There was a great deal to be sorted out; an executor had arrived, and was working through the instructions of Cleonicles’ will. The executor was a young military officer, First Flying Squadron – another surprise, for Polystom had expected a civilian executor. But he was efficient, and deferential. ‘You’re chief heir, of course, sir,’ he had said. The sir was a little problematic: as an officer, the executor was of approximate social standing to Stom. Polystom had no military ranking, and so it wasn’t a military courtesy. To call Stom sir because he was the seventh Steward of Enting was technically correct, but a little stuffy and unfashionable. But Polystom couldn’t correct the usage without embarrassing the man. He coughed, put his hands deep into his pockets, and ignored the fellow’s use of the honorific. ‘But your uncle suggested,’ the executor continued, ‘that a cousin of yours – Pithycles, I believe is the name – should take up residence in the house and rights over the estate here, on the moon.
