The carriage rattled over the cobbles and swayed as the horses picked up speed. She listened for anything that would tell her where they were headed, but there was a tiresome monotony to the sound of cobbles under the wheels, and little else to be heard.

"Your misfortune," he continued, "is that you have connected my family to the Dire Sweepers."

This is becoming worse and worse. "Whatever makes you think that?"

"I have a lot of spies, and I pay them well. Sometimes years pass, and I never hear anything from a spy. And then..." He made a vague gesture with his hand. "Over the past month I've heard a lot about you and your activities at the university, your research in the library, your lad out on the streets listening at corners."

"So?"

"In the past, whenever someone made a connection between the Deremers and the Dire Sweepers, they usually disappeared. For ever."

"And nowadays you have conversations instead of murder? How civilised of you!"

"Oh, make no mistake about it. I'm a killer. We all are, we Sweepers. I assume you know that much. We kill the innocent along with the guilty for the greater good."

She said nothing. Inside her stomach was churning. A man who thought the greater good justified any means scared her senseless.

"Do you know why we did it?" he asked.

Past tense. Interesting.

"Because your liege lord asked it of you."

"Partly. The Deremers helped Bengorth usurp power. Thanks to the support of a whole line of Regals, my family went from being obscure landholders in Grundorp to being the richest dynasty in the whole of Lowmeer. Thanks to a policy of secrecy and assassination, we are also one of the least well-known. Naturally it has been in our interest to keep the Vollendorns on the throne ever since. But there's more to it than that, as I'm sure you have found out."

"Perhaps. If you are so murderous, why are we talking?"

"There has been a change of late."

Yes, and one you wouldn't like one little bit. The Regal is dead. You've lost your patron and your paymaster, you weasel.

He was sitting opposite her, leaning back against the soft black leather of the studded upholstery. Now he leaned forward. She resisted an impulse to cringe. He said, "The Regal is dead and a fox has gone mad. I'm sure you're aware of these things."

She didn't speak. The sound of the wheels changed, rumbling hollow; they must be crossing the Ust River bridge.

"Do you know what it is like to be raised as I was raised?" he asked. "To know from the time you are ten or twelve that your life's work is to kill. To murder cleanly and humanely, but without hesitation. To kill babies, one of whom you know is innocent. To kill anyone who knows too much, or finds out too much. I killed my first child when I was thirteen. My induction. Had I failed it, my uncle would have killed me. I followed in illustrious footsteps: my father and uncles, my grandfather, my great-grandfather and his father. Back in a line of Deremers to the time of Regal Bengorth. Murderers all. Menand women toowho kept a great evil at bay by being efficient killers and spies. If the thought bothers you, think of us as an army, protecting the populace. No different from a real army. We came to terms with killing, just as soldiers must."

Beggar me, having heard all this, there's no way he's going to let me get out of this carriage alive. "I appreciate your, um, consideration in letting me know why you are going to kill me. You must know lawyers love information."

"Not to mention your love of sarcasm?" He looked at her with narrowed eyes, a thoughtful, considering look. "We're not going to progress far if we aren't honest with one another. Let me point out first that those men you might think were my servantsthe coachmen, those two retainers up on top in the rainall three are Deremers. All are armed and all are Dire Sweepers who have spent a lifetime in the service of the Regal."

"By murdering babies."

"Amongst others. What I'm trying to say is this. You cannot escape with your life and freedom unless I wish it. You will die today if I wish it. You have one chance at life."

"And that is?"

"To listen and to be honest."

I'm dead. "Go on."

He leant back against the upholstery again and was silent. She decided the look in his eyes was more bleak than cold. Herelt Deremer was not a happy man, or even a satisfied one.

"Let me tell you a story," he said at last. "At the end, you can tell me if I have my facts right."

She inclined her head.

"I think Regal Vilmar was worried he would die before his son reached the age of discretion. So he confided in his Regala. He told her of Bengorth's Law. A stupid decision of a man who'd lost his edge and who'd already been behaving oddly, one assumes because of the failing acumen of age."

She made a non-committal sound.

"The Regala was alarmed and sent a message to the Pontifect, perhaps via a handmaiden who disappeared under odd circumstances, or perhaps some other way. It doesn't matter. The Pontifect sends you to find out what's going on. At the same time, a small segment of Va-faith clerics do their own investigation." He tilted his head. "Am I right?"

She shrugged. "Go on." At least he doesn't appear to know about Mathilda's twins...

"The Dire Sweepers murdered the clerics, and covered up their activities by blaming their deaths on the Horned Plague. Their academy was burned to the ground, taking with it any proof. What we Sweepers didn't know then was that Bengorth's Law had already reached the ears of Fritillary Reedling. A clever and ruthless woman, as I'm sure you know. I have a great respect for her. Did you know we were friends once?"

Fritillary and the head of the Dire Sweepers? She had a hard time believing that. The muscles in her face hurt as she tried not to show emotion.

"I believe," he said, "that she sent you to find the identity of the Dire Sweepers and to kill the Regal."

"What?" Astonishment jerked the word out of her.

"You are surprised that we know? As I said, we have many spies. We know you went to Annusel, the apothecary in Ustgrind Castle, asked and paid for a large amount of a sleeping draught just before you left Ustgrind."

"Then you must also know that was a long time before the death of the Regal!" She swallowed back bile as the implications of his accusation seeped through her shock. "I have problems sleeping and I asked for enough to last me a while."

"And can you produce some of that now, if we were to look in your room? And I already know the answer to that."

The bastard. "I wasn't in Ustgrind when Regal Vilmar died. I was here. There are plenty of witnesses to that."

"Oh, I'm sure you didn't do it yourself. It had to be someone close to the Regal. The Regala, in fact. Someone who could hand him a drink without his suspecting a thing. And guess who saw the Regala immediately after buying the sleeping draught? Gerelda Brantheld."

Mathilda murdered the Regal? And I gave her the means? The murdering bitch! The Pontifect will pin my hide to her door. No, wait. Maybe he's making this up. Feeling faint, she closed her eyes, but her mind was racing. Unfortunately, it appeared to be racing in too many directions at once. Think: why are we having this conversation?

Perhaps he wanted her to testify against the Regala in a Lowmian court. Perhaps the Deremers, or Lowmian nobles generally, wanted to control the Prince-regal themselves and rid themselves of an Ardronese Regala. Testify, and then conveniently die.

"There's a manservant called Torjen who has his suspicions about the Regal's death," he continued. "He has spoken to Prime Mulhafen of his fears. And, of course, we have our spies on the Prime's staff."

Oh, Va. Gerelda, you didn't guess half of what you should have guessed. She certainly didn't like the idea that she'd been manipulated by Regala Mathilda. She opened her eyes. "This is ridiculous," she said.

"I have you exactly where I want you, Gerelda Brantheld. You could be tortured and executed in a particularly drawn-out and vile manner, alongside the Ardronese Princess, if I so wanted."

"Do I detect a note of reluctance?"

"Perhaps. Suppose you tell me what you know about the so-called Bengorth's Law."

"And if I were to say I know nothing?" Hells, he really has me over a barrel.

"I wouldn't believe you," he said. "No matter. Let me tell you what it is. Bengorth's Law states that the Vollendorn line will prosper and the land will thrive if the Regal gives A'Va the right to own the body and soul of one of any pair of twins born in Lowmeer."

"Have you any idea how ridiculous that sounds?"

"According to the story handed down in my family, A'Va used to demonstrate his power to regals through one of his devil-kin. Minions. My ancestor, Aben Deremer, saw people killed by supernatural power and was convinced by what he saw, hence my family's involvement. Bengorth asked him, Aben, to help curtail A'Va's power by setting up the Dire Sweepers to kill twins."

"Thereby denying A'Va his minions. Do you really believe such twaddle?"

Lord Herelt looked away from her to raise the blind on the carriage window. "It's still raining," he remarked.

She glimpsed the railings of the Ust River bridge before he let the blind drop. That was odd. She could have sworn they had already crossed the river.

"So, Gerelda, do you have anything to say?"

"Herelt," she said, dropping his honorific as he had hers, "if I'd been around in Bengorth's time, and someone had told me that story, I would have laughed and told them not to be so gullible. Lawyers like statements backed up by facts. Especially when there are supernatural elements. I'm more inclined to believe in sleight of hand than A'Va."

"And yet I assume you believe in witcheries."

She smiled slightly. "You have me there. But then, I've seen proof of witcheries again and again. What do you personally believe is the reality of Bengorth's Law?"

"As a child my father took me to see what happened after the devil-kin's demonstration to Vilmar on the day of his coronation. I saw the remains of the dog forced into a fire by the stare of a devil-kin. Vilmar was shaking like a leaf in the wind, but it wasn't just his obvious shock that impressed me. It was the awful darkness left behind in that room. I don't know how to explain it, but believe me, in that moment, I was fully prepared to believe that A'Va existed and that one of his devil-kin had been there. It was like looking into an absence of light and decency. I believed then."

Past tense again. "If A'Va is so powerful, how is it that he has allowed the Dire Sweepers to exist, thereby diminishing his potential army of devil-kin?"

He gave a half-smile.

"Well, well. You don't believe in Bengorth's Law," she said, certain she was right.

"Not any more. At least, not in the A'Va component of it. I think it was just a way to fool a long line of regals into not looking hard enough for what was really going on."

"So what was going on?" When he didn't immediately reply, she said, "You still killed twins." And you scare me more than anyone else I've ever met.

"Devil-kin twins who spread the Horned Death are real. They do have to be stopped. What we didn't know was the devil-kin were only a small proportion of all twins, that in fact much of the killing we did to stop the spread of the Horned Death was unnecessary. We were fooled into it. It never had anything to do with A'Va."

"So where do the Horned Death and the devil-kin come from?"

"Sorcery."

"Does all this sound as bizarre to you as it does to me? Bengorth's Law makes no sense! It never did." The coach gave a sudden lurch and she had to put a hand out to stop herself falling sideways. "It makes even less sense to me if A'Va doesn't exist."

He smiled, and she knew then that they had arrived at the point he'd planned for when he'd seized her. He leant forward again, and his voice dropped. She had to strain to hear over the sound of the wheels.

"I can tell you two things. The Fox who started all this, Ebent Voss, was the instigator of it all. He was the one who prompted Bengorth into seizing the throne and who prodded my ancestor into founding the Dire Sweepers. I know those things because Aben Deremer wrote it all down in our family history. And my family histories also tell me Ebent Voss lived to be a hundred and thirty-eight years old. When he died, the family changed its name. Several hundred years later they started to hint at Shenat origins. I'm not sure why, but it might have had something to do with the fact that the head of the family always seemed to be long-lived."

"And Shenat shrine keepers are long-lived."

"Yes. Better to hint at Shenat longevity than to have others hint at sorcerous reasons for your ability to live a long time in good health."

"You think all the Fox patriarchs were sorcerers."

"Yes. At least, I think they have a great deal in common with the old stories about sorcerers."

She stared at him. A hollow feeling burrowed beneath her breast-bone, aggravating her nausea. Sorcerer. The tar-pit who contaminated.

He reached up and knocked on a hatch in the roof. It was opened and they were showered with water drops before a face appeared in the gap.

"Take us back," Deremer ordered. The hatch closed and the carriage rumbled on.

There was a long silence after that. She wanted to ask a hundred more questions, but this was not the time. Deremer had brought her to this moment for a purpose, and he wasn't going to tell her anything more. Not yet.

Finally she took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and said, "All right. What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to pack up, take that lad of yours, and return to Vavala. I want you to go straight to the Pontifect and set up a meeting between me and her."

"That's all?"

He gave a wry smile. "That's not going to be easy, you know. Do you think I haven't tried by more normal means? I am hampered, of course, by my reluctance to put anything in writing that might implicate me in a crime. There is nothing that Fritillary would like more than to see the Dire Sweepers and my entire family dead and forgotten. You have to convince her that her real enemy is Fox and we have to combine to bring him down."

"An unholy alliance," she murmured.

"Exactly. She must understand that she is going to lose unless we combine forces. Tell her that in the past ten years, Valerian Fox has learned how to use his sorcery for something other than extending his life and he is prepared to bring the world to the edge of perdition to further his ambitions. Do you understand? I am prepared to meet her with all the proof I have gathered. Not much, I will admit. You, the lawyer, will say most of it is circumstantial. I'm seeking another piece of the puzzle now, which I hope to have in my hands by the time I speak with her."

"Where do you want to meet?"

"That's another difficulty. Until I am convinced she will not have me arrested, tried and executed for my crimes, we have to meet where I am safe. Here, in Lowmeer. Borage perhaps, seeing it's a border town. I realise that won't be easy for her, but it is one of my conditions."

"And what do you bring to the table, Lord Herelt?"

"An alliance, use of my armed Deremer retainers, access to all my knowledge and my solemn promise to disband the Dire Sweepers once we've rid the world of Valerian Fox. Tell her... tell her I'm tired of killing babies."

Was he telling the truth? She couldn't be sure. "How do we contact you if I set up the meeting?"

"Send a letter to Deremer Manor here in Grundorp and a copy to Deremer House in Ustgrind. I'll get the message."

"All right. I'll leave for Vavala tomorrow. But hear this: unless you can explain the connection between twins, the Horned Death, Fox and Bengorth's so-called Law to her satisfaction, I think she'll kick you straight down the stairs. You haven't really explained anything."

They sat in silence while the coach returned to their starting point. It took a surprisingly short time, confirming her thought that they'd travelled in a circle, crossing the river twice.

One of the servants dismounted and opened the door for her. She left without saying anything more, and neither did Deremer, although he raised a black gloved hand in salute.

Perie was waiting for her on the doorstep.

"I saw the carriage take you away. I ran after you, but I couldn't get a whiff of smutch, so I let it go. Figured you could look after yourself."

"Good lad. None of that lot are pitch-men then?"

He shook his head. "They're clean. So what did they want?"

Clean? Sweet Va, he killed babies. "Someone wanted to talk to me. We leave for Vavala in the morning."