Carlyle coughed. “What did you do to Julia?”

Without rising, Dominic settled onto a three-legged wooden stool that waited by his side. “I’m not permitted to disclose what goes on between me and my sensayer.”

A sharp breath. “Julia’s your sensayer?”

“She’s been teaching for ten years, did it never occur to thee that she had other students?”

“You… ‘A coward’s religion,’ ” Carlyle quoted, her voice softening as understanding bloomed, “that’s how Julia described Deism too, when we first met.”

“It would be a shame if the world’s most penetrating sensayer had no apprentice capable of using her techniques.” Dominic gestured to a cup of water, waiting on his table for his victim’s need. “Thou shouldst be happy, Carlyle. As thy sensayer I can’t lay a finger on thy body or I could lose my license. There are only a handful of people in the world I’m not allowed to touch, and most of them are on the Seven-Ten lists.”

Where art thou, Mycroft? Thou promised thou wouldst race to Carlyle’s rescue.

I am coming, reader, coming, as quickly as I can.

Carlyle wolfed the water down, breathing easier as wetness rinsed the acid from her throat. “I’m never accepting this,” she began with new strength, sweeping her matted hair out of her face. “Even if you’ve forced or bribed Julia—”

“Thou dost not think she’s beyond bribery, then?” Dominic interrupted. “Thou’rt perceptive when thou allowest thyself.”

Carlyle’s fist tightened around the pewter cup, ready to hurl it like a sling stone. “Even if you have, I’ll go to the committee—”

“And petition for a transfer? Feel free. They’ll interview me if thou dost, and I’ll so enjoy telling them about thy tawdry affair with Thisbe Saneer. It will be thee who loses thy license then.”

“I haven’t touched Thisbe Saneer.”

“No judge in this world will believe that.” Dominic drummed the side of his wooden stool. “Thou’st spent thirty hours in her bedroom in the last five days, and you went to a brothel together. What wilt thou say, that thou wert there chasing a miracle child? Or wilt thou ask Mycroft Canner to vouch for thee?”

Keep in mind, reader, that Dominic’s ‘thee’s and ‘thou’s feel far stranger in print than they do in person. He does not exaggerate them as bad actors do, but mumbles the archaisms with the calm slurring of common speech, so the syllables fly past too quickly to feel unnatural. Read his lines aloud to a friend saying ‘thou’st’ and ‘what’rt thou’ as quickly as you would say ‘you’ve’ and ‘what’re ya,’ and, more often than not, the friend won’t even notice archaism rearing plain as day.

The Cousin still had fire to spit. “You sound stupid making empty threats. Thisbe will vouch for me, that’s all I need.”

“Thisbe?” Dominic repeated. “Thisbe’s ambitious. She’ll sacrifice thee in an instant if I offer to help her climb Madame’s ladder. She’s tasted what we have; she won’t turn back until she’s glutted herself. Thou must see that.”