Gear's eyes travelled down the length of the street, focusing on a large, walled estate at the far end. Four soldiers lounged before its gate, watching passers-by with little interest and talking among themselves. Gear's head lifted, his study finding a shuttered window on the estate's second floor.

Anticipation and pleasure surged through the Hound. He had found the trail's end. Lowering his head again, he moved, his gaze unwavering on the four guards.

The shift had ended. As the new marines approached they both noticed that the gate was unlocked, ajar.

'What's this?' one asked, eyeing the two drawn faces of the soldiers who stood against the wall.

'It's been that kind of night,' the elder responded. 'The kind where you don't ask questions.'

The two new men exchanged glances, then the one who had spoken gave the older man a nod and a grin. 'I know the kind. Well, get on, then. Your cots are waiting.'

The older man shifted his pike and seemed to sag. His gaze flicked to his partner, but the young man had his attention on something up the street. 'I'd guess it's too late now,' the older man said to the newcomers, 'meaning it won't happen and so it don't matter, but if a woman shows up, a Bridgeburner, you let her through and keep your eyes on the walls.'

'Look at that dog,' the younger soldier said.

'We hear you,' said the new man. 'Life in the Second—'

'Look at that dog,' the young marine repeated.

The others turned to look up the street. The old guard stared, his eyes widening, then he hissed a curse and fumbled with his pike. None of the others managed even that much before the Hound was upon them.

Sleepless, Tattersail lay flat on her back on the bed in the outer room. Her exhaustion had reached a point where even sleep eluded her so she stared at the ceiling, her thoughts wandering in a disordered review of the past seven days. Despite her initial anger at being embroiled in the Bridgeburners' schemes, she had to acknowledge the excitement she felt.

The desire to collect her possessions and open a Warren, away from the Empire, away from Hairlock's madness and hunger, away from the field of an endless war, now seemed an ancient one, born of a desperation she no longer felt.