This animal was the first to sense the change. The candle flame, which had grown up straight and tall, seemed to tremble in a new current of air. The cat leapt out of the boy’s lap, and yawned and stretched its back. The bishop raised her head. At the limit of her hearing she perceived a small rushing sound, like wind in the back of a cave or a train passing through a distant tunnel. The cat seemed not to notice. She licked her paws. But the current which disturbed the candle flame had gotten stronger, and it made their shadows flicker on the walls, though they sat without moving. The candle blew out, and the dark shut around them like a mouth, but in time it was as if their eyes had grown accustomed to it, for above them they could see the silhouette of the stone sarcophagus against some lighter color in the vault. The wind stirred the sand around them and fanned their faces, and it was dry and cool, and smelled of foreign languages, and sagebrush, and the salt sea. Above their heads, the stars came out, and for them it was a sight out of the recesses of memory, for not since the first phases of spring had they seen stars in the night sky. More miraculous than that, the finger of a moon rose above some far hills, the first time in their lives, and it touched the forehead of the battered saint, and it shone on a broad sandy valley sloping down in front of them, and in the distance glowed the lights of some small town.

The boy looked up at the moon, and then he turned away. “There,” he said, pointing down the slope, where an animal was rooting in the dark.

The bishop reached out and put her fingers round his wrist. “Ssh,” she said. “How warm it is. It must be summertime.”

* * *

Mrs. Cassimer had locked the demon into the princess’s bedroom, but she couldn’t claim to feel much safer. She held conversations with herself to keep her spirits up and stopped her ears with cotton to block out the incessant music. From time to time she took small sips from a jug of whiskey, labeled

“medicinal purposes only” in her neat hand. And to occupy herself, she cleaned the house from top to bottom, in preparation for its burning down. The fire had spread to the streets around the palaces, and even though their stone walls had withstood many springs, “You can’t be too careful,” she said to herself, sealing the spare washcloths in asbestos bags. “You can’t indeed,” she said, on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor. “Angkhdt created work to be the consolation of the poor. Otherwise they’d have nothing to do. You can’t blame the gentry for being so strange, bless their hearts. Not with the life they lead. Nothing but fancy clothes, and idleness, and horrible deaths on top of it. It’s no wonder they’re lugubrious. You can’t blame them for what goes on. No, but I don’t condone it, either,” she said severely, shaking her finger at the bedroom door. “Back from the dead! Who ever heard of such a thing?