Paran adjusted his sword-belt, clasped his hands and bowed from the waist. 'Empress.'

'I see,' Laseen drawled, 'that you did not heed the commander's advice of seven years ago.'

He blinked in surprise.

She continued, 'Of course, he did not heed the advice given him, either. I wonder what god tossed you two together on that parapet – I would do service to acknowledge its sense of humour. Did you imagine the Imperial Arch would exit in the stables, Lieutenant?'

'My horse was reluctant to make the passage, Empress.'

'With good reason.'

Paran smiled. 'Unlike me, she's of a breed known for its intelligence. Please accept my humblest apologies.'

'Topper will see you to the Adjunct.' She gestured, and a guardsman came forward to collect the mare's reins.

Paran bowed again then faced the Claw with a smile.

Topper led him to a side door.

'You fool!' he snapped, as the door was closed soundly behind them. He strode quickly down the narrow hallway. Paran made no effort to keep pace, forcing the Claw to wait at the far end where a set of stairs wound upward. Topper's expression was dark with fury. 'What was that about a parapet? You've met her before – when?'

'Since she declined to explain I can only follow her example,' Paran said. He eyed the saddle-backed stairs. 'This would be the West Tower, then. The Tower of Dust—'

'To the top floor. The Adjunct awaits you in her chambers – there's no other doors so you won't get lost, just keep on until you reach the top.'

Paran nodded and began climbing.

The door to the tower's top room was ajar. Paran rapped a knuckle against it and stepped inside. The Adjunct was seated at a bench at the far end, her back to a wide window. Its shutters were thrown open, revealing the red glint of sunrise. She was getting dressed. Paran halted, embarrassed.

'I'm not one for modesty,' the Adjunct said. 'Enter and close the door behind you.'

Paran did as he was bidden. He looked around. Faded tapestries lined the walls. Ragged furs covered the stone tiles of the floor. The furniture – what little there was – was old, Napan in style and thus artless.

The Adjunct rose to shrug into her leather armour. Her hair shimmered in the red light. 'You look exhausted, Lieutenant. Please, sit.'

He looked around, found a chair and slumped gratefully into it. 'The trail's been thoroughly obscured, Adjunct. The only people left in Gerrom aren't likely to talk.'

She fastened the last of the clasps. 'Unless I were to send a necromancer.'

He grunted. 'Tales of pigeons – I think the possibility was foreseen.'

She regarded him with a raised brow.

'Pardon, Adjunct. It seems that death's heralds were ... birds.'

'And were we to glance through the eyes of the dead soldiers, we would see little else. Pigeons, you said?'

He nodded.

'Curious.' She fell silent.

He watched her for a moment longer. 'Was I bait, Adjunct?'