“He was a good man.”

“I’m glad you thought so,” said the monk bitterly. “Did you see him die?”

“I was with him. Then I left.”

“Was it a good death?”

“Beautiful.”

“God bless him for it,” said the monk, picking his nose. “Abu, too, they say, and who could have expected that? A prince at last, they said. Blood will tell, I suppose.”

“Tell me about Abu.”

In another corner of the room, men sat talking in low voices, passing a cigarette. Brother Malabar glanced at them moodily, and gestured past them through the window, towards the glow above the town.

“He’s responsible for this fire,” he said.

“Was that the charge against him?”

“No. Drunk and disorderly.”

Thanakar smiled. “That’s not a capital offense.”

The monk shrugged and sat down. “Homicide, then. I don’t know. Seven people died in the first explosion, and more than sixty beggars. I know, it’s not much of a crime, for a prince, but Demiurge is mad, I tell you. The inquisition has been sitting day and night. Ten Starbridges have been condemned, and the others in batches of a hundred. He was the first of such high rank.”

“Was it a public execution?”

“I didn’t see it. Brother Lacrima says he stood up straight. The rest all begged for mercy, but he didn’t.

I’m glad to hear it. Of course, they’d locked a mask over his face and gloves on his hands. I’m not sure he could have spoken even if he’d wanted to. Unnecessary, really—everybody knew who he was.

Anyway, he made a good impression. He never made a sound, even when the fire was around his legs, and God knows that’s uncommon.”

“I heard he was canonized,” said Thanakar softly.

“That. Oh yes, well—that’s just foolishness. You know how things get started. Beggars get excited in the calmest times. They’re desperate now.”

“Tell me.”

The monk closed both his eyes and stuck his thumb into his ear. “At first, when he was arrested, they didn’t know who he was,” he said after a pause. “That was last Friday. They had him in a common cell.

He was so dirty, and he didn’t draw attention to himself. It was only when he came to trial that he was recognized. By that time it had been five days. You know—he let them touch him. They were always touching him, even when he was asleep. You know what they’re like. Most of them had never seen a Starbridge up close before, let alone a prince. And when he was awake, they sat around him in a circle.

He promised he’d take them all with him to his palace up in Paradise. He heard their confessions, gave them absolution. It was like playing with children. And when two old women were freed on some technical grounds—innocence or something, they called it a miracle. He was executed yesterday. There must have been twenty thousand people there.”

The monk leaned forward, his hands clasped in front of him. “That much is fact,” he said. “The rest is lies.