Despite his fear, Drusher felt piqued. This was the old injustice again, back to haunt him. ‘When I came to this world, sir, I was gainfully employed. The Lord Governor himself was my patron. He commissioned me to produce a complete taxonomy of the planet’s fauna. The work took seven years, but at the end of it, complications arose…’

‘Complications?’

‘A legal matter. I was forced to stay on for another two years, as a witness. All the money I had earned from the commission ran out. By the time the case was settled, I could no longer afford passage to another world. I have been here ever since, making a living as best I can.’

The man, Falken, didn’t seem very interested. In Drusher’s experience, no one ever was. On a downtrodden outworld like Gershom, everyone had their own sob story.

‘You keep glancing at your satchel, magos,’ Falken remarked suddenly. ‘Why is that?’

Drusher swallowed hard again. He had never been any good at lying.

‘Sir,’ he said quietly, ‘could you tell me… I mean, would things go better for me if I made a full confession now?’

Falken blinked, as if surprised, then smiled.

‘That’s a good idea,’ he said, sitting down to face Drusher across the low table where the satchel sat. ‘Why don’t you do just that?’

‘I’m not proud of this,’ said Drusher. ‘I mean, it was stupid. I knew the Magistratum would find out eventually. It’s just… things have been so tight.’

‘Go on.’

‘The Administratum pays me a stipend for my services, along with certain ration benefits as per the Martial Order. This is of course contingent on me not… on me not supplementing my earnings.’

Naturally,’ nodded Falken. ‘If you break the terms, there is a penalty. It can be severe.’

Drusher sighed, and showed Falken the contents of his satchel. ‘There is a man, a local businessman, who employs me, two evenings a week. It is a private arrangement. He pays me in cash, no questions asked.’

‘How much?’

‘Two crowns per evening. He has a daughter. For her, he retains my services…’

Falken looked at the things Drusher was showing him.

‘You do this with his daughter?’

‘Yes. Sometimes he watches.’

Falken got up. ‘I see. This is a pretty picture, isn’t it?’ For some reason, Falken seemed to be stifling a smile, as if something amused him terribly.

‘Am I in serious trouble?’ Drusher asked.

‘You’ll have to come with me,’ Falken said. ‘To Tycho.’

‘To Tycho?’

‘The Marshal wants to speak with you.’

‘Oh Throne!’ Drusher gasped. ‘I thought perhaps a fine…’

‘Pack your things, magos. All of them. I’ll give you five minutes.’

Drusher had very few belongings. They fitted into two small bags. Falken didn’t offer to carry either of them down to the transporter.