Chel reached Hesso’s barn, diverting down the narrow mud alley to its side. There was the small door that Rennic had indicated, unlocked. He crept inside, into dry darkness, dripping on straw-covered floor. Even with only the light from Hesso’s feeble fire through the barn’s open main door, it didn’t take long to locate their confiscated gear, stacked next to animal feed and barrels of salted goods: Chel’s armour, Rennic’s coat. Chel felt inside the coat, finding a small, wrapped bundle.

He crept back toward the open doorway where Hesso sat. He’d been blowing on the fire and finally had a decent flame heating his kettle. The tea wouldn’t be long now. Chel looked around, then picked up a loose clod of grey earth, dislodged from some hoof. He snaked his way to the doorway, watching Hesso carefully, then as the young man bent forward to give the fire one more blow, he flung the clod.

It sailed through the drizzle and thumped against the wall of the shack opposite, exploding into dirty mist. Hesso reared in shock, eyes searching.

‘Who’s there?’ he called. ‘You’d better not be trying to escape, sell-sword!’

He snatched up a thin spear from the ground beside him, threw up his hood and strode into the rain to investigate, his shoulders hunched tense as if expecting a blow. Chel darted forward in his absence, lifted the kettle lid and, peeling off one, two, three leaves, dropped them in. He paused, considering, then dropped in the rest of the bundle. Rennic had said it probably wasn’t fresh. It was best to be sure.

He ducked back inside and hunkered down. Hesso returned a moment later, muttering to himself, apparently satisfied that he had quelled whatever rebellion Rennic was plotting. He settled back down on his rickety stool, shaking drops from his cloak, then poured himself a mug of steaming, well-earned tea.

Chel sat anxious in the barn’s darkness, listening to the drumming of the rain on the roof and to Hesso’s stretches and grumbles. He poured himself another mug in short order, and his grumbles began to shift, becoming erratic, then interspersed with giggles. Chel smiled. The tea was working.

The giggles became more frequent, Hesso’s monologue now loud and gabbling, then he stood in a rush, pacing around the fire, gesticulating, ranting, screeching with laughter. Chel had a sudden cold, sick feeling, the growing sense that he might well have overdone it. He peeked around the door, seeing Hesso pause mid-chatter to pour himself another tea, then down it in a single swallow. He resumed his pacing, now apparently having a full-on conversation with himself, muttering and gesticulating with pointed looks toward the top of the hill.