‘Some of the others are setting off to reach Tineag’l by boat,’ she announced.

‘Are the first lot there already?’

‘Not quite, but any day now.’

‘OK,’ he sighed with relief. Everything was now starting. Everything was about to be put into action. All his years of experience and study and knowledge would soon be tested; his theories, his hopes, his desires fulfilled.

‘Are you feeling OK?’ Verain said, noticing his exhalation.

‘Do you think I wouldn’t be?’

‘No. It’s just… well, things are going to change, aren’t they?’

‘Of course. That’s the nature of the world.’

‘I’m just worried, Dartun. You’ve been so different these past few weeks. You once said if I ever got scared I was to come to you. But what if it’s you I’m scared of?’

‘Me?’ Dartun laughed. ‘Why be scared of me, you of all people?’ He walked over and took her hands in his. Then he kissed her forehead in a way that was more parental than lover.

She glanced up at him with that familiar distance in her eyes. There was a lack of understanding, he sensed – perhaps a lack of willingness in her to understand him. But maybe she couldn’t.

It was possible no one could understand him.

‘Go to the others,’ he said, ‘and tell them to prepare. Next stop, the north. Then we’ll find somewhere warmer.’

Somewhere I might recover my immortality once again.

People showed signs of moving around the city out of context. They arrived places late, routines were disrupted, because normal routes were blocked in places. More time was needed to navigate the usual paths, and it was as if everyone had now come out of their homes simply in defiance of the longest winter they’d ever know. For many humans this extended season would be the last they would ever see. For rumel there was a greater chance of seeing the summer again, to watch for that moment when the trees and plants would explode with life.

Jeryd was annoyed that people kept stopping suddenly, right in front of him. More than once he considered delivering a small admonitory slap to someone’s head. It was always here they tended to pause, gazing around at the old Azimuth-inspired architecture, the smaller domes and intricate sandstone squares that contradicted the rest of the later additions to the city, which rose generally taller, and were hacked out of local limestone. Still, he liked the feeling of the snow under his boots, that crisp compaction.

Home to a lot of the oldest shops in the city, this street was a haven for antique dealers, traders in exotic products, spice dealers. On one side stood three cheap hotels. But things changed significantly at night: the street in front became the hang-out for dealers of less respectable substances. Quick hand movements in the moonlight, and something illegal was exchanged at an extravagant price. It was where you might meet a cultist who needed quick money, and some said that you could buy weird animals, sleek-looking hybrids, but Jeryd had never seen any in all his years.

As Jeryd headed down a narrow side alley, memories came flooding back of regularly accompanying Marysa here when they were both much younger. He couldn’t think of the last time she’d actually held his hand, but when they were still in love she’d drag him along to look at all those items that appealed to her. He was once so keen to learn about her interests, to discover more about her. It must have been over a hundred years ago when he first started coming down this way, waiting outside the shops in the sun, enjoying a moment to himself as she rustled around inside. He still wanted to hold on to the idea of his being with Marysa, even if things didn’t work out this time. Perhaps, in his old age, he was becoming sentimental, like humans did. Perhaps there were fewer differences between the two hominid species than anyone cared to admit.

Stepping over a bolting rat, Jeryd entered one particular antique store that looked familiar, and the door chime rang. His eyes adjusted to the murkiness, taking in piles of antiques stacked awkwardly wherever you looked, suggesting that one misjudged step on an uneven floorboard would bring about an expensive catastrophe. An old woman was standing behind the counter, while another stood with her back turned about ten armspans away. They looked identical, both in similar over-dresses, the sorts with floral patterns like the ones you used to see about thirty years ago, but now faded from over-washing. Nick-nacks and ornaments spilled on the floor amid random furniture. Strange instruments, pottery, art were propped up against any available wall space. Desperately, he hoped there were no spiders under all these objects waiting for him: because arachnids were this tough investigator’s hidden shame.

Jeryd stepped carefully around the large room searching for something that might appeal to Marysa, some small token to impress her, to show her that he still loved her. Was there possibly one item that could do all that on its own? Probably not. He tried desperately to think about the things she used to like, cursing his inability to make a decision. He scratched his head as he leaned over tables, picking up items, replacing them immediately.

Ever so slowly he started to mumble in frustration.

‘Talking to yourself, investigator? Maybe she’d like some of the brass instruments over there. They’re enough to pique the interest of the most ardent collector.’

Tuya was wearing a light-blue robe, a colour rarely favoured in current fashions, with a straw hat tilted down over the side of her face. He tried not to let his vision linger on her lissom figure, which could be noted despite her thick clothing. Pouting lips, all cheekbones and soft edges, there was an uncomfortable intensity about this woman.

‘You said your wife collected antiques, so you’re here to buy her something, aren’t you?’

She fingered a wooden statuette by her side. ‘You should at least consider some of the items over there. There’re some fine nautical gadgets.’

Tuya led him away.

She explained the various items to him in a way that unsettled him, though he couldn’t work out exactly why. Maybe because he remembered similar times with Marysa. He wondered if it was wrong to be talking so casually, and made the decision to be wary of her charms. Greater rumel in the Inquisition than himself had succumbed to feminine wiles.

A musky smell in these rooms, the stale aroma of time having passed, the remains of forgotten civilizations. He found it odd that people should want to collect many such items, even though they did not know their original purpose. He thought about what objects he owned himself, and if in a thousand years they would each become a mere ornament on a rich lady’s dresser. Perhaps some of the shit scrapers he used to flush out of the gutters would become some gift to charm a pretty girl. He smiled at the thought.

Tuya continued to point out and describe things, but his mind began drifting to his own past again.

‘Rumex, you’re not listening, are you? How’re you ever going to win a woman’s favour if you don’t pay attention while she’s talking?’

‘I always did when she was around,’ he said, a little annoyed. What business was it of Tuya’s anyway? Did she get her kicks from sifting through other people’s lives? ‘Well, maybe I wasn’t a very good partner.’

‘But you could be,’ she said.

‘And you could tell me how?’

‘So long as you don’t mind talking about such intimate things with a murder suspect.’

The pressures of his personal life were beginning to distract him from his job for the Inquisition. Yet above all he needed to sort out his private life. It felt uncomfortable to be here with her, but every minute he spent with her, he might be able to observe her closely, find out who this secretive woman was, and, more importantly, to probe her further about her involvement with Ghuda. ‘No, it’s fine. Just don’t take it personally if I’m obliged to arrest you later,’ he said, and raised a questioning eyebrow.