When the watchmen stopped murmuring to one another and most had regained the color in their own faces, the magician looked to Vry with his good right eye. “Tell me what you wish to see. It will be revealed.”

Cutbill left his pen lying on his lectern. Even he could not look away.

Anselm Vry turned aside. “Look again, as you did this morning, and see if you can find the crown. It may be in this very room—perhaps if you are closer to it you can see it better.”

The magician nodded and bent over his stone. From the spy hole, Malden had a good view of its polished surface, but he saw no change there. Yet the very air of the office seemed to change, to grow thick as heavy fog. There was a whispering of invisible voices in the room and the flames of the oil lamps were stifled as by bad air.

The magician passed his hand over the stone a number of times, never quite touching the polished face, as if he were exhorting it to better seeing. Eventually, though, he shook his head and gave off. “All is as before. It exists, still, but its location is forbidden me. It is like trying to look for a coin at the bottom of a muddy lake. Occasionally a glimmer is perceived, but it wavers and is gone before I can grasp the image. Perhaps if I try again later in the day, when the etheric currents are less brisk and the stars take different stations in their wheels . . .”

Vry grunted in frustration. “Never mind. Do something useful this time, and look into that man’s heart,” he said, jabbing one finger toward Cutbill. “Find the lies he has recently spoken, and find the truth behind them.”

Cutbill’s lips compressed into a tight frown, but he did nothing to stop this.

The magician bent over the stone again. He made one quick pass with his hand, then closed his eyes and began to chant. He spoke no words but only moved his lips as alien and ugly sounds came bubbling up from his throat. Then his eyes snapped open and he looked to Vry.

“No lies,” he said.

Vry thundered at the man, “What? He has never told a truth in his misbegotten life! Look again!”

“There is no need,” the magician said. “I tell you, I saw his heart. He has been completely honest with you. He knows not where the crown is, or who might have it.”

“Such a waste, to bend your principles for nothing,” Cutbill said. “You should have listened to me, Vry. I have no reason to lie to you, and nothing to gain from doing so.”

The magician passed his hand across his stone again. One of the oil lamps guttered out and left the room partly in shadow. “This also is the truth,” the magician burbled.