“Not everybody,” said the Wallcreeper, shaking his head. “The Fuggers, for example, have not. They reminded me about it recently. Believe me, Papa, they will want to get to the truth and will take harsh measures with the guilty, making use of everything they can to achieve that end. Everything. Perhaps that maid is nobody, but she is a threat.”

“Well…” said the bishop, interlocking his fingers and tilting his head. “If so… Then do as you think fit.”

“And you?” said the Wallcreeper, his birdlike eyes flashing. “Do you, like Pilate, wash your hands of this? It’s your arse, I recall, that’s on the line—you stole the taxes, it’s you whom the girl’s testimony may incriminate. If you wish to solve it, don’t just wave your crosier around but give me an order. A specific and unambiguous one.”

“Birkart,” said Konrad, eyes fixed on the Wallcreeper. “Beware. Don’t go too far.”

They both said nothing, testing each other’s resolve with their eyes. Klaudyna had fallen silent and no sounds were coming from the courtyard. Finally, the bishop sat up straight, his features hardened and he pursed his lips.

“On my orders,” he said, “you will do what you do. And whatever is done, we, the Bishop of Wrocław, volumus et contentamur, accept and consider it as in keeping with our will and take full responsibility for it. Will that suffice?”

“Now it will.”

The large town clock, a feature of the tower of Wrocław town hall since the times of Bishop Przecław of Pogorzela, its cogs grinding and its springs groaning, suddenly announced the ninth hour of the day with metallic strikes. Now, at the end of March, it meant that around three hours remained to sunset and the ignitegium.

Douce of Pack stood in the window, quite naked, her back to the Wallcreeper, leaning against the frame like a caryatid. The Wallcreeper couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. He could have gazed at her like that for hours.

“Come here,” he said. “Please.”

She did as he asked.

“You told me,” he said slowly, “that you wish to do what I do. At my side. Do you still? You haven’t changed your mind? Are you ready for it?”

She nodded. Slowly.

“If you begin, there’s no going back. Do you understand that?”

She nodded again. The Wallcreeper stood up.

“Put these on.”

A moment later, she was standing in front of him in a black quilted gambeson, hose and high boots. He helped her don and fasten a breastplate, a gorget, spaulders, vambraces and the other elements of armour. A black headband. A black cloak with a hood.

“Sword?”

“I prefer a javelin.”

“Drink this. All of it. Repeat after me: Adsumus, Domine, adsumus peccati quidem immanitate detenti…”

“Come to us, remain with us, please enter our hearts.”

“Amen. Let’s go.”

“What was it? The drink?”

“A narcotic.”