Isaac made himself a ham roll and a cup of cold chocolate. He steeled himself at the thought of Vermishank. Isaac disliked him for a huge variety of reasons. One of them was political. Biothaumaturgy after all, was a polite way to describe an expertise one of whose uses was to tear at and recreate flesh, to bond it in unintended ways, to manipulate it within the limits dictated only by imagination. Of course, the techniques could heal and repair, but that was not their usual application. No one had any proof, of course, but Isaac would not be at all surprised if some of Vermishank’s research had been carried out in the punishment factories. Vermishank had the skill to be an extraordinary sculptor in flesh.

There was a thump on his door. Isaac looked up in surprise. It was nearly eleven o’clock. He put down his supper and hurried down the stairs. He opened the door on a debauched-looking Lucky Gazid.

What the fuck is this? he thought.

“ ’Zaac, my brother, my . . . bumptious, bungling . . . beloved . . .” Gazid screamed as soon as he saw Isaac. He groped for more alliteration. Isaac pulled him into the warehouse as lights went on across the road.

“Lucky, you fucking arse, what do you want?”

Gazid was pacing from side to side much too quickly. His eyes were stretched wide open, and virtually spiralling in his head. He looked hurt by Isaac’s tone.

“Steady on, guv, ease up, ease up, no need for nastiness, now is there? Eh? I’m looking for Lin. She here?” He giggled abruptly.

Ah, thought Isaac carefully. This was tricky. Lucky was a Salacus Fields man, he knew the unstated truth about Isaac and Lin. But this was not Salacus Fields.

“No, Lucky, she’s not here. And if she were here, for some reason, you’d have absolutely no right to come crashing round here in the middle of the night. What do you want her for?”

“She’s not at home.” Gazid turned and walked up the ladder, speaking to Isaac without turning his head. “Just been round there, but I s’pose she’s hard at art, eh? She owes me money, owes me commission, for getting her the plumb job and setting her up for life. Guess that’s where she is now, eh? I want some dosh . . .”

Isaac banged his head in exasperation and leapt up the stairs behind Gazid.

“What the fuck are you talking about? What job? She’s doing her own stuff right now.”

“Oh yes, course, righto, yup, that’s the size of it,” agreed Gazid with peculiar absent-minded fervour. “Owes me money, though. I’m fucking desperate, ’Zaac . . . Stand me a noble . . .”

Isaac was getting angry. He grabbed Gazid and held him still. Gazid had the junkie’s scrawny arms. He could only struggle pathetically in Isaac’s grip.