“Don’t apologize, it’s been a long day.”

“So what else has happened?” The king yawned. “What’s going on?”

Clarence tapped the letter with his paw.

The king peered at it. “But we’ve already had the letter today.”

“This is an update.”

“Do we need an update?”

“We thought you’d like one.”

The king picked up the letter, opened it, and paced the room while he skimmed its contents. He was breaking his own rule of reading letters methodically from front to back, but this one didn’t follow the usual format—it was devoted to a bureau report on the investigation. They’d questioned some people, they had some suspects—they’d found a body. They were certain the fire had been started deliberately.

That part terrified him. Deliberately? Why? He couldn’t imagine what would motivate someone to do that. He felt personally offended. He provided these buildings for the citizens—it was an act of love. And for this gift to be not only refused, but obliterated . . .

The final pages terrified him more. The bureau had speculated on the potential for a recurrence of the incident. The possibility that the culprit might strike again, or that the same urge might exist in others. The bureau believed the possibility was high.

“So it could happen again, then,” the king said, the pages of the letter quivering in his hands. “What do we do?”

“We stop them,” Clarence replied firmly.

“Yeah. I mean we know everyone in the city, don’t we? So we must be able to work out who did it.”

“Exactly. And the whole city is keeping an eye out for this kind of suspicious behavior now.”

“Yeah.” The king looked back down at the letter. “Says here there’s another special edition of the newspaper tomorrow to keep everyone informed.” Ironically they had never needed a bigger newspaper office more than they did now. “Have I got time to do a column?”

“Yes, if it goes off tonight.”

The king nodded. “I think I should. Everyone will want to know we’re on the case with this. Something with a big headline, ‘My Promise to You,’ by the king: your safety is my priority, et cetera.”

“Do you want to write it now?”

“Er . . .” The king closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, then he shook his head. “I’m still tired. Could you write it for me?”

“If you like.”

“You know what sort of thing I want to say, don’t you? I’m just—I need some rest.” The king snapped his fingers and an attendant came to help him get changed for bed. The king looked down at the nightclothes the attendant held.

“I’m not due for new pajamas, am I?” he asked.

“Your old ones smelled of smoke, sir,” said the attendant. “I recycled them.”

“Oh. Good.” The king finished dressing. “Help Clarence write my column, would you?”

The attendant nodded and left, Clarence trotting after him. “Sleep well,” Clarence said as the attendant closed the door.