‘Aye, I imagine they have.’

‘We got no soap.’

‘I have just realized that.’

She wandered away.

‘Newly arrived, I take it,’ the stranger said. ‘North gate?’

‘Aye.’

‘That’s quite a climb, with horses yet.’

‘Meaning the north gate’s locked.’

‘Sealed, along with all the others. Maybe you arrived by the harbourside.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Harbour’s closed.’

‘How do you close Aren Harbour?’

‘All right, it’s not closed.’

Kalam took a mouthful of ale, swallowed it down and went perfectly still.

‘Gets even worse after a few,’ the stranger said.

The assassin set the tankard back down on the table. He struggled a moment to find his voice. ‘Tell me some news.’

‘Why should I?’

‘I’ve bought you a drink.’

‘And I should be grateful? Hood’s breath, man, you’ve tasted it!’

‘I’m not usually this patient.’

‘Oh, very well, why didn’t you say so?’ He finished the first tankard, picked up the new one. ‘Some ales grow on you. Some grow in you. To your health, sir.’ He quaffed the ale down.

‘I have slit uglier throats than yours,’ the assassin said.