Painted wooden walls enclosed their lawns. Ahead a mansion sprawled, built all of stone and bearing more of a resemblance to a fortress than a palace. It too was walled. The gates were thrown open to reveal a long gravel road leading up to the house. The gardens were filled with light. Lanterns hung from every tree. Musicians played atop a dais.

Here too skeletons danced, and everyone wore costumes. The clothing was fantastically elaborate. Intricately moulded masks showed the faces of demons, monsters, and angels.

All eyes turned to look as they entered. It must be unusual for someone to arrive on the night of this great feast surrounded by soldiers.

“Perhaps we should pretend this is a particularly elaborate masque, and the soldiers are our servants,” said Orson.

“It would make a good joke,” said Zamara. “But I am not sure anyone would fall for it.”

Gravel crunched beneath their feet. Kormak saw a tall woman whose face was angel-masked, gown pure white. Massive wings emerged from the shoulder of her costume. She stared at them as they entered and said something to the demon beside her. He turned and spoke to the goblin tugging at his cloak. The little fellow scampered off in search of someone.

“Our arrival has not gone unnoticed,” said Orson. He waved at the angel-woman who waved back instantly. Orson was a bear of a man instantly recognisable and clearly well known here. A score of voices hailed him and offered him drinks and asked him when he had got in.

He waited for the noise to subside then shouted, “Just this evening, on the Pride of Siderea. Give me ten minutes to present my compliments to His Excellency, the Governor, and I will join you before I head home to change.”

After that he fell silent, having said all he intended to say.

“They will be looking for all the latest news from home,” said Zamara.

“For most of them, this is home, Admiral,” Orson replied. “But you are right nonetheless. They will be seeking to learn what cargoes we carry and the fate of their ships that were bound for Trefal. Most of them will want to know how the markets are, and what goods will bring them the most profit on their next shipments.”

“Those are the merchants you are talking about,” said Zamara.

“I think you’ll find that everyone in Maial is a merchant, Admiral. Even our noble Governor. Ours is a very commercial society.”

Zamara’s smile was insincere. “Prince Taran himself says that the wealth of the Empire is built on commerce.”

“Prince Taran needs the taxes of the merchant class to pay for his army and his inquisitors.”

Orson’s words more than anything else convinced Kormak that they were not in Siderea anymore. No one would even have hinted at something so indelicate back in Trefal. Prince Taran’s spies were everywhere. It seemed that Terra Nova really was a new world.

Zamara missed that. Or out of diplomatic habit kept to the old respectful manner.