Two men entered the room. The burgomaster's voice:

  "How strange—I could have sworn I locked the study... Monsieur Vetre, you haven't changed your mind, have you? Where are the documents?..."

  Papers rustled on the desk. The second voice, imperious and haughty, was unfamiliar to me.

  "I will sign the concession for the elixir's sale, but..."

  The footsteps drew very near; the speaker had approached the window. I could hear his even breathing. Two hundred eighty-eight, two hundred eighty-nine...

  "...you will cede to the Church authorities the lands adjoining the Academy, near the canal. Baroness Malko insists upon this clause."

  I pricked up my ears.

  "But my good man!" The burgomaster's voice was indignant. "That land is built up solid—not a free plot to be had. Heavens above, what do you want with it?"

  "The hovels of the poor and their little shops can easily be demolished. Or an unforeseen fire might consume them. Many things can happen..." I distinctly heard the speaker's self-satisfied chuckle.

  Three hundred fifty-three, three hundred fifty-four.

  The second man finally moved away from the window.

  "I trust we understand each other?" His tone was icy, brooking no contradiction.

  The burgomaster bleated something unintelligible, then apparently nodded submissively and extended the papers to his companion.

  "Then let us go. We mustn't leave the guests too long—they'll grow bored." The second man's voice held undisguised mockery of their host.

  Once they had gone, I slipped from behind the drapery, reopened the concealed compartment, laid the fuse from the window to the safe, and considered. Five hundred two, five hundred three... It would burn later than I'd planned, thanks to the unforeseen delay. I would have to take a risk. I cut a length of fuse and lit the remainder. I fixed a note to the safe door, slipped from the study, and hurried downstairs. The inquisitor must be frantic by now.

  On the second floor, I heard a commotion. The handsome was interrogating the servants about his companion's whereabouts. I gripped the banister. Ten minutes had passed; I began counting anew. Fifty-six, fifty-seven...

  I swiftly withdrew the pin from my hair and drove its tip deep into my nostril, feeling the warm trickle of blood. Tipping my head back, I arranged my features into an expression of profound misery and infirmity, then slumped against the wall.

  "Where have you been?" The inquisitor's voice vibrated with fury. He seized my arm, intending to drag me along. "Downstairs, this instant! When this reception ends, I never wish to see you again. You have deceived me shamefully, ruined my reputation! There will be no collaboration—our agreement is dissolved. You despicable creature!"

  I slid down the wall and sat on the floor. A warm stream of blood dripped from my nose. Two hundred twenty-three...

  "What new trick is this? Are you play-acting again?"

  I tilted my head back and mumbled, with a pitiful, injured air:

  "I never deceived you. Was I to remain and suffer an episode in front of everyone? That would have disgraced you for certain..."

  The inquisitor noticed the blood on my face. "Where is your handkerchief?"

  "At home... I forgot..."

  The inquisitor swore under his breath, produced his own handkerchief, and rather brusquely wiped the blood from my face. Then, with equal brusqueness, he tilted my head forward, chin to chest, and held it there for a minute. Three hundred forty-two...

  "Get up. We must return to the guests."

  He hauled me to my feet by the scruff of my neck, but I swayed and clung to him.

  "I feel faint... The blood hasn't stopped..."

  "Take the handkerchief and wipe it. And stop tilting your head back! Come..." He thrust the handkerchief into my hand and dragged me onward.

  "How cruel you are..."

  He stopped abruptly and turned to face me. Three hundred ninety...

  "Ah, I am cruel, am I!" The inquisitor seized my ear and pulled me along as one might a misbehaving puppy.

  "Ow, ow, ow! That hurts! Let go!" I whimpered and resisted.

  "I, it seems, am cruel. You appear at a reception in an indecent, shameful state, disgrace me before the entire city!.."

  "That's not true!" My ear burned with pain; I had nearly lost count. Four hundred twenty-nine... "My gown is covered from head to foot, just as we agreed!"

  "What?!?" He stopped and stared at me, outraged, his velvet-tea eyes darkening. "Covered?"

  "Yes!" I finally broke free and stared back, equally indignant. "Covered—not a single bare patch! See for yourself!" I stamped my foot and shrugged off the stole, then spun around before him. He was struck dumb with indignation. "You never specified what it should be covered with! So it's your own fault!"

  He slowly retrieved the stole from the floor, his expression fearsome. I involuntarily retreated toward the wall.

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  "And there's no need to be so upset! Your reputation will survive intact. In fact, every man at the reception envies you. And soon enough, you'll thank me! What are you—"

  The inquisitor's hands closed around my throat, cutting off my breath. Even through the high collar's fabric, I could feel how hot his hands were.

  "Silence!" He loosened his grip slightly, but I could only gasp, not speak. "One more word, and I'll strangle you—may the One be my judge..."

  I clawed at his arm but couldn't break free. Suddenly, he released me, seized my shoulder, draped the stole over me, and dragged me downstairs. Five hundred eight...

  We rejoined the guests just in time. The burgomaster was inviting everyone into the hall, where musicians awaited. The inquisitor held my arm in an iron grip; escape was impossible. Damnation! The count was down to the last ten minutes...

  The air filled with the divine melody of a flute—tender, soul-stirring. A young bard, implausibly handsome, dark-haired and blue-eyed, bowed to the guests and began to sing. His voice, at first soft and piercing as a maiden's, seemed to gather strength and deepen with each verse. He sang a ballad of ill-fated love between a noble maiden and her faithful warrior, of the misfortune that befell them—a curse from the Dead Lands that destroyed the poor girl, robbing her of her mind. The ballad seemed unfamiliar at first, yet unexpectedly surfaced from memory. The bard's voice penetrated the very soul, evoking sorrow and longing in the heart. My vision began to blur; long-banished images rose unbidden: a warm spring evening, the setting sun illuminating his face, our lips meeting in a first, tremulous kiss, the sweet taste of spring cherries... I shook my head, dispelling the vision. Those memories had long been locked away, too painful, too sad...

  I noticed with surprise that the inquisitor's grip had slackened; his eyes were misty and mournful—as were everyone's in the hall. They seemed bewitched.

  I realized with horror that, first, I had lost count, and second, that the boy-bard was on the edge. He had nearly crossed the line into madness, beyond which lay the all-consuming darkness of destruction. He drew dreams and sorrows from those around him, feeding on them, drawing strength for his talent. Even baroness Malko had fallen under his spell.

  Damnation, I'd lost count! Now I had no idea when the thief's powder would ignite, blowing out the study window and drawing everyone's attention. I prayed Anton was ready. I had to break this grim stupor.

  I had a decent voice. As Shushie, the chieftain of the Mad Bards, once said: I'd never become a singing legend, but a Mad Bard I was destined to be... I smiled and centered myself. This ballad was actually meant to be sung in two voices. Improvisation was everything! I waited for the verse to end...

  There is a longing, and forgetting,

  a grief too bitter to confess,

  and loneliness, a beast no less,

  that hunts all hope to its undoing...

  And only mist of palest blue

  will whisper that I've gone from you...

  I outpaced the bard and joined in before him.

  And you will love the winter's blowing,

  and leave me now without a word,

  forget the vows you once conferred,

  these flaxen locks no longer knowing...

  And only mist of palest blue

  will whisper that I've gone from you...

  My voice shattered the mournful spell of the bard's melody. I sang with a smile playing upon my lips, and the music reflected it. The tune shed its sorrow, and the guests stirred as if from a deep slumber, exchanging bewildered glances.

  "Forgive me." I broke off the song and curtsied shyly to the assembled company.

  "The ballad was so sad, I simply couldn't bear it." I turned to the young bard and nodded. "There is another version of this ballad, is there not?"

  The bard gazed at me with vacant eyes but nodded in agreement. The veil of madness in his gaze slowly lifted. He bowed to the company and was about to speak when a deafening crash of shattered glass echoed through the hall, followed by furious barking. I exhaled with satisfaction. Thank the One—I'd made it in time.

  The inquisitor stirred and seized my wrist. His eyes gleamed with suspicion. I wondered what visions the ballad's sorcery had conjured for him, what pain he still carried.

  Several men strode swiftly into the hall—the burgomaster's guards, evidently. A tall, military-looking man, perhaps the captain of the guard, whispered something to the burgomaster, who started in alarm.

  "Loose the dogs at once!"

  I turned to the inquisitor. "What do you suppose has happened?"

  "I've no idea," the handsome ground out through clenched teeth.

  The burgomaster addressed his companion—a thin, tall man in remarkably modest grey robes, who carried himself with an air of authority and arrogance. The man frowned disapprovingly, then nodded in our direction.

  The inquisitor's face immediately assumed a bland expression, and he moved toward the man, still gripping my hand.

  "Inquisitor Tiffano, we have a problem." I recognized the voice at once—he was the one who had been in the study with the burgomaster. "I believe the involvement of the ecclesiastical investigation, in your person, would be most opportune."

  "What exactly has happened?" The handsome was deferential, as if addressing a churchman of higher rank. Given the man's hair, drawn back in a meager tail, that was likely the case.

  "Some petty thief has dared to breach the master's chambers... I think your companion..." A cold glance in my direction. "...may remain here."

  "But I could help!" I nodded timidly toward the burgomaster, counting on my charm, but he was too agitated to succumb. He hurried up the stairs toward his study.

  "You will remain here, dear madame." The words were spat in my direction.

  "Forgive me, Your Grace." The pretty man bowed his head with studied submission. "But should not common thieves be the concern of the commune investigation?"

  "Inquisitor Tiffano, did you mishear my instruction?"

  "As you command, Your Grace." The handsome nodded slowly. He glanced back at me uncertainly. He clearly loathed letting me out of his sight, but a command from a higher-ranking churchman could not be ignored. I wondered who this man was.

  I resolved his dilemma for him. I darted after the burgomaster like a spark, catching at his sleeve.

  "Monsieur burgomaster, I beg you, do not leave me alone—I'm frightened! What if the thieves are still in the house? Please..."

  The burgomaster looked at me in confusion, not noticing as I slipped his missing keys back inside his coat, then nodded.

  "Very well. Come along."

  I smiled at him gratefully and shot a triumphant glance at the churchmen. The elder's face betrayed nothing, but the inquisitor's was a study in conflicting emotions.

  The study was already crowded: the captain of the guard, several guardsmen, and the burgomaster's wife, wailing and wringing her hands in despair.

  "Darling, we've been robbed!"

  The burgomaster pushed past his wife and approached the safe on unsteady legs. It gaped, terrifyingly empty, save for a single note lying within. The inquisitor and his companion arrived just in time for the scene. The burgomaster clutched his head and began to wail, tearing at his hair.

  "Everything is gone! Everything! The gold, the jewels! Vile thieves! Who dared?!? Who?"

  He lunged at the captain of the guard, seized him by the collar, and began shaking him.

  "How did he get in? What do I pay you for? How could you let him escape?"

  The captain lowered his head, not daring to meet his eyes. The burgomaster clearly had a violent temper and a heavy hand. Monsieur Vetre stepped forward.

  "I trust you kept no secret documents in that safe?" His composure showed a barely perceptible crack; he was troubled.

  "No, no, have no fear..." The burgomaster released the captain and slowly sank to the floor. "I am ruined..."

  "Oh, come now." The grey man's calm returned. "Monsieur inquisitor will undertake the investigation. Together with the commune investigation, of course. I assure you, the thief will be found and punished."

  The handsome stepped forward and bowed slightly. "Permit me?"

  He approached the safe and carefully extracted the note, as if fearing it might be poisoned.

  "Is this yours?"

  "No. What does it say?" The burgomaster peered over his shoulder and read aloud: "'Ill-gotten gains reclaimed by the Grey Angel.' What angel is this?"

  I hurried over and peered curiously at the note, cursing that idiot under my breath. Couldn't even read it properly! Glee Angel! GLEE! Idiot!

  "And what is this symbol?" I deliberately pointed at the stylized wing. "Is that his signature? The Grey Angel's mark?"

  The inquisitor moved me aside just as the captain of the commune investigation entered the room. Captain Luntko was a rather unpleasant, corrupt sort, though possessed of native cunning and deviousness. He could be dangerous if underestimated.

  "Captain Luntko, at your service, Your Grace, monsieur burgomaster." He nodded obsequiously to the burgomaster and only then acknowledged the others present. "I must ask everyone to clear the room. An investigation will be conducted here."

  The grey man narrowed his eyes unpleasantly. A dispute ensued over who had greater authority and who should conduct the inquiry. I attempted to slip from the room, but the inquisitor deftly caught my arm and shook his head sternly.

  "Monsieur burgomaster," I addressed the wretched man brightly, drawing everyone's attention. "You have been so kind to me—might I also offer my assistance? In this investigation?"

  "What is that girl doing here?" Captain Luntko shot up as if stung. He had dealt with me before, and I had pricked his pride by resolving a few simple matters where his vaunted commune investigation had failed. "Leave this room at once!"

  The inquisitor tightened his grip on my wrist, as if fearing I might dissolve like morning mist.

  "Monsieur Vetre." The handsome was the picture of deference. "May we withdraw from the investigation? Should the need arise..." Another humble bow toward the captain. "...the Holy Inquisition will render any assistance within its power."

  The grey churchman's face puckered as if he had bitten into a lemon, but he waved his hand in dismissal, releasing the inquisitor.

  In the corridor, I wrenched free and collapsed onto a settee, utterly drained. That peculiar sensation when all danger and anxiety are behind you, leaving you hollowed out to the core. The inquisitor demanded impatiently:

  "Get up at once! I shall personally see you into a carriage and send you home."

  "I feel unwell—weakness. Fetch me some water, please." I added, forestalling his objections: "Otherwise, I shall not move from this spot!"

  The inquisitor found a way out of the predicament. He caught a servant hurrying past in the commotion and ordered him to bring the madame a drink. He still did not dare leave my side.

  "Who is this monsieur Vetre? Is he your superior in rank? Why does he have the right to command you?"

  "That is none of your concern."

  "Very well. By the way... If anything should happen, feel free to blame it all on me." I smiled.

  "What are you talking about?" The inquisitor regarded me with bewilderment.

  "Well, what can you expect from a half-mad girl, right? If your superior berates you too harshly, just lay the blame on me..."

  "Drink up, and let's go." The inquisitor thrust a glass at me. I took a sip without hesitation. My throat burned with strong wine; I coughed and sputtered.

  "What have you done? I mustn't drink—I have an intolerance..."

  "Stop making things up!" The handsome leaned over me; his angry, yet still beautiful face was the last thing I remembered. Then, everything dissolved into a drunken haze...