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never return.’ She hesitated, then added stiffly, ‘May your Goddess go with you.’
    The nuns began whispering amongst themselves as Tierce strode over to Gair and the Superior. She eyed them without warmth.
    ‘This is the best the jihadi can do at short notice. Do not ask for more.’
    ‘I wasn’t going to,’ the Superior said mildly. ‘On behalf of all our Order, I am grateful for everything you have done for us.’ She reached out to take Tierce’s hand between both of hers. ‘I am sorry for your loss, my daughter. Your brother will be in all our prayers, as will you.’
    Tierce snatched her hand back. ‘I do not need your prayers!’ she snapped. ‘And my brother—’ She stopped, looked away and collected herself with an effort. ‘When you reach Zhiman-dar, go to the livery yard on the west side of Green Moon Square and ask for Tal. Tell him his Aunt Jamira is unwell and not expected to last the month. He will make sure the mules and wagon are returned to their rightful owner.’
    She gave them brief directions to the square. The street names meant nothing to Gair, but the Superior nodded as if she knew the place well. Finally, the young woman glanced up at the evening moon, already halfway above the high walls around the yard and blushing pink with the setting sun.
    ‘The Lion Gate will be closed in two hours,’ she said. ‘Don’t waste time.’
    She turned to leave, then stopped when Gair held out his hand.
    ‘May your road speed you, Tierce,’ he said, offering her the ritual farewell in Gimraeli. Suspicious black eyes flicked over his face, as if she couldn’t be sure if he was sincere. Then she gave his hand a quick, dry shake and walked away.
    ‘Prickly as a guyyam fruit, that one,’ said the Superior with a sigh.
    Gair watched Tierce making a show of observing the comings and goings on the street outside through a chink in the gate, but the tensely folded arms, the hunched shoulders betrayed her emotions.
    ‘I think she has her reasons,’ he said. ‘Come on. We’d best get moving.’
    It didn’t take long to load the sisters and their few possessions into the wagon-bed, whilst Gair fetched Shahe from where she’d waited out the day in the stable adjacent to the warehouse. By the time he’d checked her over to be sure she was carrying no injury worse than a stone bruise and saddled her up, the nuns were settled as comfortably as they could be. With the Superior’s help, he spread a canvas tarpaulin over the wagon and tied it down, then as the sun dipped behind the Governor’s palace they set off for the Lion Gate.
    Gair let the Superior lead, since she knew the way, and fell in behind the wagon as it rumbled along an alley lined with high, windowless buildings. More warehouses, perhaps, or bonded stores; they were somewhere in the underbelly of El Maqqam’s mercantile district. He glanced behind him once as he rode away, but Tierce was busy closing the gates again and didn’t acknowledge him. Maybe she was simply as glad to see the back of him and the nuns as he was to be finally leaving. He only wished the circumstances could have been different.
    But however heavy his heart, he had no time for brooding. There was a hostile city to cross, and then a long ride to Zhimandar, which would in all likelihood be no friendlier. Grief and guilt were luxuries he could not afford. Settling his sand-veil high across his face and his kaif as low as he could and still see, he followed the nuns’ wagon out of the alley onto a busy street.
    The city teemed as raucously at the close of the day as it did at noon. Each street they traversed was thick with pedestrians, handcarts and ox- or mule-drawn wagons, both empty and full. Farmers returning home from market, merchants bound for the port at Zhiman-dar; in the dusty orange light of early evening, the Superior in her plain barouk resembled just another weary wagoneer plodding through the crush. Gair ambled Shahe along behind, keeping a watchful