“In hand,” Ionkovo said. He stepped away from the wall and circled the desk. Almost unconsciously, Maurisk retreated, sidestepping to put the desk between them. “Yes, I think that might be a good description. Your affairs are in hand.”

“I’m not sure—”

“Your enemies languish in dungeons, the Deputies-General are firmly cowed, and that toad who commands your guard will jump whenever you dangle a pretty bauble in front of him.” Ionkovo leaned forward and put his hands on the desk. “My affairs, however, would seem to have been . . . neglected.”

“Plans are in motion, I assure you.”

“Like your plan to seize d’Ivoire? Your men were late.” Ionkovo straightened up. “I cannot abide lack of punctuality.”

“D’Ivoire can’t hide forever,” Maurisk said. “And we still have the queen—”

“You do not, in fact, have the queen,” Ionkovo grated. “Indeed, I begin to doubt if you ever did.”

Maurisk found the courage for a bit of indignation. “If you doubt my word—”

Ionkovo cut him off again. “I don’t doubt your word, only your competence. Let me remind you that all of your political triumphs will be worth nothing if I don’t get what I want. The legions of Murnsk and the Borelgai fleet will grind this country to dust, and you will be remembered as the man who presided over the final destruction of Vordan.”

Sweat trickled down Maurisk’s neck and into his collar. “I assure you, I am making every effort. I will investigate the matter of the queen. And in the meantime—”

“Forget the queen for now,” Ionkovo said. “One of my associates will see if there is anything useful to be learned from that farce. But more important, you have captured one of Vhalnich’s men, have you not?”

How could he possibly know that? Maurisk swallowed and nodded. “Yes. He denies it, but we’re certain he’s working for Vhalnich. He must have left a cadre in the city to protect the Thousand Names.”

“Of course he did. And what has he told you?”

“Ah . . . nothing, so far. But I have men who are skilled in loosening tongues. He’ll talk before much longer.”

“I have extremely limited patience. Your men are restricted to . . . conventional methods, while my associates are not. One of them is waiting outside. You will accompany him to this prisoner, and he will practice his craft. I will join you there. Understood?”

“Now?”

Ionkovo smiled. “Now.”

It was only a short walk to the old Butchers’ Union building, a blocky brick structure on one of the streets that led away from Farus’ Triumph. Maurisk spent the time glancing at his companion, who seemed a remarkably ordinary sort of man, balding and a bit paunchy, walking with a slight limp. The only oddities were his fingernails, which were as long and white as an eagle’s talons.