“It’s not always enough to make people happy.”

“So who was he? The guy who did it?”

“His name was Ward. But don’t worry, he’s dead.”

“Good.” The king said this a little too vehemently and it made his head ache again. “Who killed him?”

“Your loyal subjects took revenge on your behalf. Which is technically murder but—”

“Yeah, I’ll overlook it.”

“So you see, most people do love you. They rushed to your aid. It’s only a small minority who—”

Clarence was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Tell whoever it is to go away,” sighed the king.

“I don’t advise that,” said Clarence.

“You’re full of advice today—why don’t you advise that?”

“She’s a reporter from the newspaper. She wants to interview you about the attack.”

“Oh.” The king sat up in his bed. “Fair enough, I’ll talk to her then.”

The reporter was a young earnest type, clearly a little overwhelmed to find herself in his presence. The king gave her some good material about how his visit had stirred his pride in the city—even the attack, because the people had shown loyalty and courage in defending their king. He encouraged her to speak to the people who had rushed to his aid, get them to tell her their stories.

“That was very good,” said Clarence after the reporter had left.

“I thought so,” said the king.

“You should get some rest.”

“Yeah, that has taken it out of me a bit.” The king returned to his bed, went back to sleep, and dreamed of pushing the man who’d attacked him into a furnace.

* * *

Carter had come to see how Iona was. Which was nice of him, she kept telling herself: he’d obviously heard she’d asked for time off for personal reasons. But she was nervous and distracted and knew she was coming across as such.

“What have you been doing with yourself?” Carter asked. Iona realized they were sitting at her table opposite each other, just as she’d seen other citizens do many times through the years but never done herself. What a strange time for this to happen. She wanted to enjoy it—but she kept thinking about the diagrams. Her mind kept superimposing them on Carter because that was, inescapably, what they showed: the body of a person.

“This and that,” said Iona. “I did mean to take some proper time off but I’ve got design work with deadlines.”

“Good chance to catch up on it, I suppose.”

“Yes, I’ve . . . got some modifications to make to the forestry office design.”

“Has anything else happened with the investigation?”

“I was going to ask you that. I haven’t heard anything at all. Are they still going on with this theory about Weston?”

“I don’t know. You’re the only person who’s mentioned it.”

Silence fell. Perhaps Iona could just tell Carter what she’d found, show him the coin and the manual. The young man had an inquiring mind. They could discover the truth together. But with a queasy feeling Iona realized there was another opportunity here, one she couldn’t pass up—she was alone with another citizen in the privacy of her house, someone who trusted her and deferred to her seniority. It was an ideal chance to test what she’d seen in the diagram.