Sharrow heard what might have been a hand slapping stone.

“This fellow; old Gorko. He might have had nightmares about dying every time he fell asleep for all we know, but he acted like he wasn’t scared of anything. He knew what he wanted and he went out to get it, and even though he knew it was dangerous he didn’t hesitate for a second.” There was a pause. “He was a great man. A very, very great man. We could learn a lot from him.”

Another pause. Then, “Shall we sit? You look a bit tired.”

“All right.”

“Here; we’ll sit on this.”

Sharrow heard something flap, then a rustle. She wondered whether she should make herself known, or creep over to the edge and look down on her cousin and half-sister. She lay there, undecided.

“You’re so dashing these days,” Breyguhn said with a small laugh.

“Ah,” Geis laughed too. “It’s the uniform.”

“No it isn’t; I’m sure a slob in a uniform is still a slob.” (Sharrow gritted her teeth; she had said exactly that to Breyguhn a year ago. Breyguhn had disagreed, of course.)

Geis laughed gently again. “Well,” he said. “There are chaps in the year who could certainly do with a lesson in grooming, I’ll give you that. Some fellows can look untidy the instant after their man’s dressed them to parade spec. Mind if I smoke?”

“Of course not. Is that something else they do in the Navy?”

“Well, it’s not a regulation,” Geis laughed.

Sharrow heard a click, then smelled shoan smoke; the mild narcotic was banned in Yada and illegal in parts of Caltasp. She wasn’t a great fan of the stuff herself; it didn’t deliver much of a hit and it smelled overly sweet.

“What is that?”

“This? It’s shoan; from Speyr. Harmless stuff; gives you a bit of a buzz, you know.”

“Could I try some?”

“Well, I’m not sure your…”

“What?”

“I’m not sure that you’re old-”

“You were going to say that Daddy wouldn’t approve, weren’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, I was.”

“Well, that doesn’t apply now, does it?”

There was another pause, and what might have been a sigh or a sniff.

“Brey…” Geis said.

“Oh, give me that.”

After a while Breyguhn coughed, then stopped.

“You sure-” Geis said.

Breyguhn coughed again. “Woo,” she said after a few moments.

“You all right?”

“Fine.”

“Look, I haven’t really had a chance to say properly how sorry-”

“Oh, Geis, stop it.”

“I just wanted to say-”

“Don’t! Don’t!” Breyguhn sobbed, and then there was another rustling sound and Breyguhn said something else but suddenly it sounded muffled.

“There there,” Geis said gently, so quietly Sharrow could hardly hear.

“Oh, Geis,” Breyguhn said. “You’ve always… I’ve… Ever…” She broke down, sobbing. The sobs became muffled again.

“Brey, Brey…” Geis said softly.

There was silence, then some sounds that Sharrow wasn’t sure were from Geis and Breyguhn or from the grass and bushes around her, moving in the breeze. Then a noise like a moan.

“Brey,” Geis said, something chiding in his voice.

“Oh, Geis, please; please… I want to… so much…”

What? thought Sharrow. She pulled herself to the edge of the sarcophagus, where she could see the valley path and the bushes on the side of the hill. She glanced over the edge of the tomb.

Geis and Breyguhn were embracing and kissing, both kneeling on Geis’s Alliance Navy uniform cape, spread out on the grass at the side of the tomb. As Sharrow watched, Breyguhn’s hands pulled Geis’s shirt out of his trousers and then disappeared inside them. One of Geis’s hands moved to Breyguhn’s skirted leg and slid slowly upwards as he laid her down on the cape.

Sharrow stared amazed at Breyguhn’s face for a second, then pulled herself away when she realised Brey only had to open her eyes to see her looking down at her.

Sharrow lay near the edge of the black cube, listening to Breyguhn and Geis as their breathing became heavier and more laboured; she heard the rustling noise of clothes being moved over skin and other clothes. The breathing became louder still and started to sound like moans. Breyguhn shouted out at one point, and Geis mumbled something, but Brey whispered quickly, and soon they were moaning together again and Sharrow lay there, feeling herself blush despite herself, her eyes wide, her mouth closed round her right wrist, teeth biting her own flesh so that she wouldn’t laugh or cry out and let them know she was there.

“Sharrow!” Geis shouted.

Sharrow froze, skin pimpling. The black surface of the sarcophagus roof seemed suddenly very cold.

Had he seen her? How could he have known…?

Then she realised, and relaxed.

She smiled, feeling smug, then frowned, unsure whether it was a compliment or an insult.

She listened to Geis breathing hard as he said, “Brey; Brey; I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. I don’t know what-”

Breyguhn howled. Sharrow’s flesh crawled. Breyguhn sobbed something but she couldn’t make out what it was. There was some more rustling; hurried and urgent.

“Brey; please. I meant-”

“Leave me alone!” shrieked Breyguhn, and then Sharrow heard footsteps on the grassed path, and one last moan from Geis. Breyguhn appeared where Sharrow could see her, forcing her way through the bushes growing over the path; Sharrow started to edge away from the side of the tomb in case Brey turned and saw her, but Breyguhn didn’t look back; she disappeared sobbing into the undergrowth, heading towards the house.

Sharrow lay there for another ten minutes, not daring to move. She listened to Geis dressing, then smelled another shoan cheroot. She thought she heard Geis sit down again and give a small laugh.

Eventually she heard him rise, and then saw him too head back down the path.

She lay there a while longer before she dropped down where they had been. The flattened grass by the side of the tomb looked sordid somehow, she thought. You could tell exactly what had gone on here just by looking at it. She smiled to herself, and stooped to pick up a half-smoked shoan stub. She sniffed it, considering keeping it for later. Then she thought of Geis’s lips on it, and Breyguhn’s, and of his lips on hers…

“Yuk,” she said to herself, and let the stub drop to the grass.

She slipped her formal grey shoes back on and draped the ash-coloured coat over her shoulders. She took a slightly circuitous route back to the house, where the reception following her father’s funeral was going quietly ahead without her.

“Oh, cheer up, Cenuij,” Zefla said. She poured him some more wine.

“I will not cheer up,” he said, slurring his words.

They had gone back out to The Pulled Nail that evening; Cenuij had left the festivities at the castle as soon as decently possible and joined them.

He drank from his goblet. “I can’t believe that dunder-brained bumpkin survived,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “Climbed up the wall. You’d have thought any self-respecting stom would have plucked him off like a blister-fruit, but the brainless little shit survived!” He drank deeply from the goblet again. “Fucking ridiculous!” he said.

“What was that last comment?” Sharrow said, coming back into the private room they’d hired and sitting down at the table. “A self-critical assessment of your recent ideas, Cenuij?”

He looked at her, eyes watery. He pointed at her with the hand holding the goblet. “That…” he said, narrowing his eyes. He looked at her for a moment. Then he sighed and shook his head sadly. “That is actually almost a fair comment,” he conceded, putting the goblet down and placing his head on his hands. He stared at the table surface.

“Hey,” Zefla said, patting his back. “You’ve tried, Cen. Twice.”

“Twice!” Cenuij said, holding his opened hands out and staring at the ceiling as though appealing to it. “Prophet’s blood, twice!”

“Not to worry,” Zefla said.