Flowers were tossed at the Wallcreeper’s feet. Mothers held children up for him to bless them. Apprentices from the guilds knelt before him. The poor fell at his feet from where Hunt’s men quickly and brutally removed them.

“We are in your care!”

“Be our hope!”

“Rule over us, O leader!”

Behind the Wallcreeper walked Father Felicjan Gwisdek, now Lord Gwisdendorff, promoted by the bishop for his loyalty and service to prebendary and the position of canon at the Collegiate Church of the Holy Cross. Father Felicjan smiled at the crowd, blessed them and dreamed… About how he would soon be striding at the head with the Wallcreeper behind him. Kuczera of Hunt also smiled, teeth clenched, shoving nuisances away.

“We will examine everything,” promised the Wallcreeper with a smile, pushing away the petitions and requests being held out towards him. “We shall examine everything in detail… We shall punish the guilty! The law will prevail! And justice!”

“Begone,” hissed Kuczera to the petitioners. “Begone, or you’ll get a kicking…”

“A golden age for Wrocław will dawn…” said the Wallcreeper, stroking the head of another little girl with a posy of flowers. “A golden age! After we have vanquished our enemies! But the battle is not yet over!” he announced in a loud voice. “The serpent is not yet defeated! You must be ready for renunciations and sacrifices—”

He broke off, seeing a fair-haired girl standing just in front of him. Her face reminded the Wallcreeper of someone. Worryingly. Her face, he thought, is older than she is.

He held his hand out in a gesture of blessing. Something made him withdraw it.

“Do I know you?”

“I am Sybilla of Bielawa,” said the girl brightly. “The daughter of Piotr, called Peterlin. Die, murderer.”

It happened quickly. So quickly that Kuczera of Hunt responded too slowly. He wasn’t able to shove the Wallcreeper out of the way or overpower the girl. She, however, drew from under her mantle a short Prague “treacherous” handgonne and shot the Wallcreeper straight in the chest from close range.

Dense smoke obscured everything and the girl vanished in it like a ghost. Like an apparition. Like a nightmare.

The crowd parted, screaming, dispersing, scattering. And now Reynevan could see.

See the Wallcreeper, pierced by a ball, staggering, but not falling. See him look down at his soot-covered, bloody chest, at the links of the golden chain rammed into his body by the ball. See him cackle wildly.

“Seize her…” he grunted, catching his breath. “Apprehend her… I’ll flay the bitch alive…”

“You are wounded!”

“It’s nothing… I’m not hurt… It takes more than that to harm me… An ordinary ball is too—”

He broke off, choked and his eyes popped out of his head. Coughing violently, black gore gushed from his mouth. He yelled, screamed and cawed. He understood. Kuczera also understood. Canon Felicjan, cowering on the ground, understood. Reynevan, watching from a distance, understood.