It seemed certain that Clathy had been pushed into something by her boss - and by her passion for Hosh's chief enforcer - something illegal, something dangerous, some deadly. I wondered if she realised it or, if she did, whether she really dared complain at all.

Drummond hoisted the body bag over his broad shoulders with barely visible effort and held it in place with one hand. He reached towards Clathy and took a small object she was holding out. He spoke another soundless incantation, this time without the impressive but near-redundant gestures, then simply faded from my view. Another invisibility glamour. Someone must have got a job lot, cheap.

I was forced to make an instant decision. I could attempt to follow Drummond, which might be very difficult given the obvious effectiveness of the glamour and his ability to move quietly. I couldn't guarantee success. Time for plan B.

There is always a slight risk of a collision between two invisible people in these circumstances. I made my best guess of Drummond's trajectory, which would be down the alley and into the sparse foot traffic on the street itself. At this time of night, it would be easy enough to dodge the occasional passer-by, and most would be too drunk to be paying much attention anyway.

Clathy stared in the direction of the departed Drummond for a long moment, then turned on her heel decisively. I waited as long as I dared, then darted for the closing door and slipping inside as quietly as I knew how. Once within, I stepped sideways away from the door and froze, letting Clathy get well out of range before I risked any further movement.

The inner door to the room was already closing behind Clathy's swiftly retreating form. There was a soft thud and a muffled click, then the room was quiet. I looked around, waiting for my night vision to adjust. I was inside a storeroom, dark even to Goblin eyes. Cardboard boxes and packets of assorted shapes and sizes were scattered around, piled high on metal racking and labelled cryptically. Very boring. Still, there was something not quite right. There didn't seem to be very much stuff actually stored in this room, and that which was present was stacked neatly on high shelving where it would be awkward to get at, as opposed to busy stockrooms where the important stuff is dumped on the floor next to the door for immediate access.

The storeroom was bigger than it first appeared, with a second, larger section tucked behind a cluttered expanse of perforated metal shelving that spanned nearly the whole width of the room. I took a look around, indulging my inquisitive streak - the very same one that had got me into this business all those years ago.

Up against the far wall was something that at first I took to be some kind of pallet covered in rags. A closer inspection revealed that it was a rather fine quilted futon on a wooden frame, draped with an equally fine embroidered counterpane. Around the bed, fat scented candles in simple holders had been placed here and there. It seemed I had discovered where my esteemed client had been rutting with certain of her gentleman friends. But it also housed the club's most secret entrance. Hardly a coincidence. I wondered if Clunie was aware of that fact.

The store room did not contain any other obvious insights or surprises, so I risked opening the door. Invisibility glamours do not give anyone the ability to walk through solid objects, of course, so one of the standard ways to detecting that there is an invisible person about is to look for unexplained movements of drapes, doors and miscellaneous furniture.

Aware of this novice error, I pressed my ear to the door. I heard nothing except for the faint sounds of music from the stage, and the clatter and chink of glasses from the bars and tables. There was no sound of footsteps or nearby movement. I eased the door open, peered around cautiously, then slipped though and closed the door silently behind me.

I was at the end of a long dusty corridor flanked with unexciting doors on either side, each marked with a variety of vague signs which contrived to enhance their unattractiveness. There were a couple of intersecting corridors further along, their entrances featureless blackness. The whole warren was dimly-lit, with the bare minimum of the luminescent fungus which is so often cultivated to provide light down here. I almost expected to see a sign on the wall reading "a maze of twisty passages, all alike."

I moved stealthily along the corridor, pausing when I reached the first of the corridor intersections. The music seemed loudest in that direction. This corridor seemed cleaner and more brightly-lit, and I guessed I was approaching the more public parts of the Starfield Club.

I passed a door which was just ajar, and I caught a movement within out of the corner of my eye. I stopped and peeked through the crack. It was evidently Hosh's office. A desk the size of Birmingham in a polished dark wood barred the way to a high-backed swivel chair, the classic position of captain's command. The surface of the desk was a clutter of lamps, telephones and the kind of executive toys that busy executives never actually have time to play with.

Plaques and framed certificates decorated such portions of the walls that I could see, with closed drapes at one side. I doubted these concealed an outside window; it was more likely to provide a view over the interior of the club. Another wall was obscured by bookcases and glass-fronted display cabinets in the same dark wood, although the leather-bound books they contained looked entirely unused. An office to impress the natives, rather than one which actually showed the marks of any hard work.

Clathy was in the office, alone. My first impression was that she was tidying up while the boss was out. There were a couple of glasses with the dregs of drinks and the remains of ice cubes on her waitress tray, which was wedged on the edge of the desk. But there was something strange about her movements. She was being unusually diligent in wiping down all the surfaces, and not just the horizontal ones. She polished and wiped everything that could have been touched by a Goblin's hands. Then I noticed that she was wearing tight-fitting gloves of thin leather, gloves I belatedly realised she had been wearing earlier.

Part 50

Part 52