With Mylaf's words about the High Priestess's unusual behaviour before her demise fresh in his mind, Lowe embarked on a journey to the Middle Court. "You're sure this was the last case she heard before her death?" he asked the as they crossed the busy street.

Latham's eyes darted around, their gaze shifting from one shadow to another, glaring at anyone who dared to approach Lowe. "It was Gravalk's sevenday for assuming the role of the Deity of Justice. However, this was the only case that would have warranted the High Priestess's personal attention. The other priests had handled the less significant matters, but the Ulton case was different. It carried the weight of a death penalty."

"And who did she execute?"

"A minor . To be honest, even though it was a murder, we were all a bit surprised she actually chose to appear herself. In theory, avatars should attend when it is their god's sevenday, but it's the sort of thing she could have passed off without any comment. But, no, she was there for the whole thing. A mate of mine had tried to organise the security detail, but she insisted on portalling in and out herself."

"And he was guilty? The Mage she executed?"

"The High Priestess found him so, and Gravalk's fire was certainly hot that day."

"That was definitely an answer to a question. I'm not sure it was actually the one I asked, though."

Latham blew out air from his cheeks. "I guess it was somewhat of a surprise. The High Priestess, though, was so certain of his guilt that she cut off the defence case short. Wholly within her remit, of course. But that sort of thing is a touch unusual."

Which was why they were calling on Ortel Maybourne, the Defence Counsel concerned.

The short, stocky man with his golden sash was waiting for them outside the gates of the Middle Court. He was pacing up and down, obviously nervous about something. As soon as he identified the two men walking towards him, he hurried towards them.

"Ah, Inspector Lowe. Warder Latham. I've been expecting you."

"Counsel Maybourne, thank you for making the time. We have some questions about . . . "

"Yes, yes, yes." Ortel started literally dragging them away from the court entrance. He had limited success moving Latham an inch.

"Is there a problem?" asked Lowe.

Ortel looked over his shoulder in the least surreptitious glance Lowe had ever seen. It was a good job that Maybourne had made a decent living in the law; he certainly was never going to have much of a career as a spy. It did not take Lowe's years of experience to determine something had the tubby spooked.

"Please!" Ortel was, literally, wringing his hands. "I have been told, under no circumstances, should I speak to you."

Lowe began gesticulating wildly and angrily as if he were in an argument with Maybourne. "That's fine. We'll go and wait in the pub just around the corner. You know the one? Good, come and see us anytime in the next two bells." He punctuated the final word by rudely poking Ortel in the chest and spinning on his heels. Latham lumbered after him.

*

"Someone got to Ortel?" Latham said, carrying two pints of ale to the table in one hand and four packets of crisps to accompany them in another.

"Cheers. But how are you still hungry, mate? I mean, do you have hollow legs or something?"

"I've not slept in three days, little man. I have a Skill that can burn calories to replenish Stamina, but it's a bugger to keep fuelled. Anyway, I've dropped it all on expenses. After being jerked around all night, I'm not feeling especially loyal to the Temple hierarchy right now." He tore each packet open and tipped the contents down his throat one after another. "Ortel. Who do you think got to him? Mr Law, Mr Temple or A.N Other?"

Lowe sipped his ale, wincing at the odd flavour. Mindful of recent experiences, he pulled a charcoal macaron out of his inventory - Mylaf had produced a batch this morning for just this purpose - and bit into it. Latham raised an eyebrow, so he explained. "The ale tasted funny."

The gulped his own and shrugged his shoulders. "Nah, I think you're getting paranoid in your old age. But if you don't want it . . . " Latham swallowed Lowe's pint in two huge gulps.

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"This is truly like sharing a space with a bottomless pit."

"The lawyer?" Latham prompted.

"My money would be on Mr Law," Lowe said. "He seems to be the one dealing in threats, whereas Mr Temple appears to be all about the instant murder attempts."

"And yet you're not convinced he had d'Avec killed?"

Lowe looked mournfully at the empty pint glass before him. He started worrying that Mylaf's consumables might have ruined 'normal' food and drink for him. That was going to be a bit of a bugger when this case ended, and she wanted to find other employment. Pulling a face, he turned his mind back to Latham's question. "Let us say the jury's out on that one. Which," he added, noting the appearance of a red-faced little man in the doorway of the pub, "was not an option Trellen Ulton was given."

Ortel spotted them and hurried over to them, taking the third untouched pint and downing it in one. He gave a discrete little burp, produced a Totem of Silence, and banged it in the centre of the table.

"Dearie, dearie, dearie me. Never in all my years with the Sash have I encountered such a palaver. No, sir. No sir, a all."

Lowe nodded to Latham to go collect another few drinks.

"Counsel Maybourne, thank you for coming to speak to us."

"No, no. Thank you for being the first unexpected visitor I've had in the last day to show some decorum. Dearie me, it's warm in here." He added a Totem of Air to the table, emanating a soft breeze.

"Can I take from your comments that we were not the first visitors you have had of late who wished to discuss Gianna d'Avec?"

Latham had returned, and Ortel relieved him of one of the drinks he was carrying, draining it dry. The second pint of ale seemed to settle the , whose level of anxiety suddenly appeared to be under control. He gave a little laugh.

"We knew I was so popular? You, sir, are the fifth such caller I have had since the death of the High Priestess." He directed the following sentence at Latham. "And not one of your predecessors offered me a drink." The returned to the bar, muttering under his breath.

"Can you tell me what you remember of your visitors?"

Ortel waved his hand and refreshed his Totem of Silence. "The first was just some snidey little who I doubt knew why he had been paid to ask the question. I sent him packing in short order. Unfortunately, the two men who returned were less easy to dismiss."

"They threatened you?"

"They certainly tried, sir. It never ceases to amaze me how many of the Undercity have not encountered a before."

Lowe winded. "Did you leave much of them behind to be identified?"

"Of course," Ortel sounded offended. "I am not an animal. At least, not most of the time and certainly not on that occasion." He gave an oddly high-pitched giggle. "Little humour there. Ah, the waiter is back. Good show, sir."

Latham sat down, carrying a tray with four drinks, and slammed it down with very little grace.

"So," Lowe felt it politic to continue, "a , then a couple of hired muscle. Who else?"

"Ah," and then the short man became, if possible, a little smaller. "Then things became much less pleasant. I was accosted on my walk home by a rather insistent fellow who was clear that my speaking to you would significantly impact my well-being."

"That was yesterday morning?" Lowe thought it was instructive that Mr Law - if it was him - was warning off potential witnesses. It made him being the one to cut Setort up into little pieces feel a touch unlikely.

"Indeed, sir. He had . . . a number of compromising images to supplement his threats."

"And yet here you are, willing to talk."

Ortel fixed Lowe with watery eyes. "I have been a lawyer for many years, sir. Once upon a time, I considered myself quite the dashing figure. I may no longer expect to progress further in my profession, but I have never allowed myself to be intimidated."

"And your fourth visitor?" Latham had polished off another pint.

"Ah, now she was intimidating. However, she was less anxious about stopping me from speaking to you and more about seeking information. Not unlike yourself, sir." Ortel added shrewdly.

"Let me guess. No Class and no Level on display. Handy with a gust of wind?"

Ortel's eyes twinkled. "I see we share an acquaintance."

"Tell us what you told her, please."

"I can do better than that, sir. After all your hospitality, I'll go so far as telling you the truth."

*

"Trellen Ulton was utterly innocent of the charges against him. You just had to look at him. He was incapable of speaking a mistruth, even when it would have been to his advantage. I came perilously close to being professionally embarrassed in my attempts to direct his statements, but he refused to budge. can be difficult like that. However, poor Trellen was obsessed with the idea someone else had slain his master due to his uncovering of Soar-wide corruption. You could barely get two words out of him without some conspiracy theory spilling from his lips." Ortel took another gulp of ale. "But do you know what's worse, sir?"

"What?" Lowe thought he knew what was coming. Things were just starting to snap into place in his mind.

"I think he was telling the truth. Whoever killed Lord Falyn did so in such a way that any questions about his business died with him. And then Trellen followed him to the grave in short order, stopping any questions about his brother's activities."

"His brother?" Latham finished the other drinks and had moved on to licking the empty packets of crisps. Lowe retrieved a Victoria Sponge from his inventory and passed it over. The cake did something to Stamina regeneration, which he hoped might forestall some of the epic gluttony he thought would otherwise form a significant part of their future.

"Yes, indeed. Markian Ulton was, to my mind, a far more appropriate suspect than Trellen. However, I never had the opportunity to present that alternative theory to an understanding audience."

"Because the High Priestess incinerated your client?"

"Indeed, but that was hardly surprising, considering."

"Considering what?"

Ortel smiled, the booze adding a sloppy side to his expression. He looked towards the expired Totem of Silence, then shrugged. "Well, sir. Considering Markian Ulton was her lover, it might have been a little awkward had he been accused of murder in her court."

Yes, Lowe thought. It certainly would.