They’d owned the world, these two. Now look.

“Broad!” Savine clung to his arm painfully tight, a sheen of sweat on her blotchy face. “Thank the Fates you’re here!” The warble in her voice made him think of that terrified waif who’d begged for his help on the barricades of Valbeck.

Brock was clinging to the wall with his fingernails to stay upright. “What the hell’s happening?”

“Not sure. But their gear…” Broad nodded at one of the armed men, lowering his voice. “It’s from your armoury in Ostenhorm.”

Savine worked out in a blink what Broad had been slowly putting together. “The Breakers have stormed the Agriont?” she whispered.

“They’ve what?” squeaked her husband.

“We’d best get out while we can,” said Broad. “Find a safe place.”

Savine’s eyes were huge and scared and bloodshot in the shadows. “Is there a safe place?”

Broad had no answer. He held out his other hand to Brock. The one with the tattoo on the back. You could see how much it hurt him, to need the help. But this was no time for pride. Wasn’t easy, steering a pregnant woman and a one-legged man through that jostling crowd of rescuers and looters. Beyond a set of broken double doors men smashed and laughed, turned over furniture, flinging armfuls of fluttering papers in the air.

“That was my father’s office,” whispered Savine as they hobbled past. Inside that room, the all-powerful Arch Lector Glokta had ordered life and death with a flick of his pen. Times had changed, all right.

“Lord Marshal Brint!” called Brock. “You’re alive.”

“Just barely.” A grey-haired man was pressed against one wall. He’d a trace of military bearing, if you squinted, underneath a filthy officer’s jacket with all markings of rank ripped off. Brock reached out to shake his hand. Not the easiest thing to do, since Brint had only one and Brock only one that worked. “They took me prisoner before you landed. Lord bloody Heugen spilled his guts the moment we were caught.”

Brock shook his head. “What a crowd of useless bastards the Open Council turned out to be.”

“Who…” Savine forced through clenched teeth, “could have guessed?”

They struggled out blinking into bright daylight, down the steps at the front of the House of Questions, the wind chill on Broad’s face. Should’ve been a relief, but the crowds outside were madder than ever, cheering and chanting, brandishing lit torches and swords and broken furniture.

Papers scattered everywhere. Drifts like snow, ankle deep. Folk were flinging heaps of ’em from the windows, blowing about on the wind, yesterday’s secrets suddenly worthless. Place stank of smoke. A laughing man had blood all over his hands. Broad felt cold as he realised a smug-looking bastard not far away had a head spiked on his spear. Its back was to Broad so he couldn’t see the face. Put him in mind of Musselia. A bag of foul memories he tried never to open.

“It’s the Young Lion!” someone called, and suddenly folk were crowding around them, reaching out for Leo. “Look, it’s Leo dan Brock!”