'Minor families? You think attempting to anger me will cause me to slip my guard?

'Does it anger you? The really great families will hardly be bothered by the return to law and order. But you, you're what? Something like a fifth son of a fourth son of a third son? Your branch of the family must have been kicked out of that fabulous mansion a long time ago. Do you look at it enviously every time you walk past? Do you hear the laughter coming over the wall? And now your father is what? Some market trader with delusions of grandeur? I bet he doesn't pay all his taxes. Is that the only way you can keep paying the bills in your new little house? It that why you only have enough coinage to dress as pretty as one of Kristabel's foot servants? Is that why you joined this woeful little association of thugs, so you could fool yourself you're part of the Grand Families again?

'Really, Waterwalker, I expected better. But you are very young, aren't you? I remain to be convinced you have what it takes to see this to the bitter end. For it will be very bitter indeed.

'As far as you are concerned, the end has already passed you by. When banishment is enacted, you will be escorted from the city. You will not return. Ever.

'Unless you're claiming a timesense greater than our beloved Pythia, you cannot speak of the future. So I'll just wait here to see how it plays out, thank you.

Edeard tilted his head on one side to regard his unnervingly suave opponent curiously. He hadn't been expecting anything quite this difficult. 'Were you one of the four on the tower? Edeard had returned to the base of the tower three times since he fell, examining the city's memories of that day. He'd felt the footsteps of his four assailants on the staircase winding up the centre three hours before the pistol exchange, but try as he might he simply couldn't backtrack them successfully. They came from a large crowd of worshippers attending the afternoon service at the church, several hundred people milling around together. It was too confusing to single out one set of feet. And, of course, after he fell no one knew what actually happened on the top of the tower until he regained consciousness. Even then he'd only told his friends. So no attempt had been made to apprehend the mysterious foursome when they scurried back down in the middle of the confusion and panic that raged around the base of the tower for well over an hour.

The man smiled. It was a harsh expression. 'When you fell, you thought it would be to your death. You didn't know you were going to live. That is our greatest concern. Who helps you, Waterwalker, and why?

'The universe helps those who lead a good life. It says so right there in the Lady's scriptures.

'Answer me that one question, and I will answer all of yours.

Edeard gave a weary shake of his head. 'You will stay in here until you cooperate. I don't imagine it will take long. Isolation is an evil foe. And you are as isolated as it is possible to be on this world.

'Do you truly believe you have time on your side?

'We will see whose ally time really is. I'll be back. Eventually. He told the floor to let him through, and sank away.

The financial courts were situated in the middle of Parliament House, running along the south side of First Canal. The nine horseshoe arch bridges connecting the buildings on both sides of the water were so thick, containing whole suites of rooms, that they essentially formed a tunnel over the little canal. Because of that, light inside the courts was supplied almost entirely from the concave octagons decorating the vaulted ceilings. They might as well have been underground for all the difference the high slit windows made, looking out into the shadowed cavity beneath the bridges. The dusky lighting certainly added to the general sense of gloom pervading the eighth court when Edeard crept in quietly at the back of the semi-circular chamber. It wasn't laid out like a law court. Instead, long tables were arranged in tiers, with the tax investigator at a round table at their centre. Lamps were lit on the ends of each table, jamolar oil producing pools of yellow light across the untidy stacks of paper and files. To Edeard's first glance it was as though paper had come alive to breed faster than drakkens. There couldn't be so many accounts relating to the House of Blue Petals. But each table had at least two clerks sitting at it. They were all dressed the same, in shirts and waistcoats. Most seemed to be wearing spectacles. None were under fifty.

The tax inspector's waistcoat was lined with silver, otherwise there was no way of distinguishing between him and his fellow Guild members. He would consult a page from a very large ledger, and ask a question relating to income or expenditure. Then Buate's team of clerks would mutter among themselves and go through files and books before producing receipts or affidavits, and offering an explanation as to how the money was spent or received. At which point the clerks retained by the Mayor's Inspector General would counter the claim, producing different bits of paper, or an entry in the ledger of the business concerned that was different to Buate's contention.

After listening to the evidence, the inspector would write laboriously in his ledger, and move on to the next question.

Three years' worth of records were subject to investigation. Every day's purchase of drinks had to be accounted for. Three years of the House of Blue Petals buying and cleaning bed linen. Three years of genistar husbandry. Three years of replacement mats behind the bar. Three years of crockery, acquisitions and breakages and depreciation and amortization. Three years of the girls' cosmetics and hair styling. Three years of hairclip acquisition, each batch meticulously recorded and queried.

Buate sat at a table at the far side of the court. His shoulders slumped, eyes glazed, his skin paler than the drab lighting could shade. He looked up as Edeard walked in. His expression of misery slowly changed, as if his facial muscles were regaining strength, hardening his cheeks and jaw into a look of pure fury.

Edeard met it without flinching as the inspector demanded to know about higher than normal expenditure on smoked toco nuts on the sixth Thursday of June two years ago. Buate never shifted his gaze from Edeard while his clerks struggled to produce receipts for the jars.

In the end, it was Edeard who looked away first. He could barely believe it, but he was close to feeling sorry for Buate. Theirs was an epic struggle for the soul of an entire city, it should be fought out there on the streets and along the canals, followers slugging it out with fists and third hands, while their political masters plotted and schemed in Council. Not this. This was inhuman.

And I did it to him.

Edeard bowed his head to look at his boots; every inch the little boy at the back of the class struggling not to giggle. He hurried out of the finance court, then stopped in the cloister and laughed out loud. Clerks in their drab claret and olive-green waistcoats stared at him disapprovingly.

'Sorry, Edeard said to them and their Guild in general. He made an effort to compose himself, then walked on towards Centre Circle Canal. He could do that. He could leave the court after a good laugh. Good gloat, if I'm honest. Buate couldn't. Buate had to stay there for six hours every day, as he had done for ten days now. And the investigation was likely to last another eight days at least, Edeard had been told.

If only we could do this to each of the hundred. We'd have broken them by now. We wouldn't need banishment, they'd have fled screaming through the city gates long ago.

But this kind of financial scrutiny was reserved for the larger city businesses that were constantly cheating taxes. The Chief Constable had to press hard with the inspector General for an