He’d been in some better spots, but you had to look on the sunny side. It was the first time he’d had a woman’s face between his legs in a while. He heard a hiss from across the lane, picked out Day’s black shape on the roof. She pointed down. The next patrol were on their way.

“Shit.” He pressed himself tight to the stonework, trying to look like rock himself, hands tingling raw from gripping the hemp, hoping no one chose that moment to look up. They clattered by underneath and he let out a long hiss of air, heart pounding in his ears louder than ever. He waited for them to move off round the corner of the building, getting his breath back for the last stretch.

The spikes further along the walls were mounted on poles, could spin round and round. Impossible to get over. At the tops of the pillars, though, they were mortared to the stone. He took his gloves out—heavy smith’s gloves—and pulled them on, then he reached up and worked his hands tight around two spikes, took a deep breath. He let go with his legs and swung free, drew himself up, staring a touch cross-eyed at the iron points in front of his face. Just like pulling yourself into the branches, except for the chance of taking your eye out, of course. Be nice to come out of this with both his eyes.

He swung one way, then heaved himself back the other and got one boot up on top. He twisted himself round, felt the spikes scrape against his thick jerkin, digging at his chest as he dragged himself over.

And he was up.

Seventy-eight… seventy-nine… eighty…” Friendly’s lips moved by themselves as he watched Shivers roll over the parapet and onto the roof of the bank.

“He made it,” whispered Day, voice squeaky with disbelief.

“And in good time too.” Morveer chuckled softly. “Who would have thought he would climb… like an ape.”

The Northman stood, a darker shape against the dark night sky. He pulled the big flatbow off his back and started to fiddle with it. “Let’s hope he doesn’t shoot like an ape,” whispered Day.

Shivers took aim. Friendly heard the soft click of the bowstring. A moment later he felt the bolt thud into his chest. He snatched hold of the shaft, frowning down. It hardly hurt at all.

“A happy circumstance that it has no point.” Morveer unhooked the wire from the flights. “We would do well to avoid any further mishaps, and your untimely death would seem to qualify.”

Friendly tossed the blunt bolt away and tied the rope off to the end of the wire.

“You sure that thing will take his weight?” muttered Day.

“Suljuk silk cord,” said Morveer smugly. “Light as down but strong as steel. It would take all three of us simultaneously, and no one looking up will see a thing.”

“You hope.”

“What do I never take, my dear?”