"If she ever shows her face here..." Roland began grimly, but fell sharply silent mid-word, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Smooth as his steps had been, he froze now, letting go of her. He turned, his hands going to his guns, and found himself staring down the barrel of Henry Jacquard's pistol.

The music clashed discordantly into silence, the dancers stumbling to a halt around them. Across the room, Alain and Bert found themselves pinned by men they had thought they knew; at the table, the fat man had managed to pull his own gun, and had it levelled at Nariko.

The world seemed to be holding its breath, the whole great hall silent, so that when Roland cursed aloud, it echoed around the ancient walls like a stone in a well.

"This is treason, Henry." He still hadn't drawn his guns. In fact, he moved his hands away a little, his jaw tight.