“Why haven’t you reported this before?”

“I have. Many times. That you remain – begging your pardon – ignorant of the situation tells me a great deal. I shouldn’t even be telling you this now. Protocol is very clear. But someone should know.”

“You think it’s the Crowmarket?”

“No one else has the resources to do this so quietly.” Elzar shook his head. “The sheer amount of bribery and blackmail it must take. Whether at warehouse, fleet or convoy, that’s a lot of eyes that need to be looking the other way. More than ever, I’m glad we don’t wake them until they reach their destination.”

Malachi grimaced. “So long as no one in the Crowmarket has learned the knack.”

“We’d notice if they had. Not that a kraikon meshes well with the Crowmarket’s activities. They have a way of drawing notice.”

“It is hard to imagine one shinning up a drainpipe or slitting a purse,” Malachi allowed. “I’ll order the constabulary to sweep the dockside. Most of the stolen kraikons will likely have been melted down or gone into Dregmeet, but we might recover one or two. At worst, it’ll send a message.”

Elzar nodded, a wary look in his eye. “And if anyone asks what prompted this action?”

“I’m a privy councillor. We’re known for our whimsy.” He shrugged. “To be honest, Elzar, the reputation I’m getting with my peers they’ll see nothing more than upstart meddling. None of this will come back on you.”

“My thanks, my lord.”

“For what? I haven’t heard anything. Now, let’s find that son of mine before he falls into a cooling tank.”

As it transpired, Constans had engineered no dreadful fate and waited with Tailinn in one of the brick-lined storage vaults. Rank after rank of simarka sat on their haunches in silent contemplation, forelegs straight and tails curled about bunched feet.

“That one’s Thekas,” said Constans. “And these are Jaspyr, Fredrik, Ozcor, Parzlai, Londo and Shade.”

Malachi followed his enthusiastic gestures but couldn’t tell the seven apart. Nor indeed could he do so from the dozen or so other simarka in the chamber.

“Good names,” said Elzar. “They’ll bear them well.”

Constans nodded thoughtfully. “I’d like a pet cat, Father.”

“I’m not sure your mother would approve,” said Malachi. “Nor will she be pleased if we’re late for dinner. Say your farewells.”

Rosa rang the bell at Freemont with no small apprehension. In all the years she and Kasamor had been friends, Lady Kiradin had spoken to her only out of politeness. Never – so far as Rosa knew – from friendliness, except where demanded by tradition, as at the funeral.