That seemed to reassure her. She said, “It is true that the marquise disagreed frequently with Osmer Vobora Bazhevar, and she left the board of the foundling school in Cemchelarna quite suddenly, although we never knew the reason.”

“Thank you, Osmin Tativin,” I said. “That is very helpful.”

“But we truly cannot imagine anyone murdering the marquise,” she said. “The marquess must be mistaken.”

“We will find out,” I said and departed.

I emerged from the confines of the Ulzhavadeise compound into the teeth of a bitter wind. I had purchased a shabby overcoat from Mer Estorezh, the secondhand clothes dealer, and I was grateful for it. I walked to the tram stop, debating whether I should try to see Osmer Bazhevar or Dach’osmerrem Cambesharan first. There was enough of the afternoon left for one, but not both—and that was assuming they both kept town residences. I decided as I took the tram north to the Veren’malo that I would try friend before foe.

Most of the city’s nobility who kept town residences lived in the neighborhood of the Princess Vodreän Square, where several luxurious blocks of flats had been built on the grounds of the old Brenenada compound. I knew another member of the Cambeshada lived in what had been the opulent main house, so it seemed reasonable to find out if his family was nearby.

On my third attempt, I was lucky. The half-goblin gatekeeper admitted that Dach’osmerrem Cambesharan kept an apartment there, and sent an elven page boy running to see if she was at home to visitors. I didn’t think my chances were very good, but the boy came back with an invitation to step inside.

I followed the boy through a tiled atrium and then up a wide spiral staircase with wrought-iron grilles at each landing. Dach’osmerrem Cambesharan lived on the third floor, where the grille was worked in an elaborate pattern of twining roses. The page boy produced a key and let me through the grille, carefully locking it again behind us.

The hallway curved clockwise around the counterclockwise spiral of the stairs until we came to a door with the Cambeshada’s crest on it. The boy knocked, and the door opened so quickly that I knew the person on the other side had been waiting for us. She was a skinny part-goblin girl in servant’s livery, her hair cropped close to her skull. She said, “This way, please,” and I followed her, leaving the page boy to return to his post.