‘Actually I believe I should have precedence, even over High Goldsmiths,’ said a slighter, shorter young man with badly cut dark hair that made his fringe slant from left to right, above regular but not particularly handsome features, and skin rather too white to look healthy. He wore simpler clothes than Aronzo, dark blue on top with dull silver stripes showing through the cuts in his sleeves, with no other indicator, save a small silver badge of a single key high on his left arm, so unobtrusive Clariel almost missed it. ‘Being the Abhorsen’s great-nephew –’

‘Rat-catcher!’ said Aronzo, making it sound enough like a sneeze for Dyrell to be able to ignore him, though like everyone else present he must have heard it.

‘– and a cousin of the King,’ continued the pale young man, ignoring the interruption.

‘Yes, yes, we have been over this,’ said Dyrell testily. ‘This is not the old times, and in the modern age, certainly for the last very many years, it has been the custom in the city for guild rank to take precedence, save in some of the old ceremonies –’

‘It’s all right, Dyrell,’ said the black-haired man. ‘I’m just showing my cousin how things are.’

He made a bow to Clariel and she saw a glint of mischief in his eye. Aronzo pointedly yawned and made a faint show of covering it up by turning his head a fraction, as the pale young man continued.

‘Greetings, milady. I am Belatiel, and as we are kinfolk, please call me Bel,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately, since I cannot claim a guildmember for a parent, I am something of a nuisance here. They never quite know what to do with me. I welcome a relative and –’

‘Now, Lord Belatiel, please, there are introductions remaining to be done, and there is a correct order to matters, tea to be poured and so forth, before we can make conversation. Lady Clariel, the ladies present are of the Spicers’ Guild, red and yellow alternated in double bands; and the Vintners, purple, green and silver. In the order of precedence as I have given them. Please introduce yourself.’

‘But they’ve already heard who I am,’ said Clariel.

‘Please, Lady Clariel,’ said Dyrell. ‘Once learned correctly here, you will never be embarrassed anywhere in the city.’

‘I don’t get embarrassed,’ said Clariel frankly. ‘I think it’s because I don’t really care –’

‘Please!’ beseeched Dyrell, with a flutter of his hand. ‘I do not wish to send you back to Mistress Ader.’

‘Oh,’ said Clariel. She didn’t want to be sent back to that formidable woman either, though the whole thing seemed ridiculous. She turned to face the young woman from the Spicers, who was tall, blonde and even-featured but not particularly attractive. Her nose was out of proportion to her face, and she made herself more unattractive as far as Clariel was concerned by looking down that long nose in a supercilious fashion.