‘Sir, the sum is vast, and I would gladly part with half of it – the repayment to your investment will be ten times at the very least.’

‘I’ve no need for more riches.’ Paran smiled. He stepped away from the beggar, then paused and added, ‘By the way, you probably shouldn’t linger overlong at this particular gate. The House does not welcome strangers.’

The old man seemed to shrink in on himself. His head twisted to one side. ‘No,’ he muttered from beneath his ragged hood, ‘not this House.’ Then he softly cackled. ‘But I know one that does ...’

Shrugging at the beggar’s obscure words, Paran turned once more and set off.

Behind him, the beggar broke into a wretched cough.

Picker could not pull her eyes from the man. He sat hunched over, on a chair that had yet to find a table, still clutching in his hands the small rag of tattered cloth on which something had been written. The alchemist had done all he could to return life to what had been a mostly destroyed, desiccated body, and Baruk’s talents had been stretched to their limits – there was no doubt of that.

She knew of him, of course. They all did. They all knew, as well, where he had come from.

He spoke not a word. Had not since the resurrection. No physical flaw kept him from finding his voice, Baruk had insisted.

The Imperial Historian had fallen silent. No-one knew why.

She sighed.

The grand opening of K’rul’s Bar was a disaster. Tables waited, empty, forlorn in the massive main chamber. Paran, Spindle, Blend, Antsy, Mallet and Bluepearl sat at the one nearest the blazing hearth, barely managing a word among them. Nearby was the only other occupied table, at which sat Kruppe, Murillio and Coll.

And that’s it. Gods, we’re finished. We should never have listened to Antsy . . .

The front door swung open.

Picker looked over hopefully. But it was only Baruk.

The High Alchemist paused within the antechamber, then slowly made his way forward to where the other Daru sat.

‘Dearest friend of honourable Kruppe! Baruk, stalwart champion of Darujhistan, could you ask for better company this night? Here, yes, at this very table! Kruppe was astonishing his companions – and indeed, these grim-faced ex-soldiers next to us – with his extraordinary account of Kruppe and this tavern’s namesake, conspiring to fashion a new world.’

‘Is the tale done, then?’ Baruk asked as he approached.

‘Just, but Kruppe would be delighted to—’

‘Excellent. I’ll hear it some other time, I suppose.’ The High Alchemist glanced over at Duiker, but the Imperial Historian had not so much as even looked up. Head still bowed, eyes fixed on the cloth in his hands. Baruk sighed. ‘Picker, have you mulled wine?’

‘Aye, sir,’ she said. ‘Behind you, beside the hearth.’

Antsy reached for the clay jug, rose to pour Baruk a cup.