Jeryd set Goltang down, picked up an image of Johynn. The first thing he noticed was how light this statue was in comparison. He brought it to his ear, then shook it. Something rattled inside. With a smile, he casually dropped it on the floor. It smashed into several large fragments, but with a piece of paper sticking out underneath.

Tryst entered the room without knocking. ‘Everything all right in here, sir?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Jeryd said blandly. ‘I just got a bit careless and knocked one of these chaps off their plinths with my tail. How’re your own enquiries going?’

‘So-so,’ the human replied. ‘I’m gradually building up a picture of his routine. All pretty dull stuff if you ask me.’

‘It’s all essential, though,’ Jeryd pointed out. ‘I don’t suppose you could fetch me a mug of hot water, could you? This cold weather’s playing havoc with my poor old chest.’ He coughed for a little effect. ‘After that, why don’t you head back to the Inquisition chambers while I stay here and plough through all those documents? I’ll see if there’s anything worth taking away with us.’

‘You sure?’ Tryst’s voice betrayed suspicion. ‘I don’t mind helping you.’

‘No, it’s OK. I need the silence to concentrate.’ Jeryd began to cough violently again, rested one arm against the wall to enhance his performance.

‘Certainly, investigator. I’ll fetch your hot water.’ Tryst left the room, shut the door behind him.

Jeryd bent down to pick up the piece of paper. He unfolded it fully, regarded the strange lettering and symbols. It was clearly written in some sort of code. One symbol at the top, though, he did recognize: a rough sketch of a boar. Instinctively, he looked back to the floor, began rummaging though the broken pieces, then paused to pick up a blue gemstone, a topaz. This was the first lead, since topaz was supposedly the secret emblem of one particular religious cult.

It seems our friend Ghuda had been an Ovinist.

Jeryd didn’t understand the significance of Ghuda’s connection to that underground religion, nor did he have any clue about what the lettering meant on the accompanying parchment taken from the statue. Back at his apartment, he contemplated these items at length.

After a while, he dropped another log on the fire, took a break to look out of the window. Night-time again, and, despite the cold, Villjamur vibrated with activity. Off-duty soldiers had come thronging in search of company for the evening. They staggered between taverns and street corners, bellowing and whistling into the chilly air. Such intemperance was becoming more noticeable as the Freeze became a reality.

Youths climbed on walls to throw snow at citizens. Running footsteps faded into the distance. In the neighbouring buildings, squares of light emerged at the higher levels as lanterns were lit for the evening. As his eyes focused, Jeryd noticed figures appear at these windows, gazing out across the city, perhaps staring right back at him. Directly below his own window, he suddenly noticed Marysa approaching quickly, wrapped in a thick winter cape, returning from her day of study in the library. As he waited for her to come in, he sat down at the table.

A moment later, she pushed the study door open with some force. She was breathless from her rapid progress, and walked straight towards the fire.

Jeryd rose to greet her, squeezed her cold hands gently. ‘How was your day?’

‘Rumex, I swear someone was following me.’ Her dark eyes were wide with panic, her tail twitching anxiously from side to side.

‘Following you?’ His tone became serious. ‘Please, sit down and I’ll make some tea. Tell me, what did you see?’

‘I’d prefer some whisky.’ Marysa sat down at the table.

As he handed her the glass, she continued, ‘I didn’t get a good look at him. Every time I turned to look, he’d be gone. I know it sounds silly, but I swear that someone was there.’

Jeryd placed a hand on her cold knee as he sat alongside her. ‘You’re not being silly, because these are strange times. How did you first realize you were being followed?’

‘Footsteps – always the same footsteps. I’m not going mad, I swear.’

‘It’s all right,’ Jeryd soothed, giving her a look that confirmed he knew she wasn’t making it up. He hugged her more tightly.

She sipped her whisky with urgency. ‘Who could it be?’

For a moment he wondered if it had something to do with his own work. Perhaps someone was frightening her to get at him? He kissed Marysa’s hand reassuringly, and she curled into him, resting her head on his shoulder. The intimacy made him feel like they were a couple again, that he could look after her. There was something so reassuring about this, and it affected him deeply.

He had no plans to let her go for the best part of an hour.

Shrouded delicately in lantern light, Tuya rested her hands on the windowsill to gaze out through the night. The window was open slightly and, because she wore only a white silk evening robe, the stirred air raised the hairs on her arm. The moonlight from Astrid was now concealed only slightly. Pterodettes arced upwards towards the nearby cliffs as a few pedestrians stalked the frozen streets hunched up in thick clothing. Not a time to be out. Why could she never connect to Villjamur? What was it that made her think she belonged outside the city?

She thought she could even hear refugees huddled outside the gates, in the icy conditions. Maybe it was her imagination, but the thought ceaselessly saddened her. Surely there was no need for them to remain outside?

She considered what Councillor Ghuda had revealed to her that night, which perhaps other than the councillors involved, only she knew. Surely she owed it to the city, owed it to herself to divulge it.

She needed to give something back to Villjamur.

She turned back to her painting, remembered who was next.

She began to apply herself to her only escape from her tenebrous world. She lifted up a brush and began to create.

Lines of paint spread thickly. Diagonals, verticals, curves. A body began to form.

Once she had finished, she stood back, her white robe splattered. This was certainly one of her most sinister pieces. There was no theme with such creations, no references, no premeditated allusions.

She walked to a mirror, noting her hair was a mess that would need fixing.

A gust of wind abruptly blew out the lantern beside her, bathing her in darkness. Already the pigments were beginning to glow, a subtle light pulsing with the regularity of a heartbeat.

She lay on the bed, her gown parting across her angled knee, gazing towards the window as the wind stirred her curtains. The glow in the room brightened, and she stared down her body.

Councillor Boll would die tonight.

Councillor Boll stepped out of the chamber facilities, realizing how he always hated communal toilets. It never seemed right to be engaged in a conversation whilst taking a shit. Especially to Councillor Eduin, who might have only just crept out of someone else’s arse, for all Boll knew. Why did anyone expect you to conduct a conversation in those private moments? You couldn’t exactly walk away from the situation either.

Boll shuffled down the corridor towards his chamber in Balmacara. He had to prepare for an early morning meeting with Chancellor Urtica, who apparently, judging from a message he had received only an hour ago, had discovered a brilliant method to eliminate all the unwanted refugees from Villjamur, involving someone from the Ovinists drawing on their expertise with poisons. But the last thing they wanted was for thousands of people to die on the doorstep of the city. That simply wouldn’t do. They should die somewhere else, Boll reckoned, with subtlety, far enough away so that the stench of death wouldn’t drift over its gleaming spires and bridges. The citizens of Villjamur deserved better treatment than that.