‘She’s crew now. She survived Bosa Sennen. Kept herself alive – kept me alive. Whatever it says on those papers, she’s earned the right to make her own choice.’

‘Maybe going back to Mazarile is that choice,’ Quindar said. ‘I’m here to make it easier, take the worry off her mind.’

‘I’m not coming,’ I said. ‘I don’t need to. You can tell my father I’ve got work to do, and I’ll be home when I’m good and ready.’

‘She’s said her piece,’ Prozor put in.

Quindar reached for the papers, bundling them back into his coat. ‘Whether you read ’em or not doesn’t matter,’ he said, and he was making to tighten up the coat when his fist slipped out again, except this time there was nothing in it.

Or nearly nothing.

He had his fist almost closed, but not quite. A spit-coloured thing oozed out of his sleeve, like a big fat slug, and it settled itself into the cradle of his fist, hardening into the form of a pistol. You could still see part of the way through it, to the glistening gubbins that made it work.

‘Oh, Vidin,’ said Hasper Quell. ‘You promised me there wouldn’t be any of that nonsense. Honestly, Proz – I had his word.’

‘Now you know what it’s worth,’ Prozor snapped.

The Crawly flapped its forelimbs in agitation. ‘There will be no violence,’ it said.

‘No there won’t,’ Quidin said. ‘Not if everyone’s sensible.’

‘You’re a mercenary sort, aren’t you?’ I said, gathering up my quoins now that the alien had stopped fondling them. ‘So let’s talk money. Father paid you. Fine. How much to send you back to Mazarile?’

‘More’n you’ve got there, lovely. Besides, I’ve got a reputation to uphold. I promised your father, didn’t I? Now come with me, and it’ll seem right in the mornin’. ’

He made to grab me. I shirked back, his fist closing on lungstuff rather than my sleeve, but it was enough to have Prozor springing out of her seat, raising her own bag of quoins like it was a bludgeon. Which, thinking about it, was exactly what she had in mind. But Quindar still had the horrible spit-coloured pistol in his hand and he fired at Prozor. There was a pink flash, a feeling like needles being pushed into my eyes, and I wasn’t even the one he’d aimed at. Prozor slumped to the floor, donging her head on the side of the table. The Crawly rattled like a bag of dry sticks. It pulled itself out of the chair, gathered its cloak tighter, and shuffled out of the room leaving a sweet, honey-like smell behind. I knew they gave off that stink when they were alarmed, and that it was a way of one Crawly to signal another.

I started to kneel down next to Prozor.