When King Esterad Thyssen spoke to Dijkstra for the last time, it was in private, without even Zuleyka. Admittedly, a more or less ten-year-old boy was playing on the floor of the gigantic chamber, but he didn’t count, and furthermore was so busy with his lead soldiers that he paid no attention to the two men talking.

‘That is Guiscard,’ Esterad explained, nodding towards the boy. ‘My grandson, the son of Gaudemunda and that ne’er-do-well, Prince Vermuellen. But that little boy is Kovir’s only hope, should Tankred Thyssen turn out to be… Should anything happen to Tankred…’

Dijkstra was aware of Kovir’s problem. And Esterad’s personal problem. He knew that something had already happened to Tankred. The lad, if he had any makings of a king, would only be a bad one.

‘Your matter,’ Esterad said, ‘is already by and large sorted out. You may now start to ponder on the most effective way of using the million bizants which will soon end up in the Redanian coffers.’

He bent down and surreptitiously picked up one of Guiscard’s brightly painted lead soldiers, a cavalryman with a raised broadsword.

‘Take that and conceal it well. Whoever shows you another such identical soldier will be my emissary, even if he doesn’t look like it, even though you have no faith that he is my man or is aware of the issue of our million. Anyone else will be an agent provocateur.’

‘Redania,’ Dijkstra bowed, ‘will not forget this, Your Majesty. I, however, speaking for myself, would like to assure you of my personal gratitude.’

‘Do not do so. Give me that thousand with which you hoped to gain my minister’s favour. Why, isn’t the king’s favour deserving of a bribe?’

‘Your Royal Highness is stooping…’

‘We are, we are. Hand over the money, Dijkstra. To have a thousand and not to have a thousand—’

‘… adds up to two thousand. I know.’

In a distant wing of Ensenada, in a chamber of much more modest size, the sorceress Sheala de Tancarville listened to the account of Queen Zuleyka with concentration and earnestness.

‘Excellent,’ she nodded. ‘Excellent, Your Royal Highness.’

‘I did everything as instructed, Lady Sheala.’

‘Thank you for doing so. And I assure you one more time; we were acting in a good cause. For the good of the country. And dynasty.’

Queen Zuleyka coughed softly and her voice changed a little.

‘And… And Tankred, Lady Sheala?

‘I gave my word,’ Sheala de Tancarville said coldly. ‘I gave my word that I would reciprocate for the help with help. Your Royal Highness may sleep serenely.’

‘I desire that greatly,’ Zuleyka sighed. ‘Greatly. While we’re on the subject of sleep… The king begins to suspect something. Those dreams are amazing him, and when something amazes him he grows suspicious.’