‘Just something that seemed to have fixed in her mind. Maybe nothing. But there was a man there. A boy? A man? I don’t know any more. He worried me a bit. Intense. Religious. He seemed to be dominating them a bit, and I didn’t like the way he didn’t blink. He had some slate, too – it was him that owned the place. When I spoke to him, I got that look, the one we talked about a while back. Like he could have me shot without a thought, if he wanted to. Like it would mean nothing to him.’

Zidarov felt a cold chill pass through him. ‘Ordos?’ he asked. ‘On Alecto?’

‘I know. Probably nothing. Just a novice priest, maybe. But he’s gone now. Disappeared. Strange.’ He shook his head, forced a smile. ‘Anyway, you owe me now, I reckon. When you’re back on your legs, the jeneza’s good down in subsector forty-three.’

‘Whenever you want.’ He gave Brecht a smile back, equally forced. ‘Thank you, my friend. Thank you for finding her.’

‘Any time.’ Brecht got up. ‘But get better quick. I’m already getting thirsty.’

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

He did recover quickly. Vipa remarked on it more than once. He asked about the scar again, but there was nothing more to say about that. Zidarov really didn’t remember where it had come from. That was the only remarkable thing about it. That, and the fact that it gave him pain whenever he was stressed or irritable, which was most of the time.

After a short period of convalescence in his hab, he signed back on at the Bastion. For a week or so he kept himself confined to desk duties. It turned out that Vongella had either been lying about the reduction of his stipend or had forgotten to implement it. She must have been reasonably happy with how things had turned out, then.

He didn’t have much to do with Draj. They passed one another in the corridor, one morning, and the sanctioner gave him a terse nod of greeting. Zidarov tried to think of something to say to him. He wanted to know just what had happened in the Bulwark, since no one else had told him, but Draj didn’t seem inclined to talk. Like Vipa had said, the man looked in rude health, barely scratched by what had taken place. The faint aroma of alcohol hung in the air around him, which was strangely reassuring.

Draj just kept on walking. That nod was the best he was going to get. Still, that was better than the alternative.