They were silent for some time. Finally, Horn tossed the duck’s carcass to a dog, snatched up a mug and drained it.

“Let us leave aside the bishop and the good of the Church for a moment,” he said, putting the mug down with a clatter. “What have you to say about Grellenort? My goal was not the Bishop of Wrocław—I realise that would be aiming a little high for me, biting off more than I can chew. The aim of my attack was to be the mysterious Sensenberg Castle, Grellenort’s hideout. The place where the bishop’s bastard blasphemes against God, conducts black magic and necromancy, where he brews poison and intoxicating decocts, where he summons forth demons and devils. Whence he sends his Riders on terrorist missions, ordering them to murder peaceful citizens. Tell me, Inquisitor, should one regard an attack on a place like that as aggression against the Church? Or perhaps the truth is as they say; that for Rome the end justifies the means, that in the fight against free thinking, heresy and reformatory movements it’s permissible to harness and employ everything, even black magic?”

Now it was the turn of Grzegorz Hejncze to be quiet for a long time. Parsifal, although he only vaguely understood, fixed his eyes on Hejncze’s face. He saw the muscles in the Inquisitor’s jaw working, his eyes flashing and his mouth about to form a word.

“I know where Sensenberg Castle is located,” Urban Horn said, ahead of him. “And how to get there.”

“The Black Riders,” Kassel said, “murdered Albrecht Bart of Karczyn, who was my comrade. As regards me, I’m prepared—”

“Don’t meddle in this, Egbert,” said the Inquisitor, cutting him off sharply. “Please.”

The Lord of Kopaniec cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together nervously. Grzegorz Hejncze silently nodded, gesturing for Horn to continue.

“This is a unique opportunity,” said Horn.

Hejncze said nothing and put a hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes.

“Grellenort is not at Sensenberg,” the Hussite spy went on softly. “He has gone to the Lusatian borderlands with most of his thugs to hunt for our mutual friend, the physician, Reinmar of Bielawa. For he learned that Reynevan—”

The Inquisitor took his hand away from his forehead. Horn fell silent under his gaze.

“Yes,” Horn said, clearing his throat. “I admit it. It’s owing to me that Grellenort found out about Reynevan. I did it—”

“We already know what you did,” interrupted Hejncze.

“Reynevan will get out of trouble… He always does—”

“To the point, Horn.”