“I am Urban Horn,” said the man in the grey cloak and looked around. His eyes were piercing and there was an arrogant grimace on his lips. “And where are m’Lords Hejncze and Kassel? I see around me only common soldiers with the faces of thugs.”

“I am Egbert of Kassel,” said the knight, stepping forward. “And those are my men, so curtail your insults.”

“And do not waste time on them,” said the Inquisitor, moving alongside. “You know me, Urban Horn, you know who I am. And you perfectly understand your predicament. You are encircled; you can’t break through. We’ll lay hands on you, if not alive then dead. Our offer is: let us avoid bloodshed. We are not barbarians, but men of honour. Give yourself up of your own free will.”

The man was silent for a while, a sneer playing on his face.

“I have under my command six Czechs and four local men, Silesians,” he finally said. “All mercenaries and only linked to me by a monetary contract. They know nothing and have committed no crimes under my command. I demand that they walk free—”

“You are in no position to demand, Horn,” Hejncze cut him off. “But I consent. They will be set free. As long as none stands accused of any earlier misdemeanours.”

“On your knightly parole?”

“On my priestly parole.”

Horn snorted, stifling laughter. He drew a dagger from a decorated sheath and—holding it by the blade—handed it to the Inquisitor.

“I lay down my arms,” he said and bowed carelessly. “And at the same time offer a proposition. I was meaning to order luncheon to the side room. Instead of one duck, they can give us three, for the fowl looked appetizing on the spits. Will you accept my invitation, gentlemen? After all, we are men of honour, not barbarians.”

The three men dining in the side room were assisted by only two esquires; Lord Kassel only summoned to him Jan Karwat and Parsifal of Rachenau. Karwat, because he was a bodyguard and utterly trustworthy. Parsifal, because he was new, green and had but faint understanding of what was being discussed. Parsifal had no illusions or doubts about that.

“You’re having a good year, Grzegorz,” said Horn, tearing flesh with his teeth from a duck held in both hands. “The arrest of Domarasc in March, and now me. While we’re on the subject, is Domarasc still alive?”

“Don’t turn the tables, Horn,” said Hejncze, raising his eyes. “It is I who am questioning you here. I’ve been dreaming about this moment for four years, since you fled from me in Frankenstein.”