There was a cheer from the public gallery. Folk were on their feet up there. Even some of the Representatives clapped. King Orso thumped the bars of his cage in glee and made the door rattle.

“Long live the Darling o’ the Slums!” someone roared from the highest balcony.

Broad had never seen Judge look more furious, and fury was what she was all about. Seeing her prosecutor hated was one thing. Seeing him mocked was something else.

“Bitch is making fucking fools of us!” snarled Sarlby.

The letter was half-crushed in Broad’s fist, a few words of May’s writing showing.

We know who you are.

Leo couldn’t swing a sword like he used to, but a trained warhorse is a hell of a weapon. He spurred through the open gate, face fixed in that mad mixture of smile and snarl he used to wear charging into battle. He caught a glimpse of wide eyes, gripped saddle and reins as a man was trampled under his horse’s hooves, another flung against the wall leaving a dash of red on the stones.

Leo wasn’t sure whether they’d been armed or not. Only that they’d be wielding the most terrifying weapons you ever saw in the painting he’d have made of this moment.

Other riders were bursting through the archway, surging around him and into the city. Teufel’s gold had done most of the job, but there was still work to do with steel. Still some Breakers and Burners fixed on fighting.

“Shoot those bastards!” he roared, pointing up the street towards two running figures. Jurand took aim from the saddle, brought one down at a range of twenty paces.

“Shot!” snapped Leo, wishing he had a hand free so he could clap him on the shoulder. More flatbows rattled. The other man staggered on a few steps then sank moaning to his knees in the street.

“Move!” Forest was bellowing, hooves clattering on cobbles as he waved mounted men through the gate. “Move!” Leo wondered whether there’d be room for him in the painting. A strong leader and an honourable man. Somewhere in the back, maybe. “On to the Agriont!”

Leo leaned from his saddle to shout at Glaward. “Move south towards the docks. Spread out, take charge of the city. Anyone who resists, arrest them.”

“If they won’t be arrested?”

“We can’t afford to let anyone get in the way. Do you understand?”

Glaward swallowed. “I understand.” He was a good man, too, in his way, but too soft-hearted to ever really be in the foreground.

A threadbare battle flag was already being hoisted over the gatehouse, the golden sun catching the breeze and flying boldly for the first time since the Great Change. Leo grinned up at it. Certainly there’d be room for that on the canvas.

“What shall we do with these?” Jurand nodded towards a row of men being dragged from the gatehouse and shoved sullen onto their knees.

“Keep them prisoner,” said Leo. “We’ll deal with them when this is settled.”