This was another room, somewhere else.

It was a poky room, the plaster walls crumbling, the ceilings sagging like the underside of a fat man's bed. And it was made even more crowded by the furniture.

It was old, good furniture, but this wasn't the place for it. It belonged in high echoing halls. Here, it was crammed. There were dark oak chairs. There were long sideboards. There was even a suit of armour. There was barely room for the half dozen or so people who sat at the huge table. There was barely room for the table.

A clock ticked in the shadows.

The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, even though there was still plenty of daylight left in the sky. The air was stifling, both from the heat of the day and the candles in the magic lantern.

The only illumination was from the screen which, at that moment, was portraying a very good profile of Corporal Carrot Ironfoundersson.

The small but very select audience watched it with the carefully blank expressions of people who are half convinced that their host is several cards short of a full deck but are putting up with it because they've just eaten a meal and it would be rude to leave too soon.

“Well?” said one of them. “I think I've seen him walking around the city. So? He's just a watchman, Edward.”

“Of course. It is essential that he should be. A humble station in life. It all fits the classic p-attern.” Edward d'Eath gave a signal. There was a click as another glass slide was slotted in. “This one was not p-ainted from life. King P-paragore. Taken from an old p-ainting. This one”—click!—“is King Veltrick III. From another p-portrait. This one is Queen Alguinna IV… note the line of the chin? This one”—click!–“is a sevenpenny p-iece from the reign of Webblethorpe the Unconscious, note again the detail of the chin and general b-bone structure, and this”—click!—“is… an upside d-own picture of a vase of flowers. D-elphiniums, I believe. Why is this?”