"Who said she would be a man? I think Valkyrie. I can bribe Valkyrie. And I can tell when she's lying." The answer was bordering on absent, because he was still watching John Doe's soul. It wasn't, he realised, just the earth, or the pond, or the reeds, or even the sense of the sky. The man was all of them. Eminently unnoticeable. Just a single, every-day cog in the greater machine of the world around him. No wonder he'd chosen the name he had.

Only there was something else, too. Something ... odd. Not wrong, exactly, but odd. Unexpected. Solomon couldn't quite tell what it was.

"I like to think I've just been reduced to my most basic parts," he said lightly, "in which case the only thing I'm lacking is the grime and the clutter. I thought you'd appreciate the neatness."

"Everybody's an Elemental," Dexter shot back. "None of you have any imagination whatsoever. It's all wading into a fight shoving people with air and tossing fireballs willy-nilly. Am I right or am I right, John?"

"I'm, uh, an Elemental too, sir. But I'm not much good in a fight." The last was added on hastily, as if he was afraid they'd start throwing him into battles this very instant. "I'm a, er ..." His soul faded as if in the scene was cast into the twilight of embarrassment, and he mumbled the rest so quietly that only Solomon could have heard what he said. "I'm a janitor."

Well, that did explain why Tipstaff had sent him down. Everyone needed someone to do the cleaning, and an Elemental's skills were appropriate for that.

"Finally, a job description appropriate for you, Erskine," he said deadpan. "Are you certain you wouldn't rather janitorial duties once you get tired of ordering people around? It would suit your unique skillset."

The twilight darkened. Solomon couldn't see it, but he suspected Doe's face was red.