There has, thus far, been not so much as a wisp of Smoke. Collingwood’s shirt remains clean, his collar pristine, his armpits sweat-soaked but unsoiled. And yet there is not one amongst the boys simple enough to conclude that Collingwood has spoken the exact truth. The laws of Smoke are complex. Not every lie will trigger it. A fleeting thought of evil may pass unseen; a fib, an excuse, a piece of flattery. Sometimes you can lie quite outrageously and find yourself spared. Everyone knows the feeling, knows it from childhood: of being questioned by your mother, or your governess, by the house tutor; of articulating a lie, pushing it carefully past the threshold of your lips, your palms sweaty, your guts coiled into knots, your chin raised in false confidence; and then, the sweet balm of relief when the Smoke does not come. At other times, the Smoke is conjured by transgressions so trifling you are hardly aware of them at all: you reach for the biscuits before they’ve been offered; you smirk as a footman slips on the freshly polished stairs. Next thing you know its smell is in your nose. There is no more hateful smell in the world than the smell of Smoke.

But for now Collingwood remains free of it. He has passed his examination with flying colours. Only, he isn’t finished yet: Julius. Still he stands, angling the lamp. It is as though his voice pours out along with the light.

“Your brother died not long ago, did he not?”

The question takes Collingwood by surprise. For the first time he appears hurt rather than afraid. He answers quietly.

“Yes.”

“What was he called, your brother?”

“Luke.”

“Luke. Yes. I remember your telling me about him. How you played as little boys.” Julius watches Collingwood squirm. “Remind me. How did Luke die?”

There is no mistaking the resentment in the answer. Still it comes.

“He drowned. He fell out of a boat.”

“I see. A tragedy. How old was he?”

“Ten.”

“Ten? So young. How long to his eleventh birthday?”

“Three and a half weeks.”

“That is unfortunate.”

Collingwood nods and begins to cry.