“I don’t mean to be rude,” said Samson, spitting on his hand and grasping the goedendag, “but you must be extremely mad.”

The Orphans yelled triumphantly as they began to close in, the snare tightening.

And it would probably have ended very badly had it not been for a Deus ex machina. Appearing that day in the form of fifteen heavily armed horsemen approaching at a crazy gallop from Hanušovice.

The pursuers spurred their horses and brought them to a rapid stop, in the confusion not knowing who, what, how or why. The battle cries and flashes of swords held aloft dispelled all their doubts, however. And immediately deprived them of the will and desire to continue the party. Turning around in unison, the Náchod Orphans fled, scarpered. Riding fresher horses, the new arrivals would have caught up with them without difficulty and massacred them had they so wished. But they clearly didn’t want to.

“Well, well, what a fortunate twist of fate,” said Urban Horn, walking his horse up. “For I have been searching for you, Reynevan, I’m on your trail. And I seem to have found you, even though it was by chance. And if I say I’m just in time, would I be mistaken?”

“You would not.”

“Salve, Scharley. Salve, Samson. You’re here, too? Not in Prague?”

“Amicus amico.” Samson Honeypot shrugged, toying with the goedendag and under his eyelids scrutinising the soldiers surrounding them. “When a friend is in need, I come to his aid. I rush to his side. Regardless of… the circumstances.”

Horn understood at once and laughed.

“Pax, pax, O friend of a friend! Reynevan is in no danger from me. Particularly now when I hear that the honourable Flutek is at rest under a thick layer of earth. You are also no doubt aware of that. Thus, there’s no sense dispatching Reynevan to Prague. Particularly since I need Reynevan’s help at Sovinec Castle, to which I very courteously invite him. Very courteously.”

Reynevan and Samson looked around. They were being assaulted from all sides by the smell of horses’ sweat and steam coming from their nostrils, and the faces of the soldiers surrounding them were quite eloquent.

“A sojourn in Sovinec,” said Horn, without taking his eyes off Scharley or the hand holding the falchion, “might be beneficial to you, too, Reinmar. If your brother’s memory is indeed dear to you.”

“Peterlin is dead.” Reynevan shook his head. “I can’t help him now. Jutta, however—”

“Help me in Sovinec,” interrupted Horn, “and I will help you with regard to your Jutta. I give you my word.”

Reynevan looked at Scharley and Samson and then turned his gaze to the horsemen around them.

“I’ll hold you to your word,” he finally said. “Let’s ride.”

“You can go where you will,” Horn addressed Scharley and Samson, “but I would advise haste. Those men may return. With reinforcements.”