‘If this means that you’re planning to escape,’ Gentle said, ‘I’ll happily come along. Winter’s barely begun and I’ve already had enough of it.’

‘I made a promise that I would serve the full term of my exile and complete the work I was tasked with,’ Pilgrim said. ‘And I will. But there’s no harm in making plans for what I want to do afterwards.’

The days grew ever colder and the night sky glittered with a ridiculous number of stars and several times tall curtains of green light spanned it from horizon to horizon, shifting and writhing as if blown by an impalpable wind. The fabled auroras of the far south, called locally the Mother’s Skirts: the sign that winter had truly arrived.

It was snowing again, lightly but persistently, when Noble Seatree came for his fee. Stamping into the library with snow on his boots and snow flecking his black fur coat, standing over the fireplace and warming his hands over the small fire, rubbing them briskly together as he told Pilgrim that he had made himself a cosy little nest here.

‘Reckon I should raise my price, seeing as you’re faring so well.’

‘We’re somewhat short of food,’ Pilgrim said. ‘There’s not much hunting to be had in the forest, and no fishing at all now the sea has frozen.’

He had not stirred from his seat at the table, was watching the constable with the usual cold stone in his stomach, waiting to find out what petty humiliation would be visited on him this time.

‘Winter’s hard for everyone, so don’t think you’ll get a pass,’ Noble Seatree said, and hawked up a bolus of phlegm and spat into the fire and stalked over to the table and asked Pilgrim what he had for him this time.

Pilgrim had been making entries in the catalogue; he reserved his work on the visitors for the evening. Partly because he needed more than ever to be certain of fulfilling the terms of his exile and winning freedom; partly because Noble Seatree never visited after dark.

He pointed to the books stacked on the corner of the table and said, ‘See for yourself.’

The constable pawed through them. ‘Slim pickings,’ he said.

‘Everything I have found since your last visit.’

‘If you’ve been slacking off, I’ll have to find some way of improving your attitude. There’s always work to be done in town. A spell of clearing snow or helping out in the weaving sheds will perk you up.’

‘I’ve added more than twenty pages to the catalogue since your last visit,’ Pilgrim said, ‘and sorted through twelve ells of shelving. In three or four moonspans, I should be able to make a start on the first-floor chamber.’