The hard, cold rain emptied the city streets, but made travelling conspicuous and full of unexpected physical hazards. Puddles that looked shallow turned out to be small, sinister bogs, and passages that had once served as side-streets had been blocked up during the time of the plague. Halfway to the gates, Neely dragged Miranda into one of the old, disused, doorless huts and leaned against the open frame, dripping rainwater and edgy with nervous exhaustion. "Sit," he told her. "Get your breath. We'll move on in a moment."

Miranda wrinkled her nose and toed at the floor. "It's wet," she said. She stood standing, leaning over to stretch her muscles while she looked around the little hut. "Um, where are we going, exactly?" she asked him. "I thought you were letting me go."

"City gates," he replied, keeping himself firmly in the doorway. "There'll be a checkpoint. If we make it through you can double back. Fucking hell, this rain! You can't hear anything in it."

Miranda gave the man a confused look. "Are we supposed to be listening to something?" she asked. She crossed her arms over her chest, tapping her foot. "Where are you going?" she asked. "I mean, after you dump me at the checkpoint?"

"I was thinking of going about a hundred yards outside the city to see if I couldn't tunnel my way back in again." He looked at her in annoyance. "Not to sound too much like a stage villain, but if I told you, I would have to kill you. So please, don't ask."

Miranda stuck her tongue out. "Why?" she asked. "Are they really after you? I thought you were just in prison to keep you from killing the king before your daughter could do it herself."

"Any pardon that could possibly be issued at this point does not preclude the several people who want me dead for personal reasons," he replied nicely. "It's just better all around that I get out of the country. Otherwise I'd stick around long enough to buy your brother a consolatory drink to help him get past the whole not-being-King thing."

"What?" Miranda asked. "'Sander doesn't want to be King. He...Jesus, I don't even think he wants to be Count, or whatever husband-of-a-Countess is. I think he just wants to be a cook or a male nanny or something." She made a face. "Who wants you dead? I mean, the Queen's dead. The King's in prison. Did you even tell your girlfriend you left?"

"Tell whom?" For a moment he was earnestly pressed to figure out to whom she could possibly be referring. He could only hope it wasn't Judith. Then he laughed. "I sent word to her. She knows."

Miranda gave him a pointed look. "Does she?" she asked. "And she's letting you leave without her? I mean, I thought you two were joined at the hip."