Sir Půta’s entourage rode through the Lower Gate with a thud, the sound of horseshoes echoing under the vault of the gatehouse. Once the mounted men had crossed the bridge on the Młynówka and disappeared through the Upper Gate, the halberdiers allowed the fugitives to proceed. Bisclavret suddenly cleared his throat, nudging Reynevan’s stirrup with a foot. Needlessly. Reynevan had already noticed. Everybody had. A woman gave a soft scream behind them.

Four dead bodies were hanging on hooks from the avant-corps of the tower above the Upper Gate. The corpses of four people. To be precise, the remains of the corpses of four people, for the bodies were lacking everything that normally protrudes from a human being, including ears. It was clear that the upper and lower limbs had been worked on lengthily and diligently, for they now only loosely resembled limbs.

“They’re Hussite spies!” The wagoner tugged on the reins. “They caught one and he turned in his accomplices under torture. When the Hussites arrived at Kłodzko, they were meant to open the gates in secret and start fires in the town. They tortured and killed them in the town square two days since. They were cruelly tortured, to discourage others. Flesh torn with red-hot pincers and hooks, bones broken. And now the gates are well guarded by day and by night. You’ll see.”

They did indeed. The Upper Gate was being guarded by a garrison of at least thirty well-armed soldiers. Steam belched from a cauldron suspended above a campfire, lifting the lid. The commander of the company, a bruiser with the face of a criminal, was tossing a stick for a dog.

Bisclavret looked on gloomily, saying nothing.

“Did you know any of the men hanging from the gate?” Scharley asked him, apparently unemotionally.

Bisclavret didn’t look around. His face was set. Finally, he said, “Indeed, but we weren’t that close.”

The Water Gate was also being guarded by an equally strong garrison. Bisclavret swore softly.

“It won’t be easy here,” he finally murmured. “I’ll bet it’s the same at the other gates. I don’t like the look of it, not one bit. We can bid goodbye to the idea of capturing and opening one of the gates. We need to revise our plans.”

“What do you suggest?” Scharley squinted. “Turn on our heels and scarper? While we still can?”

“No,” said Reynevan. “We’re staying.”

“Do you have full control of your faculties?” The penitent eyed him up and down. “Suitable to enable you to make decisions?”

“I’m in control of all my powers. We remain in Kłodzko.”

“Not as part of a penance, I trust? I ask because a short while ago you reminded me of a penitent craving expiation.”