She froze with a strangled gasp.

Someone was already sitting there. Someone in the black uniform of the People’s Inspectorate, firelight picking out the bones and hollows of a hard frown. Vick dan Teufel.

“Have I been denounced?” asked Savine. Surprising, how cool her voice sounded. Perhaps it was a kind of relief, if it had come, to know she need not worry any more about when it would come.

“Not yet,” said Teufel. “But we both know it’s a matter of time. Judge hates you.”

Now Savine had her hammering heart under control she was damned if she would give any hint of being rattled. She sank into the other chair, pulling her nightgown open as though her breast was a hidden weapon she was showing off.

Harod wriggled about, mouth searching desperately for her nipple everywhere but where it was. She finally managed to get him settled and sat back, frowning. “Judge hates everyone.”

“Oh, but she has some favourites.”

“If all you have is threats you can make them during business hours.”

“I’ve an offer, too. For you and your husband.”

“An offer it’s better you aren’t seen making?”

“I’m not really the front-door type.”

“No. Thoroughly underhanded in my experience.”

“While the Darling of the Slums never flirted with a falsehood?”

Silence stretched while they carefully considered one another, as they had a long time ago, when they shared a carriage on the way to Valbeck. “I suppose you have me there,” Savine admitted. Her trouble with Teufel was not that she was a liar, after all, but that she had proved herself a better liar than Savine. “Do you know where my father is?” she found she had asked.

“No. I wish I did.”

“He hasn’t even met his grandchildren.” A ridiculous, sentimental thing to say to a professional torturer. She half-expected Teufel to burst out laughing, but all she did was thoughtfully narrow her eyes. Savine looked down at Harod. “I daresay I’m the only one who misses him.”

“Oh, I don’t know. His tenure’s starting to look like a golden age. Where’s your husband? I need both of you.”

“I daresay he’ll be along—”

The door crashed open and Leo took a clanking step through on his iron leg, shoulder of his useless arm against the door frame, drawn sword in his other hand, stark naked and still halfway hard.

Teufel glanced over, unmoved by either weapon. “Careful. You might have someone’s eye out with that.”

He lowered the sword. “If you break into people’s houses you can’t complain about what you see.”

“Oh, I’m delighted someone in the city’s still having fun.” Teufel watched him limp to the settle, toss his sword down and drop onto the cushions. He winced as he twisted his iron leg off then sat back, his stump thrust forwards. When he’d been a perfect specimen of manhood he’d always been oddly modest. Now he loved to put his many scars on display and see how people reacted. To no one’s surprise, the inspector was unmoved.