As the sun rose Carmen had fallen into a state somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. She was woken by Wrinkler's elbow in her ribs.

Slops had fallen fast asleep hours ago. He looked like a baby in the thicket, snoring lightly, his mouth open to the sky. Wrinkler and Mildew had shaken their heads at him; Wrinkler in disgust, Mildew with a kind of mild amusement. Neither of them displayed the least sign of tiredness.

"Someone coming," Wrinkler whispered now.

Carmen got up onto her hands and knees and peered through the tangle of blackberry to where the southeast corner of the prison rose like the prow of a ship. She craned forward and the cartilege in her neck crackled. Her body was a miasma of aches. There was no comfortable place to bed down in Killing Field, but it had been the nearest practical hiding place to the prison gate.

Earlier that night, after Bunker's rebuff, they had gone to the Old City – despite Slops's assurances that Corvus was not home. Carmen thought they might be able to get some information out of the archon on the door, or at least communicate to it the gravity of the situation, but it had shown no concern whatsoever, calling Carmen a nosy little tramp. She had lost her temper at it. Finally, in desperation, they had gone to the prison itself, hoping that a chance to rescue the two boys might present itself. And now, against all odds, it had come.

"I don't (unprintable word) believe it," Wrinkler whispered.

Slops slept on.

Mildew took charge. "Right, soon's they reach the road they'll be out of sight of the gates. That's when we jump em."

"No," Carmen said.

Mildew and Wrinkler stared at her.

"I'll go out and talk to him," she said. She meant the man, whose face she couldn't yet make out, but who wore civilian clothes. She sensed Wrinkler bristle beside her, then relax again. He must have noticed what she already had: that the two boys who were accompanying the man, one on each side of him, were not cuffed or secured in any way. They could have run off. But they didn't.

One of the boys was having trouble walking; from time to time the man put an arm around his waist to pull him upright. With a dart of anguish in her breast Carmen recognised the boy. Ward.

Before she knew quite what she was doing – before Wrinkler could reach out to stop her – she had risen to her feet and broken out into the open, setting off at something between a walk and a run towards the trio.

She reached them as they came to the edge of the paved square outside the prison gates. Lightfinger's face, despite an impressive black eye, was joyful. Ward seemed incapable of lifting his eyes from his shoes. The man looked her quickly over, scanned the nearby bushes as if he knew the others were hidden there, and said simply: "Walk with us."

She went to Ward's side and put her arm around his waist. He looked blearily up at her.

"Carm...?"

"Sssh." She felt him shiver involuntarily. He smelled bad: sweat and piss and fear and something else, something noxious that she couldn't identify.

What have they done to him?

She looked up at the man. He was dressed in a black suit, and wore no rings or tempus – in fact he had no identifying marks whatsoever. It was as if he had been pressed from a mold. Everything about him was unremarkable, and you would forget him minutes after meeting him. Nevertheless, he seemed vaguely familiar.

As if sensing her gaze he turned to her. "It won't do for you to be seen."

"Who are you?"

He stopped and looked swiftly about on all sides. They had passed out of sight of the prison gates. There was nobody about – this part of the city was quiet.

"I can't give you my name."

"Who sent you?"

"I can't tell you that either. Will you be okay from here? Look, your friends are coming." Mildew and Wrinkler had appeared from the bushes, moving cautiously up the road towards them.

"I don't understand," Carmen said.

"Nor do I Miss Carmichael. All I can say is that you must have a powerful friend somewhere." He gave her an odd smile, then turned and walked away towards the city, into which he soon vanished.

Slops was awake when they got back. Wrinkler must have kicked him – that's what it usually took.

Wrinkler hugged Lightfinger. "Thought you were (unprintable word) done for." Carmen saw the mute boy's eyes sparkle with surprised tears and she looked away.

Carmen took Fidelma from her pocket and gave her to Ward. Upon seeing the dore Ward's eyes cleared briefly. But it seemed to take an effort, and after stowing Fidelma gently in his pocket he returned to his previous zombie-like state.

"Better get him below," Mildew said. "Who was the cove?"

"MSI I think," Carmen said.

"Figures."

Wrinkler looked Ward over with a gentleness that hung strangely on him. He turned to the others. "They've tortured him," he said simply.

Yay, Ward is back, but he's a zombie. Them's the breaks.