“Du kannst meinen Arsch kussen, du Schwein,” said the Count, who wiped his mouth with a sleeve but never took his ebony eyes off Julian.

“That doesn’t sound very diplomatic. I know you speak English but I’m not so sure about Baron Brux. English?” he asked the second man.

“Antworte ihm nicht, Jendrik,” Pellegar said.

“Dear me,” said Julian. He glanced quickly at Matthew, who was more intent on watching Brux to make sure he didn’t try for that bellpull again. “I think we have a failure to communicate. But I do have a solution for that.” He placed the pistol downward on Pellegar’s bald skull.

“Ha!” the man laughed with what was nearly a snort of derision. “You wouldn’t dare to fire that thing in here! Half the inn would knock that door down, and for some reason—some very small but important reason, I am sure—you would not care for that, sir.”

The man had spoken with no trace of a Prussian accent. “You’re English,” said Julian. “Why the Prussian masquerade?”

“No masquerade. Born English. Raised and educated in Prussia. Served honorably in the military, and so honored with a title and an estate. And you, I assume, are both common shits of thieves who’ve somehow profaned this establishment with your presence and … oh fuck it, I’m standing up.”

He did, and Julian stepped back a pace but still kept the pistol levelled at him.

“Bleib einfach,” Pellegar said to Brux in a quiet, almost casual tone. “Diese Situation ist bereits unter Kontrolle.” Brux nodded, and then the baron sat down in a chair, crossed his thin legs and smiled at Julian and Matthew as if this were an occasion of great amusement.

As Julian considered his next move, Matthew took a quick look around the suite and saw immediately that to call it grand was a huge understatement. It was thrice as large as their own quarters, the bedroom separate from the sitting room. The black leather furnishings were the same but there were more of them, and more lanterns as well. Off to the left beneath a hanging tapestry of wolves and hunters stood a small but beautiful harpsichord on thin and graceful legs, painted gold with red trim and with pastoral scenes decorating the inside of the raised soundboard lid. A large blue bowl of apples, clementines and parsnips sat on the table beside Brux’s chair, and behind him was a window that afforded a view of the snow-covered city to the south, even now the flakes continuing to blow up against the glass and whirl away.

“So,” Pellegar said, as he dabbed at his mouth, “did you come in here to stare at us like idioten? What is it you want?”

“I presume your ship just arrived?”

The count shrugged.