There were five sheriffs standing guard outside, watching keenly when Slvasta’s cab drew up. He didn’t get out, simply stuck his arm out of the door window and beckoned.

One of the sheriffs went over. ‘What in Uracus do you want?’

Slvasta leaned forward so the pale light from the streetlamps revealed he was wearing the uniform of a major from the Meor regiment. Arnice wasn’t quite the same size, but the fit was good enough for tonight, with little illumination and some strategic fuzzing. The sheriff couldn’t even tell he only had one arm – that would have been a complete give-away.

‘Tell your station commander I want to see him.’

‘Uh . . . sir?’

‘You heard. Get him out here now.’

‘But—’

‘Now!’

The sheriff wasn’t going to argue. Not today. He hurried into the station.

A few minutes later the station commander came out.

‘He looks happy,’ Coulan ’pathed privately to Slvasta.

‘What is this?’ the commander demanded. It had been a long bad day, and it was far from over. He clearly didn’t need any further complications.

Slvasta still didn’t come out of the cab. He simply held up the copy of the suspension order. ‘You are familiar with this order and the authority it gives me?’

The commander barely read the first few lines. ‘Aye.’

‘Good. You have a Javier in your custody. Big man, arrested on Walton Boulevard around five o’clock. I’ll take charge of him now.’

‘You’ve got to be joking. The judge has already sentenced him. We’re about to ship a whole bunch of these rebel bastards out to Pidrui.’

Slvasta hardened his voice, exactly the way so many officers in the Joint Council did, lifting himself up an entire social class. ‘This is not a joke, commander. My uncle believes him to be one of the ring leaders. He will be questioned quite firmly on that matter.’

‘Your uncle?’ a tone of uncertainty had crept into the commander’s voice.

‘Trevene. I trust you’re familiar with the name?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good man.’ Slvasta waited until the station commander had turned round. ‘Oh, and, commander?’

‘Sir?’

‘This never happened. Understand?’

‘Completely.’

Two minutes later, a pair of sheriffs dragged a limp Javier out of the station. Coulan hopped down and opened the cab’s door. All three of them bundled the big man onto the floor at Slvasta’s feet.

Only when the station was out of any reasonable ex-sight range did Slvasta let out a cry of disbelief. ‘Oh my crudding Giu, we did it! We crudding did it.’

‘You were brilliant,’ Coulan replied. ‘You’ve got to have balls the size of melons.’

‘Interesting compliment. Thanks.’

‘How is he?’

Slvasta’s ex-scan swept along Javier. There was plenty of bruising, both eyes were almost swollen shut. A multitude of cuts and grazes had clotted and scabbed, leaving a lot of dried blood on his skin and clothing. Several ribs were cracked, and one knee was badly wrenched with fluid building round the joint. ‘Alive.’

7

The sub-basement was a long way underground, and old, a maze of corridors and small cells whose original stone walls were frequently patched with crude bricks and crumbling mortar. Slicks of blue-green algae ran down from oozing cracks, while spiky clumps of small pale stalactites protruded from arching ceilings like petrified fungal blooms. The air was cold, rancid and stale from being unable to escape; just to breathe it in was immediately dispiriting to anyone who was brought down here, sapping all hope.

Aothori accompanied Trevene down the interminable spiral stairs, making sure the hem of his natty embroidered evening cloak didn’t drag along the worn steps. He rather enjoyed the smell of bussalore shit and human sweat; it always accompanied a sense of fear. The central chamber into which they emerged had three small oil lamps on iron brackets high on the wall. Their meagre light left the apex of the chamber in shadow, but did manage to illuminate the figures shackled to the wall with iron manacles, their mouths filled with wooden gag balls held in place by leather straps. He counted seventeen, of which seven were female. As soon as they recognized him, their already apprehensive thoughts became panicky.

He smiled in acknowledgement of just how weighty his reputation was these days, and began a circuit. His shell was tight, not that he was in any real danger from a teekay strike. They had all been fitted with a collar of etor vine. The vine, which was as strong as leather, had a peculiar property: when soaked in water a cut length expanded to nearly twice its original size. In that state a braided collar could easily be slipped over a human head. After that it began to dry out, and shrink. If you were wearing one, it took a vast amount of teekay to hold the savagely constricting braids off your throat. Any lapse in concentration, any teekay diverted somewhere else meant the collar would tighten fast and choke the wearer. It left the prisoner without any ability to spin out a shell, their body was devoid of protection, their thoughts unscreened.

‘Students,’ Aothori concluded, allowing his contempt to show. The clothes, the age, the outrage that mirrored their fright, the broken arrogance. He knew the type well enough – all from the university.

‘Indeed, sir,’ Trevene said.

‘Radicals?’

‘Possibly.’

‘Are these the same ones who wanted to kick up a fuss over the Jasmine Avenue anniversary?’

‘We know two of them have been outspoken about the Jasmine rebellion on occasion.’

‘Disgraceful. We provide a wealth of opportunity for them, and this is how they thank us. Were they all plotting today’s pitiful demonstrations? Are they the ringleaders?’

‘This group was acting together, certainly. The sheriffs arrested them all in Bromwell Park after my people pointed them out.’

‘So this was planned? I’m curious. How? Nobody knew about Wurzen until a couple of days ago.’

‘“Plan” might be too strong a concept here. I prefer to think they were primed ready to react to a scandal. Wurzen simply came along; if not this, it would have been something else.’

‘Really? So they were being prepared for general rebellion? That speaks of serious organization.’ Aothori walked over to one of the girls. Her green dress was torn and filthy, her ebony skin grazed along one arm and leg – presumably where she’d been dragged. She began to shake as he stared at her; tears welled up in her eyes.

‘Your name?’ Aothori asked.

‘Oeleen,’ she ’pathed. ‘Please, the collar’s so tight.’

‘I know.’ He studied the thoughts spewing out of her frantic mind, the images, her deep terrors. ‘My, my, what an imaginative little thing you are. So are you the ringleader of this wretched band?’

‘No, no, there is no ringleader. It’s not like that. We were just protesting about Wurzen, that’s all. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’

‘Ah, so many people are always sorry after the event. Unfortunately, that doesn’t help anyone. So who is “we”? All your friends here?’

‘Yes. Yes.’

He grinned at Trevene. ‘Well, how’s that for camaraderie? Everyone here! I can’t say I’m terribly worried about the Captaincy being overthrown if this is the best radicals can do.’

‘We’ll get lists of everyone they’ve ’pathed and received political ’paths from, and when,’ Trevene said. ‘It will take time, but my clerks will draw up a register, then we can cross-reference and analyse it, see if we can find a pattern, some kind of hierarchy.’

‘Sounds terribly dreary.’

‘Please,’ Oeleen ’pathed. ‘The collar. Please. It’s been on for hours. I can’t . . . I can’t hold it back much longer.’

Aothori studied her face, savouring the way her pretty youthful features were distorted by strain and panic. ‘Then we’d better not waste any time, had we?’ He turned back to Trevene, whose lenses were reflecting the flickering orange oil lamps, occluding his eyes. ‘I’ll take her, and this one, and this one,’ he indicated two other girls.