Zidarov looked at her. In an instant, he caught a glimpse of what it must be like to do her job – to balance, endlessly, the compromises that kept the whole show on the road. To keep powerful players in the balance, so that nothing threatened the pre-eminence of the Bastion in Urgeyena. To keep a lid on a boiling pan, lest the contents escape.

‘We ended an evil,’ he said, firmly.

‘One evil.’ She regarded him with weariness. ‘Take what comfort you can from that. The city has hundreds more. If we lose the capacity to keep it all in check, we lose everything.’

‘I saw what your friend was doing. I was there. I won’t apologise.’

Vongella glared at him for a little longer. ‘We’ve had some comms in from Udmil Terashova’s people. There’s been a purge of certain activities. She told me they won’t be coming back under the Jazc banner. She thinks that an increase in production from legitimate manufactoria would make a resumption of the illegal trade less attractive. Maybe. People have said similar things before, and nothing’s changed, but you have to admire the ambition.’

Zidarov let his head fall back onto the pillow. ‘There’s plenty about Udmil not to like. No one should have that much slate.’

‘Quite the revolutionary.’

‘Me? Too tired for that. Just doing–’

‘–your job. Fine. We’ll leave it at that.’ Vongella walked across the room, back towards the door. ‘You’re having a percentage docked from your stipend. It takes a lot of slate to replace a Bulwark, and there was no authorisation for using it. If you were thinking of going for senioris any time soon, think again.’

Zidarov smiled to himself. He hadn’t been thinking anything of the kind. ‘Still,’ he said. ‘Cell-work. It’s off your territory now, isn’t it?’

She looked at him in that familiar inscrutable way – part hostile, part protective.

‘Long may it stay that way,’ she said.

A little later, the door opened again, and Brecht emerged.

‘You’re awake?’ he asked, looking troubled.

Zidarov sat up, suddenly alert. ‘You tried to call me,’ he said.

Brecht came in. ‘I did.’

‘What did you find?’

Before he could say anything else, the door slammed open again, and Alessinaxa rushed in, nearly upending the medicine cabinet in her hurry to get to the cot. She threw herself at Zidarov, wrapping her arms around his neck.

‘Papi!’ she cried, promptly bursting into tears.

Being hugged like that hurt. It really hurt. But he let her grip for as long as she wanted. Brecht hung back, looking embarrassed. Zidarov smiled at him, helplessly.

Eventually, Alessinaxa let go, then perched on the bed, her cheeks flushed and eyes wet. ‘They shot you,’ she said, almost accusingly, as if he’d done it just to upset her.

‘Not very well,’ he said.

‘What were you doing?’