‘It’s all right,’ I said, allowing the doctor to take out his bag of sweets and pop a crystallised ginger into my palm.

‘I’ve been meaning to visit,’ Doctor Morcenx said to our father. ‘I wanted to talk to you about something that might be of interest . . . especially in Arafura’s case. These childhood years are so precious . . .’

‘She’s not a child,’ Adrana said. ‘And I know what you’ve got in mind. It’s that drug, isn’t it? The one that slows things down? Well, you can—’

‘There’s no need for that tone,’ Father said, cutting across her. ‘The doctor’s been very good to you and Fura, over the years.’

‘Oh yes,’ Adrana said. ‘And not that there’s ever been anything odd about him skulking around the house like he lives there. It’s no good now, Doctor Moonface.’ She had a way of slipping that out as if it was his actual name, so casually that sometimes you barely noticed it at all. ‘I’m old enough to know better, and Fura soon will be.’

‘Apologise to the doctor right now,’ Father said.

‘I won’t,’ Adrana answered. ‘You can’t make me, just as you can’t make me enjoy this stupid evening with the stupid captain and all your stupid friends, trying to pretend they haven’t blown half their fortunes.’

‘I can have Paladin take you home,’ Father said in a warning tone.

Our old red robot swivelled its glass dome of a head, trying to follow the conversation. Lights flashed on and off in the dome. Paladin often got confused when its name was mentioned, unless it was given simple, direct orders.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ Doctor Morcenx said, tucking his sweets back into his pocket.

‘I’m sorry for my daughter’s rudeness,’ Father said.

‘Think nothing of it, Mr Ness. The emotional lability of the young is nothing new to me.’

We watched him turn and waddle back to his table. He had a roll of flesh on the back of his neck like an inflated tube. He was still humming.

‘There was no call for that,’ Father said. ‘I’ve never been so—’

‘Humiliated?’ Adrana finished for him. ‘You know what the real humiliation is? Being a Ness, that’s what. Grovelling our way up the Mazarile social ladder, trying to pretend we’re something we’re not.’