Stormtide

And still Kjellrunn did nothing. Everything was happening too quickly. Indecision held her fast as if she’d been run through with a spear. She stood in the centre of the street and witnessed a struggle everywhere she looked. All the novices had joined the fight in any way they could. Mistress Kamalov remained behind her, though she had been accosted by a soldier who tried to snatch hold of her arm. The old woman stepped out of reach, muttering something dreadful. The soldier faltered, then swung with his mace, but Mistress Kamalov stepped neatly past the weapon, slipping behind the man. Her knife flashed in the sunlight and disappeared beneath the soldier’s helm, the tip sinking deep into his throat.

The Envoy was shouting at the top of his lungs in Solska. He drew a short sword from a jewelled sheath and swiped at the nearest novice. The boy stepped towards the man and parried the blow from a stony forearm, the metal sparking as it glanced from his granite skin. The Envoy raised a leg and stamped on the novice’s chest, sending the boy sprawling backwards, then grabbed a young girl by the shoulder. He held his short sword to her throat, thinking to save his wretched skin by threatening hers, but no one was watching, no one but Kjellrunn.

The sergeant cast off the stone-skinned Zemlya novices one by one. A wild strike from the maul caught the girl clinging to his back square between the eyes. In her stone form the first blow merely caused her to flinch, but the second blow sent her to the ground where she lay unmoving. The two boys grasping the sergeant’s legs didn’t last much longer. The maul was reinforced with metal and the novices’ concentration faltered under a series of punishing blows. One boy retreated while the other wailed in shock as his stony arm shattered apart.

More soldiers emerged from the side streets and from behind, arriving in groups of four until sixteen of the number loomed over the novices, in black armour, maces grasped in armoured fists.

‘You will stand down,’ screamed the Envoy, still holding his short sword to the young girl’s throat. The sergeant continued his onslaught, swinging wildly with his maul at the novices, who fled and ducked and dodged back to Mistress Kamalov at the centre of the street. Kjellrunn counted at least four children strewn across the cobbles.

‘Kjellrunn,’ whispered the old woman as rain began to fall. ‘We are surrounded.’

CHAPTER FOUR
Silverdust

The wind howled around the jagged black peaks of Vladibogdan, ushering in a grey shimmer of rain from the Sommerende Ocean. Silverdust gazed at the sky from a tower in Academy Vozdukha as the waves crashed against the cliffs far below with a hushed roar. Rare were the times a wind blew in from the north east. Such winds had a way of invading the very island itself. Up through the darkened cove the winds would race, ascending a hundred blackened steps, keening through the gatehouse which lay quiet and empty, and into Academy Square.

The square had been cleared of rubble since the uprising and the shattered pieces of the dragon statue had been committed to the sea. The many bodies of the fallen had been taken below to the forges, where Silverdust himself had immolated them with arcane fire. No one had assigned him the role of the cremator, yet it was important to him that each body meet a decent end. Silverdust had taken a quiet relief in this. No one would rise as a cinderwraith since Steiner destroyed the Ashen Torment and the vast statue at the centre of the island. No longer would dead souls toil in eternal service to the Empire. Silverdust was now the last of his kind. His fate would not be passed on to another generation.

The dark pall that had lain heavy over the island for years had dissipated, drawn this way and that by winds from all cardinal points. Silverdust had enjoyed three weeks of peace until the north-eastern wind gusted in. Three weeks of peace until now.

A knock on the door roused the Exarch from his reveries. He reached out with his mind and found Father Orlov waiting in the corridor outside.

Come. Silverdust sent the word with telepathy; he had lost the ability for speech long ago. The door creaked open and Father Orlov edged into the room. He was a heavyset Vigilant, broad in shoulder and thick of arm.

‘Exarch,’ said Father Orlov with a half bow. His mask was a handsome face with nine stars embossed down the right-hand side, one star for each province of the Empire.

Father Orlov. Silverdust inclined his head, though in truth he had no respect for the Vigilant. We have not had a chance to speak since the uprising.

‘You have kept yourself very busy, Exarch.’ Father Orlov edged further into the room and Silverdust could sense the man’s wariness. ‘Appearing only at night to take the corpses from the courtyard. You have given the children much to talk about.’ Father Orlov paused a moment. ‘And much to fear.’

Cremation. A rotting body causes pestilence and we can ill afford a plague taking hold on the island. Not after everything that has happened.

‘Your wisdom is a guiding light in these dark times,’ replied Father Orlov. Silverdust ignored the sarcasm. ‘Will you walk with me, Exarch? I think it would do everyone good to see the highest-ranking Vigilant in the academy taking an interest in the living.’

I will walk with you, Father Orlov, though rank is rarely a comfort in the wake of disaster.

‘And truly this has been a disaster,’ said Father Orlov as he exited the room. ‘And someone will have to answer for it.’

Silverdust wondered if there were a note of warning in Orlov’s words, or if the man had tipped his hand.

There is always a price to paid.

Father Orlov glanced over his shoulder to check Silverdust was following him down the dark stone corridor. The children called him Cryptfrost behind his back, on account of his chilly temperament, and for the power he wielded over water and wind. Orlov would be keen to blame Silverdust for Steiner’s destruction of the Ashen Torment and his subsequent escape.

The Exarch and Father Orlov emerged in Academy Square and looked over the battered flagstones. Novices swept the square of grit and sand as best they could despite the wind.

‘I barely recognise the place now,’ said Father Orlov, unable to disguise how forlorn he was at the disarray before him. The Vigilant clenched his fists and Silverdust could sense a fierce eddy of disgust, shame and anger for what had happened during Steiner’s uprising.

It is much changed.

Blood stained the flagstones of Academy Square, each mark a reminder of someone who had risen up against the Empire or died to defend it.

‘It was quite the scene,’ said Father Orlov, after taking a moment to compose himself. ‘The Spriggani priestess killed a great many of our men, turning them to stone with her gaze.’

I had heard as much.

‘Your absence during the fighting was noted.’

I stayed close to Academy Vozdukha, protecting loyalist students.

This was lie, but one almost impossible to disprove. Academy Vozdukha was home to the school of wind, and though it had been a long time since Silverdust had taught, he had reason to be there.

‘I also heard you … negotiated with them. At the end.’ Father Orlov stopped walking and cradled a gloved fist inside the palm of his other hand. ‘With the Vartiainen boy and the Spriggani.’

Silverdust turned to the Vigilant, his curving mirror mask reflecting the nine stars of Father Orlov’s proud visage. The Exarch loomed over his subordinate.

Careful, Orlov, you are perilously close to accusing me of treason.

‘And yet you were seen in the company of the dragon rider—’

I was merely trying to broker a temporary peace. The Vartiainen boy did not want to rule the island. He wanted to escape and to take his friends with him.

This much at least was true. Steiner had never wanted dominion over Vladibogdan. Destroying the Ashen Torment had been testament to that.

My intent was to put an end to any further killing. It is by my actions that we have any loyal novices left alive at all.

Silverdust could feel Father Orlov’s gaze upon him, sense the Vigilant’s own telepathy brushing against his mind for some clue to the Exarch’s dishonesty.

You will not find what you seek with the arcane. Silverdust touched two fingers to his temple. My aged mind is as bewildering and impenetrable as any forest.

Orlov bowed. ‘Forgive me, Exarch, but you can understand my caution. We have suffered the worst setback in the history of Vladibogdan. I need to know who I can trust.’

I can understand your caution, Father. Silverdust walked to the centre of Academy Square and for a moment the battle raged all around him, phantoms conjured by memory. Arcane fire flared brightly, guttering as renegade students summoned winds to fight it. Soldiers fell choking as cinderwraiths robbed them of their dying breaths.

Tell me how things stand on the island now the dust has settled.

‘Loyalty has largely been determined by academy,’ said Father Orlov. ‘The novices of Plamya are the most loyal, with Zemlya close behind.’ It stood to reason. The students of Plamya, the fire school, were wild and capricious, but loyal to the Empire nonetheless. Zemlya, the earth school, had always been headed up by hardline Vigilants. Their fanaticism had been duly passed on to their charges.

‘No one trusts the few novices of Vozdukha and Voda that remained.’ Vozdukha, the school of air, had ever had a reputation for difficult or eccentric students, while Voda, the school of water, was barely seen as an academy at all. Its students had never amounted to anything.

And yet those students did remain. Does that give indication of their loyalty? I will be most displeased if there is any more death on this island. Do I make myself clear, Father Orlov?

‘So I gather you’re taking command then?’ said the Vigilant, taking no pains to hide the sneer in his tone. ‘At last.’

This is why you summoned me from the tower, is it not?

Father Orlov said nothing.

I am the highest-ranking Vigilant on the island.

‘Perhaps you can drag yourself away from the cremations to start acting like it,’ replied Father Orlov, before turning smartly and marching towards Academy Plamya.

Silverdust would have sighed had he still had lungs to breathe with. The north-eastern wind howled more loudly in Father Orlov’s absence and Silverdust turned towards the gatehouse and approached the top of the stone stairs. White-tipped waves smashed against the dark stone of the cove far below. For a fleeting second Silverdust saw the ghostly outline of a ship. A second later and the vision had gone. A vision of the future, Silverdust decided. Guests would soon arrive on Vladibogdan.

Silverdust delegated as much as possible to the few Vigilants who had survived the uprising in the days that followed. He appointed Father Orlov as his deputy for no other reason than to keep a close eye on the man. Taking over Felgenhauer’s old office didn’t sit well with Silverdust, but necessity demanded his discomfort. The Matriarch-Commissar had never been given to decoration but had kept a fine selection of books, which Silverdust distracted himself with, despite having read them all a long time ago. A knock sounded on the door and Silverdust set aside the book he was reading with a flicker of irritation.

Enter.

The door creaked open and a half-starved waif of around ten years stared at the Exarch with wide eyes.

Fear not, I will do you no harm. There is a message, I assume.

The boy nodded, then blinked and shook his head.

‘No, not really. A ship has arrived and all the other Vigilants have gone down to the cove to greet it. I …’ The boy swallowed. ‘I thought you should know.’

I imagine Father Orlov is keen to make a good first impression and give his side of the story.

The boy nodded. ‘C-can I do anything for you, Exarch-Commissar?’

Silverdust wanted to laugh at hearing such a title.

Fetch me tea from the kitchen and instruct the cooks to make a fine stew – one fit for an Envoy. Go now and do not delay.

The boy pushed his fringe out of his eyes and raced out of Felgenhauer’s office as fast as he could. His office – not Felgenhauer’s office, Silverdust lamented, not any more. The boy departed with such haste he failed to close the door behind him, giving Silverdust a clear view to the antechamber beyond and the doorway that led to the stairwell. He spread his hands on the wide featureless table, waiting to meet the person he would have to spin a web of lies to.

The Envoy, when she arrived, appeared in the antechamber sheathed in blue silk with a stole made from a winter fox, the fur white and stark. Her smile was bitter and she sauntered into the room with a swagger that was almost theatrical.

‘Silverdust. There you are! Well, I thought I’d suffered a setback or two, but it seems Vladibogdan has endured nothing less than a catastrophe.’

Silverdust rose from his chair and bowed deeply. Now wasn’t the time for petty acts of ignored etiquette.

Envoy de Vries. We are honoured by your presence. How fares the Empire?

De Vries approached the office door, a circular portal, and made herself a work of art, leaning casually on the door frame.

‘The Empire is strong as ever, dearest Silverdust, but her forces.’ Envoy de Vries pursed her lips and tutted. ‘Shirinov and Khigir both dead, I hear. And a half dozen other members of the Holy Synod. And your precious Felgenhauer …’ The Envoy sighed and looked away as if she had become distracted, though Silverdust knew full well she was waiting for his reaction. He gave her none and the silence stretched between them until the Envoy turned to face him once more.

How may I serve, Envoy de Vries?

‘So inscrutable, Silverdust. So mysterious.’ The Envoy slunk into the room and sat down, putting her feet up on the desk. ‘What is it you actually do on this island, Exarch?’

I serve at the Emperor’s pleasure. Silverdust did not sit. He could sense Father Orlov waiting on the staircase, out of sight, yet close enough to eavesdrop. Silverdust could practically feel the man straining to hear, though the conversation would be one-sided due to his reliance on telepathy.

‘You don’t teach’ – the Envoy counted off on her fingers – ‘you don’t run the stores, you don’t organise the soldiers. You don’t perform any role or task as far as I can see.’

I am old. Felgenhauer, in her mercy, let me retire here. Not true, of course. Silverdust had carefully delegated more and more of his teaching duties until none remained.

‘I see,’ said the Envoy. ‘Well, Felgenhauer, in her mercy, gave me the slip while I was escorting her back to our beloved Emperor.’

How very unfortunate, Envoy de Vries.

‘Indeed.’ She forced a smile that could curdle milk. ‘The Emperor is very keen to hear what manner of events were taking place here on Vladibogdan leading to the uprising.’

He has always been the most curious soul. He was also impatient and bloodthirsty and petty, but Silverdust declined to mention this.

‘It seems the Emperor should have heeded Shirinov’s repeated requests, official and otherwise, for an audience.’

You would need to speak to Shirinov regarding his grievances. He never shared his concerns with me.

The Envoy stood and slammed her palm on the desk, but Silverdust did not flinch.

‘Shirinov is dead! And here you are, a supposed-retired Exarch, running Vladibogdan. What the Hel happened here? Who is Steiner Vartiainen, and why were you seen speaking with him after the uprising here?’ She leaned over the desk, struggling to keep her composure.

I stand behind this desk for no other reason than Father Orlov asked me to. Felgenhauer had some attachment to the boy, a boy without witchsign no less. He was brought here by mistake. Silverdust leaned over the desk, looming taller than the Envoy. Brought here by Shirinov’s mistake. The boy was sent to work in the forges and somehow entered into an agreement with the cinderwraiths. They massacred the soldiers and then the Vartiainen boy took wing on a dragon. He returned with a ship and took off with two dozen novices and most of our food. The ship sank in bad weather no more than two miles after they set out.

Envoy de Vries straightened up, adjusted her stole and smoothed back her hair. She stared at Silverdust for long moments then smiled, before giggling. Before long she had slipped into the chair, laughing uncontrollably. She all but shouted when her laughter stopped.

‘He left the island on a fucking dragon!’

Silverdust said nothing. The silence was interrupted as the waif entered the room and set the tray of food and tea down on the desk.

‘Well, I can’t fault your hospitality, Silverdust,’ said the Envoy as she lifted the lid of a small ceramic pot to reveal the stew inside. ‘Even if your storytelling leaves much to be desired.’

What happens now? He barely needed to ask. Silverdust could sense the Envoy’s thoughts and knew full well what she would say next.

‘We leave in the morning. You are to give a full account of the uprising here to the Emperor himself at Khlystburg. I failed him once by letting Felgenhauer slip through my grasp. You’ – she pointed at Silverdust with her fork – ‘will appear at the Imperial Court even if I have to chain you and drag you before the Emperor on a leash.’

There will be no leashes, Envoy. I will present myself to the Emperor willingly.

Envoy de Vries shook her head and began to eat. Silverdust said nothing more, lost to his thoughts, imagining how he might kill the Emperor before his courtiers.

CHAPTER FIVE
Steiner

‘I’m looking for a man called Tikhoveter,’ said Marek to the barkeeper. They had left the Watcher’s Wait shortly after Kimi, and Marek had led them from tavern to tavern since. Steiner was pleasantly muddled by the ale and stole kisses from Kristofine whenever his father wasn’t looking. They were sitting in the snug in a dimly lit tavern called the Silvered Palm while Steiner’s father spoke to the man at the bar.

‘Don’t you think it strange … Hoy! Stop that,’ said Kristofine. She moved away from where Steiner had been nuzzling her neck. ‘Strange? What’s strange?’

‘Don’t you think it’s strange that your father wanted to come ashore for something decent to eat and yet all he does is drink with the locals and chat with them about an old friend of his?’

Steiner shrugged. ‘What’s strange is that we don’t just leave him to it and book that room. Get ourselves some of that privacy you were speaking about back on the ship …’

Kristofine half-smiled, half-pouted, then shook her head. ‘I need you to think with your head, not your britches. What’s your father up to?’

‘I’m not one to sit around guessing. Why don’t we just ask him? Here he comes.’

Marek’s expression was serious as he took a seat in the snug. He stared into the bottom of his mug for a moment, then flicked his gaze up to Steiner.

‘What?’

‘Are you going to tell us who this Tikhoveter is then? You’ve been talking about him with just about everyone else here. Why not us?’

Marek snorted a laugh. ‘You’ve always been one to speak your mind, but those three mugs of ale have really loosened your tongue.’

‘He has a point, Marek,’ said Kristofine, her tone placating. ‘He’s curious. I’m curious. Who is it you’re looking for?’

‘I knew a man once. Not a Vigilant, but a man who could hear whispers on the wind and send words of his own. A messenger of sorts.’

‘Whispers on the wind,’ said Steiner with a frown. ‘That’s a trick of the wind school. You’re talking about someone from Academy Vozdukha.’

‘That’s who I’m looking for, but it’s been years since I was here and I’ve no way of knowing if he’s still alive or which side he’s on.’

‘Sides?’ Kristofine rolled her eyes. ‘What sides?’

‘There’s the Empire,’ said Marek. ‘And then there’s everyone else.’

Steiner stood up from the table. ‘I want to meet this old friend of yours. I’m going to need all the information I can get if I’m going to keep my promise to Kimi.’

‘I don’t understand how you’re supposed to protect the Yamali people when we’re on the other side of the continent,’ said Kristofine.

‘I’m hoping that if I create a big enough distraction in the west the Emperor will be too busy to send troops to the east.’ Steiner threw back the last of his ale. ‘What do we do now?’

‘I managed to get an old address.’ Marek eased out of his chair and didn’t look hopeful. ‘We’ll have to hope Tikhoveter still lives there.’

It was just starting to rain as they stepped outside the tavern and a deep chill settled over Virag, numbing Steiner’s fingers. Kristofine huddled close to him and he flashed her a smile and squeezed her waist.

‘So you’re a lusty drunk then?’ she said with a smile of her own.

‘Better that than maudlin or violent, I suppose.’ Steiner chuckled. Marek walked ahead, keeping a keen eye out for Imperial soldiers.

‘Can I ask you something?’ said Kristofine. Something was clearly on her mind from the way she chewed at her lip. ‘About the island, I mean?’

‘Of course.’

‘When you destroyed the Ashen Torment it set the cinderwraiths free.’

‘That’s right. They were no longer bound to the island, free to pass on to the afterlife.’

‘So why didn’t Silverdust go with them?’ Steiner thought on that for a moment as they walked the streets of Virag, following Marek in the rain.

‘He said he was going to stay on at Vladibogdan.’ Steiner thought of the strange Vigilant and his mirror mask. ‘He was going to stay there and lie for me, buy me time before the Empire found out what happened on the island.’

‘Will it work?’

‘Who knows?’ said Steiner, his mouth twisting unhappily. ‘The Empire has powers I can’t begin to guess at. Will the lies of one Vigilant make a difference? I hope so. Strange old thing that he is.’

‘You miss him?’ she asked, as the rain continued to fall.

‘I can’t say I really knew him, but I owe that old ghost a lot. I can’t say I’m happy that we left him on Vladibogdan now that I think about it.’

Marek pressed on through streets that grew more narrow and winding with each mile. The rain and the cold were sobering and Steiner grew tired and irritated in equal measure.

‘Slow down, old man,’ he growled, but Marek didn’t hear him.

‘Are we avoiding the main roads so we don’t get caught?’ asked Kristofine when they reached an abandoned alley thick with shadows and refuse.

‘Not exactly,’ said Marek, stopping outside a narrow townhouse with a battered front door. He beat the wood with a scarred fist and looked over his shoulder. ‘Keep an eye out for soldiers. The Empire might be watching this place.’

No answer came from inside the townhouse. No sound of muffled surprise, no holler or shout that they should wait a moment.

‘Not a promising start,’ said Steiner, taking shelter at the side of the street.

‘Come on, you old bastard,’ said Marek.

‘We should go,’ said Kristofine, her eyes darting to the end of the street. Steiner saw her then for the tavern-keeper’s daughter that she was. He felt a pang of guilt for dragging her into the chaos of his life. Marek opened his mouth to speak as the door creaked open. A woman peeked through the narrow gap between door and frame. She had a serious look on her deeply lined face that changed to a scowl as she realised there were three of them.

‘Well? Are you just going to stand there?’

‘I’m here for Tikhoveter,’ said Marek so quietly the rain near drowned out the words. The diminutive woman looked from Steiner to Kristofine. Her scowl deepened and she opened the door. ‘You’d best come in.’

The townhouse was a place of dark wood panelling and darker shadows. The candles remained unlit and the fireplaces held no cheer. The only light emanated from the lantern the woman held. Now they were inside Steiner could see her properly. Barely five feet tall, she had the olive skin and the dark eyes of the Spriggani.

‘Don’t say anything,’ said Marek, catching the look in his son’s eye.

‘This way,’ said the woman, crooking a finger at them. The stairs creaked under their weight and every footfall seemed a crime against the silence of the house. The woman opened double doors onto an empty room and gestured they should wait inside.

‘What happens now?’ whispered Steiner after the Spriggani woman had disappeared.

‘Now we wait,’ replied Marek, peeling off his wet cloak. ‘And hope he speaks with us.’

‘And what if this friend of yours still works for the Empire?’ said Kristofine with a frown. She shook the rain out of her cloak and her eyes darted around the room.

‘He was never a man that followed orders easily,’ said Marek and crossed to the window where he could watch over the street below. ‘Mistress Kamalov isn’t the first person to turn her back on the Empire. Or even the second,’ he added, as if remembering his own former allegiance. Steiner peeled off his own cloak before settling in to make a fire.

Tikhoveter, when he finally appeared perhaps half an hour later, did not look like the Imperial soldiers they were avoiding, nor did he look like an Envoy. Tikhoveter did not look like anyone the Empire would employ for anything. He was stooped with the passage of years, at least fifty of them if Steiner had to guess. Wild corkscrews of white hair fell about his shoulders and he was wiry-thin. His beard was trimmed but in all other aspects Tikhoveter was a shambles. His britches were patched and stained, his shirt and jacket no different, and the smell of drink was overpowering. Tikhoveter belched loudly, leaned wearily against the door frame, belched again and blinked a few times.

‘Hoy there,’ said Marek. ‘Did we wake you?’

‘On a day like this there’s little to do except nap and read old books.’ Steiner struggled to place the accent. The wiry man drifted past them and presented his backside to the fireplace. He smiled a moment and whispered, ‘There is nothing more wonderful in all of creation than having a warm arse in damp weather.’

‘Are you Tikhoveter?’ asked Steiner. Marek made a growling sound and Steiner fell silent.

‘No Tikhoveter here,’ said the man. ‘He died about ten years ago.’ His words sloshed against each other, and there was a tipsy sing-song quality to the way he spoke. ‘We still get Imperial sorts wandering in here from time to time. Looking for shelter mostly, or somewhere to hide for a night or two.’

‘That’s a real shame,’ said Marek. He remained at the side of the room watching the street outside through the window. ‘But we’re not Imperial sorts. At least these two aren’t.’ He nodded to Kristofine and Steiner, then returned his gaze to the street outside. ‘And I haven’t been for over twenty years.’

Their host turned his back on Marek and held out his hands to warm them. ‘Is that so?’

Steiner frowned, confused at the two men who seemed to be speaking yet ignoring each other.

‘I met Tikhoveter once,’ said Marek, not breaking his vigil at the window. ‘He was a sickly little runt with a hacking cough. The Empire had posted him to Arkiv Island. They had him working in the library but the dust was no good for his lungs.’

The man by the fireplace stiffened and turned his head just a fraction to glance over his shoulder. ‘Never met him.’ Steiner noted the drunken pretence slipping away.

‘And the strange thing about him,’ continued Marek, as if he hadn’t heard the man, ‘was that he had long hair that fell all about him like corkscrews. Never touched a drop of booze on account of his health, but always had an eye for women. Especially Spriggani women.’

The rain continued to drift down in the street and Steiner couldn’t help but smirk. Tikhoveter gave a long sigh and his shoulders slumped forward. He was very quiet for a moment.

‘Fuck my boots,’ he mumbled in defeat. ‘So who the Hel are you then?’

‘I’m the soldier who had you reassigned from Arkiv Island,’ replied Marek with a slow smile. Tikhoveter stood up straighter and frowned a moment.

‘Marek Vartiainen?’

Marek turned to the man at last and nodded once.

‘Have you come to kill me?’ asked Tikhoveter, a wary expression crossing his face like a dark cloud.

‘Do you think we’d just calmly knock on the door if the Emperor wanted you dead?’ said Marek.

‘I’m not so charming as to warrant a social call after all these years,’ said Tikhoveter. ‘What do you want?’

‘Are you still playing both sides?’ asked Marek.

‘Not so much these days. I get word to a few old friends who prefer to avoid the Holy Synod. The Empire leaves me alone by and large.’

‘Something big happened at Vladibogdan recently,’ said Marek. ‘We need to learn just how much the Empire knows.’

‘Information doesn’t come cheap,’ said Tikhoveter, running a hand across his beard. ‘And information about the Empire is more expensive still.’

Steiner reached into his pocket and fished out a guilder. ‘What do you know about Matriarch-Commissar Felgenhauer?’

‘Hel’s teeth, Steiner,’ muttered Marek.

Tikhoveter eyed the guilder and pursed his lips. ‘So the boy has money?’

‘He’s no mere boy,’ said Marek, anger flashing in his eyes as the fire roared in the hearth. ‘And he’s done more to fight the Empire in a few months than you or I have in two decades.’