‘All right, all right, got everything here.’ Lemon peeled off the top few layers and held them out to the approaching Loveless. They were bundled over a short, flat scabbard. Loveless snatched back the weapon, and the fabric with it, cradling it to her chest like a lost child.

‘Here you go, wee bear, get this on.’

‘What is all this?’

‘New gear! Boss let me use a bit of our southern windfall to spring for some replacements for our losses in previous misadventures. Need to look the part today: got to impress the movers and shakers within with our call to arms, get them on-side before Corvel turns up to squish them to goo. We’ll be best received if we’re nice and shiny, eh?’

He lifted the rest of the bundle from her arms. It was heavier than he expected, rings of riveted mail jingling hidden within the folds. He set it down on a guano-streaked rock and braced himself to change in the sharp wind.

‘Hold on, pièce de résistance.’ Lemon passed him a shining silk shirt, and held another out to Loveless.

‘What’s this for?’

‘Stick it on underneath your gear, bearling, and hope you won’t need it.’

‘Eh? Why not?’

‘Cos it’s for making it easier to pull arrows out of you, should such occasion arise.’

‘Oh.’

Loveless was staring at Lemon’s proffer with undisguised suspicion.

‘Where’s it from?’

‘It’s come out the saddlebags, you just saw me fetch it.’

‘You know what I mean, Lemon. What’s its origin?’

‘Aye, well, there’s no way to be certain for sure—’

‘Don’t fucking lie to me, Lemon.’

‘Ah, come on, just put the bugger on, will you? It’s for your own good.’

Loveless stalked away, pulling the mail shirt over her head, leaving Lemon standing.

‘Ah, fucken hells. Every time.’

‘What’s her problem?’

‘For that, wee bear, we lack the hours in a day. She takes issue with northern silk is the summary.’

‘Serican silk? Wait, was it Serica she was raging against on the boat?’

‘Well, Arowan in particular, but aye, the Serican capital.’

‘What does she have against it?’

Lemon scratched at her cheek, running a hand over her jaw as she pulled her mouth aside in thought. ‘Well, you know I’m not one for intimating another’s intimates …’

‘So you’ve said. Repeatedly.’

‘… but it strikes me that there’s some history there the lady herself has no hunger to revisit.’

‘You don’t. Say.’

‘Aye, no doubt she thinks she has her reasons. Great shame, though; Arowan’s a real hub of industry and, er, scientific enquiry.’ From somewhere beyond the mule came a derisive snort with a Nortish accent. ‘Not to mention the creative arts. Lots of your favourite songs probably came from there. Now get dressed, will you? Do your Lemon a favour.’