“And one afternoon,” he continued, “I had a visit from a man who introduced himself as an associate to a certain woman of business who had heard my name and wished to interview me for the possibility of future employment. That sounded like I would be taking a job at the permits office, sitting behind a desk marking in a ledger. It didn’t sound like killing at Mother Deare’s demand and whim, did it? But it was. More money, power over underlings, the excitement of the hunt … the deadly brew. Well, I’d been drinking it for a long time. It became my life’s water. And what of it? Why shouldn’t I take what I could, while I could? Nothing lasts forever, I know that. Why shouldn’t I use my talents? Then Mother Deare began lending me out to Professor Fell, and I got in with that crowd also. I belonged. I still belong. When I do a job, I do it to the best of my ability. I am relied upon and I have a reputation. I am someone in this world. You see?”

Matthew took his time in answering, weighing what he would say against the possibility of Julian Devane flying at him to take him apart. At last he said, “It sounds to me you decided that if being a good man was closed off to you—by what you consider to be Fate—you would be the best bad man you could be. Perhaps you’re a walking contradiction, but there it is.”

Julian did not respond. Matthew tensed, ready for anything.

Then Julian laughed, and it was genuine.

“Yes,” he said. “I like that.”

Matthew stood up, realizing the bedtime story had come to its end. Dawn was approaching, though again it looked as if the sun would be shrouded behind clouds for another day.

Julian yawned and stretched. “I think I can get some sleep,” he said. “I didn’t realize how tired I am.”

Matthew nodded. He thought that Julian had likely never told this story in its entirety to anyone else in the world, and even if he’d related parts of it to his criminal friends he had certainly never revealed any of it to a law-abiding stuff-shirted prick such as had listened to it this morning. Maybe that made a difference, or maybe not, but already Julian was settling himself back on the sofa, his head on one of the pillows. He stretched out to full length and closed his eyes. Julian’s hands were clasped across his chest in a way that Matthew thought was nearly an attitude of prayer, but he didn’t dare voice that because he wanted to keep all the teeth he currently possessed. Matthew recalled that at the tower near Adderlane Julian had said he did not mourn the dead.

It seemed, though, that he did mourn at least one.