~ IAN ~

The day had been long and oh so hot, so by night the alcohol was flowing. Sergeant Pratley had been reluctant to let Ian go—he would be remiss in his duties as a security officer if he allowed the Corrack himself, second most senior person in the entire colony, to go off on his own to a drinking establishment.

Ian soon found out the real reason Sergeant Pratley wanted to come. “I wouldn’t say no to a drop, if you’re buying,” the Sergeant had said when they arrived, removing his cap and setting it down on a wooden table. “Not the dry type, though—makes me queasy.” Pratley was off duty, he later confessed, and just fancied a pint. Harry Gorman was keeping a low profile somewhere out in the plaza ready to step in if anything happened. Pratley was here to drink.

He was on his second and quite drunk when Ian stood to wave to Millie. She’d dressed up for the occasion in something brightly coloured and ever so soft, and traced the outline of her eyes in thick black. She looked taken aback to see Sergeant Pratley sat next to Ian. If it bothered her, she said nothing.

It had been her idea to come to the Tavern. They’d met three times so far, each meeting orchestrated by Sergeant Pratley. By the last she’d become anxious at the idea she was just a faceless fuck to him. She could handle the fact that a serious relationship was off-limits, but not even being able to talk to Ian as a friend had led her to doubt her actions since leaving her boyfriend behind. But who would mind if they just had a drink together? Everybody had friends, whether or not they were married. And friends were allowed to enjoy a pint or six in the Tavern together.

Ian was glad of a reason to go somewhere. Of late he’d begun to feel haunted by that damned book on his shelf, always watching him and always projecting the ghost of Dani into his thoughts. Becoming a miserable old man who never left his own bedside would be the death of him, if only because the constant presence of his worst demons would drive him beyond the point of insanity.

Unfortunately, he knew little of Millie, and she seemed to know not much more about him—quite a poor showing, actually, from a woman who’d been stalking him for months. Bland small talk was all they had.

Millie, Ian learned, worked for Mistress Mary Snyder, spinster purveyor of fine dresses who had abandoned her reputation to set up shop in Essegena. Those staff who had lives outside their work were laid off. Millie, being single, had been brought along as a resident seamstress. “Although technically I’m not resident, since they didn’t put enough rooms in Mistress Snyder’s shop. I sleep in one of the tenements down the way.” As far as he could fathom, she had no life outside of her work and him.

Which made him strangely sad. She was a young girl, good-looking; she could have a lot going for her if she spent more time out and about.

“Mistress Snyder showed me a new design she’s been working on,” said Millie, two hours into their night. She’d begun to slur her words now. It was a better showing than Sergeant Pratley, who’d as good as passed out, staring aimlessly into nowhere as he held his head on his elbow. “It’s darling, really it is, and as soon as we can get a shipment of tulle she’ll start on the prototype.”

Ian nodded along, hearing every word but not really understanding all of them. He wasn’t sure if it was just because the booze was beginning to kick in, but he found himself very intently focused on Millie. Specifically, on her cheek. It wasn’t a special cheek, not that it was hideous, but he couldn’t work up the motivation to turn his head away. Millie was talking with a real sparkle in her eyes, he noticed. Elise had lost that sparkle a long time ago. He hadn’t noticed it had been missing until he was seeing it in another woman.

She looked at him. “Do you think it’ll be long before they send someone to link up with the Hive?”

The Hive. The Unity’s central command vessel had started out as little more than a resting port between the two dozen wormholes of the galaxy, but over time it had become a heavily corporatised administrative block, filled with every amenity. It was also where the Commissioners met. When the Essegena colony was ready to join the Unity’s ranks, a small vessel would make the journey back to the Hive, equipped with all the information needed to make near-instantaneous travel a possibility. Exotic imports would have to wait until then.

Ian didn’t know when that would be. Nobody did, really. Still, he murmured something that sounded like the word ‘soon’, and didn’t correct Millie when she got excited.

“Oh, I can’t wait,” she cooed. Then, before Ian had time to move out of the way, she leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. It was a small thing, but both of them fell silent afterwards.

That had been Ian’s only condition. They couldn’t act like they were anything other than just mates.

He froze for a second, looked around cautiously. Nobody seemed to have noticed. He breathed in relief.

“I must say, Elise looks younger than I expected.” The Hookbill. Ian spun around to see George Prendergast lurking nearby, an amused grin on his long face. His head was covered by a felt bourrelet.

Frantic, he fumbled for an excuse. “This isn’t Elise,” he said.

“Emily Farmer,” said Millie, holding out a hand for the Hookbill to shake. “People call me Millie.” The Hookbill didn’t shake her hand.

“Millie’s, uh, she’s my—”

“Dressmaker,” said Millie, who then turned bright red.

The Hookbill looked from Millie to Ian, then back to Millie, with an unreadable look on his face. “I suppose it would be hard to find dresses in your size,” he said. “You’re a bit broad in the chest for the usual cuts.”

“Is there a problem here?” Sergeant Pratley was sat upright, Ian noticed, and glaring at the Hookbill through slitted eyes.

The Hookbill shook his head. “You don’t need to be so worried, Master Fitzhenry. Your indiscretions don’t concern me. Nobody will know about your... dressmaker. Not from me.”

Ian nodded. “That’s good to know.”

“But you should be careful. The valley is fast becoming a viper’s pit. Watching eyes are everywhere. I hear names whispered in the breeze to which I cannot put a face. The Ealdor and the Grey Crow. Sixleaf. Nightingale. I’ve even heard tell of a man named Swithin, who calls himself king.” The Hookbill adjusted his hat. “Who these people are, what they want, I cannot say. It may be that they seek to spin webs of their own, and a web of knowledge can quickly grow vast enough to suffocate. Oh, it starts small, yes. But see how it grows. One man only has so many eyes with which to see. If I should chance see something I wasn’t intended to see, I might find I’ve come into some knowledge about a man—something he wishes to remain hidden. A dead body in his past, perhaps. So he agrees to be my eyes. In exchange for my silence, he tells me what he sees. Information, Master Fitzhenry. Now, if he knows something, I know it too. Connections breed connections. The web grows ever larger. And I’ve been cultivating my web for a very long time.”

Ian frowned. “You want me to spy for you?”

“Oh, godsouls, no.” The Hookbill shook his head. “That’s not your part to play in the great tapestry. Of course, information will never be unwelcome, but I have all I need from you. I have no wish to harm you for it. These others may not be understanding. You understand what I’m saying?”

“I do.”

Sergeant Pratley stood up, knocking the table as he did so and spilling cider all over it. “If you want to threaten the Corrack, it’s me you’ll answer to,” he said, pointing a hairy finger at Prendergast.

The Hookbill just looked at him with an expression of mild amusement. “Did I threaten him?” He left without answering the question.

When he was gone, Sergeant Pratley retook his seat. “I don’t trust him,” he muttered. “Do you want me to have a guard follow him?”

“That won’t be necessary, Sergeant,” Ian laughed.

Millie was staring at Sergeant Pratley. “I thought you were drunk,” she said. “You’d spaced out.”

Pratley chortled. “Sorry, old move. People will show their true intentions more if the big security bloke’s out for the count. I didn’t mean to trick you.” He raised his near-empty flagon. “Now, how’s about another?”

It wasn’t the morning sunlight streaming in through the window that woke Ian the next day, nor was it the incessant clamour of the heralding songbirds. It was the drill boring a hole into a brick across the street. There weren’t proper streets yet, not like they had on Belaboras. There were unsurfaced gaps between rows of buildings—or in this instance, between a row of buildings and the space set aside for a future row of buildings.

This wasn’t his chambers.

He lay staring at the ceiling for some time. It was an alien feeling, waking up to the touch of fresh air. As the colony’s second in seniority, he was entitled to his own house, with room enough for his whole retainer of soldiers and some domestic staff—not that he knew where he could get some domestic staff from. They weren’t exactly sold in shops. But there’d be opportunity enough to figure it out later. That was all some months away. The Governor’s palatial residence took priority, and the builders had yet to break ground on that. In the meantime, Ian had continued to use his quarters on the Eia.

Millie Farmer’s tenement room was a fair stretch smaller, but at least she got to feel the breeze. There were windows—real windows, not screens playing the feed from exterior cameras. The whole place was filled with the smell of freshly-sawn wood. It took Ian back to home, and his father’s little workshop. It wasn’t far from paradise.

If only it was quieter.

It was a rude thing indeed to start drilling so early. Did Master Holden’s builders have no conception of people sleeping?

He took a moment to look around. Everywhere was clean and tidy, the only muddles a half-full cup of water and a leather-bound book the size of a fist, both resting on the table beside the bed. A diary, he guessed. I wonder what Millie’s been writing about me?

Millie padded into the room as he reached for the book. She snatched it up from the table and shoved it into a pocket. “You weren’t reading that, were you? There’s some pretty personal stuff in there. It’s embarrassing.”

Ian shook his head.

“I thought you’d want to sleep in,” Millie said. “You were like a rocket last night.”

Last night. His memory was pretty hazy. He remembered drinks, jokes, a whole lot more fun than he’d ever had with Elise. Specifics were gone. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d come to end up in Millie Farmer’s bed, though he could hazard a guess.

Wait, sleep in? “What time is it?”

“Early afternoon. One after, or thereabouts.”

He shot upright. The meeting. It was an important one, or so Chris led him to believe.

“You should have woken me,” he said.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to,” said Millie.

“Well, I did.” He thought for a second. “Where’s the plaza from here?” From there, he’d be able to find the council chamber easily, but the trick was getting there in the first place. It was well beyond him to guess whether there was any plan behind Master Holden’s construction works, but the town had certainly taken on the appearance of an unplanned sprawl. The cartographers had prioritised getting the geography of the planet down. Ian suspected it was because none felt up to the task of trying to map Master Holden’s town.

Millie would have been able to, though. She directed him while he threw his clothes on. To be more precise, she attempted to direct him, but by the time he’d dressed he was more confused than he’d been to begin with. He wondered if she’d ever given directions before.

“Why don’t I just show you the way?” She knelt to pick up a pair of shoes, as though she knew his answer before he did.

No, he thought. I can’t be seen in public with you. I’m a married man.

But to a wife who wasn’t here. There were maybe a dozen people on Essegena who were aware of Elise Bainton’s existence. They were all close enough to him to believe any story he cared to spin about his relationship with Millie.

What could it hurt?

“Go on, then,” he said.

Millie, as it turned out, was far better at practical navigating than she was at giving directions. She ran on instinct. It was all Ian could do to keep up, and when they reached the plaza he was sweating. “You’re bloody fast,” he said.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“I used to run,” she said. “Can I see you later?”

“I’ll send Sergeant Pratley to find you,” Ian promised. Millie looked upset that he was leaving her, but she didn’t try to follow him. A stalker who didn’t pursue him everywhere he went was a novelty he definitely hadn’t ever expected to have.

By the time he got to Government Hall, he was definitely late. Two soldiers were stood at the door, their rifles on the floor at the feet. They were playing some kind of word game when Ian approached. “Shouldn’t you two be guarding something?”

“Sir.” They stood aside to let him pass. He weighed up the benefits of reprimanding them, and decided there weren’t any. They hadn’t abandoned their posts, and it wasn’t like anybody was going to break into a council meeting anyway. You’d have to be sadist to attend when you weren’t required.

Council meetings were always boring.

This one was already in full flow. He could hear the voices before he even got to the room. He just hoped he hadn’t missed anything important.

The air inside the chamber was hot and heady. Unusually, the whole council had attended the meeting. It was more common for somebody to cry busy, often Caroline. Today, for a change, she was there, looking smart if bored stiff. The tears of the other day were gone from view, hidden behind a mask of immaculate make-up and the familiar carefree smile she so loved to wear. She shifted across a seat when she saw Ian, gesturing for him to fill the space between herself and her husband.

He tiptoed around the edge of the room, ignoring the glares from General Bradshaw, and slipped into the seat. “What have I missed?” he whispered.

“Two children shouting across the room at one another,” Caro replied. He didn’t need to ask her who the two children were. It seemed like there wasn’t a single meeting that passed without degenerating into verbal sparring between Chris and Bradshaw. Whatever one said, the other invariably found it the height of folly. On good days, they’d express their displeasure in a wrapper of sarcasm. More often, civility became an afterthought.

Bradshaw had a fire lit beneath him today. “Frankly, none of this is good enough. Three of my men, good men, missing for three months now—missing, Governor, in a place with nowhere for them to go. And now two more are dead. I think it’s time you bucked up your ideas.”

“In fairness, none of that’s the Governor’s fault.” Ian had to speak in Chris’ defence; it wouldn’t be right otherwise.

Bradshaw looked at him like he was a hideous monster. “I hardly think now’s the time for fairness. The buck stops with the Governor. Everything is the Governor’s fault, if it’s not properly dealt with.”

“And what would you have me do? What, should I somehow conjure your missing men out of thin air?” Chris beat his fist down on the table. “I’m not a god.”

“But would that you were, eh?” Bradshaw snickered.

Stockton joined in. “You could make allowances for more searches.”

Bradshaw nodded eagerly, looking pleased as punch that someone else had stepped up to alternate swings. “The truth is you aren’t up for the job. If it wasn’t missing people, it would be something else. I was promised good government. Where is it? What have you achieved? You delay—and you delay because you can’t bear the thought of giving up even a shred of your power.”

Chris squirmed. “Everything has a time. The colony is fragile. If we rush into things, the whole operation could collapse. There’s just no benefit to it.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Governor,” said Bradshaw. “But it’s been nearly six months since we put down in this valley. That’s enough time to make a start, surely.”

“We’ve made a start. Master Holden’s builders have transformed this valley into a thriving little town. Already, I’m told, Plateau Watch fort is aiming to be self-sufficient. I’d count all that as success.”

General Bradshaw snorted. “Heh. You have a town that can’t govern itself. Things are ticking by through the sheer pig-headedness of the section heads. Nothing’s come from the Council. As it is, it’s nothing but a rump. How many meetings have we had? How many? And yet I can’t remember the last time everybody was here.” He leaned across the table towards Caroline. “There are some who prefer to send excuses in their stead.”

Caroline stared Bradshaw down. “There are some who have more important things to do than argue with aggressive old men with nothing going for them but the glories of twenty years ago. And before you get pissy, no, I’m not talking about you, General—we all know you never had any glories.”

General Bradshaw didn’t dignify that with an answer. Ian stifled a laugh.

The Hookbill raised a hand. “Let us return to the order of the day. This bickering will help nobody.” There were murmurs of assent from the Council.

“Our granaries are full to bursting,” said Master Wrack, standing. “I’ve spoken with a number of the farmers—Aster, Pindale, Hultry—and all are optimistic about their yields with the harvest. Seems the soil here is very rich indeed. With the news that Plateau Watch hopes to be increasingly self-sufficient, I’ve told those working in the hydroponics dome that I intend to shut down their section, once the current crops have been harvested. All that artificial ground is, frankly, an unsustainable use of power, and unnecessary too.”

“And the workers?” Master Peulion asked the question as though he himself came from humble stock.

“Ready for reassignment to the seeding parties, or to jobs elsewhere in the valley. As was originally intended.”

Ian frowned. “I thought the hydroponics dome was meant to serve us for three years.”

“Three years was a target,” said Master Wrack. “We’ve beaten the target.”

“And what of the seeding parties?” This was Master Stockton. “Has any preparation been undertaken?” The seeding parties were the second phase of the Unity’s colony plan. While the Eia Valley would remain the heart of Essegena, there was a wide world for the taking. Hand-picked groups of farmers and masons and other workers would journey across the land to find suitable places to settle. They’d set up farms and villages, so Essegena had more than a single point of failure.

The Unity had learned its lesson from Tavack. It was nine hundred and fifty years ago that man had first landed on Tavack, and nine hundred and forty years ago that the colony had failed. There’d only been a few dozen of them, living in a single town. When sickness came, it wiped them out. Only pirates had wandered Tavack since.

It was the General who spoke to answer Master Stockton. “A few days ago I visited the commander of the cartographers—a Lieutenant Jackson—in his hospital bed. The poor man has a broken leg, but it doesn’t stop him reading maps, nor passing on orders. The cartographers will identify potential sites from those maps and present a report in due course. That will determine the direction the various seeding parties travel.”

“There’ll be a high demand for a place in one of these parties, particularly for the reeves,” said Master Holden. He wasn’t exaggerating. Each new settlement would have a reeve in charge of local governance, and that reeve would also be entitled to a seat on the Council. There were a dozen reeves in the Eia Valley who didn’t have such a seat. They’d be vying for a place, no doubt.

General Bradshaw grunted. “We ought to be able to handle this without the reeves.”

“Ought to, maybe,” said the Governor, “but we won’t.” And then Ian got bored of the whole deal, and stopped really listening. Every now and then he’d glance at Caroline, resting her head on an arm, and got lost in her eyes for a few seconds. Lost in the past.

Perhaps it was the heat of the day, but Ian was feeling a little drowsy.

“Come on, Ian, wake up.” Caro prodded at his cheek. She wasn’t sat in her seat any more, and neither were the others on the Council. They were all on their feet, filing out of the room.

“Is the meeting over already?”

Caro nodded. “I figured you weren’t paying attention. You glazed over about an hour ago.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to me. Come on.” She held out her hand, and pulled Ian to his feet. One leg had fallen asleep, and the pins and needles shot agonisingly through him as he put the weight on it. At first, he limped. Caro was kind enough to be a shoulder for him to lean on, until the bloodflow returned.

General Bradshaw was talking with the serjeant-at-arms in the outer hall, and scowled at Ian as he passed.

“Take no notice,” said Caro. “If he’s anything like Chris, these meetings put him in a foul mood. I doubt it’s personal.”

Not that Ian particularly cared if General Bradshaw held a personal grudge against him.

Chris fell in with them at the front entrance, where apparently he’d awaited Caro, and the three stepped out into the sunlight.

“Bloody Bradshaw.” The door had barely closed behind Chris before he let off. “The bastard’s incorrigible. Every turn, he’s there. I think he’s doing it deliberately.”

“He’s not in the wrong,” said his wife, putting a cautious hand on his shoulder.

Chris sighed. “I know he’s not in the wrong. There wouldn’t be a Council if there wasn’t room for debate. That doesn’t mean he’s not a bad actor. How is the system supposed to function when I’m being perpetually stymied by a professional contrarian?”

“I don’t see how it’s as bad as you’re making it out to be,” said Ian. Caro had the right of it: however irritating General Bradshaw was, he had as yet done nothing more than his job. Master Stockton and Master Holden voiced opposition to Chris just as often as the General did, and he’d yet to rant about them.

Chris’ face went dark. “It’s the principle. Every time I lose a debate, every time Bradshaw makes me seem the fool, my position becomes that little bit less tenable. Bradshaw’s undermining me bit by bit by filling the role of the everyman.”

“He’s a good speaker,” said Caro.

“His speeches are vacuous. It’s empty words to hinder our operations. Nothing’s ever going to get done as long as he’s blocking the way, and you just know he’s doing it out of spite.”

“Of course he’s blocking the way,” said Caro. “That’s what democracy is. People get to have their say—it’s fundamental. Were you expecting him to roll over and let you ride roughshod? This isn’t Borrowood, Chris. This isn’t your personal kingdom.”

“And what would you know about bloody democracy?” Chris was suddenly shouting. “I had to beg and plead for you to even show up.”

Just then Caro’s tone turned cold, the way it seldom did. Ian recoiled to hear it. “You did,” she said. “You begged. And I came, because I thought perhaps you’d say what needed to be said. This isn’t time for secrets.”

“Secrets?” The word pricked Ian’s attention. “What sort of secrets?”

“Oh, I see.” Caro jerked her eyes Ian’s way. “You haven’t even got the stones to tell your so-called best friend. You’re the very model of transparency, Chris, it’s really admirable.” She was practically spitting venom. “We’re not the first people to come here, Ian, far from it.”

They were, though. That was how the Unity had sold the job to him. He remembered coffee with Chris and Commissioner Irmden. “Think of it,” Chris had said. “The chance to make history, together, the way we always dreamed we would.”

“There won’t be an opportunity like this again,” Commissioner Irmden had assured him. “Not in your lifetime.”

Yet there Caro was, insisting that her own husband was a liar.

They’re always having little tiffs, he thought. They say things that aren’t true. That’s all this is. He stood back, silently, to let them hash it out in peace.

Caro spoke through gritted teeth, etched into a fake smile. “And wouldn’t have you have thought a little detail like that might have been worth mentioning? Because I would have.”

“Caro...” There was a helpless pleading in Chris’ voice that Ian had never heard before. It was more than a little disconcerting.

Not that Caro seemed to care. “Course, he of infinite wisdom disagreed. Kept it to himself, so the rest of us could be mugs. Every weird thing that’s happened, everything we’re all at a loss to explain? Well, never fear. Chris had the answers all along. And guess which mug spent hours of her life caring for a dying man who shouldn’t even have existed, and getting shit for it from all comers.” She covered her chin in mock thought. “Might it have been your wife, Chris?”

It was Chris’ turn to go on the offensive. “It was one man, Caro. For all we know, he stowed away somehow.”

“With the amount of times they checked the ship before we left? I don’t think so.”

“Not on Belaboras then. Jenaté, maybe.” The stop-off at the minor Jenaté had been an unexpected detour. Certain instruments had stopped working, without which they’d run the risk of coming to a standstill in the middle of dead space, so they’d liaised with a Unity repair vessel over the satellite world. But nobody could have stolen aboard then. The repair ship never docked, and the Eia never made planetfall.

Ian said as much, earning the ire of Chris for his contribution.

“The man mightn’t have been a stowaway. Nobody ever checked against the civilian rolls, he could have been on the list anyway.”

Caro snorted. “That makes so much more sense,” she said. “A civilian managed to get planetside with the Advanced Party—well before any of us, you remember—and on top of that they had time to carve some wooden idols and hide them in the lake, and then get themselves hurt. All in the space of a day. Oh, and don’t forget: they got some friends to wander out of the valley and pretend to be natives. Credibility wouldn’t be stretched that much in the event horizon of a black hole. Admit it, Chris: you’re lying to us. We aren’t the first.”

Ian looked to Chris, who sighed, long and slow. “Okay. We aren’t the first. There was a mission way back when—a few hundred years ago, at least. The exact dates are written down in the archives somewhere. Do you remember when the teachers made us study Henry Balkett?”

“The poet?” Henry Balkett had made a living long ago, pumping out sentimental tripe that sold off the back of a proud family name.

Chris nodded. “His great-uncle had command of the mission. Alfred.”

Ian took a moment to process what Chris was saying. “What happened to them? A couple of hundred years, this place should be crawling with people.”

“It might be,” said Chris. “I never saw any of the survey maps. Wouldn’t surprise me if not even the High Commissioner got a look. Telfer handled all that personally. But the truth is, there shouldn’t be a soul here. They never transmitted after they passed Arvila. We don’t even know if the Balkett mission ever got as far as Essegena.”

“They must have done,” said Caro. “That’s the only explanation for how somebody else was here.”

Ian frowned. “There must be more then, surely. Where is everybody else?”

“They could be dead,” Caro suggested. “Or they could still be around somewhere.”

“It’s irrelevant, really,” said Chris. “If there’s others on Essegena, they’ll have to be dealt with. Anybody with good intentions would have made themselves known by now. In any case, this world is ours now. We have a surfeit of soldiers. General Bradshaw can have the chance to prove he has the nous.”

“Tell me you aren’t saying what I think you’re saying,” said Caro, her voice hard.

Chris turned to her. “If they won’t make peace, we’ll have to make war. It’s really quite simple.”

“Don’t lecture me about simple,” Caro snapped. “You want them gone, because they’re an inconvenience. It’s disgusting.”

Ian felt very much like he’d got himself caught up somewhere he didn’t want to be.

“There’s probably nobody here anyway,” said Chris, with a chuckle.

Caro’s lips thinned. “There are. I’ve met a few.”

Chris sighed. “Godsouls, Caroline, you’re sounding unhinged. The pills are meant to stop this insanity.”

“Good thing for you I flushed them,” she said. “I’d hate to still be under the thumb of a self-important prick like you. Guess what, Chris—I have my own mind. My own eyes. I—” Chris slapped her hard. She cried and went to the ground, a hand rising to rub the flesh of her cheek. Ian could see it was angry and red.

Caro glared at Chris, with eyes so piercing Ian recoiled himself. “Well done, you can hit me. Was that supposed to prove something? You’re pathetic sometimes, Chris.” She stood and made for the door.

“Caroline—” Chris called after her. It was futile. She didn’t turn around or break stride until she was gone, and the door slammed shut behind her.

Chris turned to Ian. “Tell me about Millie Farmer.”

How did he know her name? “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Let’s not play silly buggers,” said Chris, his voice raised. “Wrack saw you, Ian. Look, I’m not Elise, and I don’t much care whether the girl you’re shagging is Elise either. But I have a feeling Elise wouldn’t be happy to hear about your escapades. So here’s how it works: you’ll forget what you heard here, forget you ever heard the name ‘Balkett’. In return, I’ll make sure the name ‘Millie Farmer’ never crosses my lips. Do we have a deal?”

Ian sighed, a long, slow sigh. What choice did he have? He thought back to the Hookbill’s warnings, then nodded his head slowly. “Deal.”