Valannie shrugged angrily. ‘It is what everyone says, milady.’

‘You’d better make sure my mother doesn’t hear it,’ said Clariel forcefully. Though even as she said it, she wondered if that was true. Jaciel was estranged from her father, the Abhorsen Tyriel, and the whole clan who lived somewhere to the south in a sprawling house or series of houses collectively called Hillfair. The reason or reasons for that estrangement had never been explained to Clariel. She’d never asked about them, either, and in fact hadn’t ever really thought about it.

Maybe Jaciel felt so badly towards the rest of the Abhorsen family that she wouldn’t mind them being called rat-catchers or night-rakers, the folk who back in Estwael emptied cesspits, but here apparently worked in the great sewers far beneath the city, keeping them working to carry away the vast ordure of so many people in one place … Clariel’s nose wrinkled at the very thought of it.

Valannie was saying something about never speaking so in front of Jaciel, but Clariel ignored her, as she was suddenly struck by a question: what had made Jaciel separate herself from her parents? Quite possibly it was exactly the same problem Clariel faced now, that her mother had wanted to be a goldsmith, and her parents hadn’t wanted to let her follow that ambition.

I need to find out, thought Clariel. If I can just get her to understand …

Far off in the distance, carried by the sea breeze, the bells on the tower of the Southeast Gate began to sound, ringing out the hour. A few seconds later, like a distant echo, Clariel heard other bells further into the city follow. She did not know them all at present, but would soon learn their distinctive tones: Grey Tower, Old Shoulder, the Narrow Spire and the clear chime of Palace Hill.

‘Eighth hour already!’ exclaimed Valannie. ‘We must bustle!’

‘Where is the Academy?’ asked Clariel. ‘More than an hour’s walk away?’

‘Oh no, it is not far, just over the top of Beshill, a little way down the western side, on Silver Street, that was once called Janoll’s Way, and to tell the truth still is by the uneducated folk who can’t read the new signs the Governor has put up. It is a very good address, and no more than an easy walk at a comfortable pace.’

‘Why the hurry then?’ asked Clariel. ‘We have plenty of time.’

‘No, no, no,’ cooed Valannie. ‘We haven’t painted your face. Come over to the window, here is a little stool, and turn towards the light. Please, milady!’