Dijkstra sat down on the scissors chair indicated, opposite Esterad. The king was wearing a crimson ermine-trimmed cape and a matching velvet chapeau. Like all the men of the Thyssen clan he was tall, powerfully built and devilishly handsome. He always looked robust and healthy, like a sailor just returned from the sea; one could almost smell the seawater and cold, salt wind coming from him. As with all the Thyssens it was difficult to determine his exact age. Judging by his hair, skin and hands–the features which most clearly express one’s age–Esterad might have passed for forty-five. Dijkstra knew the king was fifty-six.

‘Zuleyka.’ The king leaned over towards his wife. ‘Look at him. If you didn’t know he was a spy, would you give credence to it?’

Queen Zuleyka was short, quite stout and pleasantly plain. She dressed in quite a typical way for women of her looks, which was based on selecting elements of attire so that no one would guess she wasn’t her own grandmother. Zuleyka achieved this effect by wearing loose-fitting gowns, dull of cut and grey-brown of tone. On her head she wore a bonnet inherited from her ancestors. She didn’t use any makeup and didn’t wear any jewellery.

‘The Good Book,’ she spoke in a quiet and sweet little voice, ‘teaches us circumspection in judging our neighbours. For one day they will judge us, too. Let’s hope not on the basis of appearance.’

Esterad Thyssen favoured his wife with a warm look. It was widely known that he loved her boundlessly, with a love which for twenty-nine years of marriage hadn’t dimmed a jot. On the contrary, as the years passed it blazed brighter and hotter. Esterad, it was claimed, had never betrayed Zuleyka. Dijkstra couldn’t really believe in anything so unlikely, but himself had tried three times to plant on–or virtually place under–the king stunning female agents, candidates for favourites, superb sources of information. Nothing had come of it.

‘I like to speak bluntly,’ said the king, ‘therefore I shall reveal at once, Dijkstra, why I’ve decided to talk to you personally. There are several reasons. Firstly, I know you won’t shrink from bribery. I’m certain, by and large, of my ministers, but why put them to the test, lead them into temptation? What kind of bribe did you intend to offer the minister of foreign affairs?’

‘A thousand Novigradian crowns,’ the spy responded without batting an eyelid. ‘Were he to haggle, I’d have gone up to a thousand five hundred.’

‘And that’s why I like you,’ Esterad Thyssen said after moment’s silence. ‘You’re a dreadful whoreson. You remind me of my youth. I look at you and see myself at your age.’

Dijkstra thanked him with a bow. He was just eight years younger than the king. He was convinced that Esterad was well aware of it.

‘You’re a dreadful whoreson,’ the king repeated, growing serious. ‘But a respectable and decent one. And that’s a rarity in these rotten times.’