‘You’ve never heard an opera, have you? The current convention is for the heroine to go mad – usually in Act Three. Her madness involves elaborate virtuoso vocal work – of the kind at which our Diva excels – and it usually brings the house down. Vocal acrobatics! I don’t want such absurdities. My Elesstar is torn between her love for Mhir and her loyalty to the Shultan. When she hears that Mhir has been put to death, she loses her reason. It must be a moment of pathos – of poignancy – but also terror. The audience must become one with Elesstar. It must terrify.’

‘Was that why the Grand Maistre wanted you to withdraw the opera?’

‘What?’

The one word was as loud as the report of a mortar; he had obviously not expected her to interrupt him. But she wanted to know why so she braved another question.

‘I still don’t understand why he accused the opera of being blasphemous.’ Khassian took in a breath.

‘To understand fully you would need to have lived through the last year in Bel’Esstar. To have seen the personal freedoms you take for granted here in Sulien taken away, one by one. Opera is not a chaste entertainment, for a start. It takes passion, incest and intrigue as its subject matters. And the danseuses in the Interludes wear revealing costumes which inflame the lusts of the men in the audience and incite lewd thoughts.’

His moods seemed mercurial, unpredictable, the lowering gloom suddenly pierced by glints of wicked humour. Orial could feel a giggle threatening to burst out; she clapped one hand to her mouth to stifle it. But when she glanced up, she saw from the glint in his eyes that he had intended her to laugh.

*

Late-afternoon in Sulien, twilight slowly drawing a shadowveil over the sunlit hillside terraces… Jerame Magelonne walked slowly, ruminatively, past the Cabinet of Curiosities on his way back to the Sanatorium – and then turned on his heel and went up the steps. A light burned in the depths of the Museum. Orial had mentioned she was spending some of her spare time assisting Jolaine with her work. He was suddenly seized with a pleasant inspiration; he would pay the ladies a surprise visit and take them to the Rooms for tea.

He pulled open the door and entered, gazing around him. The Museum seemed sadly neglected. Display cases were half-arranged, their treasures lacking labels or explanation. Signs had been removed, adding to the confusion. He ran his finger along the top of a display case; the tip left a trail in the grey dust. Had Dame Jolaine grown too old to manage the responsibilities of the position?

‘What are you doing in here? We’re closed!’

Her voice rang out, crisp as an arquebus shot; startled, he swung around to see Jolaine Tradescar framed in the lamplit doorway, glaring at him.