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couldn't think of anything in the way of casual conversation that would be in keeping with my tough-guy act. I was glad when we turned into a side road and he exclaimed, with a nervous laugh, "Well, here we are."
      I pulled my hood up and dropped back, just out of sight of my companion but close enough that anyone would assume we were together. One hint of trouble and I'd run. That was the length and breadth of my plan – one whisper of suspicion and I'd flee as I'd never fled before.
      Ahead, an open gateway led into one of the smaller estates. Three men stood on guard. I tried not to look at them too closely. Nevertheless, it was easy to see what they represented. One was a uniformed family retainer, the second a scimitar-armed northerner with a beaded mane of hair and beard, the third an anonymous thug of the kind the city was so well stocked with. In short, they perfectly embodied the three factions involved in Altapasaeda's sudden change of fortunes.
      My companion hurried forward, only to nearly trip over his feet before the guards. "Lord Rufio Eldunzi. Of the family Eldunzi."
      "Boss said come alone," grunted the thug, with a tilt of the head in my direction.
      "Oh no," stuttered Eldunzi, "he's, ah…"
      I was ready to flee – more than ready. Yet at the last moment, words came bubbling unsummoned from my mouth. "Don't mind him, my lord," I said. "He's just a lowlife with ideas above his station."
      Suddenly, it was all very simple. The thug would kill me on the spot, or else he'd back down. It all depended on how high the weak-kneed cretin beside me featured in the pecking order. If he was some nobody lordling hanging off the bottom of the invite list, I was as good as dead.
      "'Pologies, milord. Go on in."
      I don't know who was more relieved, me or Eldunzi – but I'd like to think I hid it better. Eldunzi practically sprinted down the gravelled carriageway, while I did my best to follow at a reasonable pace. He ignored a grandiose coach house and the manor's porticoed main entrance, carried on towards a smaller doorway. As he ducked inside, I was close on his heels.
      Within, a long hall was lit by flickering oil lamps set around the walls. Benches had been set up in the main space and were already almost full. Perhaps forty persons occupied those seats, and despite the copious cushions, not one of them looked comfortable.
      I was glad when Eldunzi settled for a place near the back. I slipped in beside him, letting my gaze follow his towards the head of the room. A low stage had been erected there, and on it stood a half-dozen men. None of them looked like the sort I'd willingly tangle with, but even amidst that unsavoury crowd, one stood out – a king rat amongst lesser vermin. He was poised before a podium, clearly preparing to speak to the assembly.
      I recognised him – though I'd many a reason to wish I didn't.
      What I'd told my newfound companion was true. I really did know our host from way back. First as a supposedly ex-criminal barkeeper. Then as an unlikely resistance fighter. Most recently, as betrayer of his companions, myself included, to a certain invading warlord.
      He was the last person in the world who should have been on that stage. Yet I didn't feel any surprise, just a nauseating sense of inevitability.
      How had Castilio Mounteban come to be running Altapasaeda?

CHAPTER THREE
     
 
 
 
    Mounteban was imposing; I had to give him that.
      He'd always been a bear of a man, and though I was sure some of that bulk must be fat these days, he wore it exactly like muscle. He was dressed plainly, in black cotton shirt and trousers that looked more impressive on him than any fine silks could have. His beard was tidier than I'd seen it, a neat wedge hiding his bullish neck. Even his eyepatch of polished leather was new, and spat back the firelight more arrestingly than any real eye.
      All told, he dominated the stage – and given the men there