The fortress was silent, except for the drumming rain and the constant spattering chime of the roof leaks spilling down into pans and buckets. Everything smelled damp. Only a few lamps and candles had been left along the galleries and staircases, so Macks fished out her stablight. On the second floor, she saw Medea Betancore on a bench outside the chamber reserved for Eisenhorn. Betancore was working through a data-slate. She looked tired.

‘Anything, marshal?’ she asked as Macks approached. Macks shook her head.

‘He’s sleeping at last,’ said Betancore, tilting her head towards the chamber door. ‘He needs it.’

‘You need it too, mam,’ said Macks.

‘In a while, perhaps,’ replied Betancore. ‘I’ll stay here for now, in case he needs me. The dreams… wake him.’

Macks nodded. Betancore returned to her data-slate, and Macks made her way back to the stairs.

She went down to the main entrance, pulling on her slicker. Nayl had set up lighting rigs in the yard on their arrival, and she could see their white glow backlighting the small windows above the door.

She dragged the door open.

The yard was bathed in harsh white light from the rigs. Where the heavy rain caught in their stark glare, it made dark stripes like vertical interference bands on a pict-feed. Macks could hear the chatter of the portable generator running the rigs, a murmur behind the constant snake-hiss of the downpour.

She saw Nayl across the yard by the gate. Edde was with him, and they had the main gate dragged open a yard or two, so they could look out into the night. Macks hurried across to them, the rain pattering off her plastek shroud. The air was cold and fresh. She already had water running down the back of her neck.

‘Anything?’ she asked.

Nayl glanced at her, water dripping off his solid chin.

‘Something tripped the outer sensors about half an hour ago,’ he said. ‘Probably just an animal, but Garofar and Cronyl are checking.’

‘Should I get everyone up?’ she asked.

He shook his head.

‘Probably just an animal,’ he repeated.

‘Keep me advised,’ she said. ‘I’ll sweep the house.’

Macks returned to the main building. She heaved the heavy door shut and shook off her slicker. She checked the kitchen, then the small back parlour. The fire there was still burning, making it the most comfortable room in the place. Drusher was asleep in an armchair. He hadn’t gone to bed after all. He’d brought books down from the library, and one had fallen open across his chest as sleep claimed him. A book on migration habits in the Karanines. Macks saw delicate line drawings of wildfowl. She closed the book and set it aside, drew Drusher’s old coat across him as a blanket, and, as an afterthought, bent down and kissed him on the forehead.

He stirred slightly, mumbled and went back to sleep.