Nevertheless, his position as supreme authority in such matters had to be maintained. He pursed his lips knowingly and tossed the coins casually into his apron pocket. ‘Not one of Barran’s,’ he said decisively. Little risk in that. Barran’s men didn’t wander about alone out here, didn’t pay for anything if they could afford it, and had no need for rooms at an inn. Further, though his entrance had been oddly disconcerting, he did not have the presence of a fighter of any kind, least of all one of Barran’s. From the hang of his coat he wore a sword, but that signified nothing.

Curiosity suddenly got the better of him – and greed. The man hadn’t haggled, so obviously he wasn’t short of money. Either that or he was simple.

‘Better see what he’s up to,’ he said, propelling himself away from the counter. The room shook under the impact of his heavy footfalls as he rolled across to the door. Riever took half a step after him, then changed his mind and returned to his table.

Outside, the setting sun, made almost blood-red by the day’s dust banging in the air, flooded the landscape and turned the inn’s untidy yard into a patchwork of unfamiliar shadows. Ghreel screwed up his eyes then grimaced as a warm and dank breeze wound itself about him like a clinging blanket. He unearthed a soiled kerchief from a deep pocket and ran it over his face as he made an undulating progress toward the open stable door.

As the various parts of Ghreel came to an unsteady standstill in the doorway, the stranger was rubbing water over the muzzle of his horse. He turned to face the panting innkeeper. Despite the heat, he had replaced his hat and Ghreel felt himself the object of an intense scrutiny even though he could not see the man’s eyes.

‘Got everything you need?’ The words blustered out of him.