He looked up, mouth hanging open, not sure if he could've heard right. 'Eh?'

'What, pink, you gone deaf on me?'

'Have I what?'

'Alright! Forget it!' She turned away from him, pulling the coat angrily round her hunched shoulders.

'Hold on, though.' He was starting to catch up. 'I mean . . . I just wasn't expecting you to ask is all. I'm not saying no . . . I reckon . . . if you're asking.' He swallowed, his mouth dry. 'Are you asking?'

He saw her head turn back towards him. 'You're not saying no, or you're saying yes?'

'Well, er . . .' He puffed his cheeks out in the dark, tried to make his head work. He'd never thought to be asked that question again in all his days, and least of all by her. Now it had been asked, he was scared to answer. He couldn't deny it was somewhat of a daunting prospect, but it was better to do it, than to live in fear of it. A lot better. 'Yes, then. I think. I mean, of course I am. Why wouldn't I? I'm saying yes.'

'Uh.' He saw the outline of her face frowning down at the ground, thin lips pressed angrily together, like she'd been hoping for a different answer and wasn't quite sure what to do with the one he'd given. He wasn't either, if it came to that. 'How do you want to get it done?' Matter of fact, as if it was a job they had to get through, like cutting a tree down or digging a hole.

'Er . . . well, you'll have to get a bit closer, I reckon. I mean, I hope my cock ain't that disappointing, but it won't reach you over there.' He half smiled, then cursed to himself when she didn't. He knew she wasn't much for jokes.

'Right then.' She came at him so quick and businesslike he half backed off, and that made her falter.

'Sorry,' he said. 'Haven't done this in a while.'

'No.' She squatted down next to him, lifted her arm, paused as if she was wondering what to do with it. 'Nor me.' He felt her fingertips on the back of his hand gentle, cautious. It almost tickled, her touch was so light. Her thumb rubbed at the stump of his middle finger, and he watched her do it, grey shapes moving in the shadows, awkward as a pair who'd never touched another person in their lives. Strange feeling, having a woman so close to him. Brought back all kind of memories.

Logen reached up slowly, feeling like he was about to put his hand in the fire, and touched Ferro's face. It didn't burn. Her skin was smooth and cool, just like anyone's would have been. He pushed his hand into her hair, felt it tickling the webs between his fingers. He found the scar on her forehead with the very tip of his thumb, traced the line of it down her cheek to the corner of her mouth, tugging at her lip, his skin brushing rough against hers.

There was a strange set to her face, he could tell it even in the dark. It was one he wasn't used to seeing on her, but there was no mistaking it. He could feel the muscles tense under her skin, see the moonlight on the cords standing from her scrawny neck. She was scared. She could laugh while she kicked a man in the face, smile at cuts and punches, treat an arrow through her flesh like it was nothing, but it seemed a gentle touch could put the fear in her. Would've seemed pretty strange to Logen, if he hadn't been so damn frightened himself. Frightened and excited all at once.

They started pulling at each other's clothes together, as if someone had given the signal for the charge and they were keen to get it over with. He struggled with the buttons on her shirt in the darkness, hands trembling, chewing at his lip, as clumsy as if he'd had gauntlets on. She had his open before he'd even done one of hers.

'Shit!' he hissed. She slapped his hands away and undid the buttons herself, pulled her shirt off and dropped it beside her. He couldn't see much in the moonlight, only the gleaming of her eyes, the dark outline of her bony shoulders and her bony waist, splashes of faint light between her ribs and the curve underneath one tit, a bit of rough skin round a nipple, maybe.

He felt her pull his belt open, felt her cool fingers sliding into his trousers, felt her- 'Ah! Shit! You don't have to lift me up by it!'

'Alright . . .'

'Ah.'

'Better?'

'Ah.' He dragged at her belt and fumbled it open, dug his hand down inside. Hardly subtle, maybe, but then he'd never been known for subtlety. His fingertips made it more or less into hair before he got his wrist stuck tight. It wouldn't go any further, for all his straining.

'Shit,' he muttered, heard Ferro suck her teeth, felt her shift and grab her trousers with her free hand, dragging them down over her arse. That was better. He slid his hand up her bare thigh. Good thing he still had one middle finger. They have their uses.

They stayed like that for a while, the pair of them kneeling in the dirt, nothing much moving apart from their two hands working back and forward, up and down, in and out, starting slow and gentle and getting quicker, silent except for Ferro's breath hissing through her teeth, Logen's rasping in his throat, the quiet suck and squelch of damp skin moving.

She pushed herself up against him, wriggling out of her trousers, shoving him back up against the wall. He cleared his throat, suddenly hoarse. 'Should I-'

'Ssss.' She got up on one foot and one knee, squatting over him with her legs wide open, spat in one cupped hand and took hold of his cock with it. She muttered something, shifting her weight, easing herself down onto him, grunting softly. 'Urrrr.'

'Ah.' He reached out and pulled her closer, one hand squeezing at the back of her thigh, feeling the muscles bunch and shift as she moved, the other tangled tight in her greasy hair, dragging her head down against his face. His trousers were screwed up tight round his ankles. He tried to kick them off and only got them tangled worse than ever, but he was damned if he was going to ask her to stop just for that.

'Urrrr,' she whispered at him, mouth open, lips sliding warm and soft against his cheek, breath hot and sour in his mouth, her skin rubbing against his, and sticking to it, and peeling away again.

'Ah,' he grunted back at her, and she rocked her hips against him, back and forward, back and forward, back and forward.

'Urrrr.' One of her hands was clamped round his jaw, her thumb in his mouth, the other was between her legs, sliding up and down, he could feel her wet fingers curling round his fruits, more than a bit painful, more than a bit pleasant.

'Ah.'

'Urrrr.'

'Ah.'

'Urrrr.'

'Ah-'

'What?'

'Er . . .'

'You're joking!'

'Well . . .'

'I was just getting started!'

'I did say it'd been a long time-'

'Must've been years!' She slid off his wilting cock, wiped herself with one hand and smeared it angrily on the wall, dropped down on her side with her back to him, grabbed his coat and dragged it over her.

So that was an embarrassment, and no mistake.

Logen cursed silently to himself. All that time waiting and he hadn't been able to keep the milk in the bucket. He scratched his face sadly, picked at his scabby chin. Say one thing for Logen Ninefingers, say he's a lover.

He looked sideways at Ferro, at her faint outline in the darkness. Spiky hair, long neck stretched out, sharp shoulder, long arm pressed down against her side. Even with the coat over her he could see the rise of her hip, he could guess her shape underneath. He looked at her skin, knowing what it felt like smooth, and sleek, and cool. He could hear her breathing. Soft, slow, warm breathing . . .

Hold on.

There was something stirring down below again, now. Sore, but definitely stiffening. The one advantage of having a long time without the bucket fills up again quick. Logen licked his lips. It would be a shame to let the chance pass, just for a lack of nerve. He slid down beside her, shuffled up close, and cleared his throat.

'What?' Her voice was sharp, but not quite sharp enough to warn him off.

'Well, you know, give me a minute, and maybe . . .' He lifted the coat up and ran his hand up her side, skin hissing quietly against skin, nice and slow, so she had plenty of time to shove him off. It wouldn't have surprised him any if she'd turned over and kneed him in the fruits. But she didn't.

She shifted back against him, her bare arse pressing into his stomach, lifting one knee up. 'Why should I be giving you another chance?'

'I don't know . . .' he muttered, starting to grin. He slid his hand gently over her chest, across her belly, down between her legs. 'Same reason you gave me the first one?'

Ferro woke with a sudden jolt, not knowing where she was, only that she was trapped. She snarled and thrashed and flailed out with her elbow, fought her way free and scrambled away, teeth gritted, fists clenched to fight. But there were no enemies. Only bare dirt and bleak rock in the pale grey morning.

That and the big pink.

Ninefingers stumbled up, grunting and spitting, staring wildly around. When he saw no Flatheads poised to kill him he turned slowly to look at Ferro, eyes blinking bleary with sleep. 'Ah . . .' He winced and touched his fingertips to his bloody mouth. They glared at each other for a moment, both stark naked and silent in the cold shell of the ruined mill, the coat they had been lying under crumpled on the damp earth between them.

And that was when Ferro realised that she had made three serious mistakes.

She had let herself fall asleep, and nothing good ever happened when she did that. Then she had elbowed Ninefingers in the face. And what was much, much worse, so stupid she almost grimaced to think of it: she had fucked him the night before. Staring at him now in the harsh light of day, hair plastered against one side of his scarred and bloody face, a great smear of dirt down his pale side where he had been lying in the mud, she was not sure why. For some reason, cold and tired in the dark, she had wanted to touch someone, and be warm for just a moment, and she had let herself think who would be worse off for it?

Madness.

They both were worse off, that was clear enough. Where things had been simple, now they were sure to be complicated. Where they had been getting an understanding, now there would be only confusion. She was confused already, and he was starting to look hurt, and angry, and what was the surprise? No one enjoys an elbow in the face while they sleep. She opened her mouth to say sorry, and it was then she realised. She did not even know the word. All she could do was say it in Kantic, but she was so angry with herself she growled it at him like an insult.

He certainly took it as one. His eyes narrowed and he snapped something at her in his own tongue, snatched his trousers up and shoved one leg in, muttering angrily under his breath.

'Fucking pink,' she hissed back, fists bunched with a surge of fury. She snatched up her torn shirt and turned her back on him. She must have left it in a wet patch. The ragged cloth stuck tight to her crawling skin like a layer of cold mud as she yanked it on.

Damn shirt. Damn pink.

She ground her teeth with frustration as she dragged her belt closed. Damn belt. If only she could have kept it closed. It was always the same. Nothing was easy with people, but she could always count on herself to make things more difficult than they had to be. She paused for a moment, with her head down, then she half turned towards him.

She was about to try and explain that she had not meant to smash his mouth, but that nothing good ever happened when she slept. She was about to try and tell him that she had made a mistake, that she had only wanted to be warm. She was about to ask him to wait.

But he was already stomping out of the broken doorway with the rest of his clothes clutched in one hand.

'Fuck him then,' she hissed as she sat down to pull her boots on.

But then that was the whole problem.

Jezal sat on the broken steps of the temple, picking sadly at the frayed stitches on the torn-off shoulder of his coat, and staring out across the limitless expanse of mud towards the ruins of Aulcus. Looking for nothing.

Bayaz lay propped up in the back of the cart, face bony and corpse-pale with veins bulging round his sunken eyes, a hard frown chiselled into his colourless lips. 'How long do we wait?' asked Jezal, once again.

'As long as it takes,' snapped the Magus, without even looking at him. 'We need them.'

Jezal saw Brother Longfoot, standing higher up on the steps with his arms folded, give him a worried glance. 'You are, of course, my employer, and it is scarcely my place to disagree-'

'Don't then,' growled Bayaz.

'But Ninefingers and the woman Maljinn,' persisted the Navigator, 'are most decidedly dead. Master Luthar quite specifically saw them slide into a chasm. A chasm of very great depth. My grief is immeasurable, and I am a patient man, few more, it is one among my many admirable qualities but . . . well . . . were we to wait until the end of time, I fear that it would make no-'

'As long . . .' snarled the First of the Magi, 'as it takes.'

Jezal took a deep breath and frowned into the wind, looking down from the hill towards the city, eyes scanning over the expanse of flat nothing, pocked with tiny creases where streams ran, the grey stripe of a ruined road creeping out towards them from the far-off walls, between the streaky outlines of ruined buildings: inns, farms, villages, all long fallen.

'They're down there,' came Quai's emotionless voice.

Jezal stood up, weight on his good leg, shading his hand and staring at where the apprentice was pointing. He saw them suddenly, two tiny brown figures in a brown wasteland, down near the base of the rock.

'What did I tell you?' croaked Bayaz.

Longfoot shook his head in amazement. 'How in God's name could they have survived?'

'They're a resourceful pair, alright.' Jezal was already starting to grin. A month before he could not have dreamed that he would ever be glad to see Logen again, let alone Ferro, but here he was, smiling from ear to ear almost to see them still alive. Somehow, a bond was formed out here in the wilderness, facing death and adversity together. A bond that strengthened quickly, regardless of all the great differences between them. A bond that left his old friendships weak, and pale, and passionless by comparison.

Jezal watched the figures come closer, trudging along the crumbling track that led up through the steep rocks to the temple, a great deal of space between the two of them, almost as if they were walking separately. Closer still, and they began to look like two prisoners that had escaped from hell. Their clothes were ripped, and torn, and utterly filthy, their dirty faces were hard as a pair of stones. Ferro had a scabbed-over gash across her forehead. Logen's jaw was a mass of grazes, the skin round his eyes stained with dark bruising.

Jezal took a hopping step towards them. 'What happened? How did-'

'Nothing happened,' barked Ferro.

'Nothing at all,' growled Ninefingers, and the two of them scowled angrily at each other. Plainly, they had both gone through some awful ordeal that neither one wished to discuss. Ferro stalked straight to the cart without the slightest greeting and started rooting through the back. Logen stood, hands on his hips, frowning grimly after her.

'So . . .' mumbled Jezal, not quite sure what to say, 'are you alright?'

Logen's eyes swivelled to his. 'Oh, I'm grand,' he said, with heavy irony. 'Never better. How the hell did you get that cart out of there?'

The apprentice shrugged. 'The horses pulled it out.'

'Master Quai has a gift for understatement,' chuckled Longfoot nervously. 'It was a most exhilarating ride to the city's South Gate-'

'Fight your way out, did you?'

'Well, not I, of course, fighting is not my-'

'Didn't think so.' Logen leaned over and spat sourly onto the mud.

'We should at least consider being grateful,' croaked Bayaz, the air sighing and crackling in his throat as he breathed in. 'There is much to be grateful for, after all. We are all still alive.'

'You sure?' snapped Ferro. 'You don't look it.' Jezal found himself in silent agreement there. The Magus could not have looked worse if he had actually died in Aulcus. Died, and already begun to decompose.

She ripped off her rag of a shirt and flung it savagely on the ground, sinews shifting across her scrawny back. 'Fuck are you looking at?' she snarled at Jezal.

'Nothing,' he muttered, staring down at the dirt. When he dared to look up she was buttoning a fresh one up the front. Well, not entirely fresh. He had been wearing it himself a few days ago.

'That's one of mine . . .' Ferro looked up at him with a glare so murderous that Jezal found himself taking a hesitant step back. 'But you're welcome to it . . . of course . . .'

'Ssss,' she hissed, jamming the hem violently down behind her belt, frowning all the while as if she was stabbing a man to death. Probably him. All in all, it was hardly the tearful reunion that Jezal might have hoped for, even if he did now feel somewhat like crying.

'I hope I never see this place again,' he muttered wistfully.

'I'm with you there,' said Logen. 'Not quite so empty as we thought, eh? Do you think you could dream up a different way back?'

Bayaz frowned. 'That would seem prudent. We will return to Calcis down the river. There are woods on this side of the water, further downstream. A few sturdy tree trunks lashed together, and the Aos will carry us straight to the sea.'

'Or to a watery grave.' Jezal remembered with some clarity the surging water in the canyon of the great river.

'My hope is better. In any case, there are still long miles to cover westward before we think about the return journey.'