The alley was barely four feet wide and Macro guessed that it was little more than a service passage shared by the house Lurco had entered and its neighbour. The walls rose high on either side, leaving only a thin strip of gloom from the night sky. Although the ground was soiled underfoot Macro was acutely aware of the noise that his boots were making as he made his way down the alley and he tried to tread as softly as he could. He traced one hand along the wall, fingertips grazing over cracked plaster and patches of exposed bricks. Fifty paces or so along the alley he came to a small door and gently tried the latch but it was locked. Macro proceeded a little further and then heard some voices, a light-hearted blend of conversation and laughter. An instant later the notes of a flute added to the sound of the party. It came from a short distance ahead and Macro saw that the wall abruptly dropped to half its height as the main part of the house gave way to the gardens.

He hurried on and the sounds from the other side of the wall covered any noise from his boots. A short distance ahead Macro could see the tall cone of a poplar tree rising above the wall and he made towards it. If he could climb the wall, then the tree would give him some cover as he looked over the top, he reasoned. From there he could spy on Lurco and see whom he spoke to. However, the wall rose a good ten feet above the street and Macro hissed bitterly. Looking round he saw nothing that he could use to stand on. With a resigned grunt he reached under his cloak and took out his sword and tested the surface of the wall with the point. The plaster crumbled away freely and the bricks underneath were soft enough for Macro to chisel out a step. He worked quickly, creating several more up to a height where he should be able to reach the top.

Sheathing his sword, Macro pulled himself up and began to climb carefully, grimacing as his fingers strained for purchase in the hurriedly cut holds. He drew his knife and worked at the handholds, proceeding steadily towards the top of the wall. At length he could just reach up and grip the edge. With his knife sheathed, Macro heaved his body up, boots scraping to help lift his weight until his torso rested across the top of the wall. Macro paused for breath, his heart pounding from the exertions of the climb. The boughs of the poplar tree shielded him from the party guests in the garden and when he was ready, Macro swung his legs up and eased himself forward for a better view of the walled garden.