The Pantaleon amulet, a local speciality, an indigenous product of Wrocław magic, had been created with a single purpose: to conceal the identity of the bearer. To make the bearer inconspicuous. Make him unseen and unnoticed, make the eyes of the curious slide over him, without noticing not just his appearance, but his very presence.

The amulet was named after Pantaleon of Korbiela, one of Bishop Nanker’s prelates. Prelate Pantaleon was famous for having such a forgettably ordinary appearance, being so grey and so repulsively bland that hardly anyone—including the bishop—noticed him or paid him any attention.

“Apparently,” observed the unguentarius, “it’s not good to wear it for too long. Or too often—”

“I know. I shall use it in moderation, with breaks in-between. Let’s go.”

It was Thursday, market day, and Salt Square was heaving with people bustling around noisily. It was just as crowded in the town square, where additionally something was being done to somebody on a scaffold that greatly interested the general public. Reynevan and Czibulka didn’t find out what was being done to whom, for they passed through the cloth hall, and after crossing the Poultry Market came out in Shoemakers Street, which had wooden planks laid out in it.

No yellow curtain hung in Canon Otto Beess’s window. Reynevan immediately lowered his head and speeded up.

“The Fuggers’ Company’s new house and office,” he panted over his shoulder to Czibulka, who was following him. “Do you know where it is?”

“Everybody does. In New Market.”

“Let’s go there. Don’t look back.”

The Pantaleon was working impeccably and before the clerk in the office would even pay any attention to him, Reynevan had to raise his voice and bang his fist on the counter. He then had to wait for the appearance of the official of Fuggers and Company called by the clerk. And become somewhat agitated. The waiting was worth it. But not the agitation.

In terms of posture and countenance, the Fuggers and Company official more resembled a duke than a clerk or a merchant.

“Absolutely, absolutely.” He smiled benignly, having listened to the matter put before him. “His Excellency Otto Beess deigned to make a… payment before his departure. Payable to the Honourable Sir Reinmar of Hagenau. Your Lordship, as I understand, is this very Sir Reinmar?”

“I am.”

“But your mien does not suggest it.” The official smiled even more benignly, straightening the gold-thread-embroidered cuffs of his close-fitting velvet doublet; raiment more suitable for a duke than a merchant. “Not at all. When instructing us, Canon Beess took pains to describe Reinmar of Hagenau precisely. Your Lordship doesn’t answer in any way to that description. Thus, if you wouldn’t mind…”