“Kundrie,” snarled the Wallcreeper. “I know you are lonely. I know you have no one to talk to and compensate for it at any opportunity that arises. But let it go. I didn’t come here to hear your swansongs.”

Kundrie bristled her dorsal spines but curbed her wrath. After all, the pup was her pupil. Her son. The apple of her eye.

“You came,” she said calmly, “or rather hurried here to ask for help. So go ahead and ask. Nicely.”

“May I politely request,” said the Wallcreeper, fire flashing in his birdlike eyes. “Very politely. Happy?”

“Extremely,” said the neufra, gulping greedily from the goblet. “Let’s get down to business. Let us start with logical thinking, by posing certain questions. Reynevan Bielau, I gleaned from your account, was in Wrocław twice, in January and in February. He entered the lion’s den twice. He isn’t a madman, nor does he have a death wish. Why would he take such a risk? What was he seeking in Wrocław, what was worth such a gamble?”

“He was seeking help. From Canon Otto Beess, his friend.”

“Help with what? People are saying in town that in December, Duke Jan of Ziębice imprisoned Reynevan’s beloved, a Poor Clare converse maiden. He allegedly outraged her and ordered her killed; proof of why Reynevan—mad and possessed by revenge—killed the duke at the Battle of Wielisław. Thus he avenged the maid, enjoying sweet revenge. Riding with the Hussites on the plundering raid, he could have indulged himself even more. But he travels around Silesia alone. Why?”

“Because he thinks the wench is alive and imprisoned and searches for her,” said the Wallcreeper, shrugging. “He is mistaken. I also sought her, for I needed her. No, not only as bait for Bielawa. I meant to force her to testify, thus confirming the heresy of the Poor Clares from White Church. The bishop and Inquisitor Hejncze wanted to avoid a scandal and sent the nuns to do penance. But I wanted to sentence them all to the stake, and I would have with Miss Apolda’s testimony. Sadly, nothing came of it. I didn’t find her. Not in Ziębice, nor in the vicinity of the castles where Duke Jan usually keeps his none too willing lovers—”

“You say you needed the wench,” interrupted Kundrie. “But what if somebody else did? And that somebody found her first?”

The Wallcreeper remained silent. He watched her finish the collodium of gold and put down the goblet, her eyes shining amber.