Balzac deflated slightly. “Madame, you have caught me in my deception. I would never leave my dear friend in such a state. But I hoped that a threat to leave you responsible for him might persuade you to help me save him, for I have no idea how to find where his soul is kept, or how to free it if I find it.”

“Appeals to decency work much better with me than threats of inconvenience.”

“Because you are a woman of virtue.”

“Because I am ashamed to appear selfish,” said Margaret. “There is no virtue that cannot be painted as a vice.”

“Is that so? I have never found a need to do that. Painting vices as virtues, now, that is my expertise.” Balzac grinned at her.

“Nonsense,” said Margaret. “You name virtues and vices for what they are. That is your knack.”

“I? Have a knack?”

“What were the last things Calvin said?”

Balzac held still a moment, his eyes closed. “In Blacktown,” he said. “‘Junk hanging all over the place,’ he said. Oh, and a moment before that he mentioned going through a door. So perhaps that’s inside. Yes, in a house, because I remember him saying, ‘Only one other heartfire in the house.’ And then the last thing he said was, ‘That’s bright.’”

“A light,” said Margaret. “A house with one other heartfire in it. Besides the one belonging to this Denmark fellow. And something bright. And then he was taken.”

“Can you find it?” asked Balzac.

Margaret didn’t answer. Instead she looked doubtfully at Calvin. “Do you suppose he’s incontinent?”

“Pardon?” asked Balzac.

“I’m speculating on the best place to take him. I think he should stay with you.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“If he has trouble dealing with urination and defecation, I believe it will cause less scandal for you to help him.”

“I admire your prudence,” said Balzac. “I suppose I must also provide him with food and drink.”

Margaret opened the purse tucked into her sleeve and handed a guinea to Balzac. “While you tend to his physical needs, I will find his doodlebug.”

Balzac tossed the guinea into the air and caught it. “Finding it is one thing. Will you bring it back?”

“That is beyond my power,” said Margaret. “I carry well-made hexes, but I don’t know how to make them. No, what I will do is find where he is and discover who is detaining him. I suspect that in the process I will find the souls of the slaves of Camelot. I will learn how the thing is done. And when I am armed with information...”

Balzac grimaced. “You will write a treatise on it?”

“Nothing so useless as that,” said Margaret. “I’ll tell Alvin and see what he can do.”

“Alvin! Calvin’s life depends upon the brother he hates above all other persons on earth?”

“The hate flows in only one direction, I fear,” said Margaret. “Despite my warnings, Alvin seems unable to realize that the playmate of his childhood has been murdered by the man who usually dwells in this body. So Alvin insists on loving Calvin.”