His smile was as thin as the rest of him. “Only one?”

His last assignment had involved eliminating a group of hackers the Order had assembled to provide unwitting help with the assault on the Internet.

“Only one.” Ernst slid a slip of paper across the desk. “He’s a writer and here’s his address.”

The smile broadened as he read it. “Alphabet City. Practically a neighbor.”

“Your preventative measures should involve confiscation of whatever computers he might possess—for practical reasons, since they hold the damaging materials, but also to make robbery appear the motive.”

Belgiovene gave a little bow. “Consider it done. Any timetable?”

“ASAP. Before he can publish his drek.”

“I’m get right on it.”

The door had barely closed behind Belgiovene when Slootjes entered.

“I saw Belgiovene,” the loremaster said. “Is he…?”

“He’s on his way.”

Slootjes sighed with relief. “Good. I’ve been watching Winslow’s website and he’s made no announcement.”

“Perhaps it was all bluster,” Ernst said. “I hope I didn’t send Belgiovene out for nothing.”

Not that it really mattered. Belgiovene enjoyed the work. As a member of the Septimus order’s security and enforcement wing, he followed orders. But Ernst was aware that he freelanced on the side.

Slootjes said, “Winslow sounded genuinely angry when he stormed out last night. I wouldn’t put self-publishing past him. He—”

A knock on the door and then the acolyte acting as the Lodge’s receptionist stuck his head inside.

“Sorry to interrupt, sir, but there’s a woman out here insists on seeing you.”

Well, she obviously wasn’t a member—Septimus didn’t accept females—and Ernst had a busy morning ahead of him.

“Put her off.”

“I’ve already tried that but she won’t go.”

“Then have her bodily removed.”

“She says she has a memoir written by her grandfather in which the Order in general, and your grandfather in particular, play a very large part.” He gave a shy smile. “That’s pretty much a quote.”

Ernst froze. “Did she now?” He glanced at Slootjes who gave a quick nod. “Very well, send her in.” When the acolyte had disappeared, Ernst turned to the loremaster and saw the same question in his eyes. “Yet another manuscript?”

“Let’s hope it’s not as damaging as last night’s.”

“It had better not be.” He jabbed a finger at Slootjes. “You stay right where you are. This might concern you as well.”

“A memoir about your grandfather, the famous and mysterious Rudolph Drexler?” The loremaster smiled. “Oh, you couldn’t get me out of here with a pry bar.”

The acolyte admitted a rather plump woman who looked to be about sixty or so. Her gray hair was wound up in a bun at the back of her head. She wore a simple dress with long sleeves. She might have been Amish except for that fact that she was bareheaded. She had a large shoulder bag from which a fat manila envelope protruded.

“Grace Novak,” she said, striding in and extending her hand. “You must be Mister Drexler. I was told you wear a white suit year-round.”