government’s Treasury, hesitated slightly in the doorway before striding into the room while Kim Lee quietly closed the door after him.

Da Silva was a man of nervous disposition who, at the age of fifty-five, was still given to sporadic outbreaks of acne. He was as prone to picking at this as he was to picking over the colony’s financial figures.

He wrinkled his nose, peered around the room, and without waiting for an invitation sat down opposite the Governor-General.

“Ah, Da Silva. Yes. Glad you could come,” began Lord Ludvig. “It’s about these latest budgetary constraints. You cannot be serious! How does Home Office expect us to operate? The cuts are just getting deeper and deeper. If it carries on like this for much longer we’ll have to start flogging the silverware just to buy supplies, for god’s sake!”

Scarfdale da Silva leaned back and held up his hands, palms forward. “Now, now, Your Excellency, you’re quite aware, I’m sure, of how sentiment back home is turning against the colony. People are saying that the Empire is dead and that they’re just not prepared to throw good money after bad when it comes to sponsoring your administration. People say…”