DeShelle looked at him for a moment. ‘And of course, the level of thought that you’ve given this has been solely to protect House Brobantis from the attentions of others.’

Luc just snorted.

‘Well, he hasn’t been attacked openly, we can say that with reasonable certainty,’ DeShelle mused, studying the map. ‘We think he was last seen here, here and here,’ she drew her finger across it, ‘and although we can’t be sure of the times of each sighting, it seems reasonable that he was moving in this direction.’ A bar where the patrons knew him, and didn’t care he was a Navigator; a massage parlour with optional extras available for purchase, or DeShelle was a High Lord of Terra; and an emporium where Avomarr apparently liked to shop for antiques and curios, the stranger the better. There had been at least two objects on sale that DeShelle had been reasonably certain were xenos in origin, although the proprietor hadn’t advertised them as such, and may well have not been aware of their true nature. Not that that would do him any good should someone with proper knowledge come calling.

‘We know he also frequented here,’ she said, pointing to another location on the map, a little to the east of their current position and in the same general direction as Avomarr’s suspected route. ‘But he never got there.’ It was the Desert Rose, an eatery that claimed to specialise in Tallarn cuisine, although DeShelle hadn’t detected a single authentic spice in the aroma that filled it. It had smelled tasty enough though, and her mouth watered slightly at the memory. The owner had recognised Avomarr immediately, but claimed not to have seen him for a month.

‘So either they’re lying,’ Luc agreed, ‘or whatever happened to him happened between Wexler’s and the Desert Rose. Or he changed his usual route for some reason we can’t guess at,’ he added.

‘Well, since we can’t guess at it, let’s investigate what we can guess at,’ DeShelle said. She absent-mindedly rubbed her neck where her ebonwood collar usually sat. ‘Come on. We’ll start at the Desert Rose and work back westwards. I could do with a meal, anyway.’

‘I’m impressed,’ Luc admitted, shining his luminator at the wall. ‘How did you spot this?’

They were in a service alley that ran between two retail units on Saint Kazarine’s Processional. It was dark, thanks to the lumens in the ceiling having failed, and it reeked of the rubbish dumped into it from either side. Luc played his light over a spatter of dark drops strung across the rough rockcrete wall, and at the far end of the alley a trio of oversized rats hissed and spat at the intruding photons.

‘My observational skills were one of the reasons Lady Chettamandey hired me in the first place,’ DeShelle replied. She swallowed, and grimaced as her stomach threatened to reintroduce her to the Desert Rose’s evening special.