

Day’s turn to pause. “What reasons?”

Monza pretended to be surprised. “Well… because sooner or later Morveer will betray me, and go over to Orso.” She wasn’t sure of it, of course, but it was high time she guarded herself against the possibility.

“That so?” Day wasn’t smiling any longer.

“He doesn’t like the way I do things.”

“Who says I like the way you do things?”

“You don’t see it?” Day only narrowed her eyes, food, for once, forgotten in her hand. “If he goes to Orso, he’ll need someone to blame. For Ario. A scapegoat.”

Now she got the idea. “No,” she snapped. “He needs me.”

“How long have you been with him? Three years, did you say? Managed before, didn’t he? How many assistants do you think he’s had? See a lot of them around, do you?”

Day opened her mouth, blinked, then thoughtfully shut it.