Ghreel scowled. This man’s lack of response was increasingly irritating but it also gave him no excuse for picking a quarrel.

‘Never heard of Arash-Felloren,’ he growled, loath to let the topic pass. ‘Biggest city in the world, lad.’ He was about to indulge in a scornful tirade about the stranger’s chances of surviving there when the coins in his apron reminded him that they might have cousins nearby. He contented himself with a laboured shake of his head as he indicated a door at the far end of the room.

The wooden stairs creaked unhappily as Ghreel made his way up them. It was not until he had reached the top that the stranger followed him, apparently anxious not to be trapped in this timber-sided ravine with Ghreel’s mountainous bulk lurching above him. The stairway led directly on to a wide, unevenly boarded balcony lined with doors and shuttered windows. Ghreel kicked open the nearest door.

‘Here you are,’ he said brusquely. He was about to turn away when a spasm of proprietorial pride seized him and he followed the stranger into the room. ‘Shutters are a bit stiff,’ he said, giving them a powerful slap. ‘But you’ll not be wanting them open too long, what with the flies and dust and all.’ The tour moved to the bed. ‘Mattress was given a good beating only last week.’ And thence to a stone sink. The pride became incongruously visible. ‘And water.’ He pumped a handle energetically and, after some peevish coughing, a desultory trickle of water spluttered irritably into the sink. ‘Only inn round here with that,’ he announced. ‘You’ll be lucky with most of them if you’ve got a pump in the yard and a bucket that doesn’t leak.’

The stranger raised his eyebrows and nodded an acknowledgement to indicate his appreciation at finding this haven. ‘Only here,’ Ghreel repeated. ‘Only at The Wyndering. Anyone’ll tell you.’ Then he was gone, the floor shaking rhythmically to his departure.