Succumbing to a mad impulse, Nish said to the captain, 'Don't go without me. There's double the gold in it for you,' and raced down the gangplank.

It was a good fifteen minutes' run to the master's mansion and his knee and ankle were troubling him long before he got there. The great brass doors were closed and the door warden would hardly open them for a junior officer in an army that had been eating its head off at the master's expense. On the other hand, the fellow on morning duty now might not have seen him before, so if he could pull it off…Nish was not sure he dared. How could one man beat the master of a city and all his guards? But he had cast his lot with the scrutator; he could not fail now.

Drawing his sword, Nish rapped three times on the door with the silver hilt. Wrapping the cloak around his uniform, he pulled his hood over his face. The door was opened a crack.

'Perquisitor Mun-Mun Hlar to see the master, without delay!' he snapped, taking the name of his oldest brother.

The master is still in his bed,' said the door warden. 'Come back in the afternoon.'

Nish caught him by his frilly shirt-front and jerked him forwards. 'I'm Perquistor Hlar,' he snarled. 'I've come all the way from the Council of Scrutators with an urgent message for the master. I demand admittance, at once.' He put the blade of his sword against the lackey's neck.

The man collapsed like a punctured bladder. 'At once,' he said, bobbing and puffing. 'Follow me, Perquisitor, surr.'

Nish accompanied him up the steps, prodding the door warden every so often to remind him that perquisitors were ruthless fellows. For everyone's sake, he must not falter now. Flydd had a plan but Nish did not know what it was. If this lout got in the way, too bad for him.

Outside the master's doors, inlaid with rosewood and gilt, the door warden hesitated, then raised his hand to knock.

Nish whacked him over the buttocks with the flat of the sword. 'Just open it. I'll announce myself.'

Giving him a terrified glance, the door warden lifted the latch and went in. Nish followed, treading on his heels. Easing the door shut with his foot, he bolted it. He could not risk anyone coming to investigate.

Raising his fist, he struck the door warden on the back of the head in the way he'd been taught in his defence training, long ago. The man crumpled to the floor. Nish went around a couple of corners into a bedchamber the size of a small mansion, with tables, chairs and divans enough to furnish a house. At the further end, by a crackling fire, stood an eight-post bed the size of a clanker.

The master was sitting up in bed, facing the other way, reading a set of dispatches. A red wallet lay on the covers. Even from halfway down the room Nish recognised it as a Council of Scrutators message wallet. Flydd's secret had been exposed.

Scampering to the wall, he fleeted along until he was behind the head of the bed and drew his sword. Nish took a deep breath, slid around the bedpost and put his sword to the master's throat. 'Where is the scrutator?' he hissed.

The master looked up calmly. 'I'm not going to tell you, Cryl-Nish Hlar. Your father is dead and you are an outcast condemned by the scrutators. Put down your sword.'

Nish had expected the master to be a blustering coward who would do anything to save his own neck. For a second, the defiance threw him. Well, damn him; the fate of the world might rest on Nish getting the scrutator out alive. The master was a villain; let him take his chances.

He flicked the sword at the master's face. The man threw up his arms and Nish slashed the tip of the sword across his wrist, severing an artery. Blood spurted right across the bed. The master gasped then caught the wrist in his other hand and pressed hard with his thumb. The flow dropped to a trickle, and stopped.

The violence sickened Nish but there was no alternative. He pressed his blade to the man's throat. 'You may survive that, but not the jugular. Well?'

The master was a quick thinker and a pragmatic man. He's downstairs, in my cells. I have the keys here.' With his elbow he indicated a hook on the wall. 'I'll take you.' 'At once,' said Nish, snatching the keys. 'And remember, I'm a condemned criminal with nothing to lose. I don't care if you live or die. Nor, I suspect, do the scrutators, since your profits come at the expense of theirs.'

They went down the master's personal staircase and along to the cells, a row of small rooms with solid wooden doors. 'Take the keys,' said Nish. 'Open the door.'

'My wrist …' grimaced the master.

'If you're quick you won't bleed to death.' Nish put his sword to the man's throat again.

The master let go his wrist and grabbed the ring of keys. Blood spurted, though not as far as before. He forced a key into the lock, tried to turn it but let go and grabbed hold of his wrist. Blood dripped from his fingers.

Nish turned the key one way. Nothing happened. He turned it the other and the lock clicked. He kicked the door open, still covering the master with his sword, though the man was now crouched on the floor, trying to stem the flow. His thumb kept slipping on his red wrist.

'Come out, you bloody old fool,' Nish said. 'There's not much time.'

The scrutator came out into the light. He looked as if he had been beaten, though he was not cowed. 'What the blazes are you doing here? I gave you your orders.' 'A situation arose that they didn't cover. Do you know the way out?'

'Haven't a clue,' said Flydd.

Nish prodded the master with his sword. 'Show us to the stables. Better hurry; you're looking faint. You must have lost quite a lot of blood.'

There was a puddle on the floor next to him. The master nodded and stumbled down the corridor. By the time they had negotiated several more flights of stairs and long passages, he was weaving from side to side.

'I don't think he's got much left in him,' said Flydd.

'Blood or courage?'

'Either.’

'How far?' Nish said to the master, 'Just around the corner,' he whispered.

They emerged in the stables. 'Can you ride bareback, Nish?' Flydd said.

'If I have to.'

They mounted two sleepy horses. The master collapsed into the straw. Nish urged his horse towards the stable doors, stopping on the way to kick the side of a manger where a sta-bleboy lay sleeping. 'Open the doors!' Nish roared.

The boy ran to comply. 'Your master lies back there, bleeding.' Nish pointed with his sword. 'Attend to him before he dies.'

He kicked his horse into the rainy night. Flydd followed. Five minutes later, by the time the alert had been raised, they were weighing anchor.

The wind was blowing even harder now, a fierce gale. 'Are you sure it's safe to go out?' Nish said as they headed for the entrance. The Sea of Thurkad was a mess of white. Waves could no longer be seen, just white, driven foam.

'Been out in worse,' said the captain. 'Not by much, mind you, but for double the payment, we'll dare it.'

Flydd's head jerked around and he gave Nish a hard stare. Nish smiled blandly back. 'I thought your life was worth it. Was I right, or was I wrong?'

'For all you knew,' hissed Flydd, 'being taken prisoner might have been part of my plan.'

'You just can't admit you've been bested.'

After a long pause, Flydd said, 'I thought I was done for. You're a tough sod, Nish.'

'I was taught by the best.'

'Don't let it become a habit.'

The vessel passed between the arms of the breakwater. The blast heeled them over till the gunwale practically touched the water. The captain brought the ship around, the current caught her, the wind kicked her in the stern and she turned down the channel under just a rag of sail. 'If the wind comes up any further,' the captain said, 'even that'll be too much, and we'll have to sail on bare poles.’