“All in a day’s work!” said Mucum with a ridiculously cheerful look on his face. He wiped the bloodied hammer on his leg and passed it back. “Wish me mates could’ve seen that. It would’ve been free drinks all around, I reckon. Gimme a hand with this.” Mucum put his palm against the still-warm body of the rat and pushed.

“Do I have to?”

“Yer not getting squeamish on me, are yer?”

Ark sighed. Clogged toilets were one thing, but greasy, bloodstained fur and the airborne army of fleas leaping off the corpse to sample his own skin were not his idea of fun. They finally heaved the dead rat to the edge of the platform. One last shove and the body fell off the lip with a plop and was carried away by the current.

Mucum gave a bow. “I took a leaf out of your book, little Ark. If a tiny apprentice can take on a guard with a wrench, then what’s stopping old Mucum sorting out a coupla vermin? Never thought I’d be grateful for some squitty old plumbin’ tools!”

“You saved my life.” Ark looked at Mucum in a new way. Up to yesterday, this overgrown hulk would barely have grunted at him as they passed each other in the sewage station. It felt strange, and comforting. No one normally looked out for him.

Mucum floundered for a second. Confronting rabid creatures was one thing, but a compliment? “If you get all mushy on me, I’ll have to kill you. Before I do, though, could you ‘and over some of that nosh. Murder makes me ’ungry.”

Ark undid the buckles on his bag, his legs still trembling as he sat down. “There’s dried goat sausage or —”

“Dried goat sausage,” interrupted Mucum. “Hard choice, that.”

As Mucum munched away, Ark took a swig from the bottle his mother had given him. Blackberry cordial, its sweetness cutting through the foul smell that filled the tunnel. He passed the drink over. “It’s time for me to go see the King.”

“Wot you mean?” Mucum spluttered. “We’re in this together!”

“Listen. No one knows about your involvement yet. You and your family are safe. It’s up to me now.” Ark’s lips were set straighter than a sawn plank.

“Arktorious Malikum, the great warrior?”

“I don’t need to be. I’ve worked out where we are and it’s only a couple of hundred yards from the King’s quarters.”

“Have you gone psychic on me?” Mucum squinted at his friend.

“No, silly. Look!” A small drain opening by their feet had a rather grubby royal crest emblazoned on the edge of the pipe.

Mucum wiped his lips as he gave the bottle back. He stood up and walked on a few yards. Sure enough, the next drain had no crest. “Oh. Very clever, that is.”