All but Matthew sat silently in the chamber. Seated in his chair across the room, Sandor Krakowski was still recovering. Every so often he gave an involuntary shudder and put his hands to his face as if to blot out some horrific dream. As a reward for his participation, he’d been given a glass of what Lash announced to be twenty-year-old French Armagnac. Krakowski had taken it gratefully but was not exactly sure why it was being given to him, since he told Lash and the others that he recalled hearing someone laughing at the table and after that he couldn’t remember anything until he’d found himself back in the parlor, being given a glass of Armagnac.

While Krakowski had been semi-conscious with his face against the table, Lash had said to the rest of the assembly, “And there you see the effects of just one of many potions in the book. Doctor Firebaugh informs me that this particular formula is simple to follow and has a result that can be effectively timed.”

“All well and good, sir,” said Victor with the hint of a sneer, “but of what use is such a formula? Laughing and weeping … it’s not lethal, is it?”

Lash had stood where he could stare directly and quite forcefully into Victor’s eyes. “No, not lethal. Does anyone have an answer to Victor’s question?” His gaze roamed the table. Then: “Count Pellegar? Your reputation for creativity precedes you. Care to venture a guess?”

Julian tapped a finger against the table a few times, gathering his thoughts. Matthew waited for what was to come, thinking that it had better be convincing, “I believe,” Julian said, “that the potion mimics insanity. There are times it might be useful not to kill, but to destroy. To ruin a reputation, to make a man fall from favor … particularly a man who might be valued as an advisor. On the battlefield, an officer under such a spell would be unable to lead or to write out orders. No, it’s not lethal … but it is deadly in its own way, and could cause the actual deaths of—I would say—thousands.”

“Thousands,” Lash repeated. He smiled and nodded. “Precisely correct.”

Now, in the parlor, Julian was sitting in a chair between Merda and Victor, his white-powdered brow furrowed in contemplation and his fingers steepled before him. Lioness had taken a seat as far away from the others as possible, and had been brave enough to ask for another glass of red wine from Elizabeth Mulloy, who seemed to be acting as their gracious hostess during this period of waiting. Firebaugh sat wearing a pair of oval wire-rimmed spectacles, reading what appeared to be a weighty medical tome he’d brought from another room, and Matthew figured he must be staying here at the house under Lash’s watch.