Zidarov picked up his Tzarina, and Peravov panicked. ‘I don’t know any! How could I? But, look, I did hear things. I heard that three cartels had got into it – Zin Zin, Chakshia and Vidora. They all wanted a piece, and it was brutal for a while. They were moving bleeders around a lot, and no one made any money, because they had to fight so hard to hold on to what they had. It could be bigger than topaz, this racket, but it’s too vicious.’

‘The Vidora,’ said Zidarov. ‘They’re still in this.’

‘I don’t know. They were, I was told. But I don’t know. The word out there is that someone else is playing the game now. Someone new.’

‘And you can’t give me the names.’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know! If I did, I’d–’

He almost said it, blurted it out loud. I’d buy from them.

Zidarov held the Tzarina up, and made a great play of studying the inscriptions along the barrel. ‘But if you somehow found out, you’d be ready to report them, citizen. Wouldn’t you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Something I’ve never really understood, though – why’s it so much cheaper than the lab-grown stuff? I mean, you have to go through all that trouble, keep it quiet, run the risk of being caught.’

‘Oh, lots of reasons. The base compounds, the separation machines, the tox-filters – very few have access to that.’ Peravov swallowed. ‘But if you can just take what you need fresh, you cut that all out. And then, if you can keep them alive, they just keep giving you more. That’s what the clever ones do. They keep them alive. For a very long time.’

Zidarov felt sick again. He leaned forward. ‘So, here’s how it is. You’ll get rid of anything lingering in those strongrooms. Anything that shouldn’t be there, burn it. Then you’ll reform your practices. You’ll buy synthesised plasma and stem-cultures from the authorised laboratoriums. And, since you are clearly a pious man, I think a donation will be in order too. You are familiar with the seminary at Yvem Tora? That would be a good place to choose. They have some members suffering from Scila’s Syndrome. Something sent their way would be much appreciated.’

Now Peravov was looking completely miserable. ‘Where will I get the slate for that? Did you not hear me? Prices are through the–’

For a big man, Zidarov could move fast enough when he wanted to. He was up on his feet, his gun jammed into Peravov’s throat, before the rest of the sentence could be wheedled out.

‘I can come back at any time,’ he said, hissing the words out. ‘You hear that? Any time. So think about what you can afford, and think about your choices.’

Peravov stared up at him, pale and suddenly clammy.

‘Then I will,’ he squeaked.