‘You heard the lady, the Pearl Terrace awaits,’ Loveless said, jingling her remaining coin. ‘On the bright side, Gar, we’re unlikely to meet anyone we know up there.’ She strode inside without a backward glance.

‘Normally we scumbags are confined to the lower terraces,’ Rennic replied to Chel’s questioning look, then went up the steps after Loveless, shoulders hunched and fuming.

‘There goes our contingency,’ Foss sighed as the rest of them walked after him.

‘Cost of living, innit, Fossy?’ Lemon chuckled. ‘Everything you earn.’

With one last neck-cricking look at the looming structure, Chel followed.

***

‘This place,’ Kosh said, from his elbow as they walked, ‘is disgusting.’

Happy noises echoed from the polished wood floors and wall-panels, their Serican silk coverings lilting in the wind of their passing. Not the delirious whimpers of the poppy den, but genuine mirth, a genial hubbub, the clink and clatter of drink and fare. Distant sounds echoed from the galleries that opened above them, the muted roar and closer splash of water, the occasional moan or cry from somewhere in the dark recesses above. More guards stood at every corner, perfumed, oiled, and bulging with muscle. Chel tried to avoid their gaze.

‘This place is honest,’ Loveless said over her shoulder. ‘It makes no secret of its purpose, and no apology either. More than can be said for most great institutions.’

‘You seem very at home here,’ the Nort replied. ‘You’ve visited before?’

A tall, elegant woman passed them, dressed only in wisps of silk, a bulbous man with a beaming smile bobbing in her wake. Chel, Tarfel, and Kosh paused to watch them pass.

‘Or perhaps you worked here?’ Kosh said with an eyebrow raised.

‘Is that why you don’t like silk?’ Lemon added.

Loveless offered only a half-smile of her own. ‘Stairs are this way.’

Rennic still radiated fury, wrath coming off him in waves. ‘We’re inside and he’s in grasping distance, let’s slug the little fucker and carry him out like a drunkard.’

‘The damage is done, Gar – we’ve paid our share, and we might as well try to enjoy ourselves while we’re here. God knows we deserve a break.’ Again, the light revealed the tight lines around her eyes, the dark smudges beneath. No wonder she was pushing for a rest, Chel thought, she looked more tired than any of them.

As they approached the winding stairway up to the galleries, a well-dressed man sauntering the other way came to a sudden halt before Foss, staring openly. He was in early middle age, thick dark hair gone silver at the temples, and the cut of his robes suggested both wealth and access to exclusive tailors.

‘I say, I know you, don’t I?’