‘Don’t bother. What do you want, artificer?’

‘Just to talk to you. You’re brilliant, Tiaan.’

‘You already said that.’

‘Would you … Would …?’ He faltered under her astonished stare. Her lips were the reddish-purple colour of pulped blackberries. He wanted to crush his mouth against them.

‘What?’ she snapped.

‘I thought … perhaps dinner … or a walk along the path to the lookout … and then …’ He couldn’t get it out, with the prentices sniggering and rolling their eyes at each other. Artisan Fistila Tyr, who was heavily pregnant, set to with her grinding wheel to cover it up.

Tiaan turned those unusual eyes on him, scanning Nish from smoky cheeks to grease-stained hands and filthy boots. He felt sure he knew what she was thinking. Not only is he dirty and spotty and inarticulate, but he’s a runt!

‘Yes?’ she said in a low voice that had the prentices bending over their work. Nish recognised the danger, but if he did not speak now he would never be able to.

‘We both have our duty to perform. I thought we might share your bed!’ he burst out. ‘Or mine, if you prefer. I have …’

Her honey skin flushed red-brown. For a full minute she could not meet his eye; then Tiaan drew herself up. ‘How dare you!’ she hissed. ‘How can you imagine that I would give myself to a dirty little artificer, and not a very good one either? The thought makes me sick. Get out!’

Nish flushed beneath the dirt. Across the room, Irisis was watching the show with open mouth. This afternoon he would be the laughing-stock of the manufactory. There was only one way to recover.

‘I don’t think you realise who my father is, Artisan Tiaan,’ he said coldly. ‘He is Perquisitor Jal-Nish Hlar, one of the most important people in the land. He is a high inquisitor! He can make you, Tiaan, or he can break you. And my mother is a chief examiner, nearly as important.’ Looking over his shoulder, he softened his voice. ‘I know you and Irisis are rivals, Tiaan. Think what you can achieve with a perquisitor’s patronage. You need never fear her again.’

He gave an uncertain smile, for Nish was new to this game. He’d not tried to use influence before and wasn’t quite sure how to go about it, despite having often seen it done in his scribing days. He lacked the authority, and the easy arrogance that told him he deserved whatever he desired.

‘What do you say, Tiaan? We can take pleasure from each other and your career will blossom. Do you want to work in this dungheap of a manufactory forever? Come –’

‘I would sooner mate with a lyrinx!’ she shouted. ‘I don’t care who your father is. I will never lie with you. Now get your squalid self out of my workroom!’

‘Why won’t you do your duty, artisan? What are you afraid of?’

Tiaan paled. ‘Go away, little man.’

Nish’s fury was barely controllable, but he made one last effort. ‘If you knew who I really am,’ he hissed, ‘you would not be so –’

‘Get out!’ she roared and, seizing a pair of red-hot tongs resting in a brazier, Tiaan brandished them before his face.

Nish broke. Bursting through the double doors, he raced past the infirmary, out through the wall and down towards the furnaces. He could not go back to his own bench, for everyone would see the tears of rage streaming down his face. Creeping around the back of the furnaces, he hauled a recalcitrant sweeper boy out of a warm niche, clipped the lad over the ear for neglecting his work and crept in to lick his wounds. He would ruin Tiaan, somehow. Then he would bed her and cast her off.

Shortly he heard soft footsteps and to his astonishment Irisis appeared. She squatted down before him, offering a snowy handkerchief.

‘Artificer Cryl-Nish,’ she said softly, winning his undying gratitude for using his name and not the detested nickname. ‘Would you like to learn how to pleasure a real woman?’

Nish could have fainted with astonishment. Irisis was not known for her kindness. Surely she was playing a cruel joke. He did not know what to say.

Bending forward, she gave him a savage kiss on the mouth. His body responded instantly. She laughed and took his hand, though she wrapped the handkerchief around it first. ‘Come to my room.’ Then she wrinkled her pretty nose. ‘No, to the bathhouse first, I think. We’ll neither of us be missed for an hour or two. Time for a couple of lessons.’ Her eyes met his. ‘And after that, we’ll find plenty to talk about on our pillows.’

‘Talk about?’ he said dazedly.

‘About who our friends are. And our enemies!’

FOUR

Irisis propped herself up on an elbow, inspecting the youth who lay dozing in post-coital bliss beside her. She was not attracted to Nish at all, though she had to admit he had been vigorous, not insensitive, and displayed an admirable willingness to learn what pleased her. That was more than could be said for her previous lover. Her interest had been stirred by what he’d said to Tiaan, her rival here since childhood.

Irisis ran a hand down his chest. Nish was the least hairy man she had ever seen. She liked that, and the way their bodies touched. He smiled in his sleep. She slid her hand lower, tangling her fingers in the downy hair and tugging. He snapped awake.

‘Cryl-Nish, lover,’ she whispered, her breath tickling his ear. She wanted him capable of thinking just one thing.

He rolled over, pressing himself against her. Irisis kept him away with her hip. He froze. There was a message in the movement, though clearly he had no idea what it was. Good.

Irisis inspected him, the sheet up around her throat. As if by accident she let it fall, revealing one heavy breast swaying above his face. His eye followed it and she knew she had him.

‘We know what you want, Cryl-Nish.’ He reached for her. She moved back, saying thoughtfully, ‘I hear your father is no longer an examiner.’

‘He is chief perquisitor for the entire Einunar region,’ he said importantly.

‘Oh?’ Irisis was impressed but did not want to show it. She allowed him to bask in reflected glory for just a moment. ‘But what about the scrutator?’

His chest deflated. She had caught him trying to make his father seem more important than he was. He looked down at the rumpled bed, perhaps thinking that she was trying to make a fool of him.

‘Anyway,’ Irisis waved a hand, knowing it made other parts of her oscillate delightfully, ‘who cares about all that stuff? I’m much more interested in you.’

‘Me? Why?’ Nish was staring at her dark, puckered nipple. He would do anything to have more of her.

‘I’ve always had my eye on you, Cryl-Nish.’ That was a lie, of course. ‘Tell me about yourself.’

He began on the story of his life, suitably edited to impress. He had not gone far when she interrupted. ‘I know all that. But there’s one thing I don’t understand …’

‘What’s that?’

‘Why you’re here at all. You’re not an artificer, Cryl-Nish.’

‘I am!’ He sat up angrily. ‘And I’ve worked damned hard to become one.’

She pushed him down. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Of course you’re an artificer, and a good one too …’

‘Don’t patronise me!’ Rolling out of bed, he reached for his trousers.

The sheet slid away, exposing the other breast and her artisan’s pliance hanging between them. He swallowed. Putting out her arms, she pulled his face against her bosom. Nish resisted, but not for very long.

‘What I meant to say was … Your father sent you here for another reason, surely? A more important one than becoming an artificer. You would be much more valuable as a scribe, an assistant to a merchant, or even, one day, secretary to the scrutator.’

‘Yes,’ he said thickly, intoxicated by her. He lacked the experience to put her body out of mind.