One general outcome that everyone dreaded was that should this Glaundian ship capsize or sink, or become permanently trapped in the Fellenstel shallows, she would be a major environmental hazard. Fellenstel was blessed with a coast and reefs renowned as nature and marine reserves. The disaster would also precipitate an urgent rescue attempt to save everyone on board. Releasing the young conscripts trapped below decks was a priority. It was why a hospital ship was hastening to Fellenstel, why swarms of Archipelagian rescue helicopters were in the air or on standby, why anti-pollution booms were already being laid around the area of the ship, why more salvage teams were on their way.

It was also why the ugly grey ship, if refloated, would present both a triumph and a failure: the former because lives would be saved, the latter because in everyone’s mind was the need to get those young people off the ship.

I worked through the afternoon, but put on the early evening news programme, to catch up. The stranded troopship was the main story, but there had been no real change in the problem. Salvage crews were still trying to right her.

Later, the programme shifted to the local TV station, for Salayean news. Here the main news was the announcement of unexpectedly poor financial results from Raba’s largest manufacturing and sales employer, a company trading online as RabaHome.com, a simple name that covered an immense network of factories, retail outlets and internet services. Although it was still for the moment trading normally, Raba Home Supplies had uncovered enormous and unexplained write-offs, creating a problem of insurmountable debt. The value of the shares had collapsed, and there were fears that the company might be taken over, or closed down entirely. Thousands of jobs were at risk.

I switched channels to a TV murder drama series I was following.

Spoder called me on the landline.

‘Sir, there’s a guy called Jackson or Jackerson who is trying to locate you.’

‘Never heard of him. What did you say his name was?’

‘He only said it once and I didn’t really catch it. I think it was Jackson.’

‘Would it be Jeksid?’ I said.

‘That sounds right.’

‘Is he a cop?’

‘He didn’t say. I haven’t met him – all this was on the phone. He didn’t talk like a cop.’

‘Do you know what he was after?’

‘He wants your address,’ Spoder said. ‘Or failing that your landline number, or failing that your cellphone number. Your email would do.’

‘No it would not. You haven’t given him any of those?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Thanks, Spoder. Is he in contact with you now?’

‘He said he would call again tomorrow.’

I had no idea what Serjeant Enver Jeksid would want with me, nor why he had chosen to get to me through Spoder. I was once again preoccupied by the news about the troopship stranded in the shallows off Fellenstel.