‘Nothing ever changes,’ Nigel muttered with a sad smile.

They went back to Walton Boulevard, past the plane monument. Before they reached the Treasury at the end of Wahren Street, Nigel stopped outside the looming granite wall that fronted the National Tax Office. Kysandra sensed his ex-sight probing. He walked to the far end of the vast building and looked down the tiny alley running up the side. Several high enclosed pedestrian bridges connected it to the stolid office block next door.

‘No wonder the government can afford to build the way it does, as well as fund the county regiments,’ he said. ‘I’m impressed. That is one big mother of a tax office.’

‘They say that the Captain has an agreement with the Skylords, that if you haven’t settled your taxes when you seek Guidance, the Skylords will take you to Uracus instead of Giu.’

‘Interesting.’

‘I don’t think it’s true, Nigel.’

‘Not that. Both Bienvenido and Querencia have the same myths about those two nebulas. Uracus is the doorway to hell, Giu is the route to paradise. That has to come from the Skylords. They’re the only connection.’

‘Did the Skylords Guide the people from Querencia as well?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then it’s not so strange.’

‘Good point.’ He gave the Tax Office one last disapproving look and headed off towards the Treasury.

That night they visited the Grand Metropolitan Theatre to see A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

‘What’s the matter?’ Kysandra asked afterwards as they sat in a corner booth of the Rasheeda’s lounge bar for a nightcap. Half of the booths had their black velvet curtains drawn, their occupants fuzzing themselves effectively.

‘The play has changed slightly, that’s all,’ Nigel muttered.

‘How could it change?’ She closed her eyes, summoning up the memory. ‘“The moving finger writes; and having writ, moves on.”’

‘Very good. But somebody else’s finger has written over the top, believe me. There were no vampires in the original Midsummer Night’s Dream.’

‘I liked the vampires.’

‘They’re a metaphor for the temptation of refusing a spiritual afterlife in exchange for flawed physical immortality.’

‘Can’t you ever just kick back and enjoy things? You always analyse stuff to death.’

He grinned and his retinas zoomed in on the labels of the long line of bottles arranged behind the mirrored bar. ‘I’m going to get a drink. What would you like?’

‘Double bourbon. Neat. No ice.’

‘Okay. One white wine spritzer coming up.’

Kysandra pulled a face at him. She settled down in the booth, a small smile elevating her lips. Life was pretty much perfect right now. A girl, probably twenty years old, left one of the curtained-off booths, and walked over to the bar. Kysandra instantly knew her. It wasn’t the dress, which was an elegant tight-fitting burgundy silk gown with a big rose-knot at the base of her spine. Not the long auburn hair, styled in waves at the back to leave delicate curls framing her cheeks. Nor even the broad features of her face, emphasized by too much mascara. No, it was the brittle determination which propelled her across the floor that Kysandra could sense without any ex-sight at all. Exactly the same as her mother’s. Determination to get the next shot, no matter what the cost.

She watched the girl sit on the stool next to Nigel in a slinky movement that was akin to a snake flowing into its nest. Long fake eyelashes were flapped slowly. Small inquisitive smile. Toss of the head. A few words spoken.

‘Well, hi there,’ Kysandra mocked facetiously. ‘Do you come here often? Why, yes. Oh, good, so do I. Can I buy you a drink? That would be nice, until my friends turn up.’ She lowered her voice to a growl. ‘Well, pretty thing, I hope they don’t. Perhaps we could wait in my room? That would be simply splendid, I used to wait in rooms all over the Commonwealth, you know.’ Open mouth wide and poke a finger in, making a retching sound.

At which moment Nigel turned round, holding a crystal brandy tumbler and a wine glass. Kysandra frantically turned the gesture into rubbing the side of her lips. Too late. Nigel’s eyebrows had risen in that irritatingly disdainful put-down he’d clearly spent centuries perfecting.

‘Who’s your new friend?’ Kysandra asked as he sat back down in their booth, what with offence being the best defence, and all.

‘Why? Jealous?’

‘Sure, if you like narnik whores,’ spoken just a little too loudly.

Nigel’s teekay slid the booth curtains shut smoothly. ‘I think you’re being a little judgemental, don’t you?’

‘Sorry.’

‘Your mother’s going to be fine. The domination variant I used just compelled her to straighten her act out, not turn into one of my cronies.’

‘I know,’ Kysandra said in a small voice. The whole domination technique both fascinated and repelled her. Ma’s entire family and organization had flipped in that one dark rainy night, becoming Nigel’s unquestioning acolytes. They talked the same, walked the same, but he owned them now, sure as if they were a batch of mods. They actually had a rivalry going among themselves to be the best, the fastest to perform his bidding.

It creeped her out. Ma Ulvon’s ex-madam, Madeline, might be her maid for the trip, but Kysandra avoided talking to her as much as possible. She was afraid she’d blurt out something like: ‘Don’t you remember what you were like, what you and Ma were going to do with me?’ which might be enough to shatter the spell.

‘Aren’t you worried about that?’ she asked.

‘About what?’

‘Nobody on this world has ever cured narnik addiction before. Someone might get suspicious about Mum overcoming her problem.’

‘Someone in Adeone is a qualified psychologist?’

Kysandra sipped her spritzer sheepishly. ‘All right, smartarse.’

‘I’m sure people have turned their lives around, even here. If you’re determined enough you can achieve miracles. Family support is a big help, too. And I’ll bet rich people have sanatoriums that take in wrecked younger members to—’

‘All right! Uracus, you know everything always. I get it. I’m just saying it’s not so common in Adeone.’

He settled back, looking thoughtful. ‘I appreciate that, but don’t worry about your mother. If anyone does start asking questions, then Demitri will steer them off topic. Frankly, I’m more concerned about the Tax Office.’

‘What?’

‘The Tax Office. Even Kafka would envy the size of the place we saw today. And they’ll have regional offices, I imagine. I may have been spending a little too freely.’ His grin was knowing. ‘After all, taxes is how they got Al Capone in the end.’

‘Again: nonsense words. Stop it.’

‘Sorry. The point is, all the locals in Adeone are happy to accept me as a rich newcomer, especially the ones I spend so many of my counterfeit coins with. To the town, I’m obviously throwing family money around. But when the Tax Office comes calling, the bureaucrats will want to know where that money came from. And I’m not in their existing records.’

‘Just dominate the tax inspector. Simple.’

‘Yes and no. We need to get politically strategic.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I’ve slightly underestimated this society. That can be corrected by a presence here in Varlan.’

‘What sort of presence?’

‘I’m going to leave one of the ANAdroids here to embed himself.’

‘What will he do?’

‘To start with, I’d like to know what’s inside the palace. If there’s anything left of the ship’s network, we might just be able to access some of the flight logs. Unlikely after three thousand years, but you never know. Then a few people working for me in the Tax Office would be advantageous. And it’s always good to have political contacts . . .’

‘That’s just to start?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Giu. So what happens after that?’

‘Whatever needs to happen. That’s the whole point of being strategic.’