‘You understand me, then.’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Black Dow.’

‘Oh.’ She hardly knew what to say. ‘I thought you’d be taller.’

Dow raised one scar-nicked brow at the older man. The older man shrugged. ‘What can I say? You’re shorter’n your reputation.’

‘Most of us are.’ Dow looked back at Finree, eyes narrowed, judging her response. ‘How ’bout your father? Taller’n me?’

They knew who she was. Who her father was. She had no idea how, but they knew. That was either a good thing or a very bad one. She looked at the older man and he gave her the faintest, apologetic smile, then winced since he must have stretched his stitches doing it. She felt the man with the metal eye shift his weight behind her, a floorboard creaking. This did not seem like a group from which she could expect good things.

‘My father is about your height,’ she said, her voice whispery.

Dow grinned, but there was no humour in it. ‘Well, that’s a damn good height to be.’

‘If you mean to gain some advantage over him through me, you will be disappointed.’

‘Will I?’

‘Nothing will sway him from his duty.’

‘Won’t be sorry to lose you, eh?’

‘He’ll be sorry. But he’ll only fight you harder.’

‘Oh, I’m getting a fine sense for the man! Loyal, and strong, and bulging with righteousness. Like iron on the outside, but …’ And he thumped at his chest with one fist and pushed out his bottom lip. ‘He feels it. Feels it all, right here. And weeps at the quiet times.’

Finree looked right back. ‘You have him close enough.’

Dow whipped out his grin like a killer might a knife. ‘Sounds like my fucking twin.’ The older man gave a snort of laughter. The woman smiled, showing a mouthful of impossibly perfect white teeth. The man with the metal eye made no sound. ‘Good thing you won’t be relying on your father’s tender mercies, then. I got no plans to bargain with you, or ransom you, or even send your head over the river in a box. Though we’ll see how the conversation goes, you might yet change my mind on that score.’

There was a long pause, while Dow watched her and she watched him. Like the accused waiting for the judge to pass sentence.

‘I’ve a mind to let you go,’ he said. ‘I want you to take a message back to your father. Let him know I don’t see the purpose shedding any more blood over this worthless fucking valley. Let him know I’m willing to talk.’ Dow gave a loud sniff, worked his mouth as if it tasted bad. ‘Talk about … peace.’

Finree blinked. ‘Talk.’

‘That’s right.’

‘About peace.’

‘That’s right.’

She felt dizzy. Drunk on the sudden prospect of living to see her husband and her father again. But she had to put that to one side, think past it. She took a long breath through her nose and steadied herself. ‘That will not be good enough.’