“Maybe there’s a back way,” Hennan hissed at me.

“If there is, you know what it will have?” I whispered my reply. I wasn’t sure why we were whispering but it fitted the mood. “Guards. That’s what prisons are about. Guards and doors.”

“Let’s go and see,” he said. We had already watched for hours as the guards came and went, made their rounds carrying their lanterns, swords at their hips. It would look no better in the light of day or from a different angle.

I kept hold of his shoulder. “Look, Hennan. I want to help. I really do.” I really didn’t. “I want Snorri and Tuttugu out of there. But even if we had fifty men-at-arms I doubt we could do it. I don’t even have a sword.”

I felt the boy slump beneath my grip. Perhaps finally accepting in the light what I’d told him over and over in the dark. I felt sorry for him. And for me. And for Snorri and Tuttugu under the question in some torchlit room, but, in all truth, there really was nothing to be done. Snorri had sealed his own fate when he decided to keep the key and set off on this insane quest. The fact was that the day Sven Broke-Oar told Snorri his family were gone Snorri had stopped caring whether he lived or died. And the thing about people who don’t care if they live or die . . . the thing is . . . they die.

“We can’t stay long,” I said. “If we don’t keep moving the witch will find us.”

“Don’t call her that.” Hennan scowled.

I touched fingers to my swollen nose. “Damnable witch, I say.” I was sure she’d broken it.

“She just wants to take the key somewhere safe,” he said. “She’s no worse than you. At least she was ready to help Snorri while she could . . .”

“No worse than me? She’s a witch and she wants to give the key to an even worse witch!” I started to think the only reason he’d brained her was he knew he could buy me.

“My grandda used to tell stories about Skilfar. She never sounded too bad. Helped as many people as she didn’t.” Hennan shrugged. “Who do you want to give the key to?”

“The Queen of Red March! You’re not going to insult my grandmother I hope?”

The boy shot me a dark glance. “And the key will be safe from witches in your grandmother’s hands will it?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. Kara had obviously been telling the boy tales about the Silent Sister. I glanced over my shoulder. The shadows still lay thick enough to hide a multitude of sins—any manner of witch or dead man could be creeping up on us as we wasted time watching the prison.

Still, the fact that all the dry bones in the city hadn’t converged on us during the night seemed to indicate that the Dead King couldn’t track the key with any great accuracy. Perhaps he only knew its location when it came near a corpse. In most cities there would be enough fresh corpses in the gutters come morning to pose a problem if they started dragging themselves out. Umbertide has remarkably little violent crime though—I guess its citizens are all too busy with the more lucrative kind. I hoped that, barring someone dropping dead at our feet, we would be safe enough if we kept our eyes open, especially during the day. Kara, however, had found us pretty quickly after our escape. She’d placed one charm on the key to hide it—it seemed likely that she’d placed another on it to find it. Her magics couldn’t be that potent though or she would have found a way to get to Hennan in the debtors’ prison . . . unless of course her hiding charm hid the key from even her . . . my head began to spin with the possibilities and I found myself imagining the curve of her lips instead and feeling a deep sense of injustice and betrayal. None of the tales I’d told myself about Kara and me had ended like this . . .

I rubbed my sore eyes and sat back on my haunches. A yawn overwhelmed me. I felt more tired and in need of sleep than I had at any point in my life. All I really wanted to do was lie down and close my eyes . . .

“We have to do something!” Hennan tugged at my shirtsleeve with new resolve. “Snorri would never leave you in there!”

“I wouldn’t be in there!” I bristled at the suggestion. “I’m no fraud—” I broke off, realizing that in the eyes of Umbertide’s officialdom that was exactly what I was. Very likely only my family name had saved me the horrors of the Tower, or perhaps the paperwork just hadn’t had time to go through. Considering Umbertide’s addiction to bureaucracy, and the glacial pace with which they progressed things, the latter guess was possibly the true answer.

I looked up with a shudder at the granite walls of the Frauds’ Tower. High above us the first rays of the sun were warming terracotta tiles on the conical roof. Snorri had held out against his jailers’ questions for days now, how many I couldn’t say, four? Five? And for what? Eventually they’d break him and, for all he knew, take the key. His pain was as pointless as his quest. Did he really think someone would save him? Who the hell was going to do that? Who did he even know? Certainly not anyone he could possibly expect to storm the jail and get him out . . .