Tab was about to dislodge Fontagu's restraining hand – a simple flick of her wrist would do it – when she spied Masher. He didn't look happy. Certainly not if his face was any indication.

‘There you are, you little gutter thief!’ snarled Masher. Red-faced with anger he raised his belt.

Fontagu somehow manoeuvred Tab out of Masher's reach. ‘I say,’ said the Simesian. ‘I've just caught this child pickpocketing.’ He cuffed Tab's ear and taking her cue from this, she yelped and tried – not too desperately – to escape. Fontagu shook her.

‘She's a thief all right,’ said Masher, trying to duck around Fontagu to deliver his own brand of punishment.

Fontagu reached under his cloak and drew a shining sword. He didn't exactly point it at Masher but he kept it between the custodian and the girl. Masher eyed it with grudging respect. ‘Don't trouble yourself, good sir,’ said Fontagu. ‘I shall personally see to it that this one never bothers anyone again!’ With that, Fontagu frog-marched Tab across the square.

‘Please, Mr Mildon!’ Tab called piteously. ‘Help me!’

Masher's face oscillated between mirth and misery.

Tab took one last look at the fuming half-troll as Fontagu marched her around a corner. Masher stood with his hands on his hips, glaring after them.

The moment they turned the corner, Tab burst out laughing. ‘You saved me from a thrashing. I guess I really owe you now.’

Fontagu released her. ‘Where in the world did you learn to act like that? You were marvellous.’

‘I go to Fenn Morrow's Paragon Playhouse. It's the best in Quentaris.’ When Tab saw the disbelieving look on Fontagu's face, she added, ‘I never pay. I just sneak in at intermission. I've seen all the classics.’

Fontagu started to sheathe his sword but the sound it made caught Tab's attention. She suddenly reached out and felt the blade, then turned her own disbelieving eyes on Fontagu.

‘It's wooden,’ she exclaimed. ‘You used a sword made of wood against Masher?’

Fontagu looked pleased. ‘All that glitters is not gold,’ he said. Appearances can be rather deceiving, can't they?’

Fontagu steered Tab into a nearby tavern. They took a booth at the back and Fontagu made sure no one occupied the booths on either side. Tab noted all this, filing it away, but most of her attention was on the tavern itself. She had never been inside one, much less ordered food and drink.

Fontagu hailed the waiter and ordered a mouth-watering array of food but when it arrived he set it down in front of himself and began to eat. Tab's stomach rumbled loudly but Fontagu didn't seem to hear it.

Finally, Tab said in annoyance, ‘What about me?’

Fontagu looked up from his plate, frowning. ‘Pardon? What, what about you?’

‘Don't I get to eat too?’

Fontagu's mouth dropped open. ‘Am I correct in thinking that you want me to pay for you?’ He sounded genuinely shocked.

‘Well, we're partners, aren't we?’

Fontagu looked slightly ill. ‘What a vulgar notion. Really, you can't expect me to finance every -’ But the look on Tab's face stopped him. Her stomach rumbled again. He looked annoyed. ‘Oh, very well!’

He snapped his fingers at the waiter and ordered Tab a steaming pork pie, mashed potato, bread, and lemonade. All the while, Fontagu muttered about becoming a charity for street waifs.

Tab's pie arrived and she reached for it with her filthy hands.

Fontagu slammed the table. ‘That won't do,’ he said crossly. ‘That won't do at all. Go and clean yourself up at once, do you hear?’

Tab opened her mouth to say something but changed her mind. She hurried into the washroom and returned a minute later, looking pinker and cleaner.

‘Now for some table manners,’ said Fontagu, and he spent fully five minutes instructing Tab how to hold a knife and fork and what to do with them. Tab bit her tongue several times but figured she should humour him, at least for now.

Finally, Tab got to eat her pie. She dug in with enthusiasm, munching happily, while Fontagu took bird-sized bites of his roast pheasant, chewing each one carefully. After each swallow, he fastidiously dabbed at his lips with a white napkin, as if he were Lord Chalm himself.

Tab didn't care. She was sitting in a real tavern, scoffing real pie, with real lemonade, and on her birthday too! It almost made up for losing her silver coins.

Fontagu was starting to look nervous again. He checked the clock on the wall. ‘Do hurry up,’ he said at one point. ‘We don't have all day you know. There is the little matter of our contract -’

‘Yes?’ Tab asked, mid-bite.

Fontagu puffed out his chest. His knobbly chin and mutton chops quivered. ‘I am on a mission of enormous importance. The Archon himself has commissioned me.’

‘The Archon?’ said Tab. She was becoming a little suspicious of Fontagu. ‘Why you? He's got people to do stuff for him. Like the army and the City Watch.’

‘Most of whom are away at war,’ Fontagu re minded her.

‘Well, if it's some kind of spying -’

‘Shhh!’ Fontagu hissed. He leaned forward con-spiratorially. ‘Sometimes he needs men of special talent,’ – Tab looked sceptical although Fontagu didn't seem to notice – ‘men who can blend in, who laugh at danger, who know when to talk and when to listen -’

‘That's all very well,’ said Tab, but Fontagu was oblivious to the interruption.

‘- and who will lay down their lives without hesitation.’ Fontagu gave her a smug look, as if this description fit him perfectly but he was too modest to say so.

Meanwhile, Tab had begun to frown. ‘You know, you sound just like that actor at the Playhouse, the one who does Scurrilous. In fact, that sounds just like one of his speeches.’

Fontagu choked on a small piece of pheasant. ‘What a coincidence,’ he said. ‘Was the fellow any – er – good?’

‘I thought he was brilliant,’ Tab said truthfully.

Fontagu beamed. ‘Really? Well, what can I say, I was quite -’ he stopped suddenly, swallowed, and went on: ‘- impressed with him.’

‘You saw him too?’

‘Many times,’ said Fontagu. ‘But look here, time's a-wasting. And we have a deed to do.’

‘Well, you'd better spill it then,’ said Tab.

Fontagu's eyes became furtive and he lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘There's a precious gem that belongs to the Archon that was stolen by magical means.’

‘And it's your job to steal it back without anyone knowing it's been returned to the Archon?’

Fontagu smiled. ‘The moment I saw you, Tab, I said to myself, “Self,” I said, “that girl is almost as smart as I was when I was her age!” Now, now, don't let it go to your head. We must stay focused on the mission.’ Tab had that sceptical look again.

This time Fontagu noticed. ‘Oh, dear me, did I mention how much I'm being paid? More than enough to slip you a rather handsome fee, if I do say so myself. On top of my services already rendered, that is.’

‘How handsome is handsome?’ asked Tab, trying to sound as shrewd as possible.

‘What? Well, let's say ten silver moons. That should provide you with lodgings and food for some months.’

Tab sat back. Ten silver moons would last her beyond a year. ‘I'm in,’ she said.

In that moment, the fate of Quentaris was sealed.

As dusk fell, shadows lengthened, grew deeper. Some detached themselves from walls and doorways and even slithered from culverts. No ordinary shadows these, they moved through the city with enormous stealth.

Most of the shadows converged on a grand-looking building a short distance from the Archon's palace. This was the Royal Treasury. It was protected by overgrown goblins and warded by spells, but there were noticeably fewer goblins than usual, and those who stood guard were in a jovial, festive mood, and less vigilant than they might have been.

The shadows came from all directions, joining to form several small clots of darkness arranged at strategic points about the Treasury. In one of these clots a voice, barely a whisper, spoke, and another answered.