‘I can pay Khassian’s fees, Dr Magelonne.’ He extended one hand and deposited a velvet purse upon the desk. ‘No – don’t ask me how I managed to raise the funds. I may regret the sale of my jet and diamond star, given to me by Prince Ilsevir himself… but we have to make sacrifices for our loved ones. It is all in the best interests of my poor Amaru.’

‘Diva,’ Dr Magelonne lifted the purse and held it out to him, ‘the account has been settled.’

‘What?’ Surprise erased the tragic note from Cramoisy’s voice.

‘Captain Korentan paid the Illustre’s fees last night. The Illustre is well enough to leave the Sanatorium. I have done all I can for him. Besides, it will be better for his morale to move into the city, where there are more diversions to keep his mind from morbid fantasies, from dwelling too much on what has befallen him.’

‘He can leave?’

‘Would you be so good as to arrange transport to your lodgings in the city? I will be needing the room for a new patient due to arrive later today.’

‘You’ve done all you can? But he can’t move his fingers! What are you saying, Doctor?’

‘As his closest friend, you are going to have to be a support to the Illustre. Medically, the scars are healing. But the internal scars may never heal. He is crippled, Diva. If I were you, I would spend half that purse on hiring him a valet to attend to his personal needs. A discreet, quiet servant, who will not embarrass him by drawing attention to his disabilities.’

‘La!’ Cramoisy sat down in a flounce of black taffeta, as suddenly as if he had been pushed. He seemed utterly deflated. ‘But – but what can I encourage him to do? His life has been dedicated to music.’

‘He may in time become reconciled to teaching,’ Dr Magelonne suggested, relieved that the Diva had not thrown a fit of artistic temperament in his office. ‘I am sure he has much to impart to pupils from his own experience,’ His words sounded fatuous even to his own ears.

‘But – you’re not going to give up?’

‘We can offer therapeutic treatment, but his hands are too badly damaged. It would take a miracle to restore them.’

Cramoisy gazed up at him, his eyes blank and stricken, and the doctor glimpsed for a moment the man behind the white mask of make-up.

‘Do you really believe that Amaru Khassian can bear to continue living without the ability to make music?’

Khassian was dozing… until he slowly became aware that someone was watching him. Someone whose blue-steel stare could pierce even through layers of sleep.

Acir Korentan.

‘You are not welcome here, Captain,’ Khassian said icily.

‘I am aware of that.’

‘Have you come to preach? My injuries a divine punishment for a dissolute life, the usual cant…