‘Our horses are already on board the ship,’ Stragen said. ‘We can leave as soon as Sephrenia and the others are ready.’ He paused. ‘Is that roan horse of yours always so restive in the morning?’ he asked curiously. ‘My men report that he bit three of them on the way to the docks.’

‘I should have warned them. Faran’s not the best tempered horse in the world.’

‘Why do you keep him?’

‘Because he’s the most dependable horse I’ve ever owned. I’ll put up with a few of his crotchets in exchange for that. Besides, I like him.’

Stragen looked at Sparhawk’s chain-mail shirt. ‘You really don’t have to wear that, you know.’

‘Habit,’ Sparhawk shrugged, ‘and there are a fair number of unfriendly people looking for me at the moment.’

‘It smells awful, you know.’

‘You get used to it.’

‘You seem moody this morning, Sparhawk. Is something wrong?’

‘I’ve been on the road for a long time, and I’ve run into some things I wasn’t really prepared to accept. I’m trying to sort things out in my mind.’

‘Maybe someday when we get to know each other better, you can tell me about it.’ Stragen seemed to think of something. ‘Oh, incidentally, Tel mentioned those three ruffians who were looking for you last night. They aren’t looking any more.’

‘Thank you.’

‘It was a sort of internal matter really, Sparhawk. They violated one of the primary rules when they didn’t check with me before they went looking for you. I can’t really afford to have people setting that kind of precedent. We couldn’t get much out of them, I’m afraid. They were acting on the orders of someone outside Thalesia, though. We were able to get that much from the one who was still breathing. Why don’t we go and see if Sephrenia’s ready?’

There was an elegant coach awaiting them outside the rear door of the warehouse about fifteen minutes later. They entered it, and the driver manoeuvred his matched team around in the narrow alley and out into the street.

When they reached the harbour, the coach rolled out onto a wharf and stopped beside a ship that appeared to be one of the kind normally used for coastal trade. Her half-furled sails were patched and her heavy railings showed signs of having been broken and repaired many times. Her sides were tarred, and she bore no name on her bow.

‘She’s a pirate, isn’t she?’ Kurik asked Stragen as they stepped down from the coach.

‘Yes, as a matter of fact, she is,’ Stragen replied. ‘I own a fair number of vessels in that business, but how did you recognize her?’