She looked around the square and saw that around every entrance to the Archon's Palace one of Verris's guards seemed to lounge, and a whole phalanx apparently engaged in betting on flugey stood just outside the Hub. Not one of them had taken a mood stone or eaten a sky-trader's snack.

In the middle of the square Verris's right-hand man Borges sent one of the marines some sort of complicated hand signal. She saw the marine nod in reply and then he headed off down the alleyway.

One look at her friends’ faces told Tab that they hadn't seen this possibility either. Philmon wiped the cake crumbs off the table thoughtfully.

Then Tab noticed something else. That sly trickster Fontagu Wizroth III lurked in an alley beside the Halls of Justice, absently rubbing one of the purple jewels against his cheek.

What's he up to? Tab wondered.

Feast

Tab had never been to a formal Quentaran feast before. There were six round tables seating ten or twelve, each with a huge cooking pot sunk into the middle of it, warmed underneath by a box full of hot coals.

‘What a good idea! It will keep our toes warm,’ Philmon said, rubbing his hands together. The bluestone walls made the palace's formal dining hall quite cold.

Tab straightened the sleeve of the dress Dorissa had lent to her. Dorissa had tucked it into folds with pins so that it fitted better, and some of them stuck into Tab's ribs if she slouched. It crossed Tab's mind that Dorissa might have done it on purpose so that Tab would sit like a lady. She squirmed under the fabric, realising that this is what she would feel like every day if she had been the daughter of a princess.