The lamplight flickered, and somewhere a man was beating something metallic on the bars of his cell and shrieking, “It was Tom, not me! Tom! Tom did it! You’ve got to believe me! Why won’t you believe me!”

“Oh, shut up, you silly bastard, nobody gives a damn!” a guard shouted back.

I wish I’d had time to bring Armand or Rodard with me. Velin would have been even better! It’s not like Sandra to be hasty like this; she’s tight-stretched.

A few of the guards were finally noticing that a high-ranking agent of the Crown was there, which was fortunate.

For them, she thought.

None of them seemed to know what to do about it.

I am not a happy camper. I could be on my way back home with Delia, sitting with my feet by the fire watching Rigobert do that stupid macho trick he learned from Conrad where he cracks walnuts in his hand and then tapping one open with my dagger hilt. Instead I’m wading through a lunatic asylum in a swamp.

Then she drew a deep breath. Gray-Eyed One, give me patience and wit.

“Where’s Sir Stratson?” she demanded, grabbing a man by the collar.

“He’s over there in the other block.”

“That’s, The noble knight is over there in front of the other block, my lady Grand Constable.”

He repeated it as she twisted the collar, raising him on his toes. From the chevrons on his sleeve, he was supposed to be a sergeant.

“Get this place quieted down. Now.”

She released the man and turned to the page with her; he was thirteen, and looking cold and miserable but alert, his tow hair darkened with the half sleet, half rain and sticking to his face under the steel cap.

“Henriot, you stay here. I may send messages back to you, or you may see things . . . go very wrong. If they do, your mission is to get back to Portland. This is the code word you’d use.”

She leaned close and made him repeat it.

“Good. You’ll be taken immediately to the Lady Regent with that. Tell her: Nuclear meltdown. Interdict and burn. Answer any other questions she has, but that first.”

The youngster hesitated, took a deep breath and said, “Code, then nuclear meltdown. Interdict and burn.” He walked over to a barred window and nodded. “I can see the courtyard, Grand Constable. They’ve got a lot of torches out there. I’ll wait.”

Old for a page, but a much better choice for this mission than Mollala’s cousin.

She’d left young Brendan Carey with the horses. Because he was very good with horses, but inclined to be reckless. A natural impulse to run towards trouble rather than away from it was good in itself, but learning to control it was hard for a pubescent boy. Henriot was serious and more naturally disciplined.