He had to tell it twice, since after supper they met in the granary to chat and Samson Honeypot also wished to be acquainted with the course of events and with details of the shit Reynevan was in. And while Scharley only shook his head as he listened, Samson came forward at once with conclusions.

“I absolutely advise you against returning to Silesia,” he began. “You would gain nothing by so doing and only put yourself in danger. You’ve already been unmasked and captured once in Wrocław and they’ll manage it next time, too. And I wouldn’t count on the altarist Felicjan. He won’t find out anything, it’s well beyond him. The Inquisition knows how to guard its secrets. And now it certainly won’t be stupid enough to hold Miss Jutta in a place that’s easy for any old venal bloody priest to find.”

“So what do I do?” asked Reynevan grimly. “Go back to the Hussites? And meekly do whatever the Inquisition commands? Hoping that I’ll finally satisfy them sufficiently for them to release me and hand Jutta over?”

Scharley and Samson looked at each other. Then at Reynevan. He understood.

“They’ll never give her to me. Am I right?”

A meaningful silence fell.

“A return to the Hussites,” Samson finally said, “only appears to be the better choice. Your account suggests that they suspect you.”

“They have no proof.”

“If they had, you’d already be dead,” Scharley said calmly. “But if you vanish, you offer them a pretext on a plate. Your flight would be proof of your guilt. And the sentence would be immediate.”

“The Hussites will be watching you,” added Samson. “They’ll also keep you away from secrets and classified matters. Whether you want it or not, you won’t find any information that would satisfy the Inquisition.”

“The Inquisition won’t harm the maid,” said Scharley, swiftly but without mockery. “I believe that Hejncze to be an honest fellow. And he’s a university pal of yours…”

He fell silent. Spread his arms. But almost immediately recovered his aplomb.

“Chin up, Reinmar, chin up. We aren’t sunk yet, we’ll set sail one day. We’ll find a way. Neither Homer nor Virgil mention it, but I assure you: the Trojan intelligence service had agents among the Achaeans. And they also recruited them using blackmail. And the blackmailed agents found a way to trick Troy. We shall also trick Troy.”

“How?” Reynevan asked bitterly. “Do you have any ideas? Any at all? Anything’s better than sitting idly by.”

They were silent for a while.

“We need to sleep on it,” Scharley finally said. “De mane consilium, tomorrow will bring an answer.”