They reached the landing. Dead Urdomen lay heaped, their bodies sprawled on steps that led upward. A second flight of stone stairs, leading down, showed only the flow of thickening blood from the landing.

Blend edged forward to crouch before the descending steps. ‘There’s tracks here in the blood,’ she said, ‘three sets ... the first one, uh, bony, followed by someone in moccasins – a woman, I’d say—’

‘In moccasins?’ Lady Envy wondered, brows lifting. ‘How peculiar. The bony ones are likely to be either Tool or Lanas Tog. Now who might be following either of them? Such mystery! And the last set?’

Blend shrugged. ‘Worn boots. A man’s.’

The sound of fighting that Blend had detected earlier was audible to everyone now – from somewhere up the flight of stairs, distant, possibly at the uppermost floor, which was at least a half-dozen levels above them.

Baaljagg had limped to stand beside Blend. The wolf lowered its head, nose testing the footprints leading down.

A moment later the animal was a grey flash, racing downward and out of sight.

‘Well!’ Lady Envy said. ‘The issue seems decided, wouldn’t you say? The ailing pup has a certain . . . feeling for Toc the Younger. An affinity, to be more precise.’

‘Your pardon,’ Picker snapped, ‘but what in Hood’s name are you going on about?’ One more cryptic statement from this lady and I’ll brain her.

‘That was rude. None the less, I will acknowledge that the matter is a secret but not one of my own, so I shall freely speak of it.’

‘Oh good,’ one of the soldiers behind Picker muttered, ‘gossip.’

Lady Envy wheeled. ‘Who said that?’

No-one spoke.

‘I abhor gossip, I will have you all know. Now, shall I tell you the tale of two ancient gods, who each in turn found mortal flesh – or, rather, somewhat mortal flesh in the case of Baaljagg, but all too mortal flesh in the case of dear Toc the Younger?’

Picker stared at the woman, and was about to speak when one of her soldiers cursed loud and with feeling – and blades clashed—

—shouts—

A score Urdomen had just arrived from behind the squads, and the hallway was suddenly filled with vicious, close-in fighting.

Picker snapped out a hand and caught Blend’s blood-stiffened cloak, pulled. As the lieutenant dragged free her sword, she hissed: ‘Head down the stairs, lass! We’ll follow once we clear this up.’ She shoved Blend towards the stairs, then spun.

‘Will this take long?’ Lady Envy asked, her voice somehow cutting through the tumult to echo in Picker’s ears as she pushed into the press. The Urdomen were better armoured, fresher, and had had surprise on their side. Picker saw Bucklund reel, half his head cut away. ‘No,’ she grated, as two more Bridgeburners crumpled, ‘it won’t...’