‘Only in a painting.’ The girl suddenly grew serious. ‘But that would be a long story. Come inside. Giselher’s waiting.’

There was a table by the window, which let in a little light. Mistle was half-lying on the table, resting on her elbows, almost naked from the waist down with nothing on but a pair of black stockings. Between her shamelessly spread legs knelt a skinny, long-haired individual in a brownish-grey smock. It could not have been anyone but Master Almavera, tattoo artist, busy tattooing a colourful picture on Mistle’s thigh.

‘Come closer, Hotspurn,’ invited Giselher, drawing a stool away from the next table, where he was sitting with Iskra, Kayleigh and Reef. The latter two, like Asse, were also dressed in black calfskin covered in buckles, studs, chains and other elaborate silver accessories. Some craftsman must have made a fortune on them, thought Hotspurn. The Rats, when the whim to dress up seized them, would pay tailors, shoemakers and leatherworkers handsomely. Naturally, neither did they miss any opportunity to simply wrest any clothing or jewellery that took their fancy from anyone they assailed.

‘I see you found our message in the ruins of the old station?’ Giselher said, stretching. ‘Ha, what am I saying, you wouldn’t be here otherwise, would you? You rode here pretty quickly, I must say.’

‘Because the mare is gorgeous,’ Falka interjected. ‘I’ll bet she’s fleet too!’

‘I found your message.’ Hotspurn did not take his eye off Giselher. ‘What about mine? Did it reach you?’

‘It did…’ stammered the leader of the Rats. ‘But… Well, to put it briefly… There wasn’t time. And then we got drunk and were forced to rest a little. And later another path came up…’

Damned pups, thought Hotspurn.

‘To put it briefly, you didn’t do the job?’

‘Well, no. Forgive me, Hotspurn. Couldn’t be done… But next time, ho! Without fail!’

‘Without fail!’ repeated Kayleigh with emphasis, though no one had asked him to repeat it.

Damned, irresponsible pups. Got drunk. And then another path came up… To a tailor to get some fancy costumes, I’ll be bound.

‘Want a drink?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Fancy some of this?’ Giselher pointed at a small decorative lacquer casket among some demijohns and beakers. Now Hotspurn knew why a strange light was flashing in the Rats’ eyes, why their movements were so nervous and quick.

‘First-rate powder,’ Giselher assured him. ‘Won’t you take a pinch?’

‘No, thank you.’ Hotspurn glanced knowingly at a red stain and a dwindling bloody streak on the sawdust of the chamber, clearly indicating which way a body had been dragged. Giselher noticed the look.

‘One of the lackeys thought he’d play the hero,’ he snorted. ‘So Iskra had to scold him.’

Iskra laughed throatily. She clearly very aroused by the narcotic.