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A frail whippet, missing a leg and an eye, was in the armchair with Mordaunt. He ran a gloved hand gently along the dog’s bony back. The strange kindness reverberated backwards and clashed violently with what Aurienne knew of Mordaunt; that same hand had just stabbed a man to death with a fork.

Presiding over the sleeping canids like a primal queen was the shadowy form of Mordaunt’s deofol. Starlight streamed through a stained-glass window and cast the shape of an elegant greyhound upon her. She lay in the pose of a sphinx. Her unblinking golden eyes met Aurienne’s as she entered the room. The wolf offered no greeting. The obsequious tail wags of their last encounter were long gone.

The great wolf turned her attention back to Mordaunt, who said, “You may leave us.”

The deofol dropped her muzzle and faded out of view like a Stygian mist.

An aged Great Dane approached Aurienne and shoved its snout into her crotch.

“Sit, Rigor Mortis,” called Mordaunt.

“You named the dog Rigor Mortis?” asked Aurienne, as Rigor Mortis ignored the instruction.

“They’re named for what was happening when I found them,” said Mordaunt. He pointed at dogs as he listed their names. “Arson. Perjury. Forgery. Outraging Public Decency. High Treason. The terrier is Diverse Felonies. The whippet is Crème Brûlée.”

“The crème brûlée was a crime?”

“It was the murder weapon.”

Mordaunt waved Aurienne towards a sofa. “You’ll forgive my state of undress. I decided you weren’t important enough for me to wrinkle a fresh neckcloth.”

“You’ll forgive mine,” said Aurienne, extending a foot out fromunder her skirts. “I didn’t fancy putting Cerys’ boots back on and I forgot my shoes in my haste to leave.”

Mordaunt, his eyes riveted to the hem of her dress, said, “A foot. Anankle. Put it away. You’ll stir my loins.”

Aurienne settled onto the sofa across from Mordaunt and duly tucked away her indecent foot. “Cerys has rubbed off on me.”

“That was downright smutty,” said Mordaunt. “Perhaps Mrs.Parson can lend you some clogs for the way home.”

“Clogs, yes. Just the thing to sneak soundlessly back into my quarters.”

Mordaunt’s oeillade shifted to Aurienne’s face. He observed her with something very like masculine interest, which Aurienne met with a raised eyebrow.

“Are you aware that your throat is exposed?” asked Mordaunt.

“It’s only you.”

“Only?How dare you?”

“I got a bit lost on the way back here,” said Aurienne. “I saw your library.”

“Which one?”

A question that left Aurienne mildly stunned. “You’ve got…more than one?”

“Haven’t you?”

Aurienne ignored this overprivileged, twattish follow-up. “There was a case with copies ofDe humani corporis fabricajust outside the doors.”

“Ah. Natural history, then. The other is art history and classical literature.”

“Why have you got a copy ofDe humani?”

“I’ve a small collection of classic anatomical texts.”

(Aurienne was vexed anew; another point of commonality.)

“What?” said Mordaunt in response to her frown. “Do you think the Haelan are the only ones who make a study of the human body?”