Khaled wet his suddenly parched lips. "As I am sure all in this room are aware, Mr Lowe, those who worship Oh are granted some strength with the water element."

"Indeed, but - for the avoidance of doubt - you, as the Chosen of Oh, have a little more than just 'strength'. In fact, it might even be said that as Oh's avatar, you are amongst the foremost Water Mages in Soar?"

"Hardly." Khaled pointed upwards to where his Class and Level were on open display. "I am but a humble Level 60 dwelling on the Eighth Floor."

"The sixth." Latham's voice was suddenly thunderous in the chamber. "I hear on the grapevine your ascension was confirmed just this morning. Unusual to jump two floors in one go like that. Noteworthy, in fact. Someone must have made themselves very popular with the Council."

"Well, yes." Khaled's whole mouth had become very dry indeed. "I didn't think that news was common knowledge yet. But it is true. I have been granted a . . . small promotion in recognition of services rendered." Mdamic shifted in his seat to stare at Khaled, a small section of the thundercloud above him breaking free to hover over the other man's head. "But my wider point, after all, still holds. Someone of my situation can hardly be considered an appropriate antagonist for the High Priestess of Gravalk."

The silence in the chamber was only broken by the soft pitter-patter of rain falling on Khaled's head.

Lowe stared at him impassively. "I think we would all like to hear the nature of these 'services rendered.'"

"I don't think they're relevant to the matter under . . ."

Khaled blurred as a lightning bolt crashed to incinerate the chair where he sat, Never Surprised saving him once again.

Mdamic was up on his feet, face red. "I'll fucking decide if it's relevant! What did you do to earn the promotion? It's you that's been pouring venom in the Council's ears about me, isn't it? All that advice, all those cosy chats. You were fucking playing me!"

With as much dignity as he could manage, the Chosen of Oh returned to his feet, thoroughly soaked by the pulsating rain. He turned to face Arebella, enunciating his words with care. "Neither I nor any member of my cult were involved directly - or indirectly - in the murder of Gianna d'Avec. Any compensation that has come my way of late can be considered entirely tangential. Such rewards are connected to my work to support the Council's efforts in ensuring an appropriate balance of power in the Temple."

Lowe glanced her way, and Arebella nodded. "He's telling the truth."

"I don't give a fuck about whether he was involved in killing the bitch! Has he been specifically rewarded for working against me? That's the question I want him asked. Fucking ask it!"

That is indeed an interesting question, Mdamic. But perhaps we avatars can resolve the sudden popularity of the cult of Oh behind closed doors. It is, after all, never good for children to see Mummy and Daddy fight. Or, to put it more bluntly, your behaviour is scaring the cattle. Join me in my chamber. Now.

Everyone heard Arkola's voice, but not in so mundane a fashion as through their ears. And then Khaled and Mdamic vanished, and the chair was back in his reconstituted seat as if no lightning-based destruction had occurred.

Lowe glanced around at a sea of suddenly very nervous faces: no one liked to think they were under Arkola's notice. Bad things tend to happen when Soar's supreme being took a personal interest. Then the whole body of the wiry man sat behind Hel strained in effort, and the general sense of doom relented. Slightly.

As the tension lightened, Ortel cleared his throat. This took several attempts, eventually requiring him to lean to the side and spit out something darkly green. "As much of a fan as I am of all these courtroom theatrics, do you think we could try to get to the meat of the matter? If Oh isn't behind what happened to d'Avec, who is?"

Cenorth nodded his own frustration. "Time isn't your friend here, Lowe. If you have a case to build, do so. But it's now or never. I can sense a whole phalanx of Council flunkeys descending on Cuckoo House. They'll work out where we are in moments."

Lowe took a breath, then rubbed his chin. "Fair enough. So, let us see what we know, then." He held up a finger. "Two weeks before her death, Gianna d'Avec officiated in the trial of Trellen Ulton. He was accused of the murder of Lord Falyn, and, in short order, she summarily executed him. Was this a just act?" Lowe directed his question at Ortel, who shook his head emphatically.

"Trellen was innocent. He was guilty of nothing more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time." The lawyer glanced at the man wrapped in chains in the corner of the room. "And having the wrong brother."

"Quite." Lowe turned to Markian and cocked his head. "Trellen had found out you were responsible for Falyn's recent commercial losses, hadn't he? My understanding is that there was widespread corruption in the awarding of city contracts."

Markian, with some difficulty due to the weight of his chains, shrugged nonchalantly. "As I am under a Red Notice, my business dealings with Lord Falyn are a matter of public record. Am I guilty of, at best, sharp practice? Certainly. Are there those whom I represent who desired my brother to carry the can for Falyn's death? Again, I assume that to be the case. Was I personally involved in the murder of Falyn? No."

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Noting the care with which he spoke, Lowe raised his eyebrows at Arebella. She frowned and shook her head. The chained man was not lying.

"Do you know who killed Falyn?"

"My brother was found guilty."

Lowe clicked his tongue and rephrased the question. "Do you believe he did it?"

"I accept the decision made by the High Priestess of Gravalk."

"That wasn't the question."

"Funny that."

Cenorth stepped forward and punched Markian in the face, breaking his nose. "Look, as much as you've tried to get your friends to wheedle you out from under it, you're still under a Red Notice. That means you have fewer rights than the shit beneath my shoe. We're all very impressed with your semantic gymnastics to avoid answering a direct question. Truly, you're the man. But if you keep fucking around, you're going to find out. And I will start breaking fingers next." He turned back to Lowe, giving him a thumbs up. "Your witness, Jana."

"Why did d'Avec execute your brother? Did you ask her to?"

"No." Blood ran down Markian's face, dying his teeth red. "I would have asked if it'd look likely he'd get off, but it wasn't going to come to that."

"Why not?"

Markian laughed grimly. "Do you have any idea how good the people you are blundering around against are? You've got a , an Out of Bounds Squad, and even fucking Arkola watching your back, and they've still managed to get to you whenever they wanted. Doesn't the fact you're still alive tell you anything?" He turned to look at the others in the room. "Doesn't it tell you all something? He's a useful fucking idiot. That's all. Nothing that is happening here isn't exactly as they want. He's a fucking Classless wrecking ball, and the minute he's not useful anymore, he'll be dealt with."

Lowe tried to let those words bounce off him, but he felt them leave their mark. But he'd worry about that later. "And what about Gianna d'Avec? Was she useful, too?"

"Of course she was! A High Priestess of Gravalk in my pocket? Made me into a fucking legend. She fried Trellen without even being asked to! And she did it because she thought she was protecting me! You should have seen the way she lost her shit when I tried to suggest there would be a reward in it for her. But that was always her problem, you know? All this bollocks about staying in the family house and keeping her old nanny around, and giving away her money to deserving causes. She was just a fucking pathetic orphan desperate for someone to love her and tell her it was all going to be okay. She killed her own parents, did you know that? Flash-fried them like last night's chicken when she lost her temper. It scared her so much she spent the rest of her life trying to make amends. The saddest of sad-sacks. An open wound looking for anything to fill the void."

"And that's what you did for her?"

"It's what they wanted me to do, you better believe I fucking did! You saw what they did to that fucking priest who tried to back out of the deal he made with them! You don't have second thoughts with these guys. They employ fucking Leoto Bright, for Soar's sake!"

Hiwalk was up on his feet. "Who killed him? Who killed Setort?" Flaming falcons dipped and swirled above his head, diving to peck at Markian as the priest raged.

"Fuck's sake!" Markian hunched his shoulders, trying to protect his face. "What did he think was going to happen? You don't make a deal with these people and then try to stiff them for more. They paid him to get dirt on this Classless fuckwit, but that wasn't enough for him, was it? The way I heard it, he tried to blackmail them into making him into Gravalk's next High Priest. Threatend to go straight to Arkola with what he knew. Wanker's lucky Bright just ripped him to shreds for trying that. And trust me, I've seen him do much worse! Like you'll fucking see when this is all over!"

A silence fell over the room, broken only by Lowe's slow footsteps as he continued to pace again. When he spoke, it was as if Markian's rant had never happened.

"But that's the interesting thing, do you see? What strikes me here - again - is the dichotomy in the way you describe the High Priestess's nature. Humble in her lifestyle, hugely generous with her money, and fiercely loyal to those she thought cared for her. And yet there is so much pleasure in this room at the woman's death."

Penarth snorted. "Fuck's sake, Temporary Reinstated Much-Maligned Inspector, we get it. She was a saint. A beloved woman snatched too quickly from this world. And anyone who thinks otherwise is just plain wrong. Put the smallest fucking violin in the world away and tell us what happened!"

"She fucking killed my family!"

As Hel stood, her sisters started wailing. Not just crying, but a full-on scream of heart-wrenching despair. Irek pushed out as many waves of soothing calm as he could, but it simply didn't touch the sides of the sorrow of the . A widening circle of space appeared around them as everyone in the room backed away.

Hel pointed at Lowe, tears running down her face. "The Council was willing to let us go! We were finished as agents, we knew that. But there was no need for any further action. We'd have just slipped away. All of us. But she wouldn't let that happen. She persuaded them to make an example of us. She killed them. She killed them, Lowe! She killed them all!"

The plaintive note in that final repetition was heartbreaking to hear. For a moment, Lowe wanted to let it go. Wanted to throw his hands up in the air and be done with the whole thing. Who the fuck cared who had killed a High Priestess of Gravalk? The Fire God was a nightmare waiting to happen, and whoever curtailed his rise to power had done the whole of Soar a massive favour. What did it matter who was responsible for that?

Looking into Hel's pain-filled eyes, there was a part of him that wanted to let it go. But, just as he had a year before when all the pressure in the world was brought to bear upon him to look the other way, he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

He asked the question he'd been aching to ask the since his moment of epiphany on the First Floor.

"How do you know that, Hel?"

The opened her mouth to retort, her face twisted in anger. But then it stopped—confusion blossoming on her face.

"I . . . there was an official report. Highly confidential. I was able to get hold of a copy."

"A confidential written report. Think about it for a moment. From everything you've heard about the High Priestess, does it seem likely she'd have behaved that way? A woman haunted by what her power had done to her own parents? A woman who gave everything she earned to those making the world a better place. Why would she have advocated for the massacre of your family?"

Doubt was appearing all over Hel's face. "But . . . it was in the report. And it was almost impossible to get hold of. The hoops I had to go through to get it. There's no way it could have been faked."

"Why do you think that, Hel? How did you get it? Who gave it to you?"

Hel's eyes slipped to the right to where Cenorth had been standing.

But the was already in motion, Skills triggering to slay Markian Ulton and the two beside him in a mist of blood, and then he was taking hold of Arebella's hair and dragging her in front of him, hunching to cover himself behind her.

"For Soar's sake, Jana! You had one job. It comes to something when I can't even rely on you to fuck up an investigation properly."