“Oh, no, no, no . . . ,” Calendar said, holding his hands up in protest, wagging his head. “You can count on me. Just let me have my book.”

“Are you going to hold it with your bare hands?” August asked.

“I was . . . I thought . . .”

“Shame on you, Mr. Calendar. I hope you don’t treat all your other priceless treasures with such reckless abandon!” He grinned and handed him the book. “To be honest, I really don’t care if you put it in a bun and eat it. I just want what I bargained for.”

“And you’ll get it!” Calendar said, taking the book gingerly. He looked lovingly at the object he had been yearning for since childhood: a first-edition copy of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island, circa 1884.

August leaned over the book. “That’s worth over thirty-five thousand dollars, I’ll have you know. Very tricky to find. I was almost bludgeoned to death by a woman with a cane while trying to take it out of her hands.”

“Your mother, I’m guessing?”

August laughed. “Grandmother, actually, but she’ll get over it.” He shut his briefcase and placed it on the floor between his feet. “Now. My information.”

Calendar couldn’t help but continue to admire his book. He forced his attention on August, hoping the encounter would last only a scant moment longer. “You’re in luck,” he said. “I have discovered through my sources that the opportunity you desire has, in fact, become available this very eve!”

August sat forward in his chair, a hand on each knee. “Tonight?”

“Yes!”

“So soon? How? Why?”

“It seems as though St. Vitus Cathedral has fallen into a bit of disrepair. So bad is the situation that the city has decided to take up the work of fixing it immediately. They transported the equipment yesterday. This morning, the workers began setting everything in position. And by tomorrow, things will be in full swing. But tonight!”

“Tonight?”

“Yes! Tonight you will be able to slip in unnoticed. The surveillance cameras were removed for the repair work. The other security devices are still active and will catch anyone who happens to try and break in. But for those people who know the proper entrances—”

“You can get me in.”

“Ah, yes!” Calendar fiddled with his collar, trying to straighten it. “But why would someone like you want to pay a visit to the Black Queen?”

“This is precisely why I have paid you as handsomely as I have. No questions.” August stood and placed his briefcase back on the table, opening it. “Of course, if you’re not happy with the merchandise . . .”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Calendar said, holding the book to his chest. “I’m more than happy.” He made a motion across his mouth with his fingers: no more questions.

“Good,” August said. “I’d best be going. I assume I’ll find all the necessary items—maps, keys, and such—in the place we discussed?”