‘A concoction of fungus and herbs, plus a tiny amount of frog-venom. They eat it and then for that day they … the spirits either steal their hearing or plug their ears with spirit music. They hear nothing but that and it protects them, though the magic takes a terrible toll as the years pass. The oldest ejab are little more than shuffling madmen and -women, yet they are cared for, almost revered, for their sacrifice. The list of ingredients is here.’ She handed him a report.

‘And the songstone?’

‘There is a cave high up on the hill above the city. It is their most sacred place – they call it the womb and believe all life issued from within it, all creation. There are rich lines of songstone in that cave. It’s possible the entire hill may be veined with it. The echoes and hums and vibrations were consistent with those I have observed in other quarries.’

‘And they don’t use it?’ Pilos asked, curiosity furrowing his brow.

Ilandeh spread her hands. ‘The Tokob appear entirely ignorant of its true purpose and, indeed, ignorant of the world spirit itself. Unless this Malel is their understanding of it. Perhaps when we have shamans and historians as slaves …’ She trailed off; she was babbling, more nervous than she liked to admit, and Pilos knew it.

Ilandeh took a deep breath and began again with her report. She talked and Pilos listened, to stories of ejab and civilians befriended and gently interrogated, of luring people to the river for the holy Setatmeh to take, of the killings of the high elders. Of how Dakto had ingratiated himself into a Paw and then, so she’d heard, arranged the ambush and destruction of a war party.

‘And where is your Second Flight?’ Pilos asked.

Ilandeh frowned. Where indeed? ‘He chose to escort those captives to the flesh markets, High Feather,’ she said evenly. ‘I did not expect it, but in truth … it may be the thought of leaving the Empire again, of being outside of the song for more weeks and months, is affecting him. He will be disciplined on his return, of course.’

He watched her, silent.

‘Forgive me, High Feather. I should have paid more attention to Dakto’s words when we lived in the Sky City. I should have seen if there was restlessness growing in him. He was given much … responsibility by the Tokob. It may have planted unfortunate thoughts.’

The High Feather drummed his fingers on his knee as he studied her. ‘Then let us hope his time in the Singing City reminds him of his duty. Are there unfortunate thoughts growing in you, Whisper?’ he added. ‘Perhaps the Sky City’s freedoms have turned your head, too.’