Kiska pulled a chair next to her. ‘Yes. Auntie, the most amazing thing has happened. This is the best day of my life—’

‘You’re leaving Malaz.’

’Auntie! How did you know?’

‘Only that could possibly make you so happy.’

Kiska gripped her arm. ‘Oh, Auntie. It’s not that I want to leave you. It’s just that I have to get off this island. You understand that, don’t you?’

She covered Kiska’s hand, smiled faintly. ‘Yes, child. I understand.’ Then a coughing fit took her and she held the towel to her mouth.

Kiska watched anxiously; in all the time she had known her, never had she betrayed the slightest illness before. ‘You are all right, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, yes. Quite. It’s just been a very trying night for me. One of the most trying I have ever known.’

Kiska eyed her critically. ‘I thought I saw you—’

‘Just a dream, child. A vision on a night of visions.’

‘Still, there was something . . .’

The same ghost of a smile raised Agayla’s lips. ‘Mere shadows.’

Kiska didn’t believe her, but time was passing. She stood. ‘I have to go – I can’t wait.’

Agayla used the chair to help herself to her feet. Kiska steadied her arm. ‘Yes, yes,’ she urged. ‘Certainly. Go. Run to your dear mother’s. Let her know you’re fine.’

‘Yes, I will. Thank you, Auntie. Thank you for everything.’

Agayla took her in her arms and hugged her, kissed her brow. ‘Send word soon or I swear I will send you a curse.’

‘I will.’

‘Good. Now run. Don’t keep Artan waiting.’

Kiska was halfway down Reach Lane before the thought occurred to her: how on earth did Agayla know that name? She stopped, half a mind to turn around. But time was pressing and she had a suspicion that saying goodbye to her mother would take much longer than she thought it might.

Though his vision swam and he had to rest at every landing to stave off passing out, Temper climbed Rampart Way up to the Hold. It was madness for him to be about and walking, but there was no way he would miss the morning’s excitement at the keep. A crowd already choked the main entrance – tradesmen and citizens in a panic with pleas and complaints for Sub-Fist Pell. Wearing a thick cloak taken from the Hanged Man, Temper bulled his way through. He found Lubben snoring in a chair tilted back against the damp wall, his chest wrapped in dressings under his unlaced jerkin.

‘Wake up, you lazy disgrace!’

The hunchback cracked open his eye. Temper was amazed by how red it was. Lubben looked him up and down. He smacked his lips and grimaced at the taste. ‘What in Hood’s own burial pit are you doing here?’

‘Got the day watch.’

‘The what? The day watch? Gods man, give it a rest! You make me feel old just looking at you. Go on sick call.’

‘What, and miss all the entertainment?’