She blinked, consulting her iris’ own internal databanks. ‘Yellow­snake’s still closer to you than me,’ she said. ‘He’s part of the Yezan cell, based downclave, in the grade-eight habs. I can give you references for the safe houses we know about, but I haven’t been down there myself.’

‘Anything on the agent?’

’Not much. Mid-ranking, debt collector, working his way up. Can I ask what this is about?’

Zidarov pushed the chair back, and it swung on the mount. ‘Maybe nothing. I’m after someone. He might be tangled up with this name, might not be. You know how it is – I’m just starting out. Can you transmit those loc-refs?’

‘Already done.’

They arrived with a ticklish pulse over his eyeball.

Then he was wanting to be gone. He didn’t want to spend any more time with Borodina than he had to; she made him feel old and compromised – like Adeard’s dull friends had, only more so, because she had something about her. Still, everyone needed a hand up, at the start.

‘So, how’s it going?’ he asked.

She looked a bit startled. ‘You mean, the case?’

‘No. No, how’s it going. You know.’

‘It’s going fine.’

‘Good. I mean, I’m not trying to patronise you. It’s just–’

‘Oh, I see. No, that’s… that’s very kind.’ She smiled, a little forced. ‘It’s going fine. If you need anything else, then–’

He got up, suddenly feeling like a heel. ‘No, that’s helpful. I’ll run those through. Thanks.’

‘His Hand,’ she said.

‘His Hand,’ he said back, getting up, walking away.

She didn’t need his help. He wasn’t any good at being a mentor. He didn’t know why he kept trying to do it.

How’s it going? Throne.

He walked out. He walked out faster than he’d walked in.

Grade-eight habs were near the bottom of the scale. A grade-one hab was for a political worker, a mid-rank justicius or a burgrave’s adjutant. Grades two and three were for the indispensible functionaries – master technicians who kept the power coils from overloading, conveners of the freshwater committees, manufactorum floor-bosses, that kind of thing. Grade-four was what the city had given to Zidarov – small, but clean, and the electrics worked and the tower had a security guard with usable body armour. Below that, it all started getting vaguer. By the time you reached eight, you felt lucky to have a drinkable water supply and a door that locked.