‘I think they assumed we weren’t coming,’ he said, glancing at the assembled watchers, as the others sat down beside him.

‘The Majestic-’

The Master of Ceremonies, a greying, stocky man with a lined but otherwise deadpan face, re-checked his scroll, and decided to leave it at that.

‘I told you they wouldn’t go along with it,’ said Tynisa. ‘They’re all about dignity, that lot.’ She lounged back against the Prowess Forum wall, arms folded beneath her breasts, giving the Master one of her looks. He was an old, impassive Ant-kinden, though, and adroitly managed to ignore her.

‘Well…’ Che Maker started defensively, but before she could elaborate, the Master of Ceremonies called out, ‘Who sponsors the Majestic?’ and then her uncle Stenwold stepped forth to meet with him.

He was a big man, Uncle Stenwold. He was broad across the waist, and his belt wrestled daily with his growing paunch in a losing battle. He moved with a fat man’s heavy steps. This hid from many people that his sloping shoulders were broad, purposeful muscle moving there and not just the aimless swing of his belly. He was an active sponsor of the duelling houses now, but he had been a fighter himself years before. Che knew in her heart that he could be so again, if he ever wanted. So much of his manner towards the world was calculated to put it off its guard.

He shook the hand of the Master of Ceremonies, while looking back towards them.

‘Kymon,’ Stenwold acknowledged. The Ant-kinden raised his hand to his mouth, a soundless cough that perhaps hid a small smile.

‘My apologies. Master Gownsman and Armsman Kymon of Kes,’ Stenwold continued formally, and the Ant granted him a fraction of a bow.

‘Master Gownsman Stenwold Maker,’ he replied. ‘The Collegium Society of Martial Prowess recognizes your sponsored house and invites you to name your charges.’ He flicked a finger at a Beetle-kinden scribe who had been staring, awestruck, at Tynisa, and the young man started guiltily and poised his pen.