‘They are worth sending back to my tribe, which is why they are on the list. And because they are on the list, my people will notice that they are missing.’

‘Rewrite the list. And when you find any more books you think might be worth something, don’t put them on it straight away. From now on, I want to see everything first. Winter’s over and the Season’s almost on us, so I have extra expenses. And that means extra fees.’

Pilgrim waited until the constable had left, the cur close at his heels, before he collapsed into a chair. Noble Seatree was a blowhard and a bully, but he wasn’t stupid. Pilgrim knew that he would have to be especially careful, but he also knew that, however things fell out, he would not have to endure the constable’s petty tyranny for much longer. Copies of the letter he and Teal had drafted were on their way to her colleagues, and although she had warned him that it might be some time before she received any reply, he hoped that the Invisible College would see the sense of collaborating with him. And if it didn’t, he and Gentle would take advantage of the disruption caused by the bacchanalia at the beginning of the Season, steal a boat and make their own way north. Meanwhile, he would lie low, do his best to avoid the constable’s scrutiny and try to finish his work in the library. It wasn’t much of a salve to his conscience, but it was better than nothing.

Warm winds blew in from the west. The willows in the marshes were suddenly in full leaf and hung with bunches of catkins. Golden drifts of pollen spun on blackwater ponds. There were still patches of snow in shadowed hollows amongst the pines that covered the slopes rising above the Hearth, but the air was full of birdsong and the old people in Grace Wren Saltmire’s care grew restless as the first intimations of the Season woke enfeebled habits of lust and longing.

In Stonehaven, banners were strung across streets, the big tent that would house the feasts and formal ceremonies was erected in the town square and every household was filled with a bustle of cooking, cleaning and costume making. Gentle confessed that he felt a stirring in his blood, and told Pilgrim that he reckoned he might have a chance with the widow woman who bought the mussels he collected from the foreshore of Windy Bay.

‘I’ve always had a bit of luck with older women,’ he said. ‘They take little notice of my difference, and they’re more grateful and no less passionate. And experienced, too, which counts for a lot as far as I’m concerned.’

‘All I need to know is that you’ll be ready when the time comes.’