He heard scrabbling from the stairs and turned to see Cedorpul climbing into view. The young priest was out of breath, his round face and round body seeming to bob loosely, as if filled with air. Behind him, as he stepped on to the platform, another figure loomed into view.

Cedorpul looked round. ‘She’s not here? Where is she?’

‘In her room. Playing.’

‘Abdication of responsibilities!’

Rise Herat tilted his head to one side. ‘My very thoughts when you left her with me, Cedorpul.’

The priest waved a hand and then spent a moment straightening his stained tunic. ‘These matters are beneath argument. Her whereabouts are known: that is all that is relevant here.’

The other priest edged past Cedorpul and stood looking out over the city.

‘Endest Silann,’ Rise said to him, ‘tell me what you see?’

‘It is less what I see than what I feel, historian.’

‘And what do you feel?’

‘Up here, it is as if the world’s weight falls from my shoulders. While in the corridors beneath us …’ He shrugged.

‘You are young,’ said Rise. ‘There is much for you to bear, but the gift of youth means you scarcely feel its weight. It distresses me to think that you are growing old before your time.’

Cedorpul said, ‘You’ve not yet heard. A rider has come in from one of the monasteries. Warlock Resh leads a party of Shake. They are escorting a guest, who will meet Mother Dark herself.’

‘Indeed? It is already known that she will grant an audience? This guest must be of considerable importance.’

‘From the Vitr.’

Rise turned to Cedorpul, studied the flushed face and bright blue eyes, wondering again at the lack of eyebrows or any other facial hair – did the man simply shave it all off, as he did from his pate? It seemed an odd affectation. ‘Nothing comes from the Vitr,’ he said.

‘We make bold claims at our peril,’ Endest muttered from where he leaned over the wall.

Rise considered for a moment, and then said, ‘It is said the Azathanai have fashioned stone vessels capable of holding Vitr. Perhaps entire ships can be constructed of the same material.’

‘No ships,’ said Cedorpul. ‘Beyond that, we know little. A woman, but not Tiste.’

‘Azathanai?’

‘It would seem so,’ Endest confirmed.

‘They should approach the edge of the forest soon, I would judge,’ Cedorpul announced, moving to position himself beside his fellow priest. ‘We thought to witness their arrival from here.’

So much for a period of restful contemplation. ‘I trust all is being made ready below.’

‘Nothing grand,’ Cedorpul said. ‘This is not a formal visit, after all.’

‘No polishing of buckles?’ Rise asked. ‘No buffing of silver?’

Endest snorted.

Puffing out his fleshy cheeks, Cedorpul slowly shook his head. ‘Ill-chosen my company this day. I am assailed by irreverence. An historian who derides historical occasions. An acolyte who mocks decorum.’