“You’re not drinking your tea, Rafe,” said Mr. Stab.

“I’ll let it cool a bit first. You go right ahead.”

Mr. Stab looked at Rafe almost sadly, and then took a long drink from his cup. He made a slight moue of civilised distaste and put the cup down on a bookshelf beside him.

“If you’re going to work with poison, Rafe, you need to make the tea a lot stronger, to disguise the taste. And you put enough strychnine in that cup to see off a dozen normal men. But I haven’t been that easy to kill for a long time now. Poison is as mother’s milk to such as I. Why, Rafe? Is it Penny? Was she a friend of yours? Or perhaps something more?”

Rafe stood up abruptly, throwing his cup aside. He stood towering over Mr. Stab for a long moment, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Mr. Stab rose easily to his feet to face him. Rafe couldn’t get the words out at first, he was breathing so hard. His face was twisted with hatred and loathing.

“We were never close,” Rafe said hoarsely. “But we might have been. She never knew I cared about her. And now, thanks to you, she never will. Damn your soul to Hell.”

“Already done,” said Mr. Stab.

Rafe attacked him, throwing himself at the calm and unmoving immortal. He beat at Mr. Stab with his fists, while hot tears ran down his face, and Mr. Stab just stood there and took it. Rafe armoured up, and his golden fists hammered at Mr. Stab’s impassive face. The armoured strength behind the blows must have been hideous, but Mr. Stab took no obvious damage from them. And if he felt any pain, he didn’t show it. In the end, Rafe stood before Mr. Stab with his arms hanging heavily, armoured down, his face wet with sweat and tears. Mr. Stab looked at him.

“Cry, boy,” he said. “It’s all right. I would too, if I could.”

William Drood came along then, to see what all the noise was about, and took in the scene in a moment. He looked fiercely at Mr. Stab, who immediately stepped back, and William came forward and took Rafe away. Mr. Stab stood very still, not even looking around him, until William returned on his own. I watched Mr. Stab’s face all the time. It never changed once. I had no idea at all what he was thinking, or feeling. If he felt anything at all. There were times . . . when I wished I could be like that, and not have to feel all the things that hurt me so. William gestured for Mr. Stab to sit down, and he did so. William sat opposite him. He looked sadly at the discarded tea things.

“Don’t drink the tea,” Mr. Stab said calmly.

“So I gather,” William said dryly. “Sorry about that. He’s young. They take things so personally, at that age. Still, nothing you haven’t encountered and deserved before, I expect. What do you want here?”