“It says goodbye.” She crumpled the paper in her fist. “Get the prisoners where they’re going.” And she turned and strode off, back the way they’d come, boots crunching in her own footprints, already turning dirty white with new snow.

Seemed the Great Change had been almost as tough on Styrian spies as on everyone else. The warren of gloomy cellars under the sign of the fish-woman reminded Vick more of the mines of Angland than ever. Not only was it underground but freezing, too, puddles of icy meltwater from the streets above gathered in the corners.

There was no music. No dancers. Few patrons of any kind. The barman stood where he had on her last visit, the same magnificent array of glassware behind him, but a lot of the bottles were down to dribbles. Seemed a fine metaphor for where the Great Change had taken them, all in all. Same bottles. But empty.

“Victarine dan Teufel graces my establishment for a second time,” said the barman, raising one orange brow at her.

“No ‘dans’ any more, remember? Where’s your monkey?”

“Off sick.”

“Shame. Of the two of you, he was my favourite.”

The barman grinned. “Most of my clientele would concur.”

“Have you got any of that piss you poured me last time? What did you call it?”

“Sworfene, and sadly no. Supply of late, what with the weather, and the politics, is something of a nightmare. If you can get stale bread from the end of the road you’re doing well. To get liquor in from Jacra requires a magician.” His hand skimmed across the bottles, then plucked one out. “Why don’t you…” And he slipped a glass in front of her and poured a shot. “Try this instead?”

She grimaced as she tasted it. “Damn, that’s sweet.”

“Sometimes we need challenge. Sometimes we need comfort.”

“Do I look that bad?”

“You look far better than most in Adua.”

She drank again. “That bad. I don’t suppose our mutual friend in Talins, the woman with all the whispers, might be tempted to intercede in affairs on this side of the Circle Sea? Help put an end to this… chaos? Get the liquor flowing again?”

The barman gave a sad smile. “I wouldn’t demean us both by making such a suggestion to our mutual friend. Her mistress, lest we forget, is far from the most open-handed of rulers at the best of times, and positively delights in chaos on this side of the Circle Sea. I hear the news makes her giggle daily over breakfast.”

“Didn’t have the Serpent of Talins down as a giggler.”

“No one did till now.”

Vick pushed her empty glass at him. Like most drinks, it got better with time. “A little optimistic of me, I’ll admit. If not to say desperate.”

He poured her another. “There is no place for either optimism or desperation in our business.”

Vick raised her glass. “To pessimism and hard heads.”

“I can drink to that.” And he slipped another glass onto the bar. “The Union, I fear, is beyond help. This Great Change is a fever that has to burn itself out. But you always struck me as a woman who’d save herself.” She stopped sipping to watch him over the rim of her glass. “If you decided Adua no longer held any charms…” He glanced up and down the vaulted cellar. “Which would be thoroughly understandable… I expect our mutual friend would still welcome you with open arms.”