He wasn’t sure how long he was in the coffin after they had left the train, for just getting through the city on the wagon proved difficult. He could hardly make out what the guys were talking to each other about over the sheer noise, but if the slow progress the wagon was making was any indication, they were probably shouting or negotiating their way through the busy streets. He couldn’t see out – the little hole above his head was blocked by the crate housing an armour piece. His only source of light was the daylight spilling into the coffin from cracks in the wood, occasionally darkening in the shadow of a building they passed. ‘At least it’s not raining,’ he told himself.