“Sir?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“I was wondering. Maybe you have some medicine for me. Some little pill, maybe. Something quick.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll see you again.”

“I doubt it, sir. The chaplain is a hard man to please. It’d have been different if you’d killed her. They might have laughed.”

“I know the bishop’s secretary. Don’t worry. I’ll go see him in the morning.”

“Please, sir, don’t make things worse. I’m not complaining. I’ve been God’s soldier my whole life. I’m not afraid. I won’t be sorry to leave. Except for . . . sometimes they’re a little rough.”

“I don’t carry poisons, Captain.”

“No, sir.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes, sir.”

Only one of the antinomials had paid the operation any attention. The rest had sat and stared out between the bars. One lay on her stomach and drew patterns in a pool of tacky blood. But the woman with the yellow hair had sat staring evenly, stroking her sister’s head with gentle repetitive fingers.

“She is alive,” she said.

“Yes,” confirmed the doctor, exhaling a long stream of smoke. “She’ll live. Will you change her bandages? I’ll show you how.”

“No biting, Doctor. There’s no need. She is free to change them or not.”

The doctor shrugged and closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the wall. Presently he heard the jingle of a chain, and he opened them again. The woman was pulling her manacles back along one wrist, uncovering a silver bracelet. She fumbled with the clasp. “I can pay you,” she said.

“No. There’s no need.” He smiled in spite of himself.

“No. You don’t understand.” She gestured towards the captain. “He understands. Death is the silent music, the still dancing, the dark mountain, the snow that never breaks under your feet. You’re cheating her. But even so I have no wish to owe you anything. Nor does she.”

She undid the clasp and threw the bracelet to him, and he caught it. It was a beautiful thing, a circlet of carved silver, a pattern of animals devouring one another. “Your men are very honest,” remarked Thanakar to the captain.

Locke shrugged, and stubbed his cigarette against his boot. “It’s real silver,” he said. “I’m forbidden to touch it. It’s no use to any of my men. She’s offered it all round.”

“Ah yes, of course.” Silver and gold were Starbridge metals. Other people had to use stone currency.

The doctor held the bracelet in his hand, examining it in the light. It made him think of something, reminded him of something. He looked at the woman curiously. What was it?

She was tall, with golden hair and yellow eyes, a shade common among her people: dark yellow, almost brown. Her skin was dark, still dark after more than eighty months’ imprisonment. She was dressed in rags, as they all were, but hers had once been red and made of some softer material, maybe velvet. That also resonated in his memory. It was not that he had seen her before. But certain things about her reminded him of elements to a song.