Fiddler made no reply. The occasional rhizan flitted through the clearing in pursuit of the capemoths hovering above the well-mouth. The cool night air was rank with rotting refuse from beyond the back wall.

‘She’s upset,’ Crokus said.

The sapper shook his head. Upset. ‘It was an argument, we weren’t torturing prisoners.’

‘Apsalar doesn’t remember any of that.’

‘I do, lad, and those are hard memories to shake.’

‘She’s just a fishergirl.’

‘Most of the time,’ Fiddler said. ‘But sometimes...’ He shook his head.

Crokus sighed, then changed the subject. ‘So it wasn’t part of the plan, then, Kalam going off on his own?’

‘Old blood calls, lad. Kalam’s Seven Cities born and raised. Besides, he wants to meet this Sha’ik, this desert witch, the Hand of Dryjhna.’

‘Now you’re taking his side,’ Crokus said in quiet exasperation. ‘A tenth of a bell ago you nearly accused him of being a traitor...’

Fiddler grimaced. ‘Confusing times for us all. We’ve been outlawed by Laseen, but does that make us any less soldiers of the Empire? Malaz isn’t the Empress and the Empress isn’t Malaz—’

‘A moot distinction, I’d say.’

The sapper glanced over. ‘Would you now? Ask the girl, maybe she’ll explain it.’

‘But you’re expecting the rebellion. In fact, you’re counting on it—’

‘Don’t mean we have to be the ones who trigger the Whirlwind, though, does it? Kalam wants to be at the heart of things. It’s always been his way. This time, the chance literally fell into his lap. The Book of Dryjhna holds the heart of the Whirlwind Goddess – to begin the Apocalypse it needs to be opened, by the Seeress and no-one else. Kalam knows it might well be suicidal, but he’ll deliver that Hood-cursed book into Sha’ik’s hands, and so add another crack in Laseen’s crumbling control. Give him credit for insisting on keeping the rest of us out of it.’

‘There you go again, defending him. The plan was to assassinate Laseen, not get caught up in this uprising. It still doesn’t make any sense coming to this continent—’

Fiddler straightened, eyes on the stars glittering overhead. Desert stars, sharp diamonds that ever seemed eager to draw blood. ‘There’s more than one road to Unta, lad. We’re here to find one that’s probably never been used before and may not even work, but we’ll look for it anyway, with Kalam or without him. Hood knows, it might be Kalam’s taking the wiser path, overland, down to Aren, by mundane ship back to Quon Tali. Maybe dividing our paths will prove the wisest decision of all, increasing our chances that one of us at least will make it through.’