She punches the pommel of the knife and it goes into the man’s temple. The spies scream and call her mad. Tain Shir throws a gas grenade among them and they topple hacking so that they are as easy to slaughter as landed fish.

They were only distractions.

The cryptarchs will have a secret fastness. They will have a hidden ship in that retreat. She will find Tain Hu there.

She attains the summit of the execution ridge. A human finger bone rests on the stone, gnawed by gulls. Shir takes the bone from the rock and slides it in among her crossbow bolts.

*   *   *

APPARITOR’S master-at-arms met them at the cave quay. He was a thin, swift man named Tenshy Diminute, and very competent. He already had skiffs waiting on the pale green cave-river, three full of Apparitor’s people, the fourth waiting for their master. “I’m bringing guests,” Apparitor said, beckoning Baru and Yawa forward. Diminute tried to take Iraji and Apparitor wouldn’t give him up. “Is the tunnel safe?”

“Three quarters to high tide.” Tenshy’s voice was dry and cracking, his vocal cords burnt. “Helbride’s ready to sail once you’re aboard. We’ve prepared a—”

Baru sneezed. Everyone looked up in horror. “Do you smell smoke?” Tenshy asked, urgently.

“I think I do.” Baru put up a finger—there was a cold breeze from above, the Elided Keep’s cool interior air rushing down to the cave river and the marsh beyond. “Oh,” she realized. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

The navy’s marines would pour heavy smoke in search of secret exits. The draft would draw the smoke down here.

“Get aboard,” Tenshy ordered. “We’re going now.”

Xate Yawa sat in the boat’s prow like a nightmare figurehead. The soft light of the water shone through her gown from below. “Ever navigated a sewer before?” she asked Baru. “I have.”

“This isn’t a sewer,” Baru protested, “it’s a secret river—”

“It’s an underground waterway that carries your sorry little shits,” Yawa snapped. “That makes it a sewer.” The bite of Olake’s absence was sharp in her.

“Well said, Yawa.” Apparitor stepped down into the skiff. It rocked perilously but his head was steady as an owl’s. “Baru can row the boat, I’ll see to Iraji, and you can supervise acerbically. Baru, don’t forget your right-side oar.”

*   *   *

HER old master waits for her among the mace-grass.

With her spyglass Shir watches the man stroll down the boardwalk. Time has hardly touched him. As if his image engraved itself on the back of her eye at their last meeting to pursue its intrigues in the pulp of her mind. He is whistling to the marsh birds, over the clamor from the keep, and the waves jostle the boardwalk under his feet.