His eyes met Corporal Tunny’s for a moment, slumped upon a bench towards the back. It hurt Orso more than it should have, to see his old standard-bearer seated among his enemies. But one can hardly expect paid hangers-on to keep hanging on after the pay dries up, and it could not be denied that no one better represented the faithlessness, degradation and low character of the commons than Corporal Tunny.

Sworbreck droned on. “If we accept, just for the time being, temporarily and reversibly, that we do consider these facts to be self-evident…” There was an expectant pause. “Which facts should they be?”

“Ah.” Risinau placed a finger on his lips and considered the dome once again. “Well, that would be the deeper question.”

Orso sank into his chair with a groan, letting his gaze wander lazily along the front row. Only one man there met his eye. The Young Lion looked neither young nor particularly leonine any more, his face hollowed out and lined with pain, beard scattered with still-healing scars on the left side, one of them dragging his mouth into a permanent half-frown.

Orso raised his goblet in a silent toast. Why waste energy on hatred, after all? The world in which they had been rivals had dropped into oblivion beneath them like a sunken ship. They all were treading water to survive.

Leo sat there, in agony.

The cold throb through his ruined arm and into his shoulder. The salty sting where his teeth were missing. The endless ache in the foot he no longer had. The tormenting itch in the butchered stump.

“By the dead,” he mouthed, squirming in his seat.

He wanted to rip open his sewn-shut trouser leg and tear at the red wounds with his nails. Gnaw at the stitches like a wolf might at a leg caught in a trap. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe, trying to listen, but he could hardly follow a word. The crowd bellowed and warbled along with the blood rushing in his ears, no more meaning in it than in a stormy sea.

He was a crippled shell. A tortured ghost. He’d never be himself again.

“You all right?” asked Heugen.

Leo got as near a smile as he could. A skull’s rictus. “Fine.” He’d never been much of a liar, but this must’ve been one of his very worst.

“If I was in your position,” drawled Isher, “I’d be straight out of this madhouse and back to Angland as fast as my legs could carry me.” He realised his dire choice of words. “On the next tide, I mean to say.”

“Savine’s due any day,” grunted Leo. “Be a while till she can make the voyage.” Even speaking was painful. “But Commissioner Pike’s invited us to stay. Meaning we’re still prisoners. I think he’s got people watching us.”

“He has people watching everyone with a ‘dan’ in their name,” murmured Isher.

“He has us watching each other.” Heugen glanced suspiciously about the surrounding benches. “Better value for money.”