Petronio crept downstairs, hoping his father’s study door had been recently oiled. The hinges were on his side and within seconds, he stood by the Councillor’s desk. There was the box that started it all. As he lifted the lid and sniffed the expensive cigars within, he realized that, thanks to him, the spy had been uncovered. Who said smoking was bad for your health? He lifted one of the cigars and rolled it between his stubby fingers. A little celebration.

He went to the balcony doors, undid the latch, and let himself out. The rain had long gone, leaving a chill in the air. The half-moon was lower now, the dawn not far away. Even the stars were losing their brightness. Petronio lit the cigar, dragging the fragrant smoke deep into his lungs and letting it stream out through his nose as he leaned on the edge of the wrought-iron railings. Below him, the crowns of the trees stirred in the breeze like a dark green cloud, already browning at the edges. Soon, all this would change.

As he reentered the study, a thought struck him. His father was meticulous when it came to paperwork. If there was a plan, he would have written it down, despite Fenestra’s warning that paper was incriminating. Now, where to look? The desk was too obvious, as was the filing cabinet backed against the wall. Even Grasp wouldn’t be stupid enough to file it under T for Treason. What did that leave? Maybe he’d secreted the files behind the tapestries?

The answer when it came was both obvious and unintelligent. Grasp had commissioned a portrait of himself from one of the best painters in Arborium. Petronio remembered the month of sittings. Woe betide anyone who interrupted the head of the house as he posed. Petronio walked over to the painting, in which the Councillor sat on an ornate, jewel-bedecked chair surrounded by hunting dogs. He wore a demigown with long, hanging sleeves, the facings turned back to show the inner white fox fur. Underneath, Grasp wore a black velvet cote over a pink satin doublet. The painter had created a remarkable resemblance, turning the Councillor into the pompous, preening bore that he really was. However, Petronio was not searching the darkened study in order to improve his appreciation of art. He carefully lifted the gilded frame off its hook.

Yes! The vanity of it! The best place to hide your secrets? Behind yourself, the great Councillor Grasp! In a hidden alcove sat a thin, hinged box. Petronio quickly lifted it out of its hiding place. Inside lay a scroll. Petronio took the parchment over to the windows and unrolled it, trying to decipher the script in the predawn light. Fenestra had mentioned the future. Here it was in black-and-white. Pure treason, enough inked evidence for a spate of hangings all around. Petronio shuddered at the thought of it.