Pilgrim decided to start with the second-floor chamber, and spent several days taking down drapes eaten to lace by moths and washing years of dust from the mosaic floor with limewater and scrubbing tables and chairs before turning to the books. He worked methodically along the shelves, wiping down each volume and entering its title and a note about its condition in his catalogue, putting aside those that might be of interest to the tribe or worth selling. That was where the constable, Noble Seatree, found him, a moonspan after the first visit. He arrived unannounced, as before, but this time without his cur. Walking so softly that Pilgrim, engrossed in the book he was studying, did not realise that he had company until the constable’s shadow fell across the table.

‘Don’t tell me that’s work,’ Noble Seatree said.

‘I have to examine every volume to find out if it is worth sending to my Hearth,’ Pilgrim said, shutting the book and pushing to his feet.

‘Don’t get up on my account,’ Noble Seatree said. ‘I seen you out and about a couple of times and know how your bad leg troubles you. You walk like a drunk trying to cross a deck in a hard blow.’

Pilgrim ignored that, said that he hoped that the constable could see that he had made a start on tidying the place.

‘Women’s work that shouldn’t have taken more than a day.’

‘I have also begun to catalogue the books and put them into order,’ Pilgrim said, watching as the constable paced along the shelves, stopping to run a finger along the edge of one, taking a book from another and blowing dust from it.

‘Don’t look like you’ve made much headway,’ he told Pilgrim, and slotted the book back in place.

‘The work is slow because it has to be meticulous,’ Pilgrim said, and wondered if it was sensible to use a word that the constable might not know. ‘It takes time and care to clean and assess each volume.’

‘So they have some value, these old books?’

‘Most aren’t worth the cost of shipping them north.’

‘Most, but not all, eh? What about these?’ Noble Seatree said, pointing to the small stack on one corner of the worktable.

‘I haven’t yet catalogued them,’ Pilgrim said, with a pang of apprehension.

The constable picked up the topmost book and carelessly riffled through it, studied the hand-tinted plates bound in the centre. ‘Pretty,’ he allowed.

‘It’s an account of the various species of birds found in this territory,’ Pilgrim said, remembering the bestiary he had given to Amity. Would the young pup understand why his uncle had been exiled? Would he forgive him, when he returned?

Noble Seatree weighed the book in his hand. ‘What would something like this fetch?’