‘Come, milady,’ said Valannie. ‘We must hurry, while not, of course, being seen to hurry. Roban!’

Clariel ignored her, and looked at those distant trees for another full minute, as Valannie made a noise rather like a squirrel being kept away from a toothsome nut by a dog.

‘Milady, we should move on,’ said Roban apologetically. He was still accompanied by the two extra guards, Heyren and Linel, or as Clariel mentally referred to them, Redbeard and Scarface. Roban had not been able to tell her whether they were permanently assigned or not, or whether they were there primarily to protect her, or report on her to Guildmaster Kilp. Or something of both, most likely.

Clariel nodded, and turned to follow Valannie, who was talking as usual, gossip about the Dyer and his house, and how he had been lucky that the Governor had allowed him to hand over his house in lieu of his truly enormous debts, and then in his generosity Kilp had given it to the city, for use as an Academy, one being sorely needed …

Clariel stopped listening. As they descended she looked out to the southwest, out beyond the walls of the city, to freedom. There was the great field of the horse fair, mostly empty at the moment, for it was only Dyrmday, and the horse-trading ran from Belday to Astarday.

If she could buy a horse there, Clariel thought, then she could be quickly away, following the road that ran straight as a sword-blade alongside Erchan’s great aqueduct, till it met that even greater road, the Narrow Way, which was broad enough for six carts to pass abreast and had got its name from the peninsula it traversed, not from being a meagre track.

Here the daydream hit a familiar obstacle. She had no money to buy a horse. There was one simple solution to this, which she had been considering for some time: to steal some from her parents. This wouldn’t be difficult. She could help her father in the counting house, take the money she needed and make the necessary adjustments, a few silver deniers subtracted in one column, a few from another. Her father probably wouldn’t even notice a dozen gold bezants disappearing if the bookwork looked right.

But it would be stealing … and she wasn’t quite ready to take that step. Not yet.

‘Watch these steps, milady,’ said Roban, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Some of ’em are cracked at the foot.’

Clariel stopped thinking about embezzling money and looked to her feet, just in time to avoid slipping on a crescent-shaped gap in the next step, which wasn’t so much a crack as a great bite out of the edge of the worked stone.