Alex struggled on up the endless rise. Feet battered. Muscles aching. Dizzy with hunger. A stink of char put her in mind of that month she’d spent making charcoal, out in the woods, and left with nothing to show for it but black fingers and a bastard of a cough. She’d count herself lucky indeed if she got away from this with such riches. You’d have thought having the Pope proclaim you long-lost Empress of the East would mean a step up in the world, but as far as she could tell the only thing that’d grown was the size of her enemies.

She heard quick footsteps, turned with her heart in her mouth, but it was only Sunny jogging up. She breathed a sigh of relief. Her best friend was an elf. That was where she was now.

‘They still behind us?’ asked Alex.

‘Closer than ever.’

That sigh died in her throat, along with the relief. ‘Shit.’

‘I laid a fake track. They didn’t fall for it.’

‘They got dogs or something?’

Sunny glanced back, the tip of her tongue pressed into that little gap between her front teeth. Alex had noticed she did that when there was something she didn’t want to say. ‘Or something. And they’re not alone.’

‘They’re not?’

‘They’ve got other parties out, looking for us.’

Alex swallowed. She couldn’t put into words how much she appreciated that us. She knew it could’ve been a brutal you. ‘What do we do?’ she whispered.

‘Keep going.’ And Sunny jogged on past. She never seemed to tire. It was like she was made of wire with shaggy white hair on top.

She stopped at the crest, hopping onto the wall beside the track for a better view, a thin figure chopped out black from the last dregs of sunset. Alex laboured up beside her, puffing away, and froze—

‘Fuck,’ she breathed.

In the valley ahead, a town was burning. There was a church, maybe, its domed bell tower a black finger against the flames, and a river snaking through the buildings, shimmering with reflected fire. Twinkling pinpricks danced in the land about it. Torches, Alex reckoned, on the roads. A sack going on, before their very eyes.

‘Well, it’s not much of a war till something’s burning.’ Ever since they’d washed up, Sunny had always seemed to know just what to do next, but now she glanced doubtfully about the dark country. ‘We can’t double back, and I don’t like north. Maybe south …’

‘There’s one other option.’ Even as Alex said it, she wished she hadn’t, but now Sunny was looking at her, one pale brow raised. Alex nodded towards the town. The smoky silence hung between them for a moment.

‘That town’s on fire,’ said Sunny.

‘I know.’

‘That town’s being sacked.’

‘I know! But we’re hunted, and they’re gaining on us, and they’re not alone, and maybe in there … we might …’ As Alex watched that town burn all conviction drained from her voice and it ended up a squeaky question. ‘Shake them off?’

Sunny narrowed her eyes, a muscle working on the side of her head, and didn’t say anything.

‘I don’t see another way. Do you?’

Sunny set off again, with the same quick, light step as ever, down a track towards the fire. ‘No.’

‘Shit,’ said Alex, standing a moment longer, then hurrying after her. ‘I was really hoping you might.’

‘You could wait for that fellow with the corkscrew, I guess.’

Uphill had been hard, but at least there’d been the hope of something good beyond the summit. Downhill Alex could see exactly what she was heading for and was already regretting opening her big mouth.

‘This is a bad idea!’ she called. ‘This is jumping off one side of a bridge so you don’t fall off the other!’

‘We ran out of good ideas in Venice,’ Sunny threw back at her. ‘Maybe a bit before that. But if you have a better one, I am …’ And she turned very slowly to look at Alex with her huge, shiny, mirthless eyes. ‘All ears.’

‘Oh God,’ said Alex, clutching two fistfuls of her hair.

‘All ears, because I’m an elf.’

‘Oh God.’

The track joined a road, and they started to pass people coming the other way. Miserable, terrified, dirty people. A woman crying and a child with dead eyes. A man shouting at the sky, a bundle in his arms might’ve been a baby.

‘You’re going the wrong way,’ snarled an old woman grimly wheeling a handcart with three chairs in it, its one wheel squeaking off into the darkness behind them.

‘I’ve a feeling she might be right,’ hissed Alex to Sunny.

‘Baptiste says you can’t turn profits by following the crowd,’ hissed Sunny to Alex.

‘Forgive me if I can’t hear her advice from the bottom of the Adriatic.’ Alex caught Sunny’s shoulder. ‘It’ll be chaos in there!’

‘Chaos works for us.’ Sunny put her fingers ever so gently on Alex’s, ever so gently peeled them away. ‘Chaos is our best chance.’ And she pulled her hood up even higher and put her head down even lower and walked on with her hands wedged in her armpits. ‘Chaos is our only chance.’

There was an inn at the edge of town, an arch of timbers over the road beside it. The place was lit up bright and jolly and someone was playing a squawking violin and Alex could hear laughter. Soldiers stood around a bonfire at the gate, talking, drinking, warming their hands, heaping stuff onto a wagon. Then Alex saw things hanging from that arch of timbers. Bodies, strung up by the feet, arms dangling. One hung by one leg and the other stuck out at the strangest angle. Another might’ve been a monk. His habit had fallen down over his head to show his dirty underwear.

‘This was an awful idea,’ whispered Alex. ‘This was a terrible idea.’

‘And still the best we’ve got.’ Sunny pulled Alex off the road, through a gap in a hedge, twigs scratching at her, into an overgrown orchard, wading through tall grass, the mad music from the inn fading into the night.

‘Wait,’ whispered Sunny, holding her hand out, and Alex froze. Couldn’t tell what she’d heard. Couldn’t tell what she was waiting for. ‘Go.’

And they crept on, through the outskirts of town, past thatched huts and ramshackle fences, past heaps of stuff dragged from houses. Broken furniture, trampled clothes. There were noises, in the darkness. Shouting. Smashing blows. Clapping footsteps. A distant roar of fire. Another day, Alex might’ve taken it for a celebration. Feast-day high spirits.

She wiped the cold sweat from her forehead. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. ‘Where are we heading?’

‘Towards the river,’ whispered Sunny. ‘There might be boats.’

‘So we’ll just float away?’

‘We’ll try.’ Sunny frowned back the way they’d come. ‘They might lose our scent on the water.’

‘Seems like a lot of fucking mights,’ muttered Alex.

Sunny stopped at a crumbling corner, peered out onto a track filled with rutted puddles, hemmed in by bushes. ‘I’m going to disappear,’ she said.

Alex swallowed. ‘Don’t blame you one bit.’

‘You might only see me now and then. But I’ll be with you. Whatever happens.’ She reached out, and paused a moment, then very gently took Alex’s hand. ‘Trust me.’

‘I trust you,’ whispered Alex. She regretted it right off. It’s the moment you trust someone they shit all over you. But by then Sunny had vanished and Alex was whispering to the darkness. She felt herself pulled along, scuttling down the track, keeping low, trying to blend into the weeds. She passed a broken stretch of fence, saw soldiers gathered in front of a house, torchlight shining on helmets and weapons.

‘Open this fucking door!’ roared the leader. ‘Or we’ll break it open!’

One of the men tossed his torch onto the roof of a shack. Others cheered as flames spread. Another started smashing at the door with an axe, blade winking in the glare of burning thatch, Alex flinching at each blow as she slunk past, sticking to the deepest shadows, praying they didn’t see her as burning straw fluttered across the track. The would-be Empress of Troy, and her dearest ambition was that they caught someone else.

A noise beside her and she shrank away, slipping on her arse in the mud – just a big carthorse, nudging at a gate with its face.

‘Fucking horse,’ breathed Alex.

‘As scared as you are,’ said Sunny, pulling Alex up, pulling her on. She eased to the corner, peeking onto a cobbled way with houses on the other side, one with its door hanging off its hinges. Alex eased after her, desperate to stay close. Clinging on, almost. Her mouth was so dry she worried the sound of her tongue moving would give her away.

‘Can you see—’

‘Shush.’ And Sunny was gone again, her not very significant weight pressing Alex back into the shadows.

A clattering, then a flicker of light, and soldiers rushed past the mouth of the alley, two of them with lit torches, flames rustling in the darkness. Alex held her breath, tried to shrink away to nothing. She was a spear’s length from them. If they turned their heads they’d see her.

But they didn’t turn. Just charged off into the night. Alex breathed again, slightly ragged.

‘Wait here,’ whispered Sunny.

‘What?’ But she was gone again. Alex edged to the corner and peered around it. Broken furniture scattered across the cobbles. Torn sheets in a tree, flapping with the breeze. She wondered what would happen if Sunny decided to run for it. Abandoned her in the midst of this madness. Alex couldn’t even have blamed her. It was what she’d have done, in Sunny’s shoes. What any reasonable person would’ve done, lumbered with a piece of shit like her—

‘Sss.’ Alex felt a surge of relief as she saw Sunny, the briefest glimpse in a doorway, beckoning with one finger.

Alex dashed across the street, scrambled along beside the houses and into the shadows. She heard voices behind her, getting louder. She wriggled back against the door, sucking what was left of her stomach in, turning her face sideways on. The voices faded. She breathed again. For a moment, anyway.

‘Sss.’ A glimpse of Sunny pressed against the pedestal of a statue. Some saint or other, arms raised in a pointless benediction over the ruined town.

Alex took a breath, picked a path through the rubbish, and dashed towards it. She saw soldiers further on, two of them hacking at a door with axes while others watched, bored.

She expected a shout, or more likely an arrow in her arse, but she made it, wriggling into the darkness next to Sunny, squinting around the edge of the pedestal towards the soldiers. They had the door open now, were bundling someone out of the house.

‘I want to go home,’ hissed Alex. ‘I want to go home and just be slapped around by thugs after a debt.’

‘That ship sailed,’ said Sunny. ‘It’s Empress of Troy or nothing. Over there looks good.’ And she nodded towards a wooden gate in a high wall, slightly ajar, maybe fifty paces down the road.

‘Looks lovely,’ whispered Alex. ‘Apart from all the fucking soldiers in the way.’

‘Trust me.’

Alex gritted her teeth. ‘I trust you.’ But she was gone again. Hell of a way to avoid an awkward conversation.

That poor bastard was huddled on the ground now and the soldiers were kicking the snot out of him. ‘What have you got for us?’ one snarled. ‘What have you got?’ And the thuds of the kicks, over and over, Alex twitching at each one, a little taster of what was waiting if they caught her. When they caught her.

‘Up here, arseholes!’

The soldiers all turned, gaping up. Sunny stood on the roof of the house, feet planted wide apart and her arms spread to make the biggest star she could. Alex had no clue how she’d even got up there. But she was only half as shocked as the soldiers were.

‘Wha’ the fuck?’ one of them muttered, and while they all looked at Sunny Alex gathered the tatters of her courage and slipped from behind the pedestal, tongue pressed into her teeth, padding along behind them.

‘Look, I’m an elf!’ Sunny pushed her hood back and waved her arms around. ‘I’m a fucking elf!’

One of the soldiers fumbled for a crossbow, but by the time he had it raised, Sunny was gone.

‘Where’d she go?’ he snapped, point of his bolt waving wildly around.

Alex slipped by, close enough to have touched him, every thudding heartbeat lasting an age. She was tingling with the need to sprint, but she had to stay careful, had to stay quiet.

‘Over here!’ And the soldiers all turned again, away from Alex, towards Sunny, who was up on the next roof, arms spread, wriggling her long fingers and sticking out her tongue. Alex scuttled along the wall without looking back, pushed the gate open with her fingertips and wriggled through, into a shadowy little courtyard behind a house, strewn with junk, with heaps of scattered books, a slashed mattress with its feathers flown everywhere. The ruins of a comfortable life puked across the flagstones.

She let go of the breath she’d been holding in a silent sigh. She saw Sunny drop from the wall ahead, pressing herself beside another gate, so still and slight you could hardly see her even when you could see her. Alex picked her way over, smothering a cough as smoke tickled her throat.

‘Everyone should have an invisible friend,’ she whispered.

‘Then what’d make you special?’

‘My sense of humour?’

Sunny wrinkled her nose. ‘I’ve heard better. You ready for more?’

‘Oh God,’ muttered Alex. But Sunny was already gone. A moment later she was in a doorway across the street, beckoning.

Alex licked her dry lips and scurried over, the sounds of the soldiers fading behind her as she slipped into the doorway, pressing herself tight to the wood.

‘That way,’ muttered Sunny, peering down the street. ‘And don’t get caught.’ And she was gone again.

Alex heard something on the other side of the door, frowned—

It whipped inwards and she stumbled over the threshold and nearly into the arms of a soldier with a chuckle dying on his lips. She caught a glimpse of a red beard, a shocked face, then she was swinging. He’d enough presence of mind to turn his head and her knuckles smacked hard into the side of his helmet. She groaned through gritted teeth as pain lanced up her arm, lurching back into the street, gripping her throbbing hand.

The bearded man came after her, his curse turning to a shocked yelp as he tripped over nothing and went sprawling on his face. Another soldier bundled after him, rotten teeth bared. Alex gave a little gasp as he raised an axe—

—which was plucked out of his hand and his helmet tipped forwards over his eyes. He gave a shocked gurgle and Alex stepped up and planted her boot right between his legs. He roared with pain, doubling over, and she was off along the street like a squirrel up a hot chimney.

She ran, footsteps clapping off the walls, no clue where she was going. She scrambled around a corner and saw soldiers, skittered to a halt and her feet went from under her. She scrabbled to a low wall on her arse, breath whooping, hauled herself over it, not sure if she’d been seen or not, blundering scratched and torn through a bramble patch.

Heat like a slap in the face. A church on fire, rafters black lines against the flames. A graveyard. A tumble of old tombstones, names lost to moss. She felt a clutch of terror when a figure loomed at her, but it was only a stone angel on some rich man’s tomb.

Convenient place to die, at least. Timed right, she could save the undertakers some effort and just drop straight into a grave.

Torchlight flickered, shadows of the headstones reaching out across the wet grass, and she shrank against a tree. Was anyone following? Couldn’t tell. She darted from one stone to another, hardly knowing which side to hide on. Glass shattered somewhere. Someone shouted. Someone laughed. Her head jerked towards every sound as if it was on a string. Her own heart pounded in her skull, almost painful, like it’d pop her ears off. God, her hand was hurting. Was it broken? Every breath came with a helpless little whimper.

Her good hand found something soft. A hunched shape. A corpse. She jerked her fingers back, sticky with blood, glistening black by firelight. A tree had caught fire, sap spitting and popping, burning leaves fluttering across the churchyard. Pigs were screaming somewhere. Was it pigs or was it people?

There was a crash as the church’s roof fell in, flames gouting from the windows, sparks whirling into the night. Alex caught a breath of smoke and started coughing, tottering along, bent double, and each breath she heaved in made her cough again, and she coughed puke and breathed that in, fell against the wall of the churchyard, spitting and sobbing, eyes streaming so bad she had to feel her way, blundering through the gate and into the street.

People were coming at her. Men, and women, and children. No idea how many. By the flickering light they became one blubbering, screeching, jostling mass. Alex, halfway panicking already, caught their terror and ran with them, no idea where she was heading. She was barged against a wall, smacked her head, nearly fell, shoved somebody away. Something caught her elbow, she was dragged sideways. She made a fist to punch, gasped at the flash of pain through her knuckles, then saw Sunny.

‘Don’t look back,’ she said, so of course Alex looked back right off.

Through the scattering crowd she saw a group of figures, calm and hard and purposeful. A tall man strode at the front. Very tall, with a big shaggy beard, and a big shaggy fur around his shoulders. His eyes were sunk in the shadows of his heavy brows, but she could see marks on his face.

Tattooed writing.

Tattooed warnings.

‘They’ve got a werewolf?’ she whimpered.

Sunny gave the strong impression of having known already. ‘This way.’

She was bundled into a building, a door slammed behind her, a bolt shot into place. It was a forge, an anvil gleaming dully, a rack of tools knocked over. A body lay still, hunched on its side. Alex padded closer. A soldier. His eyes were open, staring at nothing, blood everywhere, a hammer lying by his head.

‘He got clonked,’ said Sunny, nudging his fallen helmet away with her foot.

‘I reckon.’ Alex tiptoed after her to another door at the back. Or maybe the front. Who knew which way around anything was now?

It opened onto a town square with a fountain in the middle. Must’ve been nice on market day. Not so nice on looting night. Soldiers everywhere. Dozens of the bastards, rooting through the buildings one by one, thorough as locusts on a wheatfield. Some were beating at the door of a fine old house. Some were dragging things from a handsome place might’ve been a town hall. Some were loading their plunder onto wagons piled high with curtains and candlesticks and bedsteads and anything could be shifted without block and tackle.

‘Steal some bastard’s purse you’re a thief,’ breathed Alex. ‘Steal a whole town you’re a hero.’

Broken furniture and the timbers from smashed market stalls had been heaped up and set fire to, lighting the scene of industrial robbery with a crazy glow, turning the grand old facades to hellish faces, making staring eyes from windows and screaming mouths from doorways.

‘How the hell do we get across there?’ she whispered.

‘Too many soldiers.’ Sunny had the tip of her tongue between her teeth. ‘Maybe we circle back, try to get around—’

‘Back?’ whispered Alex. ‘No. Werewolves are bad enough when they’re on our side.’ She thought she could see the glimmer of water down an alley across the square. So close. ‘Back? No.’

‘You can’t turn invisible.’

Alex took a breath and blew it out. ‘It’ll have to be the next best thing.’ She went to the soldier’s corpse, rolled him over and undid his cloak buckle. She grunted as she rolled him back, wincing at the pain in her hand, then dragged the cloak up and around her shoulders. ‘Looking like I’m meant to be here.’

‘There’s blood all over it,’ said Sunny.

It was true, the cloak’s shoulder was crusted up pretty good. Alex shrugged. ‘Everyone here’s got at least a little blood on ’em.’

She noticed the grip of a dagger sticking from the dead soldier’s belt, and she leaned down and slid it out. A hard-used, unlovely thing beside the snake-hilted beauty Duke Michael had given her, likely now adorning the bottom of the Adriatic. But Alex had a soft spot for hard-used, unlovely things. Came from being one, maybe.

‘This is a bad idea,’ said Sunny.

Alex slipped the knife into her own belt and scraped her hair back. Dirty as it was, it more or less stayed there on its own. ‘If you’ve got a better …’ She fished up the helmet and planted it on her head. ‘I’m all ears.’ And she tugged at the cloak till it hid as much as possible without looking like it was hiding anything, shoved the door open before the second thoughts throttled her, and sauntered out across the square.

She tried to walk like a man, clomp, clomp, heavy tread, not too fast and not too slow, one thumb in her belt and the other arm carelessly swinging, like she’d take up as much room as she damn well pleased.

Some soldiers were rolling up a carpet. One of them glanced over and Alex gave him an offhand nod, then a careless sniff, then turned her head and risked a spit. Bit too much, maybe, but by then he’d looked away, eyes for nothing but the profit he stood to make.

She passed the bonfire, eyes fixed on that alley ahead. The glimmer of water at the end. All she had to do was get there. A couple of soldiers came clattering up and her every muscle quivered to make a run for it. But she forced herself slower, forced herself not to look, and she heard them hurry by behind her. Long as she stuck to the part, long as she didn’t flinch, it’d all be fine, that’s what she told herself. Just get there. Just get there. The mouth of the alley only twenty paces off. It’s amazing how far you can go, if all you do is act like you’re meant to be there—

‘Oy!’ came a voice.

Every part of her screamed out to run but she made herself stop. Made herself take a breath. Made herself turn.

‘What?’ she grunted, trying to put some gravel in her voice, praying she sounded like a boy trying to sound like a man rather than a girl trying to sound like one.

A great beefy bastard stood glaring at her beside a wagon, a nervous horse stirring in the traces. ‘Who the hell are you?’

‘Alex,’ she said. As if it was something everyone should know. As if he should be ashamed of himself for not knowing.

He narrowed his eyes as he stepped over to her. ‘What you doing?’

‘Got sent to find a boat,’ which was true enough, and she started to turn away.

‘No.’ And he stopped her with a pointed finger. Poked her right in the middle of the chest, fortunately, so he noticed nothing unusual to either side. He frowned down and Alex frowned up, wondering whether her best chance was to punch him or run for it or pull the knife and stick him or scream out elf attack. Then he bent and grabbed one handle of a big trunk on the ground beside him. ‘Help me wi’ the other end o’ this bastard first.’

Felt like it took an age of the earth. To lean down. To grip the other handle. To straighten up, grunting at the weight. All the time she was wondering how many soldiers there were around her. When they’d work out she didn’t fit. When they’d spot the blood, and whip the helmet off, and set to hurting her.

The big man dropped his end of the chest on the wagon, and Alex shoved the other end and slid it all the way on. She paused a moment, bent over, catching her breath, which is when she saw Sunny, crouching behind one wheel. She silently pointed back the way they’d come. Alex followed her finger, and straightened up, mouth turning drier than ever.

They’d been hunting her for days, but she’d never seen them this close. Six men, maybe, dressed in black, and the werewolf in the lead. Half a head taller than the others, writing clear across his face, teeth shining in his smile, eyes glinting with the bonfire.

Alex smothered another almighty urge to run and cleared her throat instead, and shouted, nice and loud, so all the soldiers could hear, ‘Who’re these bastards?’

The man she’d been helping looked over. ‘Aye. Who’re these bastards?’

‘Is that a fucking corkscrew he’s got?’ muttered one of the other soldiers.

‘Look like thieves to me,’ said Alex, who ought to know, since she’d spent years in the profession.

‘If there’s one thing I hate …’ The beefy soldier sprang down from the wagon he’d filled with plunder. ‘It’s thieves. Oy!’ Grabbing his spear and striding towards them. ‘Who’re you bastards?’

Most of his comrades had turned to look. Some were wandering over. Those who’d set down weapons so they could go about the soldier’s true business of mass robbery were taking them up again, forming an angry crescent about the newcomers. Alex started to sidle around the wagon. Best not to rush anything.

Then the werewolf tipped back his head and gave a great howl. The horse bucked, kicked out in terror, made the wagon lurch forwards on the brake. Soldiers started shouting, started running, and Alex followed suit, but in the opposite direction. She heard a crash behind her, a throbbing growl that was horribly familiar, but she kept her eyes on the water ahead.

A quay, and wharves, and boats at the wharves. A couple of big ones with furled sails. Little ones beyond. A rowing boat at the end, bobbing on the water. She bent to the mooring post, started tugging at the knots.

‘Sunny?’ she hissed at the night as she untied it. ‘You there? Sunny!’

‘Way ahead of you.’ She was already hunched in the prow, hood up and jaw fixed.

‘Should’ve known.’ Alex clambered in, taking the oars and starting to paddle out, quiet as she could. She’d done a bit of work for a smuggler one time, so she could just about keep from sinking.

The shouts and screams and crashes faded. The oars dipped with a calming slap, slap, slap. The centre of town slipped away. They passed a darkened warehouse, then a couple of shacks, one half-sunk in the river, then only shadowed woods on either side. The glow of the burning church on the western sky faded, and the glow of the coming dawn in the eastern sky began to show.

‘We fucking did it!’ Alex started to giggle. Might be she was crying a bit at the same time. She was fumbling the oars but didn’t much care. Right then she was happy to drift whatever way the current was taking them. ‘Well. You fucking did it. I was just your luggage.’ And she glanced over her shoulder.

‘We did it,’ muttered Sunny, but the best Alex could tell in the shadows, she didn’t look too pleased, lying more than sitting in the prow now, curled up, hugging herself.

‘You all right?’ asked Alex, the sense of triumph quickly draining.

‘I might’ve got …’ Sunny’s face was all crushed up as she breathed in. ‘A little bit …’ And she gritted her teeth and gave a feeble little groan. ‘Kicked by that horse.’