‘It’s “poppy-merchants and leaf-peddlers”, dick-head, and yes. Our beloved Loveless has a long and varied association with colourful characters in many walks of life, and she seems to think this bunch can be of use. As she tells it, they exert a rotten if extensive influence over the region, not just in the free cities and townships but into the winter garrisons as well. If they get even a fraction to declare openly against the crown, others will follow, then we’ve got a corridor from the south all the way through to the capital. Corvel will shit his breeches at the very thought.’

‘And they’ll help us out?’

‘If we promise them that princeling will relax some of the prohibitions when he’s king, they might.’

Chel came up short, mouth open in protest, and Rennic cuffed him along. ‘We can work out the details when the time comes, little man, but first of all we have to get into this stinking city, and for that we need some leafy gate-tokens. So, head down and up shut for time being, yes?’

Chel did as ordered, muttering in silence, until they reached the ring of huts, tucked beneath the looming blue-grey stone of the walls. The sounds of the city beyond drifted over them, the ringing of bells and bustling of crowds around the outer thoroughfares despite the early hour. Somewhere a chicken squawked, fluttering and panicked by the pursuit of unseen children. The place smelled strongly of dung.

The hut Rennic led him to was low, unremarkable and severe, nestled between a row of similar constructions and backing directly on to the city wall. Rennic consulted the note in his hand one final time then advanced, and Chel followed. The smell hit him a pace from the door: thick, cloying sweetness, that stench of sickness curled within it like poison. ‘This is a poppy den!’ he hissed.

‘We need leaf for the gate guards, princess, and this is where we get it. Else we’re not getting in, no meetings, no southern corridor of breech-shittery.’ Rennic kept his voice low. ‘You can wait outside if your delicate sensibilities are offended.’

Chel stepped back, well clear of the door and its drifting stink. The smell revolted him, and now he could hear little moans and murmurs from within, delirious and disturbing. The void of the doorway had taken on new depths, suggesting the interior was far larger than its external frame implied; perhaps it tunnelled back into the city wall, or down into the hard earth below. ‘Just … be quick.’

‘Don’t wander off,’ the big man muttered, then hunched to squeeze beneath the doorway and into the darkness beyond.

Chel waited, uncomfortable, counting his heartbeats in the cold. The longer he waited, the faster his counting became. Heartbeats became minutes, and Chel started to sweat.