The officer turned to look at him. His face was no longer human. It was a snout of rancid, gnashing teeth, spatulate and broad, with sharp edges. The snout opened, drooling spit, and seemed about to bite Master Imus’ face clean off. Master Johan Imus smelled the pit-stink of the warp, and the shadows of dark places where no human ever willingly walked. He saw a monstrous horror lunging at him, pallid tentacles whipping up out of the distended throat. He cried out in fear and wet himself.

‘I’m sorry I had to do that, Master Imus,’ said the officer, wiping his mouth.

Titus Endor came in from the stairhead. ‘Throne, Gregor. I felt that.’

‘Sorry. Would you and Aemos please stay here and tidy the place? And help Master Imus to get cleaned up?’

‘I had plans for tonight,’ replied Endor.

‘And now I have plans of my own,’ said the officer.

Titus Endor stayed until midnight, and then made some vague excuse and left. The old man remained with Master Imus until dawn. They played regicide, and talked of antiques.

The officer returned at first light.

‘The matter is settled,’ he said. ‘Thank you for your cooperation.’

When Master Imus went to work the next day, he found that Slocha and Daviov et Cie had been closed down. With immediate effect and until further notice, the seal on the door said.

Most of the staff had gathered in the street, bewildered and despondent. ‘Master Slocha was shot,’ muttered one of the underkeepers.

‘He was shot last night by the Inquisition,’ another confirmed.

‘Oh dear!’ said Master Imus.

Three days later, the officer called on Master Imus at his hab.

‘Won’t you sit down, sir?’ invited Master Imus.

‘I’ve come to tell you that you’ve been formally cleared of all charges,’ the officer said.

‘Even my transgression?’

‘Even that.’

‘I’m very relieved,’ said Master Imus.

‘Your employer was conducting bad business, heretical business, in fact. He was engaged in the importation of illicit texts under the cover of the auction house’s primary dealings. We’d been after him for a year. We had no proof of his activities.’

‘I see.’

‘Your employer knew we were on to him, of course. He set you up to act as a distraction. He wanted us to concentrate on you instead of him. And we would have, if you hadn’t been so honest as to bring the matter to our attention.’

‘Did you kill Master Slocha?’ asked Johan Imus.

‘I’m afraid I did.’ The officer rose. ‘Well, I must be on my way.’

‘What happens now?’ asked Master Imus.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I have no job to go to. The auction house is finished. What will become of me?’

‘I’m sorry, sir. That’s not my problem.’

The officer turned to leave.

‘I think I might be allowed to ask one question, in all fairness,’ said Master Imus.

‘Ask it.’