'We're right. We're right, though. Yes we are. His blood will pass to all of us.

'How does he do it? How?

Argian was gnawing on this thumb as Edeard emerged. He stopped immediately, shoving his hand behind his back with a guilty expression.

'Your clothes are getting a little creased, Edeard said pleasantly. 'I thought you might like some clean ones. He held out the bundle of neatly folded shirts and socks he'd brought, with a jar of soap flakes and a flannel on top.

'Thank— Argian broke off, staring at them.

'Found them in your room, Edeard said.

Argian made a polite bow of defeat. 'Very clever.

'Not really, Argian. I'm afraid it was Owain himself who gave me your name. Would you believe, you're the only official suspect for the theft of special pistols from the Weapons Guild.

'Owain?

'Yes.

'No.

'Yes. They've thrown you to the fastfoxes. I visited your mother. She's quite distressed by the allegations. I told her I thought you'd left the city. Best not to give her too much hope when it comes to ever seeing you again.

'I find all this highly dubious.

'Really, I thought they were being quite clever. Your friends obviously know I'm holding you, so they simply make sure I can charge you with a crime that involves the death of a constable. And there we are: suddenly you're no longer a problem. Was that part of the agreement when you signed up? Sacrifice yourself if you get caught? But then I don't suppose your kind ever did get caught before I came along, did you?

Argian sat on the side of the bed, and gave Edeard a brittle grin. 'I'm not telling you anything.

'You know, I'd made journeyman by the time I was seventeen, Edeard said. 'You're what? Forty-eight isn't it? And still only a journeyman. No wonder you had to steal those pistols from a vault. I'd hate to use one you'd made.

'I believe we've already established that provoking me doesn't work.

'Yes. Actually, I don't think you ever were a journeymen, not really. I think it's just a tenure that gives you a facade of respectability.

'Oh well done. You actually worked something out for yourself. Or did your friend Macsen the bastard have to explain it to you?

'Provoking me is not a good idea. I don't have your restraint.

Argian held his hands wide. 'Do your worst. Oh yes, this is your worst, isn't it?

'Not by any means. But I'm not in any rush.

'I wouldn't count on that, Waterwalker.

'Care to elaborate?

'No.

'I see, Edeard sighed. 'Well, I can't stay, I have to get ready for my engagement party. And Kristabel needs calming down.

'Why?

'There was one Master who didn't sign the Consent bill.

'Bise, Argian said quickly.

'Yes. Apparently he hates me enough to commit the sin of bad form.

'Shocking.

'Well, it's not me he has to worry about. As I've discovered today, Honious has no fury like a woman upset during her wedding arrangements.

'Poor Bise.

'I'm not sure when I'll be back. We have a lot of parties to attend.

Argian's self-control faltered. He gave Edeard a disconcerted look. 'You're really going to leave me in here?

'Not quite. This isn't working as well as I'd hoped. And I need it to work. I have to know exactly who I'm up against. You're the key to that.

Just for a moment a flicker of hope crossed Argian's face. Then Edeard dropped away through the floor.

'Lady damn you! Argian shouted after him. His clenched fists rose to the ceiling. He froze as a tiny motion caught his eye. The walls were moving. 'No, he breathed. The cell was shrinking. He put his hands against the nearest wall, and started to push, adding his third hand to his efforts. 'No. There was nothing he could do to prevent the inexorable motion. 'No! No no. Stop it. He realized the ceiling was lowering as well.

'NOOO!

Makkathran's opera house formed the heart of Lillylight District. A vast palatial sprawl which merged into the Manor of Octaves, where the Guild of Musicians was housed. When humans first moved into Makkathran they'd found a vast indoor amphitheatre, whose giant tiered ledges had a curvature impossible for humans to sit on comfortably. The lower half of the encircling wall comprised huge mullion windows of rectilinear tracery, and unusually for the city their crystal was coloured, sending out great rainbow beams to intersect the central stage. Above that, a thousand long white and violet stalagmites hung from the domed ceiling, as if it was the inside of some massive geode. As night fell, the spires fluoresced with the city's ubiquitous orange light. Grand Families had long ago staked their claim on various sections of the tiered ledges, and commissioned carpenters to construct elaborate benches. Over time, the benches had been walled off with carved panelling, producing snug private boxes.

They also steadily expanded back over the ledges, as Edeard discovered when he had to worm his way behind the boxes that cluttered the second tier to reach the Culverit family enclave. Kristabel, whose magenta satin gown had a wide flaring skirt, struggled to keep the obligatory smile on her face as she followed him along.

'I always forget how cramped it is back here, she complained.

'We could always walk along the top of the boxes, Edeard said cheerfully.

Her smile vanished. He kept quiet until they reached the Culverit box.

Inside, it was decorated in velvet and lace, with eight luxurious leather cushioned chairs along the front. Three servants were already there, preparing wine and fruit in their small panelled off section at the back. One of them took Kristabel's silk wool wrap. Edeard gave him his cloak, very self conscious of the gilded turquoise jacket and smoke-grey trousers he was wearing. Then he realized that no one could actually see into the box, and relaxed.

'That's better, Kristabel declared, as she settled in the central chair with a relieved sigh.

Edeard sat next to her. It was like being on a throne, with an excellent view of the flat circular stage across the top of the boxes on the ledge below. Seclusion hazes protected several boxes as their occupants gossiped before the show began, or entertained people they shouldn't. When he peered over the little balcony rail, Edeard saw the ancient Master of Cobara with his teenage mistress in tow, shuffling along the gap directly underneath.

'Don't you dare, Kristabel said.

'What? an injured Edeard asked.

'Ever do that to me, she responded, her index finger lined up on the Master's bad wig.

He leant over to kiss her, and realized the chairs were actually too far apart, so he had to get out and move over to her, which sort of wrecked the spontaneity. 'You are far too fabulously energetic in bed for me ever to even think of anyone else, he murmured into her ear.

'Behave. But there was a demure smile on her lips that he recognized all too well.

'You know, he said licking her ear lobe, 'no one can actually see in here.

'The musicians can.

'Ah. Edeard turned and faced the stage. The first musicians were starting to emerge from the staircase well in the centre, carrying their instruments with them. 'Spoilsports. His third hand hauled his chair right up next to hers, and he sat down again. 'You feeling better?

She nodded. 'Yes.

He'd never seen Kristabel so furious as that afternoon when Bise had contemptuously ignored the parchment as it passed along the long table in the Upper Council chamber for the signature of each Master. His refusal to sign the Consent bill had even appalled Owain, but he was immune to all remonstration. The Pythia herself couldn't get him to change his mind. So for the first time in three hundred and nineteen years a Consent to Marry bill was not approved unanimously.

It meant nothing to Edeard of course. But Kristabel was outraged. It was a slur on the entire Culverit family, not to mention her personally. After Owain had formally announced the Upper Council's majority approval, she'd stormed out of the Council chamber swearing revenge.