‘Let’s go. Take a demijohn from the chest, Dede. We’ll take a drink! May we, Mr Silifant? Mr Harsheim? It’s the feast today, and we shan’t be heading anywhere tonight.’

‘Oh, what droll designs!’ Silifant frowned. ‘They think of naught but feasting and toping! And who will stay here to help guard the wench and wait on Sir Stefan’s summons?’

‘I shall stay,’ said Neratin Ceka.

‘And I,’ said Kenna.

Dacre Silifant looked at them attentively. Finally, he gestured his assent. Fripp and company roared their thanks incoherently.

‘But have a care down there, at that merrymaking!’ Ola Harsheim warned. ‘Don’t molest any wenches, or you might get jabbed in the privates with a pitchfork!’

‘Sod that! Coming with us, Chloe? And you, Kenna? Won’t you think it over?’

‘No. I’m staying.’

‘They left me chained to the post, with my hands bound. Two of them were guarding me. And the two standing nearby kept glancing over, watching me. The tall, good-looking woman. And a man with slightly feminine looks and bearing. Odd in some way.’

The cat sitting in the middle of the room yawned broadly, bored, because the mouse it was tormenting had stopped providing amusement. Vysogota said nothing.

‘Bonhart, Rience and that Skellen-Tawny Owl were still debating in the headman’s hall. I didn’t know what about. I might have expected the worst, but I was resigned. One more arena? Or would they simply kill me? Blow it, I thought, let it finally be over.’

Vysogota said nothing.

Bonhart sighed.

‘Don’t glower, Skellen,’ he repeated. ‘I simply wanted to make some money. It’s time, you notice, I retired, to sit on the porch and watch pigeons. You gave me a hundred florins for the She-Rat, you badly wanted her dead. That puzzled me. How much could the maid really be worth, I thought. And I worked out that if she were killed or handed over, she would certainly be worth less than if she were kept. An old principle of economics and commerce. Goods like her keep gaining in value. One can always haggle…’

Tawny Owl wrinkled his nose, as though there was a bad smell in the vicinity.

‘You’re painfully frank, Bonhart. But get to the point. To the explanations. You fled with the girl through the whole of Ebbing, and all of a sudden you show up and start explaining the laws of economics. Tell me what happened.’

‘What is there to explain?’ Rience smiled repellently. ‘Mr Bonhart has simply finally grasped who the wench really is. And how much she’s worth.’

Skellen didn’t grace him with a glance. He was looking at Bonhart, into his fishlike, expressionless eyes.

‘And he pushes this precious girl, this valuable acquisition, meant to guarantee his pension, out into the arena in Claremont,’ he drawled, ‘and makes her fight to the death. Risks her life, though she’s allegedly worth so much alive. What’s it about, Bonhart? Because something doesn’t add up.’