‘There is a most potent salve,’ the man wheezed. ‘In yon wooden chest – there! The one called Nub carries it. Nub! Set that down, you gnawed grub! Nub the grub, hee! Leave off fumbling with the catch – such nimble escapades will melt your rotting brain. Aai! You’ve no hands!’ The man’s eyes had found Heboric, as if for the first time. ‘A crime, to have done such a thing! Alas, none of my healing unguents could manage such complex regeneration.’

‘Please,’ Heboric said, ‘do not feel distressed at what I lack, or even at what you lack. I’ve need for nothing, although this shelter from the wind is most welcome.’

‘Yours is assuredly a tragic tale of abandonment, once-priest of Fener, and I shall not pry. And you –’ the man swung to Kulp – ‘forgive me, the warren of Meanas, perchance?’

‘You do more than sell sorcerous trinkets,’ Kulp growled, his face darkening.

‘Long proximity, kind sir,’ the man said, bowing his head. ‘Nothing more, I assure you. I have devoted my life to magery, yet I do not practise it. The years have granted me a certain... sensitivity, that is all. My apologies if I gave offence.’ He reached out and cuffed one of his servants. ‘You, what name did I give you?’

Felisin stared in fascination as the corpse’s gnawed lips peeled back in a twisted grin. ‘Clam, though I once knew myself as Iryn Thalar—’

‘Oh, shut up with what you once knew! You are Clam now.’

‘I had a horrid death—’

‘Shut up!’ his master shrieked, his face suddenly darkening.

The undead servant fell silent.

‘Now,’ the man gasped, ‘find us that Falari wine – let us celebrate with the Empire’s most civil gifts.’

The servant stumbled off. Its nearest companion’s head swivelled to follow with desiccated eyes. ‘Yours was not as horrid as mine—’

‘The Seven Holies preserve us!’ the merchant hissed. ‘I beg of you, Mage, a spell of silence about these ill-chosen animations! I shall pay in jakata imperials, and pay well!’

‘Beyond my abilities,’ Kulp muttered.

Felisin’s eyes narrowed on the cadre mage. That has to be a lie.

‘Ah, well,’ the man sighed. ‘Gods below, I have not yet introduced myself! I am Nawahl Ebur, humble merchant of the Holy City Pan’potsun. And what names do you three wish to be known by?’

Oddly put.

‘I’m Kulp.’

‘Heboric.’

Felisin said nothing.

‘While the lass is shy,’ Nawahl said, his lips curving into an indulgent smile as he looked upon her.

Kulp crouched down at the wooden chest, released the catch and lifted the lid.

‘The white clay bowl with the wax seal,’ the merchant said.