“That’s the place.” The farm sat at the end of an open paddock, in the midst of a sea of grey wheat, under the grey sky, clouds smudged with watery dawn. Faint light flickered at the narrow windows of the barn, but no more signs of life. Shivers rubbed his fingers slowly against his palms. He’d never done much treachery. Nothing so sharply cut as this, leastways, and it was making him nervy.

“Looks peaceful enough.” Faithful ran a slow hand over his white stubble. “Swolle, you get a dozen men and take ’em round the side, out of sight, into that stand of trees down there, get on the flank. Then if they see us and make a run for it you can finish up.”

“Right y’are, General. Nice and simple, eh?”

“Nothing worse than too much plan. More there is to remember, more there is to make a shit of. Don’t need to tell you not to make a shit of it, do I, Swolle?”

“Me? No, sir. Into the trees, then if I see anyone running, charge. Just like at the High Bank.”

“Except Murcatto’s on the other side now, right?”

“Right. Fucking evil bitch.”

“Now, now,” said Faithful. “Some respect. You were happy enough to clap for her when she brought you victories, you can clap for her now. Shame things have come to this, is all. Nothing else for it. Don’t mean there can’t be some respect.”

“Right. Sorry.” Swolle paused for a moment. “Sure it wouldn’t be better to try and creep down there on foot? I mean, we can’t ride into that farmhouse, can we?”

Faithful gave him a long look. “Did they pick a new captain general while I was away, and are you it?”

“Well, no, ’course not, just—”

“Creeping up ain’t my style, Swolle. Knowing how often you wash, more than likely Murcatto’d fucking smell you before we got within a hundred strides, and be ready. No, we’ll ride down there and spare my knees the wear. We can always get down once we’ve given the place the check over. And if she’s got any surprises for us, well, I’d rather be in my saddle.” He frowned sideways at Shivers. “You see a problem with that, boy?”

“Not me.” From what Shivers had seen he reckoned Faithful was one o’ those men make a good second and a poor chief. Lots of bones but no imagination. Looked like he’d got stuck to one way of doing things over the years and had to do it now whether it fit the job or not. But he weren’t about to say so. Strong leaders might like it when someone brings ’em a better idea, but weak ones never do. “You reckon I could get my axe back, though?”

Faithful grinned. “ ’Course you can. Just as soon as I see Murcatto’s dead body. Let’s go.” He nearly tripped on his cloak as he turned for the horses, angrily dragged it up and tossed it over his shoulder. “Bloody thing. Knew I should’ve got a shorter one.”