‘That didn’t work for Rack, did it?’

‘It was different with him, and we all knew it. When Bosa took Illyria from him, he should’ve put the both of them out of his mind for the rest of his life. But he couldn’t, and for that you can’t blame the cove. He wanted to see his daughter again, and if that meant seeing Bosa another time, he was ready to pay that price.’

‘He did,’ I said.

I wanted to ask her more about Illyria Rackamore, all the things I couldn’t have asked before, but Prozor was fading on me and I knew she needed rest.

I’d settled one thing, at least. Rack had history with Bosa and he’d got to see her again, even if it did take fifteen years.

That meant there was a chance for me, too.

Because we had history too, now. Whether Bosa knew it or not.

8

8

On the ninth day since the bauble’s opening, the yellow blob on our sweeper swelled until it had the flowered form of a sunjammer under full sail. The signature was distinct and sharp-edged, nothing like the furtive, ragged echo of Bosa’s ship. The Iron Courtesan hauled in sail and used ions to find its own orbit around the bauble, higher and more eccentric than ours. A nervous few hours passed, then a launch crossed over to the Monetta.

There were three of them in the party, and they all came aboard. Their suits were older and more battered-looking than ours, and where ours were shades of brown and brass, these were all dull pewters and blue-greys. But they clanked and huffed and smelled the same, they had the same little grilled windows for faceplates, and when Jastrabarsk removed his helmet and scuffed a hand through his hair, something in his manner reminded me of Rackamore. He was older, I reckon, wider in the face, with a heavy brow ridge and cheekbones that looked as hard and swollen as bruises. He had a scar between his lip and his chin, his teeth were metal, and his eyes were dark and fathomless – sunk so deeply that they were almost like sockets – but still there was that swagger that I recognised. His hair was grey, curly, and it had begun to recede above that high, overhanging brow.

‘You did well, Incer. You know me, of course.’ He nodded at the narrow-faced man to his right, who was squinting at a scratch on the crown of his helmet, now cradled in his hands. ‘This is Lusquer. Next to Lusquer is Meveraunce. Meveraunce is our sawbones – she’ll be taking care of you.’

Meveraunce was the tallest of them all. She had a plump face, very white hair, an upturned nose. She was already looking around.

‘Thank you,’ I began. ‘Captain . . . before we go on.’

Eyes flashed in the gloom of those sockets. ‘Yes, Incer?’

‘Are we on squawk now?’