‘I wished to make sure it was genuine. And then to inform his mother. She still does not know. You see, we are busy people. Even I, her husband, cannot always reach her just when I wish to.’

Zidarov turned the chamber over in his hand. It was a specialist piece, not something that many could get hold of easily. ‘Did it come with a message?’

‘An audex, deleted after first broadcast. It warned us not to interfere any further into activities where we do not belong.’

‘What activities might those be?’

‘I have no idea, probator. The Combine is active in hundreds of businesses. I have ordered a review of anything that might be contentious. We will not be paralysed by this, but we must be cautious.’

Zidarov sighed heavily. ‘I’ll take it with me. Something might have been left for us – a biosign, a field-resonance. We can, at least, verify the owner of the… appendage.’

‘Oh, there is no doubt over that,’ said Mordach, grimly. He sat forward, placing his elbows on his knees. The rings glinted. ‘As I told you, it is Adeard’s. And perhaps, now, you see that your fanciful ideas about the veracity of this case have no foundation. Let me tell you, it was Udmil who convinced me to go to the Bastion. She argued that it would be better for the investigation to come from a neutral party, since we could not be sure that this business was not connected to one of our rivals. We have spies in their corporations, they have spies in ours. Better, she told me, to go to the law. They would be able to provide us with a professional. One who would look into this carefully, quietly, impartially, before things got out of hand.’

Mordach’s gaze was surprisingly hard to meet. There was an emptiness behind his eyes that was disconcerting, uncomfortable. Or maybe it was just Zidarov’s embarrassment doing that for him. This thing had, so far, felt like a litany of very public failure.

‘You make your point,’ Zidarov said.

‘Perhaps we do not deal with this in the way you are used to,’ Mordach said. ‘Perhaps you wish us to break down in tears, and beg you to do something, anything, to bring him back. Maybe we strike you as cold and unfeeling. All of this is a consequence of my profession. A consequence of what I have had to become. Believe me, I love my son. Everything I have done here, everything I have suffered, has been for him. He will take it on, when I am gone. So I tell you this truly – I wish him to be found. I wish those who have taken him to be punished. And so, probator, as you have tracked me down with such ease, perhaps you might tell me what progress you have made, and how close you are to finding him?’