Two militiamen were reeling the gang-plank back in, while a group of ten watchmen kept the new arrivals at halberd-point. Nearby, a man clad in what Aelyn took to be clerk’s garb looked on with a face like thunder. She saw Romilla would not have to waste her energies; the man was already clutching a hand to what looked like a magnificently swelling bruise under his right eye.

‘What in Sigmar’s name was that?’ demanded Thackeray of the watchmen who guarded them. ‘We were almost killed!’

Another watchman first class, a tall woman with short-cut blonde hair, saluted and lowered her halberd.

‘Precautions, Thackeray. I had to remove a bit of red tape before you could be given admittance,’ she shook one fist ruefully and winced.

The clerk made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. ‘Let us see the brooch again, then – properly, now that we can,’ he demanded, mopping sweat from his narrow brow with his free hand. ‘I might be the only one here still following proper protocol, but I’d like to make sure we’ve not admitted agents of the enemy into our midst. If you wouldn’t mind, Watchman First Class Kole?’

The blonde watchman sighed in exasperation. ‘We’ve seen the damned brooch, Stephan, we don’t–’

‘My friend is wounded and bleeding,’ said Aelyn, producing the brooch again from her pocket. ‘Have your proof then aid her, please.’

Shooting a pointed look at Stephan the clerk, Watchman First Class Kole gave the brooch a long look then gestured for her comrades to lower their weapons.

‘Get this one aid,’ she said, pointing to Romilla, who was pale and swaying. Polenna and another watchman hastened to the priest’s side and led her away to a row of nearby pallets where they laid her down and set to cleaning and sealing her wound.

‘Since when did guild clerks give orders to the city watch?’ asked Thackeray.

‘Since you chose to site your reserve armoury in the upper floors of our guild house,’ answered Stephan, stalking over to join them. ‘The mercantile guild must be protected in these terrible times. We’ve got dozens of merchants, traders and their families ensconced one floor down from this… fortress… and I’ll not allow the militia to draw hostile attention to them. I don’t care how many palms your captain greased in order to hide this facility up here.’

‘Families?’ asked Thackeray, somewhat mollified.

‘This is not a safehouse, that much is obvious,’ Aelyn observed. She looked questioningly around.

‘You are not a watchman,’ replied Kole. ‘How do you come to carry the captain’s seal? What is this, Thackeray? And what’s happening out there?’