The ladies are so intent on their talk, they don’t notice the Painted Pig come back into the room and cross towards them.

‘You’re suggesting she was pushed?’ Mush Face plants her leather slipper like a mule. ‘The Queen’ll take your tongue for slander.’

‘Don’t chastise me,’ Fair Hair says. ‘Your mother’s dead and your father was executed for treason. His badge of golden wings was taken from the banner room wall. If not for the Queen’s mercy, you’d be a beggar.’

All at once, there’s a loud slap. The Painted Pig stands above Fair Hair, her face so fixed you’d never know she’d just struck the blow.

Fair Hair looks like she’d like to stick her thumbs through the Painted Pig’s eyes.

‘Wipe off that sour face,’ the Painted Pig hisses. ‘There are ladies clamouring for these positions.’

Fair Hair’s eyes get sharp. ‘Ones without Eucharistians perched in their family trees?’ She says this direct to the Painted Pig, nasty-like.

The Painted Pig’s face gets so still it seems she’s become wood. After a long, quiet moment, she finally turns her broad body towards the Sin Eater and me and points to the chamber’s inner, guarded door. All the while her eyes stay on Fair Hair.

An old body bowed like a gnarled willow tree leans over a lady on a couch and sniffs at a bowl of urine. He’s got bulgy eyes and a cracked face. Over his flat-backed head he wears a white doctor’s cap.

The Painted Pig has followed us in. ‘Is this the appropriate place for a Recitation?’ she asks. ‘The Queen’s privy chamber?’

The Willow Tree doctor answers, ‘The Queen asked for Corliss to be treated here so she can remain nearby.’ He nods to an inner door where the Queen must be. It’s like a fairy mound, this castle, door upon door upon door, going on forever.

‘The flux is catching,’ the Painted Pig says as if the doctor doesn’t know. ‘Can this truly be the most appropriate place?’

‘Flux only passes at night when mists are about to transport it,’ answers the Willow Tree. His claw-like hand goes to the couch to help himself to stand. I see that he’s got something silver covering his smallest fingernail. It’s a witch pricker, a thimble with a long, thick needle on top used to test witches. True witches don’t feel pain.

The Willow Tree hands the bowl of urine to the Painted Pig. She takes the bowl, not knowing quite what to do with it.

‘Lady Corliss,’ the Willow Tree prompts gently to the lady on the couch.

Corliss turns her head and sees the older Sin Eater and me. She darts her eyes away, then laughs softly. ‘Past that, I suppose.’

‘Shall we leave you, Corliss?’ asks the Willow Tree.