Ulmavonee was new, as municipal cemeteries went, being only about a hundred and twenty years old. Its prelate, Othala Veltanezh, was middle-aged, part goblin, and as pleased to see us as if we had come on a social visit. He was a friend of Anora’s—most of the municipal prelates banded together in the endless politicking of Vernezar’s Ulistheileian—and seemed quite reflexively to extend that friendship to all three of us.

He showed us out to the Ulzhavadeise quarter of the cemetery, which had a separate staircase down to the catacombs. At ground level, there were only a few graves, almost all of the Amaleise Ulzhavada being now bones in their revethmerai. Thus, the grave of the Marquise Ulzhavel was easy to find, not least because there were two part-goblin sextons with spades standing beside it. “We wanted to be absolutely sure we had the right grave before we started digging,” said Veltanezh.

“A sensible policy,” said Ulzhavar. “Celehar? It’s your petition.”

“Yes,” I said. The gravestone was beautifully carved and exquisitely legible: TOMILO ULZHAVEL. “This is the correct grave.”

The sextons set to work, and Veltanezh said, “I’m afraid you won’t think much of our morgue. It’s really just a room with a table in it.”

“That’s all I need,” Ulzhavar said cheerfully. “I brought my knives.”

“Good, good,” said Veltanezh. “In the meantime, while Satha and Kivora are doing their part, may I show you around? Ulmavonee is not very old, but it is quite lovely.”

“Yes,” I said, struck by an idea. “And will you tell Othalo Tomasaran about your duties? She is a latecomer to the prelacy, and we are trying to catch up her education.”

Tomasaran gave me a look compounded of surprise and alarm, but said nothing. Vernezar was wrong to send her out into the world as a Witness with no training at all in the ways of the prelacy, and though I could not change his decision, there was nothing that said I could not remedy it.

“Of course!” said Veltanezh, with what seemed to be genuine enthusiasm. “Let’s start in the catacombs.” He took us down the Ulzhavada’s entrance to the catacombs, a square white marble staircase lit with gas globes. And Ulmavonee’s catacombs were white and square and well-lit, too, which had not been my experience in other parts of Amalo. The Ulzhavadeise revethmerai were grouped together around an intersection, where the catacombs of Ulmavonee met the main trunk of the system of tunnels beneath the city. There was a small shrine to Ulis, as clean and new as the rest of Ulmavonee. The passage to the ulimeire was only partly invested with revethmerai, the rest of the space being taken up with an enormous marble high relief of the Five-Fold Harmony, rendered as Anmura, Osreian, Csaivo, Ulis, and Cstheio Czireizhasan in a line holding hands. The sculptor had rendered them as elves and had done exquisitely detailed work on their hair and jewelry.