Planio had lost a great deal in the handful of years since Gazenthlion had appeared in the wake of the Sea People's retreat.

Once, it had enjoyed thriving, bustling cities; vast forests filled with animal life; farms and fields, merchants, artisans and a colourful noble class. And it had enjoyed, therefore, everything that went along with those things: bandits and thieves, murders and corruption. And at the heart of that dark side of what passed for civilization on this strange world had been the distorted reflection that called itself the Thieves' Guild... or, apparently, the Shadow Court, the Lords of Night, the Night-Clad or various other pseudonyms, depending on how melodramatic they were feeling at any given moment.

But when push had come to shove, the Guild knew where their black hearts belonged and, under the assault of the Sea People, they forged a potent alliance with the legitimate authorities of Planio and overnight turned themselves into a medieval intelligence organization.

That wasn't, of course, how Anthelion explained it, with occasional interjections from Thenum, but that was how I pieced it together. And it had turned out that the Guild had been critical to Planio's victory, executing sabotage and assassination missions on the Sea People, stealing secrets, kidnapping isolated leaders and acting as scouts for the Paladins.

Planio's victory had looked like it would be a victory for the Guild, too: a transition to legitimacy for at least some of its leaders, more power and influence at the highest levels. And then Gazenthlion had come.

She couldn't be assassinated. She had no secrets to be stolen. She gave no concern to whether her enemies knew she was coming. And the Guild's strongest hubs had been in the towns and cities, exactly the places Gazenthlion had hit first and hit hardest.

'The strength of the Guild was in its leaders,' Thenum explained. 'It was made up of orphans and foundlings and children thrown out by parents with too many mouths to fill and not enough food to go around. Only the best could rise. Only the best could lead. And they controlled the Guild from the cities. When the cities were gone, the Guild fell apart.'

'The Citadel of the Mount is one of our last refuges,' said Anthelion. 'For a long time, we held out hope that others had survived, but with no way to communicate, the Paladins sent out scouts. Those that returned found nothing but burnt ruins and death. The fields lie empty.'

'The Guild, though, controlled the streets beneath the streets,' Thenum interrupted him. 'I've long thought they must have taken refuge underground, but there was no thief-sign, no -'

Anthelion elbowed his servant to silence.

'Anyway,' he went on, 'to hear from Jorin that the Guild is still active -'

'Perhaps,' interjected Thenum, sotto voce.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

'Might still be active,' Anthelion conceded. 'It's the first sign of hope. Well...'

'Apart from me?' I grinned. 'So what do we do until tomorrow?'

'Can we at least discuss the magic of your... bul'its?' begged Anthelion. 'Even if the chances of recreating them are almost nothing, they are still something.'

'Sure,' I agreed, and pulled a roll of paper and some charcoal across from where he and Thenum had been scribbling explanations as needed. The young servant hurried off to find us some lunch, while I explained the inner workings of the nine millimetre round. This part, at least, I understood. I had, actually, done part of an armourer's course not long ago. The career of a sniper wasn't a very long one, and if I fancied making Warrant Officer one day, I'd need some good quartermastering under my belt. Armourer was the traditional in-service move for a sniper - that or Skill At Arms Instructor, and I didn't fancy teaching new hats basic weapon handling. So I could theoretically make my own rounds. The thing was, though, that whilst I knew the proper method for casting the bullet and the right weights of grain for different calibres and suchlike, that was with electric equipment, with dials. And although I knew the technical consistency of gunpowder, actually manufacturing it was a total mystery to me. Where did saltpetre come from? In my head, it came out of a cruet, but I knew that wasn't really the same stuff.

But even as I mulled over their explanations, I could sense an undercurrent of something not said. There had been occasional glances between the wizard and his servant that hinted at another level of detail to this story to which I wasn't privy.

But, for all that they were the people in this world I knew the best and trusted the most, I had still only known them a few days. I didn't think I had earned the right to pry.

By the time we reached the limits where my knowledge of firearms technology ran up against my command of the language, it was late afternoon and, what with everything that had happened over the last few days, I was getting a bit stir crazy. The Citadel might have been the last vestige of defence for humanity, but it was also a huge, sprawling Gormenghast of a place and, so far, I had barely seen a fraction of it.

Rationally, I told myself that time spent in reconnaissance is never time wasted, and I could only benefit from some idea of what this "Tattered Lamb" place looked and felt like. But, being honest with myself, I just needed to get out of Anthelion's tower for five minutes.

Anthelion agreed, but on condition that I went with Thenum and took the M4. The ASVK got secured in a wardrobe in Anthelion's room. Still, Thenum pointed out, they would need to do something about how I looked.

I was, by now, wearing my spare set of uniform, with my originals having been handed over to get cleaned, so I didn't look quite as much like I'd been pulled through a hedge backwards as I had when I arrived (which was, of course, a carefully crafted part of my camouflage routine, not just the result of living wild on Salisbury Plain for five days). All the same, from my rubber-soled combat boots to my MTP shirt, I was currently achieving the opposite of camouflage.

Luckily, it didn't seem like tailoring was much of a thing, here. Thenum produced a selection of clothes from his and Anthelion's wardrobes that seemed to most consist of too much cloth and endless straps and bands designed to gather up the surplus until the whole assembly looked like it fit.

Most of the items had holes and tears here and there, carefully sewn up but clearly under pressure. I didn't know what natural fabrics they were made from but, so far, the only source of materials I'd seen had been the goats, so I guessed the economic pressure of shortages was starting to bite.

Anyway, once Thenum declared me fit to be seen in public, and with the M4 under a heavy woolen cape, we headed out