Instinctively, Marcus’s hand slid to his side, to the empty space in his sackcloth belt where Albert had seen his knife dangling, the first time he had met him. ‘I do not know.’

‘Oh, don’t you,’ cried Ucho. ‘Well, I do! Here it is!’ And he held up the knife, like a trophy. ‘That’s yours isn’t it? Isn’t it?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Perhaps, he says! Well, if it isn’t, then where is your knife?’

‘I do not know. I dropped it in the tunnels while fighting. And you are speaking again.’

Ucho’s chest swelled, but Father spoke before he could say anything. ‘Marcus, you do realize how this looks, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said Marcus indifferently.

Father shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Marcus,’ he said unhappily, ‘but for the moment, I cannot prevent Ucho’s men from taking you into custody.’

Marcus stood up—one clean, easy motion, almost like water suddenly flowing straight up. ‘There is no need to prevent anything. I shall leave.’

‘No you won’t!’ shouted Ucho. ‘You’re under arrest, do you hear me?’

Marcus looked at him. ‘Because you keep saying it does not make it true,’ he said, and made as if to turn. Dozens of clicks followed as, all around, men armed their blasters. Ucho stepped back, whispering to a man near him, who nodded and melted back into the crowd.

Marcus looked around impassively, at the sea of weaponry pointed straight at him. ‘I am leaving,’ he said. ‘Let the man who believes he can stop me try.’

‘Wait, Marcus!’ shouted Father. ‘Can you not see you are making it worse? Please, just cooperate, and I promise that if you are innocent, you have nothing to fear!’

‘Innocent of what?’ said Marcus. ‘If you mean of killing Castor, then yes, I did not kill him. Or his man. But what does that matter?’

‘Of course it matters!’ said Father. ‘What else do you think this is about?’

‘I do not know. I feel no grief that he is dead. Then how does it matter?’

‘But that’s not the point!’

‘It is my point. I do not care who killed him, or why.’

‘I promise you, if you’ll just come quietly, we just need to ask you a few questions, that’s all.’

‘I choose not to answer questions. I have told you, I did not kill him. I have nothing else to say.’

‘But—’

‘This conversation is over.’

‘Marcus, please!’

Marcus turned, and then cried out sharply, slapping at his neck. He felt about for a moment, then pulled at it and turned, the dart in his hand still oozing fluid. He looked at Father, and there was something in his eyes, Albert couldn’t tell what.

‘You kept me talking.’