‘Don’t ask me,’ Tarfel huffed. ‘I was nowhere nearby.’

‘Indeed,’ Chel replied through gritted teeth. They were somewhere around the back of the main building, its stacked tiers towering overhead, yet still well within its complex of walls and outbuildings. The courtyard itself was grand if functional, wide gates at the far end and parked wagons suggesting a loading zone for the cellars. A low retaining wall and short run of steps separated the entryway where they stood from the main courtyard itself. Braziers burned at the fringes, but much of the courtyard’s centre was lost to the murky steam that issued from vents somewhere beneath them.

‘Kosh, did you— Ah, where the fuck’s she got to? Come on, Akoshtiranarayan!’

‘The mechanism is not so complex as it appears, simply a ratchet and a spindle, allowing foot traffic to exit the building but not return. Of course, reversing it would only be a matter of—’

‘Leave the fucking door alone! Find the wagon!’

Chel scanned the gloomy courtyard, one hand pressed to his temple, which had developed a menacing throb. People were moving around the fringes, their voices muffled by the surroundings, loading or unloading, carrying and clinking their cargo. There were far more wagons and carts than he’d been expecting, and this might not even be the right courtyard. His throat felt very dry.

Whisper pointed, and Chel spotted the wagon beneath a canvas canopy by the courtyard’s far wall, lurking in near-darkness beside another, heavier wagon stacked with kegs and crates.

‘Thank the Shepherd. Come on!’

He raced forward, Whisper marshalling the others along behind him. No horses, of course, but a quick check over the side confirmed that everything else was where it was supposed to be. The wagon beside theirs sat very low on reinforced axles, and its sides were plated with steel. Something about the kegs poking from its summit was naggingly familiar, a delivery of brandy, most likely. ‘Whisper, can you get things untied? I’ll track down the horses. I can certainly smell the stables from here. Kosh, Tarf, jump aboard and get under cover!’

The prince hadn’t moved, hunched against the wagon-side and huffing his displeasure. As the immediate panic of their descent passed, Tarfel had wrapped himself in self-pity like a cloak. ‘How dare he, Vedren? How dare he! How can I command the respect of my subjects if I’m dragged naked through a whorehouse?’ He kicked at a wheel, scuffing a boot, and yelped.

Chel slid back down, attempting a calming voice despite the hammering in his head and chest. ‘You were officially incognito, Tarf. And I think they prefer “House of Friendship” here.’

Whisper looked over, pausing in her task, concern in her eyes. Chel waved her back, out of the prince’s eyeline. I’ll handle it.