‘Do they seem… excessive?’

‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘I would not want to be discouraging.’

He sat down. ‘Discouraging, Mistress?’

‘Tell me, are my two gate guards as incompetent as they appear to be?’’That would be quite an achievement, Mistress.’

‘It would, yes.’

‘It may surprise you,’ Torvald Nom said, ‘but they actually possess a nasty streak. And considerable experience. They have been caravan guards, enforcers, Guild thugs and bounty hunters. It’s the formality of this present job that has them so… awkward. They will adjust in time.’

‘Not too well, I hope.’

All right, Torvald Nom decided, she was talking about something and he had no idea what that something was. ‘Mistress, regarding Studlock, Lazan and Madrun-’

‘Captain, I understand you are estranged from House Nom. That is unfortunate. I always advise that such past errors be mended whenever possible. Reconciliation is essential to well-being.’

Twill give that some thought, Mistress.’

‘Do so. Now, please make your way out using the stairs. Inform the castellan that I wish to speak to him-no, there will be no repercussions regarding your seeking a private conversation with me. In fact, I am heartened by your concern. Loyalty was ever the foremost trait of the family Nom. Oh, now, do finish your wine, Captain.’

He did, rather quickly. Then walked over and locked the balcony doors. A bow to Lady Varada, and then out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. A moment to figure out where the stairs were, and, feeling slightly numbed-was it the wine? No, it wasn’t the wine-he descended to the ground floor and out through the formal entrance, striding across the compound to where stood the castellan and his two friends.

‘Castellan Studlock,’ Torvald Nom called out, pleased to see how all three looked up guiltily from their game. ‘The Mistress wishes to see you immediately.’

‘Oh? Of course. Thank you, Captain.’

Torvald watched him flit away, and then turned to Lazan Door and Madrun. ‘Interesting technique you have here. I feel the need to describe your duties, since it appears the castellan forgot to. You are to patrol the compound, preferably at random intervals, employing a variety of routes to ensure that you avoid predictability. Be especially mindful of unlit areas, although I do not recommend you carry torches or lanterns. Any questions?’

Madrun was smiling. He bowed. ‘Sound instruction, Captain, thank you. We shall commence our duties immediately. Lazan, collect up your scrying dice. We must attend to the necessary formalities of diligent patrol.’

Scrying dice! Gods below. ‘Is it wise,’ he asked, ‘to rely upon the hoary gods to determine the night’s flavour?’

Lazan Door cleared his throat then bared his metal fangs. ‘As you say, Captain. Divination is ever an imprecise science. We shall be sure to avoid relying overmuch on such things.’

‘Er, right. Good, well, I’ll be in my office, then.’

‘Again,’ Madrun said, his smile broadening. There was, Torval decided as he walked away, nothing pleasant about that smile. About either of their smiles, in fact. Or anythlng else about those two. Or Studious Lock, for that matter-Blood Drinker, Bile Spitter, Poisoner, oh, they had so many names for that one. How soon before he earns a few more? And Madrun Badrun? And Lazan Door? What is Lady Varada up to?

Never mind, never mind. He had an office, after all. And once he crawled over the desk and settled down in the chair, why, he felt almost important.

The sensation lasted a few heartbeats, which was actually something of an achievement. Any few precious moments, yes, of not thinking about those three. Any at all.

Make new masks-now why should they do that! Renegade Seguleh are renegade-they can’t ever go back. Supposedly, but then, what do any of us really know about the Seguleh? Make new masks, he said to them. Why!

What’s wrong with normal advice! Wash that robe, Lazan Door, before the spiders start laying eggs. Choose no more than two colours, Madrun, and not ones that clash. Please. And what’s with those moccasins!

Masks! Never mind the masks.

His stomach gurgled and he felt another rise of bilious gas. ‘Always chew your food, Tor, why such a hurry! There’s plenty of daylight left to play. Chew, Tor, chew! Nice and slow, like a cow, yes. This way nothing will disagree with you. Nothing disagrees with cows, after all.’

So true, at least until the axe swings down.

He sat in his office, squeezed in behind the desk, in a most disagreeable state.