Two hundred paces to their right another barge loaded with Brood’s forces set out, the craft quickly drawing the lines down-current as it left the shore.

A pair of marines rode up to Quick Ben and Kruppe.

The wizard scowled at them. ‘Where’s Whiskeyjack?’

‘On the way, Bridgeburner. Did the toad and his artist show up?’

‘Just in time to take charge of their wagon, aye. They’re on the other side.’

‘Fancy work. We crossing the same way?’

‘Well, I was thinking of dropping you halfway – when did you two last bathe?’

The women exchanged a glance, then one shrugged and said, ‘Don’t know. A month? Three? We’ve been busy.’

‘And we’d rather not get wet, Wizard,’ the other marine said. ‘Our armour and the clothes under ‘em might fall apart.’

‘Kruppe asserts that would prove a sight never to be forgotten!’

‘Bet your eyes’d fall out,’ the soldier agreed. ‘And if they didn’t we’d have to help ‘em along some.’

‘At least our nails would be clean,’ the other observed.

‘Aai! Coarse women! Kruppe sought only to compliment!’

‘You’re the one needing a bath,’ the marine said.

The Daru’s expression displayed shock, then dismay. ‘Outrageous notion. Sufficient layers of sweet scent applied over sufficient years, nay, decades, have resulted in a permanent and indeed impervious bouquet of gentlest fragrance.’ He waved his plump, pale hands. ‘A veritable aura about oneself to draw lovestruck butterflies—’

‘Look like deerflies to me—’

‘These are uncivil lands – yet do you see a single insect alight?’

‘Well, there’s a few drowned in your oily hair, now that you ask.’

‘Precisely. Inimical foes one and all fall to the same fate.’

‘Ah,’ Quick Ben said, ‘here comes Whiskeyjack. Finally. Thank the gods.’

Darkness swallowed the alley as dusk descended on the ruined city. A few oil lamps lit the major thoroughfares, and the occasional squad of Gidrath walked rounds carrying lanterns of their own.

Wrapped in a cloak hiding his full armour, Coll stood within an alcove and watched one such squad troop past at the alley’s mouth, watched as the pool of yellow light slowly dwindled, until the night once more reclaimed the street.

He stepped out and gestured.

Murillio flicked the traces, startling the oxen into motion. The wagon creaked and rocked over the cracked, heat-blasted cobbles.

Coll strode in advance, out onto the street. It had been only partially cleared of rubble. Three gutted temples were within the range of his vision, showing no indication of having been reoccupied. No different from the four others they had found earlier that afternoon.