“Not you, Miss Rook. But since you mention it, there is someone who sees things—not precisely the same way I see them, but in a similar fashion . . . sometimes. She’s called Hatun. It might very well prove enlightening to know what sort of things she’s seen lately.” We had been winding back toward the office, but Jackaby now turned, taking a side street in the opposite direction.

“Another seer? You just said . . .”

“Not exactly a seer, no. She . . . oscillates. There are basically three ways she sees the world, and she sort of bounces among them. At times she perceives the world just as any simpleton does—just as you do.”

“Thanks for that.”

“Other times, though, she sees things almost as I do, the world behind the glamour. It isn’t always as clear for her, I think. It’s just a feeling she gets, a hunch or premonition, and she lets her imagination fill in the blanks. Good imagination, though. She’s often right on track, even if she doesn’t know what track she’s on.”

“What’s the third?”

“Third?”

“The third way she sees the world?”

“Oh, right. How shall I put it? The first way is the predictable way, and the second way is how the world really is. The third is . . . the unpredictable way, and how the world really isn’t. All sorts of nonsense and madness in that one. Decidedly less helpful. It can be a bit tricky, determining which version she’s in—and, of course, they do overlap a bit.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“She is that. But Hatun is a good woman. Once, in the middle of the night, someone slipped in and pried up every last cobblestone from one of the alleyways off Mason Street. An entire alley, secreted away in one night. Scarcely two blocks from the police station, no less!”

“And she helped catch the criminals?”

“Hah! Better! She was discovered, a few days later, carting a bulging burlap sack full of the stones off to some special place in the woods. A police officer was sent out to ask her about it, and she smiled and patted his arm and told him it was all right, that there wouldn’t be any more bad luck. She had been warning people for weeks beforehand that the hexagonal-cut stones were emanating hexes. Genuine concern and consideration for her fellow citizens, mind you. She pulled them up herself, stone by stone, and stashed six bags of them in plain sight behind the masons’ building until she could lug them off to a safe place. No one thought twice about spare stonework on a masons’ lot. Clever planning and selfless efforts. Must’ve worked herself ragged.”

“And the stones were causing bad luck?” I asked.