‘I don’t, sir – I mean, not in my own head. But I got some orbital parameters, sir, and a name that might go with the place. It’s called the Fang.’ I squinted at him. ‘That mean anything to you, Cap’n?’

‘No,’ he answered slowly. ‘It doesn’t. Except . . .’

‘What, sir?’

‘Rumours, Fura. That’s all. Snips and scraps. The kinds of thing I wouldn’t ordinarily be so foolish as to put stock in, except . . . you say you had parameters?’

‘I’ve got the numbers, sir. Don’t mean much to me, but then you might know better.’

‘Show me them.’

There are plans that come off the rails as soon as they start moving, and plans that get you frightened because they seem to be going too well, too smoothly, picking up a scary speed, like a tram going down the steep part of Jauncery Road with the brakes off.

I’d floated the Fang past Trusko. I expected him to sit on that intelligence for a day or so before acting on it, if he acted at all. But within an hour of my briefing him, he had called the entire crew into the galley. He hadn’t needed to go far from his quarters for that. Now he had some of his charts and books with him, and the nervous, over-excited air of a spoilt child told they were getting a special present ahead of their birthday. The cove could hardly contain himself.

‘A little while ago,’ he began, puffing himself up all pompously, ‘I took my usual intelligence briefing from Fura. Fura thought nothing of it, but in among the commonplace gossip was what I immediately knew to be a nugget, the kind of singular information that crosses your desk perhaps once in a decade, if you’re fortunate.’

Most of us were prepared to hear him out before settling our minds. Gathing was already shaking his head with a supercilious look about him, like he knew better than the rest of us simpletons.

‘What sort of gossip, exactly?’ Drozna asked, in an encouraging tone.

‘It concerns a bauble. The name’s the Fang.’ Trusko searched our faces to see if it rang any bells, excepting me of course. ‘It’s been a rumour, long enough, but no one’s ever had the name and the parameters at the same time. Well, now we have. And the auguries – if they relate to this bauble – say there’s a chance of it opening shortly. The scuttle says we might find something worth our trouble, if we’re prepared to go deep.’

‘It could be half a year from us,’ Surt said.

‘It isn’t,’ Trusko said. ‘It’s in a steep ellipse and at this point in its circuit it’s nicely situated for us. Obligingly, you might say.’ He cast a nod at Drozna. ‘I’ve . . . run the calculations. We could be on it in four weeks, if I haven’t dropped a stitch. You’ll glance over the numbers for me, Droz?’