Marcus edged up to the curtain and twitched it back a half inch. There was a courtyard outside, longer than it was wide. Hedges ran around the outside, and a gravel path wound through a browning lawn. A small marble statue of a frolicking nymph had already been pushed off its plinth.

“Hayver,” Marcus said. “Which way are we going?”

Hayver put his eye to the window while Marcus steadied the curtain.

“All the way across. Looks like the door’s open.”

Marcus looked again. At the other end of the courtyard, another pair of doors stood ajar.

“That’s got to be a hundred yards,” Marcus muttered.

“We’ll never make it,” Karl wailed.

“Will you shut up?” Andy spit.

She’d acquired a broomstick from somewhere along the way, a big one with a long, sturdy handle. She propped carefully against the wall and stomped on it, just above the head. The wood broke with an almighty snap, spraying splinters.

“I thought I said to be quiet!” Marcus said.

“Sorry, sir.” Andy hefted the orphaned handle, now reduced to a serviceable club with a jagged, splintery point. “Thought it might be best to have something to hand.”

Karl moaned again. Andy rolled her eyes.

“Leave him alone,” Fredrick said. “He’s too sensitive for this.”

“All right,” Marcus said. “I’ll go first. Everyone stay close. Walk fast but don’t run until I say. From a distance we’re just another group of rioters, right?”

There was a chorus of assent. Viera walked to a small marble bust and lifted it, testing the weight.

“Your girl is right,” she said when Marcus gave her a questioning look. “Best to be prepared.”

Marcus shrugged. “Hayver, can you get that bolt?”

Hayver threw his weight against the rusty metal, and it moved with a squeal of complaint. The door opened, letting in daylight that cut through the shadows of the dusty hall like a knife, illuminating a swirl of dust motes. Marcus blinked a few times to let his eyes adjust, then started forward, trying to walk with confidence. He spared only a brief look over his shoulder to make sure the others were following.

The hundred yards to the other side of the courtyard stretched out beneath his feet, until he was certain he could feel the distance increasing with every step. Unbidden, his hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. He hadn’t expected a fight, so he was the only one who’d brought a real weapon, but he didn’t want to use it on what were, after all, civilians. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Nearly there.

They’d crossed three-quarters of the distance when a party of shouting, laughing men entered the courtyard through one of the side paths. There were at least a dozen of them, and they pulled up short in shocked silence, taking in Marcus’ army uniform and the students’ robes.