But suppose Tartarus was right and the sedative was slowly poisoning her? He had done all he could to end the insidious influence of Amaru Khassian. Once the musician had been removed from Sulien, the most immediate danger to Orial’s sanity was over.

He stoppered the bottle tightly and replaced the sedative in the cabinet.

The Commissaire of the Sulien Constabulary rapped loudly on Mistress Permay’s door with his staff.

‘Where is Amaru Khassian? I have a warrant for his arrest.’

Constables burst into the Diva’s apartment, flinging open doors, peering under couches.

‘What are you all doing?‘The question, released at full opera-house volume, made the crystals of the chandeliers tremble. The constables paused mid-search, disconcerted.

Cramoisy Jordelayne had appeared in the doorway of his room.

The Commissaire took off his gold-tasselled tricorne and approached him, warrant in hand.

‘If you could tell us where he is –’

‘I have no idea where he is,’ Cramoisy said in a low voice, all the more menacing for the contrast with his earlier ear-splitting shriek.

‘If you are not prepared to co-operate with us, then –’

‘I told you. Are you deaf? I don’t know where he is.’

One of the constables came up to the Commissaire, respectfully touching his forehead.

‘He’s right, Commissaire. There’s no one else here.’

‘I told you so!’ Cramoisy said.

The Commissaire let out a little sigh.

‘And precisely what crime does this warrant accuse Khassian of?’ demanded Cramoisy.

‘I’m not at liberty to divulge the details.’

‘What will you do with him? Lock him up?’

‘Until he can be taken under escort to the border. I understand that there are serious charges to be answered in his own country.’

‘You’re deporting him?’ Cramoisy cried. ‘But you can’t!’

‘Good day to you.’ The Commissaire beckoned his men and hastily retreated towards the door.

Khassian found himself caught up in the jostling crowd, drawn downwards through the echoing Temple, towards the Undercity. He could just see Dame Tradescar ahead of him, the old scholar still clutching her canvas bag closely to her chest.

The vast vaulted hall of the Main Reservoir glimmered with a thousand lotos candles, lily-white, rose and gold. The people of Sulien thronged the rim of the glimmering waters: even little children waited, wide-eyed with excitement, clutching rainbow streamers.

A holiday atmosphere pervaded the hall, a sense of contained anticipation.

‘This way!’ Jolaine Tradescar signalled to him over the heads of the crowd. She was slowly forging a passageway through to the back of the hall. Khassian followed, slipping after her into one of the narrow passageways that wound away from the reservoir.

The Undercity was no longer pitch black; lotos candles burned in every niche and alcove in the wall. When they came to a pillared doorway, Khassian suddenly recognised where they were.

‘The Hall of Whispering Reeds,’ he said.

‘Tread carefully,’ Jolaine Tradescar said. Her voice trembled with excitement.