‘You fight rather well for a boy,’ the voice said again. It was soft, cultured. ‘You cost me five stringers and a lover. Pity. We could’ve used you. We have an affinity towards skilled social rejects.’

‘I left three alive,’ Karna panted.

‘Rest assured we won’t make the same mistake.’

Karna looked up. The underside of the wooden balcony from where the voice emerged was now directly overhead, the height of two men above the ground. A good jump would have allowed him to reach a strut, but even if he managed to grab hold of it, it would leave him wide open to the approaching assassins. Impractical. ‘Who sent you?’ he asked, taking deep breaths.

‘Some men who were angered by the rapid strides you have been making in royal circles. Haven’t you heard? Best to keep a low profile in life lest the Gods take note of you.’

Karna’s eyes scanned the shadows. There were three by the cart on the left, two on the right, four coming straight at him, one above him, all of them closing in. His right leg was sticky with blood from his thigh wound. His armpit hurt. His crossbow was empty. He was running out of options.

‘You sent the woman to kill Mardin. And now you want to make it look like I was murdered by a mob for killing the Highmaster?’

There was a laugh. ‘You give us more credit than we deserve, Resht,’ the voice said. ‘While that would have been a brilliant move, we were waiting for you at Diamond Harbour till we heard news you had taken a detour. Fortunately, horses run faster than they swim. We set up a grand welcome for you here instead. But we had nothing to do with the murder of Prakar Mardin. We never take life for free. It is the one rule we have. And rules are important don’t you think? Now that I have answered your question, answer mine. Head or throat?’

Karna heard the thundering sound of wheels, and spied a small barrel rolling into the midst of the approaching assassins. ‘Fire-oil!’ the woman cried. ‘Positions!’

Time slowed as the barrel collided with an abandoned cart. The impact of the detonation threw the approaching assassins into the air. Karna dived for cover, not knowing who had rolled the barrel and come to his aid. He was thrown against the wall again and heard a snap. My arm. Unheeding, he stumbled to his feet and scurried, half-bent, along the side of the shadowed street, gripping his broken arm.

‘Oi Lamb!’

He turned, stopping short. A horse-driven cart was turning in the street behind. Then it charged towards him. Crouched low behind the reins was a woman he knew. Karna stepped aside, a breath away from being ridden over, grasped one side of the cart and let the momentum swing him up behind the woman. Wind buffeted him as the cart rattled on. Twisting back, he saw shapes in pursuit, on horseback.