“He’ll be the last.”

“Oh, you mad bitch.” Sajaam slowly shook his head. “How you love to test me, Monzcarro. How you always loved to test us all. You’ll never do it. Never, not if you wait until the sun burns out.”

“What if I could, though? Don’t tell me it hasn’t been your fondest wish all these years.”

“All these years when you were spreading fire and murder across Styria in his name? Happy to take his orders and his coin, lick his arse like a puppy dog with a new bone? Is it those years you mean? I don’t recall you offering your shoulder for me to weep upon.”

“He killed Benna.”

“Is that so? The bills said Duke Rogont’s agents got you both.” Sajaam was pointing out some old papers stirring on the wall behind her shoulder. A woman’s face on ’em, and a man’s. Shivers realised, and with a sharp sinking in his gut, the woman’s face was hers. “Killed by the League of Eight. Everyone was so very upset.”

“I’m in no mood for jokes, Sajaam.”

“When were you ever? But it’s no joke. You were a hero round these parts. That’s what they call you when you kill so many people the word murderer falls short. Orso gave the big speech, said we all had to fight harder than ever to avenge you, and everyone wept. I am sorry about Benna. I always liked the boy. But I made peace with my devils. You should do the same.”

“The dead can forgive. The dead can be forgiven. The rest of us have better things to do. I want your help, and I’m owed. Pay up, bastard.”

They frowned at each other for a long moment. Then the old man heaved up a long sigh. “I always said you’d be the death of me. What’s your price?”

“A point in the right direction. An introduction here or there. That’s what you do, now, isn’t it?”

“I know some people.”

“Then I need to borrow a man with a cold head and a good arm. A man who won’t get flustered at blood spilled.”

Sajaam seemed to think about that. Then he turned his head and called over his shoulder. “You know a man like that, Friendly?”

Footsteps scraped out of the darkness from the way Shivers had come. Seemed there’d been someone following them, and doing it well. The woman slid into a fighting crouch, eyes narrowed, left hand on her sword hilt. Shivers would’ve reached for a weapon too, if he’d had one, but he’d sold all his own in Uffrith and given the knife over to Sajaam. So he settled for a nervous twitching of his fingers, which wasn’t a scrap of use to anyone.

The new arrival trudged up, stooped over, eyes down. He was a half-head or more shorter than Shivers but had a fearsome solid look to him, thick neck wider than his skull, heavy hands dangling from the sleeves of a heavy coat.