‘So maybe you knew there were Renegades waiting there. Maybe you tipped them off that you’d be coming that way. It’s possible, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Marcus. ‘It is also possible that someone might slit your throat in your tent. Many things are possible.’

Castor paled. ‘Are you trying to frighten me?’

‘No, I am succeeding.’ He sniffed. ‘I can smell your fear.’

‘Enough!’ interjected Father. ‘Can you all not see that we must help each other, not fight like rats over a scrap of food?’

Marcus stood up. ‘I need no help,’ he said softly. ‘Not from you, nor anyone else.’ With that, he walked out of the tent.

The moment he was gone, Castor swung around to face Ucho and Father. ‘Did you see? Did you see how he threatened to kill me?’

‘Yes,’ said Ucho. ‘I almost like him now.’

‘I demand protection! My life is in danger!’

The bearded man chuckled. ‘So now you’re scared, eh? After accusing him of being the rat in the larder?’

‘I merely did my duty! And now I demand that you protect me from that—that—fiend!’

‘Well, at least your vocab’s intact,’ grinned Ucho. He was clearly enjoying himself hugely. ‘But I can’t spare anyone to babysit you, and even if I could, I’m not really inclined to. I think your sour face would be bad for morale.’

‘I demand that you assign me a guard!’

‘Certainly not. To begin with, if that one’s made up his mind to get you, then a guard won’t be much help, and in any case I’m not risking any of my men to save your skin.’

‘Father!’ wailed Castor. ‘I beseech you! I am in mortal peril! Order this man to provide me with a round-the-clock guard!’

‘Peace, Castor,’ said Father. ‘You are in no peril whatsoever. However, if it will make you feel better, I shall have a word with Marcus.’

‘I demand protection!’

‘So that’s the new sentence on rotation, eh?’ said Ucho. ‘Somebody keep count.’

Castor glared at him. ‘How dare you mock my plight, you—you oaf!’

‘Because I’m really daring,’ said Ucho. ‘So I’ll mock all I like. You’re at three now, by the way!’

Castor turned to Father again. ‘Please, Father,’ he said, his voice shaking slightly. ‘You must help me. Order this—this—this—’

‘Oaf?’ suggested Ucho, with a smile.

‘Yes!’ screamed Castor, losing all pretence of self-control. ‘And a brute besides, and a blockhead and a clod and a cretin as well! Can’t you see that my life is in danger! I demand protection!’

‘Four,’ said Ucho.

Father sighed. ‘Enough of this,’ he said. ‘Very well, Castor. Ucho, do you think you could spare one man for Castor?’

‘Oh, all right,’ said Ucho. ‘I’ll think about it. Might be a great way to enforce discipline. Stragglers get put on Castor Call.’