‘So, you see, there’s very little that I have to fear from Udmil Terashova. She probably thinks I died a long time ago. It’s fine. I’ve made my peace with it. I’m not as strong as I was, I don’t get out much, but I can still pray for Varangantua. I’ll even pray for you, probator, if you want me to. The Emperor has room in His arms for all His children, after all.’

‘Maybe if I lost a bit of weight,’ he said, lamely. ‘But, I… Damn. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. It’s like you said. They’re not happy, the gilded. I am. I’d have liked a little longer, but we don’t get to choose our fate. In all things, commit to His will. There is no other road.’

‘You’ve been a great help to me,’ he said.

She smiled again. She’d spent the entire conversation smiling. ‘I’m glad of it. Service is its own reward, don’t you think? Stay close to Him, probator – that is what I’ll say to you. Stay close to His guidance, and you’ll find what you’re looking for.’

Zidarov guessed that she hadn’t meant Adeard when she’d said that. Or maybe she had, but had inserted the little dig at his conscience anyway. Perhaps she had the second sight, the facility to peer into a man’s soul. Zidarov had heard it said that some priests had that, though he’d always resisted the idea. He’d always hated priests. Most of them, anyway.

By the time he’d left the seminary and powered his way back down into the valley, his mind was working hard. He’d shaken off the worst of the fatigue. For a few moments, he’d forgotten about Naxi, and Lena, and all that nagging discontent, and concentrated on the matter at hand. He remembered the way Mordach had been when he’d mentioned the Vidora. Dismissive, but with no real conviction. He thought back to Yellowsnake – the same. That was the link he should have been pursuing. Maybe his gut had been correct, and it was only the botched handling of that raid that had clouded things. Despite what Brecht had told him, he felt surer than ever that someone had given the Vidora a tip-off. He wasn’t as nimble as he’d once been, but he could still ­complete an observation undetected – that was basic.

As he neared the Bastion, he put in a call to Brecht.

‘His Hand, Gyorgu,’ he said, overtaking a tracked ore-crawler coming in from the industrial zones. ‘Tell me, has anything come of the Vidora purge yet? Anything from Yuti?’