The long drive to Norton was not a comfortable one. Even in more congenial circumstances, it would have been tedious, but since most of it took place in an atmosphere of grim discontent, they were heartily sick of each other by the time they finally glimpsed the lights of the city a few days later.

Hex had never been to Norton. His life, up till a few weeks earlier, had been circumscribed by Fenech and the farefolds of Lisle and Fleet. He had never been to any town much bigger than Market Canby. He mistook the orange glow in the sky, which was visible long before the city itself appeared behind the long low escarpment of the Wisbech Downs, for the sign of some huge conflagration and could scarcely believe his eyes when the source was revealed as the myriad lights of the capital, cut off abruptly by the sweep of the natural harbour of Colfe-Maritime.

Even though the evening was far advanced, the streets were still crowded with people. He marvelled unashamedly at the enormous buildings that seemed designed to crush the humble onlooker into awed submission, the endless streams of cars and coaches and horses and buses, street stalls selling roast meats, drinks, baubles, laces, flanked by juggling entertainers and mountebanks performing acrobatics to appreciative impromptu crowds. There was a fleeting glimpse of a fountain in a passing square, where tables were laid out and uproarious revellers were feasting on great mounds of lobster and crab and shrimp, served on heaps of ice. Music was playing, people were singing and shouting, cars sounded their horns, it was a perpetual riot.

As they drove on and on through ever more crowded streets, with the buildings getting grander and more imposing on every side, he felt almost dazed by the multitudinous splendour of the Western capital. The chauffeur had to sound the horn repeatedly to clear a path before the slowly progressing car. The people that milled on either side were from every corner of the Empire – people with features and garb he had never seen before, speaking tongues he had never heard.

‘Is it a festival?’ he said. ‘Where are they all going?’

Nina gave a giggle, immediately suppressed.

Mrs Breitling smiled. ‘This is Norton, my friend,’ she said. ‘This is our great city on a rather quiet night in the middle of summer, when everyone flees to the islands and we all complain that the city is utterly dead. You will never see anywhere more magnificent, not if you go to the furthest reaches of the Empire. And I flatter myself that the name of Juliet Breitling is not the most insignificant in this city.’

The car had passed through a broad archway in a massive stone wall and they were now in a quieter neighbourhood. The houses were still large and imposing, but the crowds had thinned and the streets were lined with tall old trees. As the car climbed up a low hill, here and there between gaps in the houses, they caught glimpses of the glittering harbour, the lights of scores of ships dancing over the waves. The rich smell of the harbour wafted up to them on the breeze.

The house that they finally stopped at was not the biggest of the houses that they had passed, but it had one of the best positions, with a clear view of the harbour to the west and of the city all around. It was built in the classical style, not that Hex had any clear notion of this, only that it seemed uncommonly elegant, well-proportioned and substantial. The windows on the lower floors were lit and they could see people in evening dress at table.

The chauffeur had turned off the engine. In the silence, Mrs Breitling turned to Hex and said, ‘This is Ashurst House, the residence of Stephanius Wallop in Norton. I assume you do not wish to go up and announce yourself directly? Let Nina go in and ask for your friend Torrens. Never fear: Nina can be relied upon to handle the matter with complete discretion.’

Nina seemed quite sanguine at the prospect of appearing uninvited at the home of one of the most senior figures in the Empire. She got out of the car and trod neatly up the steps to the door which opened immediately, without her needing to ring. She spoke to the footman who appeared in the square of light and was immediately let in. The door closed behind her and not too long afterwards opened again to let her out.

Nina got back into the car and said to Hex, ‘You’re to go to the gate in the back wall. Torrens will meet you there.’ To her mother she said, ‘He said I should call on him whenever I please.’

Mrs Breitling patted her hand. As the chauffeur was driving them round the block, she said to Hex, ‘I will send word to Ashurst if Maitre Weller can help us in the matter of your friend.’ They had reached a dark back street, which was little more than an unlit lane, made even shadowier by the trees that overhung it from the gardens of the surrounding mansions. It was too narrow for the car. She gave Hex her hand and he kissed her fragrant skin for the final time.

‘This will not be the last that we hear of you, Hunter, my dear friend,’ she said in her sweet, surprisingly girlish voice. ‘I am sure you think me very foolish, but I am never wrong in these matters.’

Hex tried to thank her again, but she would hear no more. ‘Go quickly,’ she said. ‘And give my regards to Stephanius, if you see him.’

Hex and Cornelia got out of the car and stood hidden in the shadow of the lane as it drew away. There was an ornate gilt and iron gate barring their entrance into the lane, but there was a smaller gate set into that ornamental gate and this one, although the bolt was drawn, was not locked. They slipped through quickly and were immediately lost to sight in the almost complete darkness of the lane.

They stumbled forward, running their hands against the mossy brick, feeling and hearing damp leaves underfoot. It was the first time they had found themselves alone together since the scene at the breakfast table on the morning of their departure from Market Canby. Cornelia said awkwardly, as she shuffled along behind Hex, taking comfort from the sound of his regular steady breathing, ‘I’m sorry about… what I said.’

Hex said nothing, but kept walking, keeping his eyes fixed on the lit windows of Ashurst House up ahead. He had counted the number of houses from the corner, but in fact it was easy to spot Ashurst House, as it was the only one which showed any signs of life.

‘Hex?’ said Corny. ‘Did you hear? I said I was – '

‘Forget it,’ he said shortly.

‘No,’ she persisted. ‘It was wrong. I was talking nonsense. You must believe me.’

‘You were right,’ he said coolly. ‘Don’t apologise. You’re Dega, you don’t apologise.’

He had said it deliberately to wound. Cornelia opened her mouth and then closed it again and her chin stiffened in a way which, had she but known it, exhibited the true Degaletera manner.

Hex’s fingers, running over the rough brick, suddenly encountered the smoothness of painted wood. They were directly behind Ashurst House now. Very softly, Hex knocked twice. He was answered at once by a single knock. They heard a key turning softly in the well-oiled lock, then the door opened. They couldn’t see anything beyond it, but they both slipped through immediately.

Torrens was standing just inside the door. He was wearing some kind of cloak with a hood thrown over his fair hair. He put a finger to his lips and gestured to them to follow him. He passed sure-footed up the garden, noiseless on the worn paving stones, followed by Hex and Corny. At the back of the house, there was a broad terrace and glass doors were thrown open so that the Councillor’s guests could enjoy the cool night air. Torrens led them between narrow shadowed alleys of box and privet to a small door under an overhanging section of the house. This was already open and directly inside there was a steep wooden staircase, painted white.
He led them up the service staircase, one, two, three flights in complete silence, stepping carefully to avoid creaking, before he opened another door. He made them wait on the staircase while he checked to make sure the corridor beyond was empty and then gestured them quickly through. Behind was a hallway panelled in dark wood with a narrow carpet in rich colours running down the length. Torrens opened a door halfway along and quickly ushered them through. It was only when they were in his room and he had turned the key in the lock that he relaxed a little.

The curtains in the room were drawn shut. It was a smallish room, simply and neatly furnished in solid oak – just a narrow bed, a wardrobe and dresser, a desk placed beneath the window, and a tall set of shelves, filled with books.

They were all still standing, but Torrens, remembering his manners now, said suddenly, but kindly, ‘You must be Cornelia. Hex has told me so much about you. Won’t you sit down?’ He had shed his cloak when they entered the room. Underneath he was in formal evening dress. He would have looked odd if Hex was not used to seeing him in the Fenech uniform, which was in its own way, just as odd. Smaller and slighter than his friend, with a mop of wispy white-blond hair, there was a look in his eye which gave him the demeanour of a depraved angel.

‘I had to tell them I was feeling unwell,’ said Torrens. ‘I hope no-one comes up to check. I expect they won’t. Stephanius has to look after his guests. I told them I was just going to go to bed and they were not to disturb me.

‘I’m surprised to see you here so soon,’ he went on. ‘Oh, Han sent word to expect you. Not very discreetly either, I might add. It was the purest chance that I happened to intercept the wire. If Phileo (that’s Stephanius’ secretary) had seen it, the game would have been up. How did you get here so fast? And where is Anver?’

When they had filled him in on everything that had occurred since they left Vaux, he said, ‘If Juliet Breitling is working on your behalf, that will make a world of difference.’ At Fenech, Hex was his protector; he was rather enjoying being able to show that, in his own world, he had knowledge and that he, in his turn, could defend his defender. ‘You are still their prime suspect. We have to be able to prove your innocence. That is, supposing you are innocent.’

He glanced quickly at Hex, embarrassed. ‘You are innocent, aren’t you?’ His round blue eyes were filled with concern. ‘You can tell me, you know. I’m sure there were mitigating circumstances.’

Hex grimaced. ‘Of course I’m innocent! Why does everyone keep asking me that? Do you honestly think me capable of killing anyone, let alone my liegelord?’

Torrens didn’t reply to the question, but he did look relieved. ‘Of course if you didn’t do it, that makes things simpler. We must get Stephanius involved, both with your case and that of the Under Spellman. Don’t worry – he won’t turn you in. Not if he believes in your innocence.’

At this point, Cornelia interrupted with a jaw-cracking yawn. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I’m dead on my feet. Have you got anywhere for us to sleep, Torrens? Please?’

Torrens showed them to a neat little room at the end of the corridor, little different from his own, assuring her that she would not be disturbed that night. Corny seemed in a hurry to get rid of them, so the two boys left her washing in the basin of water Torrens’ foresight had thoughtfully provided.

When Torrens heard the full story of what Hex had seen on the night of Inigo’s death, his eyes widened and he whistled. ‘So that’s their game, is it? This is dynamite, Hex. It’s no wonder they’re happy to put it about that you’ve fled to the Waste. Everyone will assume your guilt. They’ll get their place on the Council, through Ephraim. No questions asked, no fuss, no mess. You must come and tell Stephanius about this at once. Heppleworth’s already making a play to take up the Dega seat on the Council. The Prince was bad enough. Heppleworth would be insufferable. And what is more, his influence might be enough to tip the balance against us. The last thing we need on Council now is another hardliner. Especially with news of fresh uprisings in the Margenaria daily. The Wallops and the Dega have never seen eye to eye, but at least when Welbeck was alive, he kept the peace. No-one dared to move against him.’