A handful of islands, after losing their seignioral succession, had experimented with democracy. The results differed. Two mainland countries in the north provided examples, good or bad, depending on your point of view. The Republic of Glaund was in theory a state founded on revolutionary and enlightened social principles, but it was now inflexibly ruled by a military junta, the result of a coup in the previous century. Glaund’s bitter rival, Faiandland, a liberal democracy and the world’s most militarily powerful country, was known and feared as a colonizing power with territorial ambitions. Neither of these alternative systems of government was attractive to islanders, the military régime for reasons that were obvious, democracy slightly less so.

The instinct amongst most islanders was the wish not to change a system that had survived for many centuries. For all the many annoying faults, freely admitted and often complained about, the feudal systems on each island had led to the present state of independence, stability, peace and a general sense of well being. But of course there were populist and fringe groups campaigning for change, any kind of change. And ambitious young politicians who wanted to make a mark. There always were people like that, and always will be.

While we were waiting for the coffee to be brought, Frejah took a call on her phone and left the table to speak. When she returned she of course said nothing about it, but the call had somehow lightened her mood. She smiled as she sat down again.

She started asking questions again about my writing. I had already tried to divert her on this. Today she ran through familiar questions: where do ideas come from, how can an idea be turned into a plot and from that into a book, did I work with a pen or a typewriter or a computer, did I use a literary agent, who chose the cover illustrations? And so on. She said she had read two of my novels, and questioned me about them, although not closely.

One of them was my only attempt at a police procedural. Since discovering what she did for a living I had been secretly hoping she did not know about it. I was defensive about it. A police procedural is an unusual kind of novel because it is in effect about a job, and the people who work in it. The novelist is a novelist, not a police officer, but the result is a novel about police days at work.