She had half turned away before Hendrick asked, ‘Who are you, and carriages to where? We’re not going anywhere until we know that much, at least.’

‘I’m Watch Captain Morthan, and I’m taking you to the regent militant’s palace,’ she said over her shoulder.

Hendrick hastened after the captain, his companions following. The watchmen kept their halberds levelled menacingly as they herded the Swords of Sigmar across the square. Hendrick glanced up at the gatehouse as he went and saw figures in blue-and-white tabards clutching spears and staring down at him from the inner rampart with hostile eyes.

The coaches waited in a broad side-street, heavy constructions of dark wood and brass drawn by lithe beasts with scaly hides and no eyes that Hendrick could see. He recognised them as gnarlkyd, one of the more unsettling Aqshyan beasts – yet far more docile and benign than their monstrous appearance suggested. Spark-lanterns were flickering to life along the street, and in their wan glow the rain turned to silver streaks and the shadows between the buildings deepened.

‘I take it that was the militia-militant on the walls,’ said Romilla as they approached the coaches. ‘They appeared less receptive to our message than you, captain. Why is that?’

‘My watchmen will relieve you of your weapons,’ said Morthan, ignoring the question. She held up a hand to forestall any protest. ‘I am about to bring you straight into the presence of this city’s divine ruler, so appointed by Sigmar himself and beloved of all. You can either go unarmed, and thus deliver your warning as you say you came to do, or you can enjoy a night manacled naked down in the scald-cells. They’re called that because the rain gets in, really floods them on a night like this. The skin on your legs would be a dear and distant memory by morning, I assure you. Now, weapons, please. You’ll get them back after we’re done.’

Hendrick barked a laugh despite himself, then shot a warning glare at Borik. The duardin shrugged as though to say ‘Why single me out?’, but a pair of watchmen had almost to wrestle his cannon out of his hands. Hendrick handed over his hammer, the pair of daggers in his belt and the spare in his right boot, then climbed up into the waiting wagon. He locked eyes with Aelyn as he did so.

‘I don’t like it any more than you,’ he muttered to her as she followed him into the coach. ‘But we’re getting what we came for, aren’t we?’