he Catfish is no place to find a fully paid up member of the Merchant's League which, since I didn't wish to be found, was precisely why I was there. It's a converted sampan in the midst of Thievestown, two decks of pure hedonism festooned with coloured lanterns and frequented by low-life, scum, addicts, dilettantes and pleasure seekers.

The particular pleasure that I was seeking was a high stakes game of Blind Eye, and I had just bluffed and conned my way towards a killer hand of tiles (a Run in Green, with East Wind Dominant) when some officious morning-bather of a League scribe, blending in about as well as a Tlaxu at the Viceroy's Ball, arrived to bring me a quote "particularly imperative missive" from my superiors.

This simpering underling obviously considered the "missive" to be so "imperative" that I couldn't finish my hand (and thus stiff Toothless Sashy out of his ill-gotten beads) as he hung around like a bad smell (plenty of those in Thievestown already), coughing and fidgeting and generally doing his best to break my concentration.

Always check any contract that you sign, in case it contains a clause that essentially states (once translated from the High Imperial legalese) that when the Assembly summons you , you come running whether you're winning a game of Blind Eye, relaxing with a mug of shoka or reaching a moment of supreme pleasure with one of Serene Lil's "Delicate Flowers". When the League Assembly wants you and your name is on a Contract of Agency, you drop everything to accommodate them. Never sign anything without reading the small print. Never sign anything again. That was going to be my new motto.

So I slammed my tiles down on the table and downed the rest of my jinka rum, risking blindness and insanity by doing so. Well, I thought, if the League are going to inconvenience me the least I could do is render myself incapable of doing whatever dirty little task they had in mind for me. Still annoyingly possessed of all my faculties, I set off to discover my fate.