The matted wicker bars of the pen wall between them, Captain Kindly and the Wickan cattle-dog Bent glared at each other with bared teeth.

‘Listen to me, dog,’ said Kindly, ‘I want you to find Sinn, and Grub. Any funny business, like trying to rip out my throat, and I’ll stick you. Mouth to butt, straight through. Then I’ll saw off your head and sink it in the river. I’ll chop off your paws and sell ’em to ugly witches. I’ll strip your hide and get it cut up and made into codpieces for penitent sex-addicts-turned-priests, the ones with certain items hidden under their cots. And I’ll do all this while you’re still alive. Am I understood?’

The lips on the beast’s scarred, twisted muzzle had if anything curled back even further, revealing blood-red lacerations from the splintered fangs. Crimson froth bubbled out between the gaps. Above that smashed mouth, Bent’s eyes burned like two tunnels into a demon lord’s brain, swirling with enraged madness. At the dog’s back end, the stub of the tail wagged in fits and starts, as if particularly pleasing thoughts spasmed through the beast.

Kindly stood, holding a braided leather leash with one end tied into a noose. ‘I’m going to slip this over your head, dog. Make a fuss and I’ll hang you high and laugh at every twitch. In fact, I’ll devise a hundred new ways of killing you and I’ll use every one of them.’ He lifted the noose into view.

A matted ball of twigs, hair and clumps of mud that had been lying off to one side of the pen-a heap that had been doing its own growling-suddenly launched itself forward in a flurry of bounds until it drew close enough to fling itself into the air-sharp, tiny teeth aiming for the captain’s neck.

He lashed out his left fist, intercepting the lapdog in mid-air. A muted crunching sound, and the clack of jaws snapping shut on nothing, as the Hengese lapdog named Roach abruptly altered course, landing and bouncing a few times behind Bent, where it lay stunned, small chest heaving, pink tongue lolling.

The gazes of Kindly and the cattle-dog had remained locked through all of this.

‘Oh, never mind the damned leash,’ said the captain after a moment. ‘Never mind Grub and Sinn. Let’s make this as simple as possible. I am going to draw my sword and chop you to pieces, dog.’

‘Don’t do that!’ said a voice behind him.

Kindly turned to see Grub and, behind the boy, Sinn. Both stood just inside the stable entrance, wearing innocent expressions. ‘Convenient,’ he said. ‘The Adjunct wants you both.’

‘The reading?’ Grub asked. ‘No, we can’t do that.’

‘But you will.’

‘We thought we could hide in the old Azath,’ said Grub, ‘but that won’t work-’

‘Why?’ Kindly demanded.

Grub shook his head. ‘We don’t want to go. It’d be… bad.’

The captain held up the leash with its noose. ‘One way or the other, maggots.’

‘Sinn will burn you to a crisp!’

Kindly snorted. ‘Her? Probably just wet herself, from the look on her face. Now, will this be nice or will it be my way? Aye, you can guess which way I’m leaning, can’t you?’

‘It’s the Azath-’ began Grub.

‘Not my problem,’ cut in Kindly. ‘You want to whine, save it for the Adjunct.’

They set out.

‘Everyone hates you, you know,’ Grub said.

‘Seems fair,’ Kindly replied.

She rose from her chair, wincing at the ache in her lower back, and then waddled towards the door. She had few acquaintances, barring a titchy midwife who stumbled in every now and then, inside a cloud of eye-watering d’bayang fumes, and the old woman down the lane who’d baked her something virtually every day since she started showing. And it was late, which made the heavy knock at her door somewhat unusual.

Seren Pedac, who had once been an Acquitor, opened the door.

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘hello.’

The old man bowed. ‘Lady, are you well?’

‘Well, I’ve no need for any masonry work, sir-’

‘Acquitor-’

‘I am no longer-’

‘Your title remains on the kingdom’s tolls,’ he said, ‘and you continue to receive your stipend.’

‘And twice I have requested that both be terminated.’ And then she paused and cocked her head. ‘I’m sorry, but how do you know about that?’

‘My apologies, Acquitor. I am named Bugg, and my present responsibilities include those of Chancellor of the Realm, among, uh, other things. Your requests were noted and filed and subsequently rejected by me.’ He held up a hand. ‘Be at ease, you will not be dragged from your home to resume work. You are essentially retired, and will receive your full pension for the rest of your life, Acquitor. In any case,’ he added, ‘I am not visiting this night in that capacity.’

‘Oh? Then, sir, what is it you want?’

‘May I enter?’

She stepped back, and once he’d come inside she shut the door, edged past him in the narrow corridor, and led him into the sparsely furnished main room. ‘Please sit, Chancellor. Having never seen you, I’m afraid I made no connection with the kind gentleman who helped me move a few stones.’ She paused, and then said, ‘If rumours are correct, you were once the King’s manservant, yes?’

‘Indeed I was.’ He waited until she’d settled into her chair before seating himself in the only other chair. ‘Acquitor, you are in your sixth month?’

She started. ‘Yes. And which file did you read to discover that?’

‘Forgive me,’ he said, ‘I am feeling unusually clumsy tonight. In, uh, your company, I mean.’

‘It has been some time since I last intimidated anyone, Chancellor.’

‘Yes, well, perhaps… well, it’s not quite you, Acquitor.’

‘Should I be relieved that you have retracted your compliment?’

‘Now you play with me.’

‘I do. Chancellor, please, what is all this about?’

‘I think it best you think of me in a different capacity, Acquitor. Rather than “chancellor”, may I suggest “Ceda”.’

Her eyes slowly widened. ‘Ah. Very well. Tehol Beddict had quite the manservant, it seems.’

‘I am here,’ said Bugg, eyes dropping momentarily to the swell of her belly, ‘to provide a measure of… protection.’

She felt a faint twist of fear inside. ‘For me, or my baby? Protection from what?’

He leaned forward, hands entwined. ‘Seren Pedac, your child’s father was Trull Sengar. A Tiste Edur and brother to Emperor Rhulad. He was, however, somewhat more than that.’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘he was my love.’

His gaze shied away and he nodded. ‘There is a version of the Tiles, consisting of Houses, a kind of formal structure imposed on various forces at work in the universe. It is called the Deck of Dragons. Within this Deck, the House of Shadow is ruled, for the moment, not by the Tiste Edur who founded that realm, but by new entities. In the House, there is a King, no Queen as yet, and below the King of High House Shadow there are sundry, uh, servants. Such roles find new faces every now and then. Mortal faces.’

She watched him, her mouth dry as sun-baked stone. She watched as he wrung his hands, as his eyes shifted away again and again. ‘Mortal faces,’ she said.

‘Yes, Acquitor.’

‘Trull Sengar.’

‘The Knight of Shadow.’

‘Cruelly abandoned, it would seem.’

‘Not by choice, nor neglect, Acquitor. These Houses, they are engaged in war, and this war escalates-’

‘Trull did not choose that title, did he?’

‘No. Choice plays little part in such things. Perhaps even the Lords and Ladies of the Houses are in truth less omnipotent than they would like to believe. The same, of course, can be said for the gods and goddesses. Control is an illusion, a deceptive one that salves thin-skinned bluster.’

‘Trull is dead,’ Seren said.

‘But the Knight of Shadow lives on,’ Bugg replied.

The dread had been building within her, an icy tide rising to flood every space within her, between her thoughts, drowning them one by one, and now cold fear engulfed her. ‘Our child,’ she whispered.