A moment later Tynisa pushed away from him and went over to Che, taking her foster-sister’s hand.

‘You’re not hurt?’ she said. ‘I thought he had you.’

Che blinked at her. ‘Uncle Sten killed him.’ She had not expected such sympathy.

‘I need you to do something for me,’ said Stenwold to them both. He was now sitting on a nearby couch, the dead man at his feet. ‘One of you go and get Doctor Nicrephos for me, quick as you can.’

‘Doctor Nicrephos?’ Che asked in surprise. ‘But you want a proper doctor, surely?’

‘He’s an old charlatan, that one,’ Stenwold agreed. ‘But he knows his poisons, though. These killers… weren’t using clean blades.’

Tynisa was out of the door in an instant, leaving Che gaping at him, feeling suddenly cold.

‘But you… You can’t…’

Stenwold managed a smile. ‘Oh, I’m an old Beetle, remember, Cheerwell. My insides are made of leather. Take more than some street-corner thug’s blade-spit to floor me. Still, maybe you should reload the piercer. Spare bolts and powder are in my room.’

She fairly flew back up the stairs, leaving him for a moment with his thoughts. He peeled the cloth from the face of the assassin there, recognizing the stamp of a halfbreed’s features: a blend of Spider, Beetle and Ant-kinden. The other one had been pure renegade Ant, so Cheerwell had done well to even stave the man off. ‘Local talent, these two,’ he said to himself. Not Wasps, and nobody the Wasp Empire would either own or be connected to. The game had clearly changed.

Che came back down the stairs, stuffing heavy bolts into the piercer’s muzzles. ‘Will Salma and Totho be in danger too?’ she asked.

‘Tonight? I don’t think so – but tomorrow is anyone’s guess. Cheerwell, I’m changing my plans.’

‘Changing them how?’

‘I have four seats reserved on the Sky Without for tomorrow. You’re going to be on it too. All of the Majestic will.’

‘But you said-’

‘Plans change. Now I need to stay here long enough to close my books, so I’ll join you when I can.’ Seeing her about to protest further he held up a hand. ‘And I don’t mean that as some kind of euphemism for “I’ll never see you again”, Cheerwell. I never was a death-or-glory boy. I’ll catch up with you all in Helleron, but for now, as I said, I want to keep you safe. It’s a mad thought, but I think you’ll be safer with my people in Helleron than here alone with me.’

Tynisa was back now, pulling in her wake a stooped, grey-skinned figure. Che stood back as the old Moth-kinden entered. She recognized him from the College but he taught the sort of disreputable classes that sensible young Beetles did not choose to attend. He was the very picture of a storybook wizard, with his long hair gone a dirty grey, and his slanted eyes blank-white, without iris or pupil.

‘Master Nicrephos,’ Stenwold began. ‘I have need of your services.’

The Moth laughed between his teeth. ‘A believer at last, are you?’ he replied in almost a whisper. ‘No? Well, no matter. This morning I was your debtor. Tomorrow I shall not be, hmm?’

‘Just come and shake your bones or whatever,’ Stenwold grunted. ‘And then consider all debts paid.’

Stenwold had gone out somewhere before Che was even up, leaving her with a clutching feeling of anxiety. The events of the previous night came back with a jolt at the sight of the ruined banister.

The world has gone mad.

She had watched while Nicrephos had ostentatiously tended to Stenwold’s wound, and had ground her teeth in frustration at it. This was no doctoring. Nicrephos had muttered charms over the wound, burned a few acrid herbs and tied a little bag of something about the Beetle’s arm. Stenwold had just sat there patiently, his dark features gone grey with pain or poison, leaving the quack to go about his mummery – even thanked him when he had finished.

After the Moth had gone, Che had rounded on her uncle. ‘What was that all about? You can’t tell me you believe in that nonsense, like some… credulous savage?’

Stenwold shrugged. ‘I can’t pretend it makes any sense to me, but I’ve seen Doctor Nicrephos bring back from death’s doorstep a man that all the real doctors in this town had given up on.’

‘But he barely even touched the wound!’

Stenwold shrugged – then winced. ‘It’s easy, once the lamps are lit, to scoff at shadows,’ was all he said, and then he had retired to bed.

And this morning he was gone already to bustle about the town, but at least he had scribbled Tynisa and Che terse instructions.

The back room of the Taverna Merraia, third hour after dawn. Be packed. And that was all it said.

The girls walked there together, and close together, for there were a lot of foreigners about on the streets during the Games. Some were simply merchants and artisans but others had a darker look. More was bought and sold during the tenday of the games, of all commodities, than in the entire month beforehand. As was their way, Beetles never let such a gathering go to waste. In the simple walk from Stenwold’s villa to the taverna they encountered a band of renegade Vekken mercenaries, all swagger and glower. They saw a Tarkesh slavemaster in conference with two Spider buyers, because whilst one could not own a slave within Collegium’s walls, one could sell them on paper – a neat distinction. There were men who looked like brigands here to tout their loot, Spiderland nobles and their cadres of followers, Mantis-kinden killers-for-hire with their bleak stares… It was a relief to simply reach the taverna without some new assailant dashing at them from the crowds, and both of them had hands close to sword hilts. Tynisa might have her customary rapier, but this time Che wore a proper shortsword, Helleron made. When the killers next came hunting her, she would provide them with a real fight.

The Taverna Merraia was done up in a half-hearted Fly-kinden style, with low-set doorways they had to stoop through, and an interior walled with packed earth and carved wooden columns on three of its sides, while open shutters extended almost the whole of the fourth. The moment they entered, the miniature owner bustled out to them. ‘Ladies, ladies, pray let us not expose you to all these rude gapers. Come, I have a private room for you, yes?’ He raised a bushy eyebrow, and Che nodded slowly. It seemed that Uncle Stenwold had indeed been busy.

The back room was the real Fly-kinden thing, rather than the basic tat displayed out front for the tourists. The table stood barely more than six inches off the ground, and there were cushions instead of chairs. Most importantly, should they need it, there was an escape hatch in the ceiling that would take them out to a street running behind the taverna. Flies were known for such fallbacks.

‘He must have sent word to the others too,’ Che guessed.

Tynisa merely nodded. She had been oddly quiet today, hardly a word from her since they got up at dawn. Che examined her companion’s face, but the deftly applied make-up hid any clue as to whether the girl had slept well or not.

‘So? Last night?’ she said finally.

Tynisa looked at her, captured her stare. ‘Have you… you haven’t ever… killed anyone, have you?’ the Spider-kinden asked quietly.

Che shrugged, trying to look casual. ‘I could have killed that one that cut Uncle Sten. I got him… a couple of times.’

Tynisa continued to hold her eyes until eventually Che admitted, ‘But no. I haven’t. I just fought, like we do at Prowess Forum. Till then I don’t think I really realized it could be… for real.’

‘I killed him.’ Tynisa looked down at her hands. ‘He was good, but I killed him.’ With great care she drew the rapier from its slim scabbard, and Che could remember being very jealous when Stenwold had bought it for her. It was a beautiful Spider-forged piece of work. They were not great smiths by and large, but certain skilled crafts held their interest, and sword-crafting was one of them. This one was done as a copy of the Mantis style, the back-curving guard that protected the hand was formed into sharp, curving leaves and the blade was ground to a slightly uneven taper that nonetheless left both edges keen. True Mantis-work was rare and expensive as weapons came, and Stenwold had not been able to find the genuine article for sale. They might be tree-living savages in so many ways, without comprehension of all the great things the revolution had brought to the Lowlands world, but when the Mantis produced a sword, or a bow, or anything else they turned their craft to, they made it with the skill of ages.