His wagon drew up outside a large building with barred

windows and guards at the door. The cage was unlocked and, accompanied by a pair of wardens, his ankles shackled, Kinsel was taken in.

There were another fifty or sixty convicted men inside, huddled miserably on a line of benches. They wore manacles, with long chains running through them, so that all were bound together. Kinsel was shoved towards the nearest bench. A guard barked and its occupants slid along to make room for him. Then a smith knelt and fussed with the manacles, and Kinsel became part of the chain-gang.

It was cold, and the shapeless convict uniform of rough cloth Kinsel now wore offered little protection. The place was silent apart from the rattle of chains and occasional wheezing coughs. They were waiting for something, but nobody explained what. Half an hour later, he found out.

A muscular barrel of a man swaggered in. He was completely bald, save for a pencil-thin, black moustache, and his tanned skin looked oiled. He sported leather breeches and a sleeveless leather jerkin, unbuttoned over a hairless, bare chest, despite the season. On his upper right arm there was a tattoo of the Gath Tampoor dragon emblem. His boots were thick and heavy, and he had wide, studded bands on both wrists. A large and elaborate gold buckle secured his belt, from which hung a sheathed knife with a curved blade. He carried a coiled, barbed whip.

‘The basic facts of your new life,’ he announced, his voice deliberate and penetrating. ‘

am your overseer.

You

are scum. You call me sir, or master, or god. Or better yet, you don’t call me at all. My word is law; your lives are worth less than a peck of salt. You jump when I say so. You work until I tell you to stop, which isn’t often. If I tell you to plug a hole in the keel with your arse, you do it. If you’re called upon to fight, you will do so with savagery and at the expense of your own wretched lives if I think

it’s necessary.’ He was walking along the line, scrutinising the faces of his charges. Very few met his gaze. ‘Everyone on board without shackles is your better, and to be obeyed without question. But your first allegiance is to me. If you displease me in any way or fail to obey an order quickly enough, you will be punished. That ranges from a flogging to losing a foot; from having your eye taken out with a hot brand to feeding the sharks. Where we’re going is none of your business. What we do once we’re there is nothing to do with you.’ He’d reached Kinsel, and obviously knew who he was. ‘We don’t go in for favouritism.’ He was staring at him. ‘Nobody cares who you were in your old life, which from this minute is over, done with, forgotten. High born or low, it’s all the same to me, and this.’ He held up the whip. ‘Oh, and if you survive for thirty years the Empress gives you a pardon. Don’t get too excited; nobody’s earned one yet.’ He was on the move again. ‘You’ll be pleased to hear that we’re catching the night tide. Your sea voyage begins within the hour. I’d like to say that I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I will. Only I know you won’t.’ He turned and strode out.

A group of men arrived with buckets. They went along the line doling out ladles of brackish water and small hunks of stale black bread.

Ten minutes later, the chain-gang was on the move, shuffling out of the building with encouragement provided by the whips of the overseer’s deputies. They were herded to the gangplank of a ship of the line, then led below decks.

The ship’s hull was fitted with benches, port and starboard. Each bench seated two men. They were beaten into them and their wrists shackled to the great oars that projected from slits cut into the hull. Their ankles were chained to sturdy rings set in the floor. Kinsel found himself next to an elderly

looking, bone-thin man with broken teeth. When they were all in place, the overseer appeared.

‘As this is your first time,’ he announced, ‘we’ll begin nice and easy. Get your hands on those oars!’

A drummer began to pound out a rhythmic beat.

Kinsel took hold of the oar, and felt a tear forming in the corner of his eye.

Night had fallen on the city.

In a quiet residential street in an unremarkable quarter of Valdarr, a carriage was discreetly parked in the shadow of an overhanging tree. The carriage was defended by elaborate counter-eavesdropping charms, and its driver had been sent on a meaningless errand.

Inside the carriage, behind drawn blinds, two people were deep in conversation.

‘We’ll go through it again,’ Devlor Bastorran insisted.

‘If we must,’ Aphri Kordenza replied wearily, ‘but I understood the first three times. I’m not stupid, you know.’

‘I need to be sure you’re clear on every detail. This is an extremely risky operation.’

‘We’re used to risky situations. Trust me.’

‘Get this one wrong and it’ll not only go badly for me, it’ll go

very

badly for you. Both of you. Get it right and you’ll have everything you want.’

‘You’ll arrange to have our condition made permanent?’

‘That’s what we agreed.’

‘And you’ll pay for it?’

‘I said I would.’

‘Soon?’

‘Yes, yes,

yes

! You have my word. Now can we please run over it again? Good. What time do you have be there?’

‘A little before midnight.’

‘Right. Allowing enough time to get in, do what you have to and get away. You’ve

got

to be out of there before the chimes. Understood?’

‘Perfectly.’

‘The room has two ways in. You’ve no need to worry about the entrance inside the house. The one you’re concerned with is the emergency exit. You get into that through the door in the alley at the rear of the building. It’s the only door there, and besides it’ll have a guard stationed outside.’

‘And I’m to kill him.’

‘Yes, and don’t botch it. Leave him alive and we’re both finished. Because you’re going to approach him with this.’ He held up a rolled parchment bearing a red wax stamp. ‘My personal seal. This will win his confidence and allow you to get near enough to do the job. What two things must you be sure to do at this point?’

‘Kill him conventionally with a blade; no magic. And get the seal back.’

‘That’s vital. Leave it at the scene and it’s our death warrant.’ He slipped a hand into his tunic pocket. ‘Then you use this key to open the door. Drag the guard’s body inside and lock the door behind you.’

‘And that’s when I separate from Aphrim.’

‘Right. You leave him to guard the entrance in case anybody else comes along. That’s very unlikely because there are only a couple of copies of these keys, but I want to cover every eventuality. So, you’re in the building. What next?’

‘I go up the flight of stairs and there’s another door.’

‘Which you open with

this

key.’ He dangled it in front of the meld. ‘Do it quietly. When you’re through that door

you’ll find yourself in a small curtained alcove. Beyond the curtain is his private study. The outer door, the one that leads to the rest of the house, is going to be locked, so you won’t be disturbed. Chances are he’ll be working at his desk, and that has its back to the alcove. So you should be able to approach without him knowing, providing you’re stealthy enough.’

‘I do stealth very well.’

‘If he isn’t at his desk, you’ll still have the element of surprise. But should he see you coming and put up a fight, don’t assume he’ll be easy to take.’

‘I’ll be prepared for that.’

‘I can’t emphasise enough that he has to be dealt with just like the guard; no hint of magic. When you’ve done the deed, mess the study up a bit. Make it look as though there’s been a fight, assuming there hasn’t, of course. Then smash the door you came through, from the far side. It’s got to look as though someone’s battered their way in,