The kings of Kovir were soon after bound by blood ties to all the other dynasties of the world, and they all steadfastly abided by the Exeter Treaties. They never interfered with their neighbours’ affairs. They never raised the issue of foreign succession, though often historical turbulence meant that the king or prince of Kovir had all possible grounds to judge himself the rightful successor to the throne of Redania, Aedirn, Kaedwen, Cidaris or even Verden or Rivia. The mighty Kovir didn’t attempt territorial annexations or conquests, nor did it send gunboats armed with catapults and ballistae into foreign waters. It never seized the privilege of ruling the waves. Mare Liberum Apertum; a sea free and open for trade was sufficient for Kovir. Kovir believed in the sanctity of trade and profit.

And in absolute, unswerving neutrality.

Dijkstra put up the beaver collar of his cloak, protecting his nape from the wind and the lashing rain. He looked around, shaken from his contemplations. The water in the Great Canal looked black. In the drizzle and fog, even the Admiralty building–the boast of Lan Exeter–looked like a barracks. Even the merchants’ townhouses had lost their usual sumptuousness–and their narrow frontages seemed narrower than normal. Perhaps they are sodding narrower, thought Dijkstra. If King Esterad has raised the tax, the sly householders may have narrowed their houses.

‘Has the weather been so plague-stricken for long, Your Excellency?’ he asked, just to interrupt the annoying silence.

‘Since the middle of September, Count,’ answered the ambassador. ‘Since the full moon. It looks as though winter will come early. It has already snowed in Talgar.’

‘I thought,’ said Dijkstra, ‘the snow never melted in Talgar.’

The ambassador glanced at him, as if to make sure it was a joke and not ignorance.

‘In Talgar–’ now he showed off his wit ‘–the winter begins in September, and ends in May. The remaining seasons are spring and autumn. There’s also the summer… it usually falls on the first Tuesday after the August new moon. And lasts until Wednesday morning.’

Dijkstra didn’t laugh.

‘But even there,’ the ambassador turned gloomy, ‘snow at the end of October is a sensation.’

The ambassador–like most of Redania’s aristocracy–couldn’t stand Dijkstra. He considered the need to receive and entertain the arch-spy as a personal affront, and the fact that the Regency Council had charged Dijkstra and not him with negotiations with Kovir as a mortal insult. It sickened him that he, de Ruyter of the most celebrated branch of the de Ruyter family, Grafs for nine generations, should have to address a churl and upstart as ‘Count’. But as an experienced diplomat he concealed his resentment masterfully.

The oars rose and fell rhythmically, and the boat glided swiftly along the canal. They had just passed the bijou–but extremely tasteful–palace of Culture and Art.

‘Do we sail to Ensenada?’