She died outside Nightgrowls, a late-to-sleep hangout. Although any force we wielded was mandated non-lethal, by long convention criminals were more likely to suffer an ‘inadvertent fatal application of non-lethal force’ than to be detained alive, so in consequence, offing Winter Consuls was seen as not just a reciprocal arrangement, but a form of sport. Klaar was well known for corruptly playing one criminal gang off against another and her inevitable demise was revealingly disproportionate in its savagery.

I peered into Klaar’s half-track, took one look at her remains and then deposited most of my lunch into a nearby snow drift.

‘Vomiting is a waste of protein,’ said Vice-Consul Pryce, a short man, partial to sarcasm and chocolate peanuts. ‘In the spirit of practicality, you may want to bag it for later.’

‘No thanks.’

‘Mixed into a goulash you’d never know,’ he said with all seriousness.

‘Look, thanks for the advice, but I’m not going to eat my own vomit.’

‘That’s because you’ve not been hungry enough. When you are, you’ll eat carrion, lichen, cardboard, someone else’s vomit, anything. Ever heard of Toccata, Chief Consul Sector Twelve?’

Almost everyone had heard of Toccata. She was rumoured to have a policy of rarely taking wrongdoers alive and Deputy Consuls died under her command at eight times the national average. There was also a rumour she’d seen the Gronk – up in the fire valleys where the snow never settles and the air is full of sulphurous fumes, as though the devil herself had made landfall.

‘I heard she ate a nightwalker in order to survive a particularly bleak Winter,’ I said.

‘Two, I heard,’ said Pryce, ‘and that she now has a taste for it.’

‘C’mon,’ I said, expecting a leg-pull.

But he seemed deadly serious.

‘There are times when survival dictates extreme measures. Some say the Bard wrote Sir John Falstaff into so many of his plays for that express purpose – someone unseasonably portly for the Winter Players to feast upon if things got bad.’

‘Really?’ I asked.

‘Who knows? But Winter Cutlets should always be a consideration, when the hunger pangs hit, pantry is empty and hibernation isn’t an option. Oh, and speaking of Toccata, don’t mention her to the Chief. They had a thing going a few years back. He’s still a little raw over it.’

‘What happened?’

‘He fell in love.’

‘Really? He doesn’t look the kind.’

‘Oh, he’s the kind all right. But then she split on him and, well, as I say, he’s still a little raw.’

Coincidentally, Toccata had recently called the office, looking to speak to Logan. I told Pryce about it and he raised an eyebrow.

‘Personal?’

‘Professional. Something weird going on in Sector Twelve.’

‘So what’s new? There’s always something weird going on in Sector Twelve.’