“I have never, um, had the pleasure.” Remora started up the steps. “Nor has His Cognizance, I think. He, um, confided it to me a year or two past. We had been — um — dissecting? Decrying this, er, Blood’s influence. Was never a, um, visitor within these — ah — despoiled walls.”

“Neither have. I, Your Eminence.” Maytera Mint hiked up her skirt and started up the steps.

“To be sure. To be sure, General. I regret it. Regret it now. I will not dissemble, nor, um, ever. Seldom. To have seen this in its days of prosperity would — prosperity and peace, eh? The contrast ’twixt memory and the, um, less happy present. Do you follow me? Whereas one can now but picture… See that picture? Fine. Very fine indeed, eh? Torn. Might be refurbished yet, in skillful hands. Like the tali, eh?”

“I suppose.” She had glanced at the ruined furniture, and was studying the shadowy doorways of further rooms. “He kept women here, didn’t he? This bad man Blood who owned the house. Women — women who…”

“Enough, enough! Do not, um, perturb yourself, Maytera. General. A few such. An, er, select contingent. So I was given to understand upon the occasion of our — um — my tete-a-tete, eh? With old Quetzal. Do I, um, scandalize you? With His Cognizance. I am, ah, betimes inclined to be overfree. To presume upon an old friendship. A failing, I concede.” Remora advanced to study the damaged Murtagon.

“Was this where it happened?”

“Where the women — ah?” He glanced back at her with a half smile. “No indeed.”

“Where Calde Silk killed this man Blood, and Sergeant Sand killed Councillor Potto.”

“We’ve finer ones at the Palace, hey? Still it’s nice and might be — ah — emended. In an, um, one of the anterooms as I understand it, General. May I ask why you wish to know. An um, monument of some kind, possibly? A dedicational tablet of, er, bronze?”