‘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?’

‘If you think it worth our while, Cap’n.’

I was glad when Prozor interjected. ‘Wait. You’re getting ahead of yourselves. Gossip about baubles ain’t worth the cost of lungstuff. What’d you say the name of this place was?’

‘The Fang,’ Trusko said.

‘I may be addled in the grey,’ Strambli said. ‘But that ain’t the kind of name that invites casual curiosity.’

‘It’s just a name,’ Surt said, with a shrug. ‘Heard worse. The Poison Heart, the Widow’s Clutch, the Grimgate, the White Gallows. Coves give names to baubles all the time.’

‘You’ve read more surfaces than most of us,’ Trusko said, directing his remark at Prozor. ‘Have you run into the Fang before?’

‘Can’t say it’s ringing bells.’ But Prozor gave her own barely interested shrug, coupled with a long-suffering sigh. ‘I’ll check my books, if you really think it’s worth our time. We’re still doing the third one, though, ain’t we?’

‘That depends,’ Trusko said. ‘If we decided to turn for the Fang, we’d forfeit this bauble. But given the gains we’ve made on the first two, that might not be much of a loss. My decision will hinge on the auguries, and what Prozor makes of them.’

‘I ain’t promising anything,’ Prozor said. ‘If I don’t like the auguries, I’ll say so.’