The antinomial unwrapped his cloak and stood dripping in his hospital clothes. Solemnly he took out his sunglasses and put them on. From his sleeve he took out his glass flute, and he examined it carefully in the light, while Mrs. Cassimer gasped and wheezed. She made the sign of the unclean, ducking her head into her armpits. “Angkhdt preserve us,” she whispered.

Hesitating at the bedroom door, Thanakar smiled. “You can put him in the room next to mine,” he said.

“Are there clean sheets?” The door was locked, with the key in it. He unlocked it and pushed it open.

Inside, the room was wrecked. Books and pieces of furniture lay at random, and the windows were all broken. His mother sat naked on the bed next to his sleeping father, her arms around her knees, her hair loose around her shoulders, and when she raised her head to look at Thanakar, he saw her eyes had changed color from the hard black of the Starbridges to a molten red, and as he watched, they changed again, a slow reel of unnatural shades fading into one another: pink, white, yellow orange, red, pink. It was the only movement in her face.

“Oh, sir, be careful,” remonstrated Mrs. Cassimer, peeking round the doorjamb. “She’s not safe. She killed a man.”

“Who?”

“Only a sweeper. On Tuesday—he discovered her. We had a terrible time to get her off of him. Mr.

Gramercy, she bit his hand.”

“Mother?” he called out into the room. The woman on the bed stared at him, her eyes a swirl of color.

“She hasn’t touched my father,” he remarked. The prince’s long figure lay unmolested, still shrouded by her side.

“No, sir.”

“When did this happen?”

“On Tuesday, sir. Eight days ago. In the morning.”

“Did you send for the police?”

“No, sir. It was only a sweeper. Oh, sir, it was those experiments of yours, I’m sure of it. Leave the dead alone, that’s what I say. I knew it was a terrible mistake.”

“You should have said something.”

“Oh, sir.”

“I came back for other reasons. Have the police been here, or any soldiers looking for me?”

“No, sir.”

“Any parsons?”

“No . . .”

“What does she eat?”

“Oh, sir, how can you be so calm? Your own mother, back from the dead.” The housekeeper was close to tears.

“I’m thinking. She seems calm enough.” He took a step into the room.

“Please don’t go any closer, sir. She’s not to be trusted, back from the dead like that. She’s lost her mind, and it’s a small wonder. Such a good mistress, too.”

He took another step into the room. The princess opened her mouth, and he seemed to feel her cold breath from ten feet away, like a draught from an open doorway. “Son,” she said in a cold whisper, her voice cold as death. “I’m hungry, Thanakar.”

“Beloved God,” sobbed Mrs. Cassimer. “Look at her eyes.”

“Son,” the princess said again. “Tell the old fool to go away. Tell her to bring food for me. Tell her to bring tumbril pie and sandwiches. Tell her to bring fishes cooked in wine. I want them.”