Hayver stepped in close to Marcus’ right side as he led the way to the gate. “What do you think they’re so angry about, sir?”

“Damned if I know. I expect we’ll find out.”

That was their last coherent bit of conversation before they plunged into the shouting, gesticulating mass of humanity. No one attempted to bar their way, but people were packed so tight Marcus had to elbow and shove to make any progress. While Marcus hadn’t grown up in the Docks, he had spent years in Ashe-Katarion, a city that considered orderly queues a dangerous foreign invention, so he was no stranger to the art of strong-arming his way through a press. Hayver trailed in his wake while Andy made solid progress of her own on the other side.

As they got closer to the front, the shouting got a little more coherent. The crowd, kept a few paces back from the line of guards by the lowered halberds, shouted insults and curses.

“You should be fucking ashamed! Protecting Sworn scum!”

“Out of the way!”

“They can’t hide in there forever!”

Marcus shoved a particularly obnoxious ranter out of the way and secured a place in the front rank. He paused to make sure his escort was still with him—Hayver had one hand on the back of his coat, while Andy was rubbing her elbow with a satisfied expression—then stepped forward, sliding between two protruding halberds. The guards, seeing his uniform and the eagles on his shoulders, looked at one another uncertainly.

“I need to get through,” Marcus shouted, over the roar of the crowd.

“I’ve got orders to keep the public out!” one the guards shouted back.

“I’m not the public,” Marcus snapped. “I’m Colonel Marcus d’Ivoire, personal liaison to General Janus bet Vhalnich.”

The guard exchanged a glance with his nearest companion, and then stepped aside, lowering his halberd. Marcus moved through the gap, towing Hayver and Andy, and sidestepped to allow the guard to get back into line. The crowd roared its disapproval.

“Down with army traitors!”

“To the Spike with all the officers!”

“Shame! Shame!”

Marcus would have liked to question the Patriot Guards about what was happening, but they were fully occupied. Beyond the Gateway of Wisdom, the University was a maze of ancient stone buildings and courtyards, built out and added to haphazardly over the centuries. Marcus had only the vaguest idea of the layout, and he stood looking at the mess with a sinking heart. On his previous visits, he’d always asked a passing student for directions, but the near riot at the gate was apparently keeping everyone inside. The lanes and courtyards he could see were deserted.

“I know the way, sir,” Hayver said, guessing the problem.

“You do?”