The Silence. Seven hundred years ago, twenty-five thousand people had vanished from the city. The only survivors had been aboard the ruler’s vast fleet of fishing ships, fifty miles downriver at the time. Many a horror story had been written about the Silence. It had shaped Ambergrisian life ever since. Especially attitudes toward the gray caps. Everyone had believed the gray caps had done it. When they’d Risen, some people said it was because of Manzikert’s genocide against them, and because of something they hadn’t finished during the Silence. Revenge, after waiting patiently for centuries. Of course, who could confirm that? The gray caps said less now that they were aboveground than when they’d been below.

“A broken symbol means a broken pact, some believe,” Rathven said.

“I found it on the back of a scrap of paper used to scribble a note. Torn from a book. It probably isn’t connected to the case.” Wanted to move on for reasons he couldn’t identify.

“Probably.” In a tone that said, Why waste my time asking me to research it then?

Took the photo out of his pocket. “I want you to have this while you research the list.”

Rathven took it. Winced.

“What?”

“He’s dead, Finch.”

“Of course he’s dead. It’s the murder case. I need to know who he is. It’s very strange. I can’t get my head around it. I need your help.”

And there’s no one in the station I trust to thoroughly check out that list.

“Are you sure you want to tell me more?” Rathven said.

People came to Rathven who the gray caps would count as enemies. Seeking information from her library. Information from her. Finch turned a blind eye. But someday somebody was going to test Rath’s neutrality, her ability to put it all in a locked box.

A sound distracted him. A sudden retreat of water somewhere in the darkness behind him. He’d seen fish “walk” up out of that darkness. Watched them gasping as they tried to be something other than fish. Once, Finch had heard a splashing like oars, from deep in the tunnel. Had asked Rath, half serious, “Is there something you want to tell me?” She’d ignored him.

Finch put down his tea. Leaned back in the chair. Do I trust Rathven more or less than Sintra?

“A dead man and a dead gray cap. In the same apartment. The gray cap is just a torso with arms and a head. No blood. True, it’s a gray cap. But maybe they weren’t even murdered. Maybe murdered, but not in the apartment. I didn’t get much out of the memory bulbs.” Not much I can share.

It felt good to talk. Drew the tension out of him. Got rid of a strange echo in his head.

Rathven nodded, looking serious. “Didn’t get much? So you got something.” She waited, expectant.