“Are you very sad, Alastair?” Matthew heard Thomas ask as he approached, bent on retrieval.

“Stop bothering me, pip-squeak,” said Alastair, though his voice was tolerant. Even he could not strongly object to being adored.

“You heard the low, snaky serpent,” said Matthew. “Come away, Tom.”

“Ah, Mother Hen Fairchild,” sneered Alastair. “What a lovely wife you will make for somebody one of these fine days.”

Matthew was outraged to see Thomas’s tiny smile, though Thomas quickly concealed it out of respect for Matthew’s feelings. Thomas was meek and much afflicted by sisters. He seemed to think Alastair being rude to everyone was daring.

“I wish I could say the same for you,” said Matthew. “Has no kind soul thought to inform you that your hairstyle is, to use the gentlest words available to me, ill-advised? A friend? Your papa? Does nobody care enough to prevent you from making a spectacle of yourself? Or are you simply too busy perpetrating acts of evil upon the innocent to bother about your unfortunate appearance?”

“Matthew!” said Thomas. “His friend died.”

Matthew strongly desired to point out that Alastair and his friends had been the ones to unleash a demon upon James, and their nasty prank going wrong was no more than their just deserts. He could see, however, that would distress Thomas extremely.

“Oh, very well. Let us go,” he said. “Though I cannot help but wonder whose idea their nasty little trick was.”

“Wait a moment, Fairchild,” snapped Alastair. “You can go ahead, Lightwood.”

Thomas looked deeply worried as he went, but Matthew could see he was loath to disobey his idol. When Thomas’s worried hazel eyes flicked to Matthew, Matthew nodded, and Thomas reluctantly departed.

When he was gone, Matthew and Alastair squared off. Matthew understood that Alastair had sent Thomas away for a purpose. He bit his lip, resigned to a scuffle.

Instead Alastair said, “Who are you to play the moralist, talking about tricks and papas, considering the circumstances of your birth?”

Matthew frowned. “What on earth are you driveling about, Carstairs?”

“Everyone talks about your mama and her unwomanly pursuits,” said awful, unthinkable worm Alastair Carstairs. Matthew scoffed but Alastair raised his voice, persisting. “A woman cannot be a good Consul. Nevertheless your mother can continue her career, of course, since she has such strong support from the powerful Lightwoods.”

“Certainly our families are friends,” said Matthew. “Are you unfamiliar with the concept of friendship, Carstairs? How tragic for you, though understandable on the part of everyone else in the universe.”

Alastair raised his eyebrows. “Oh, great friends, no doubt. Your mama must require friends, since your papa is unable to play a man’s part.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Matthew.