The journalist Weela Frune came about ten minutes later, following Pickle’s mum, Eluina, as she led the way out into the garden. Everyone around the table stood up, coming together defensively around Linua. This made the bodyguards—who had been told only that this was a trip out to buy a bicycle and have a meal at a friend’s house—stiffen and look over the journalist carefully.

By this point the boys were scraping the bottom of their bowls for the last remnants of the cheese bake, while Linua was still cautiously nibbling at bits of salad.

“Please have a seat,” Eluina huffed. “Help yourself to food. Does anyone want more juice? Would you like tea, Mdm Frune?”

“Sedu, please, not Mdm,” Weela Frune said, referring to the Zuyu honorific that denoted her profession. She declined tea, perhaps picking up on the hostile vibes from around the table, and her eyes fell speculatively on Linua.

“No discussing you-know-what,” Eret said warningly.

“What’s the you-know-what?” Solly asked. Everyone ignored him.

Frune raised her eyebrows at Eret.

“You said you had another story for me.”

Eret glanced over at Linua.

“Two stories, actually.”

Linua returned the glance, puzzled. Two? Eret’s plan had been to give Frune a tip about the undiscovered serial killer. In return, they wanted her to use any contacts she had with the police in order to find out more about the series of deaths.

“Oh dear, please sit down, everyone,” Eluina interjected. “You’ll get indigestion or something standing around like that. Does anyone want some iced lollies for pudding? I’ll get some iced lollies.”

“Not the pineapple ones, mum,” Pickle called after her, as she wandered vaguely back inside.

“What’s wrong with pineapple?” Solly asked.

“They’re my favourite, of course.”

“Mdm—I mean—Frune-Sedu,” Eret said, stumbling only a little over the title. “Before we get into the story we invited you here for, I want to make a deal.”

Frune crossed her legs and clasped her hands in her lap.

“Well, this should be interesting.”

“If you agree to leave Linua alone I’ll give you a really big story. Another story.”

Frune flicked a cautious glance at the bodyguards.

“What kind of story?”

“A missing archaeological expedition.”

Linua suddenly realised what Eret’s plan must be. He wanted to set Weela Frune on the trail of the expedition which had followed the map they had found in the museum vault last year. She felt a quick pulse of admiration. It was a clever plan.

Weela Frune, however, merely huffed a laugh.

“You haven’t researched me well enough, kid. I don’t do sensationalist stuff like that.” She flicked her nails dismissively. “Those aren’t my kind of stories. I do big features on the human interest angle.”

Linua spoke up.

“But there is a human interest angle. There was a professor who died while locked in an institute somewhere because they said he was contagious. What about his family? What about the families of the other people on the expedition?”

Frune eyed her and then pursed her lips.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Tell me more.”

Eret gave the explanation, and if the constant interruptions from Linua, Pickle and Solly rendered his account more confusing rather than less, Frune did not seem noticeably disconcerted. From the questions she asked it was clear she had picked out the salient points without difficulty. Perhaps that was a skill that journalists developed over the course of their careers.

Towards the end Frune pursed her lips again, not happily.

“I’ll consider it. What’s next?”

“Pickle, you explain this one.” Eret sat back.

Pickle went over the newspaper reports he had pulled, starting with that of Kala. He had prepared well—he had a folder full of printouts, including the maps of the Panathelo coastline, a list of the victims, and copies of the newspaper articles reporting the various deaths.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Weela Frune’s cross-examination of Pickle was almost hostile.

“The theft of the artefact has nothing to do with Kala’s death,” she said at last, dismissively.

By this time Linua had noticed a pattern throughout the questioning—every single Frune had made a provocative statement, they had all fallen over themselves to give her more information. Linua realised that Frune was using it as a deliberate tactic.

“Then why did someone break in to both my house and Linua’s after we went to Bead’s Boats to ask about it?” Eret cried hotly.

“They are two separate crimes entirely,” Frune said. “Separated, moreover, by twenty years.”

Once again, everyone rushed to give her as many supporting facts as possible. In the end Pickle pushed his glasses further up his nose and said, “It doesn’t really matter whether its connected or not. The point is you’ve got a story.”

“I hope that’s not too sensationalist for you,” Eret said, with an edge in his voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Frune leafed through the printouts. “Vulnerable young people being targeted by a killer and nothing visible being done about it? This is precisely my sort of exposé.” She looked over at Linua. “I’ll accept the deal for both stories if you let me contact you directly with my results.”

Eret scowled, and Frune held up a hand.

“I promise not to ask for an interview about,” she gestured to Eret, “the matter we discussed. I promise not to ask any questions or refer to it in any way at all unless you choose to bring up the subject.”

“I don’t ever want to talk about it,” Linua said.

“Talk about what?” Solly asked. Everyone ignored him. Pickle’s eyes flickered thoughtfully from face to face.

“That’s not what we agreed.” Eret leaned forward in his seat. “Why send everything to Linua? This bit was Pickle’s research.”

“I don’t mind,” Pickle said, taking his iced lolly out of his mouth.

“Then I’ll send the research to them both.” Frune made another dismissive flick of her fingers, as if physically shunting aside their objections. She looked at Linua. “Do you agree?”

“Yes,” Linua said. “If you promise.”

Eret opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it again.

Frune held up her hand.

“On the honour of my ancestors.” It was a typically Shang oath, which once up on a time had been taken very seriously, and probably still was by people like the Yi family. Frune seemed deadly earnest as she said it. “Now, how do I reach you?”

It seemed like the adventure was over. They had given everything they knew to Weela Frune so they could get information from her in return, but Linua couldn’t help feeling that it was the same as if they’d handed the investigation over to a responsible adult, like Eret’s dad, Dr Ayleorc.

Linua finished the dinner that Helged had made for her, unable to drum up the slightest iota of enthusiasm at the prospect of the evening’s study which lay before her. She wished she was at the Observatory. She missed her time with Alnan desperately.

DC Sipps unexpectedly turning up was a welcome distraction.

Once again, DC Sipps sat on the sofa opposite Linua, while DC Fellow went on distraction duty and engaged in Grandmother in conversation. Zhong Ren stood behind Linua with his hands behind his back. DC Sipps was holding a folder, which she opened, revealing a sheet of paper with a series of photos stuck to it.

She placed it in front of Linua.

“Do you recognise your intruder here?”

The photos were a series of headshots, all of different men. Linua bent forward to study them. It was hard to tell, because of the face paint, but eventually she pointed to the one she thought seemed the most familiar.

“Thank you,” DC Sipps said neutrally, and put the photos back in their folder.

She explained that a man had been arrested at the third house he had broken into. He had confessed to the break in, and to getting financial information from people’s computers, then using it to defraud them. After questioning him thoroughly, the police had concluded that he was an ordinary burglar, and not related to any mysterious Ancient Kāruan artefacts.

It seemed like a strange coincidence to Linua. How thoroughly had the police investigated the thief? On the other hand, she had personal experience of how good DC Sipps was at getting information out of people.

Shortly after DC Sipps left, Great-Grandfather Yi himself called. Linua hovered just inside the library door as Grandmother came to the phone. She had never witnessed either of the two speaking to each other directly, and couldn’t help being intensely curious.

“I do thank you for your concern,” Grandmother said augustly, in a tone of voice that suggested she would prefer the ground to open up and plunge her into the depths of the underworld rather than be placed in a position in which she was obliged to extend the slightest expression of gratitude to Great-Grandfather Yi.

Linua wished very much she could hear Great-Grandfather Yi’s side of the conversation.

“Yes, so the policewoman has just informed us,” Grandmother said.

She listened a little more.

“Indeed, quite likely you are right, it was an entirely unnecessary gesture.”

Another beat.

“No, of course, I quite understand.”

At the end of the call she said, “So good of you to call personally and explain,” in freezing tones that would have made an ice giant shiver.

Zhong Ren, who, as far as Linua could make out, hadn’t been in contact with Great-Grandfather Yi at all, informed them that he would now be withdrawing. He did so very politely, bowing to Grandmother, then to Linua, who thanked him, earning herself a tiny smile of approval.

Last of all Zhong Ren turned to Helged and issued a smaller, shallower bow which Linua nevertheless interpreted, with some amazement, as from equal to equal. It was not the kind of bow he would have given the servants at Castle Yi who performed the same sort of role as Helged did for Grandmother by cleaning and cooking. Linua was still staring at Helged in curiosity—it couldn’t be all those cups of tea she had plied the retainers with, could it?—when Grandmother said: “Well, at least that’s over and done with!”

Linua was glad to be free of bodyguards, but at this statement her spirits sunk once again, because it seemed like Grandmother was right. The adventure was over, and now the adults would take over.

By the next day, Grandmother had grudgingly agreed, after a long discussion over lunch, that Linua could go out with the Astronomy Club that evening, so long as she completed her evening studies when she returned. It meant another late night, but she would be able to sleep in a little tomorrow, on Nimrasday. Best of all, she would be able to see Eret and Alnan.

Linua was full of pleasurable anticipation as she went into the kitchen for her evening meal. She went to sit at the table, but Helged said, “Oh, Linua love, Solly’s mum called while you were with Mdm Patoni. She said you left your scarf.”

That was the code Linua had given Weela Frune, the journalist.