‘I met such a charming woman at the Mayor’s reception last night.’ Cramoisy was applying a beauty spot to his cheek, a black-sequinned star just above the upper lip. ‘A Contesse, no less. An exile, miu caru, just like us.’

‘An exile?’ Khassian looked up, frowning. ‘From Allegonde?’

‘Another fugitive from the tyranny of the Grand Maistre. She had seen me in Firildys – three times! It is so very agreeable to meet one’s admirers when far from home…’

‘You didn’t tell her anything of our plans, I trust?’

‘She could be of great help to us, Amar. She has connections… and she is such a fan of your music. You would have blushed to hear the compliments she paid you.’

‘Cramoisy,’ Khassian said warningly, ‘have you been indiscreet?’

‘How could you!’ His mouth twisted from its perfect painted bow to an expression of mortification. ‘Oh, Khassian, how could you accuse me of such a thing? You know I am the soul of discretion. I would never betray you.’

‘I know that you love to hear the sound of your own voice,’ Khassian said brutally.

‘Oh! Oh! Oh!’ Cramoisy’s voice began to rise; Orial winced at the shrillness of the pitch.

‘What was her name, Cramoisy, this charming Allegondan Contesse?’

‘Fiammis.’

‘Cramoisy, you will be the undoing of us! Why do you never think before you open your mouth?’

‘Pardon me, Illustre, but what precisely have I done wrong? Tell me!’

‘I was warned… to beware of a Contesse called Fiammis.’

‘And did you warn me?’

‘I had no idea you would encounter her.’

‘Fa! A fine excuse!’

‘So I should have told you. But you should have known when to keep your mouth shut.’

‘What harm’s been done? And why is she such a threat?’

‘I have it on good authority that she is an agent of the Grand Maistre.’

‘Whose authority?’ demanded Cramoisy.

‘Captain Korentan’s.’

‘Oh!’ Cramoisy threw up his hands. ‘And you believe him?‘

‘What exactly did you confide in the Contesse?’

Cramoisy suddenly seemed engrossed in putting the sequinned patches back into the enamelled box.

‘Cramoisy?’ said Khassian warningly.

‘I might have mentioned the opera…’

Khassian closed his eyes.

‘Well?’ Cramoisy said defensively. ‘It’s no secret!’

‘Why didn’t you also tell her we were plotting to assassinate Girim nel Ghislain whilst you were about it?’

‘Great heavens –’

His sarcasm seemed lost on Cramoisy who stared back at Khassian uncomprehendingly.

‘We must all be more careful. We cannot afford to take risks. We cannot rehearse in a public hall. We need a room where we will not be overheard.’

‘But where in Sulien would one find such a place?’

Orial realised they were both looking at her.

‘The Undercity?’ she said.

‘Rehearsing in a necropolis. That has a certain ghoulish appeal.’

Cramoisy gave a fastidious little shudder.

‘I don’t think it is seemly. We should show respect for the dead.’