“I’m going,” said the Wallcreeper and straightened up. “I set off tomorrow. Aha, Kundrie, would there be a little Perferro in your stores? I’d like to have some to hand.”

“A good idea to have some within reach,” said the elemental, baring her yellow fangs. “Give some to the girl, that blasted Douce of Pack. You will draw her more powerfully to you. You will gain a guarantee that she won’t run away with another. And if she does, it won’t be for long. Until the first laceration with iron—”

“Kundrie.”

“I won’t say another thing. I have a little Perferro, but not much, one dose, enough for one person. Ask the bishop, I know he has some to spare. And at Sensenberg you have Skirfir and his alchemic athanors, after all.”

“The bishop won’t admit to having any. And there’s no way I can go to Sensenberg.” Seeing her raised eyebrows, he said, “I think they are hunting me. I cannot even be certain of my Company. It’s a ragbag—”

“A ragbag of scum,” she finished. “A ragbag made up of scoundrels, good-for-nothings, cut-throats and perverts. Your Black Riders. Those are the men you command, because you were only able to recruit the like. And you set off on an expedition with a rabble like that. You must be desperate, indeed.”

“Will you give me the Perferro or not?”

“I shall. And I’ll add something more. Something special. It ought to help in your hunt.”

She opened a small chest on the table and took something from it. The Wallcreeper fought to overcome revulsion.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” The neufra cackled. “It is activated with a spell. Originating in Al Azif, as a matter of fact, but perfected by the Nefandi and the Italian necromancers. The chirping of nocturnal insects, the rustling of their wings… It has two functions. It should indicate the whereabouts of Bielawa or his maid.”

“And the other?”

“Use it when the need to kill somebody arises. So that the victim feels they are dying.”

“Farewell, Kundrie.”

“Farewell, son.”

The first drops of rain began tapping on the roof.

A lightning bolt tore open the sky, thunder rumbled almost at once, long and drawn-out and sharp, with a crack like fabric being rent apart. The downpour intensified; a wall of water completely veiled the world.

“It’s as though someone had it in for us,” said Reynevan, shaking water from his collar. “Time is short and suddenly there’s a cloudburst. It’s a deluge.”

They sat out the storm in a forest, in dense undergrowth which only gave shelter for a while; it was soon pouring steadily on them. The horses shook their manes, lowering their heads.

“The rain is easing off,” said Rixa, wiping her dripping-wet nose. “The storm is moving away. It’ll soon pass and then we can gallop again; the wind will dry us. And drive evil thoughts away.”