And everywhere there was a stir of activity. Maids leaned out of upper windows to air quilts and blankets; housewives threw open shutters and doors to the sunlight to banish the frowsty humours of winter. Servants polished window panes, beat carpets, shook out dusters.

Acir Korentan walked slowly past the entrance to Mistress Permay’s lodging house for the third time, oblivious to the domestic bustle that surrounded him. A convulsive sneeze shook his whole body; resignedly, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his streaming nose. The virulent cold had struck him down the very day after he had pulled Khassian from the river. He had been to the apothecary’s who had given him infusions to be inhaled, infusions to be taken, and advised a visit to the steam bath to ‘draw out the evil humours’. Now the brilliant sunshine made his streaming eyes worse and the pollen from the catkins seemed only to aggravate his ticklish throat.

The purpose of his visit was, he told himself, to return the parcel of neatly laundered and pressed clothes he had borrowed to Amaru Khassian’s household. Why, then, did he find himself so reluctant to go up to the front door and ring the bell?

He sat down on a bench by the curved railings that separated the pavement from the wide green lawns that rolled down towards the river. Another sneeze racked him and, as he tugged out his handkerchief, the letter fell from his pocket. He sighed and read it for the second time that morning.

My dear Acir,

I am concerned to note that the dangerous revolutionary Valentan has arrived in Sulien. Watch him. He is a trouble-maker. Our intelligence tells us that others may try to join him and orchestrate their plots using Sulien as their base.

The Commanderie is currently discussing with the Prince the possibility of obtaining extradition orders so that you may arrest the revolutionaries in Sulien and bring them back to stand trial in Bel’Esstar. This requires subtle diplomatic negotiation with Tourmalise so do not make mention of this to anyone.

If there is still any means by which you can persuade our friend to return of his own accord, then in Mhir’s blessed name, I beg you to do so. I thought I detected from the tone of your last letter that you may be experiencing doubts as to your suitability for carrying out this mission. Please assure me, dearest confrère, that I am wrong.

Yours, in the Blood of the Rose,

Girim nel Ghislain

Acir looked up at Mistress Permay’s house, shading his eyes against the sheen of spring sunshine. A shadow passed across the tall first-floor window… the Diva maybe? Or Khassian himself, trapped in the prison of his mutilation?

Girim’s letter left him with a sick, sour taste in his mouth. It smacked of conspiracy and underhand dealings, rather than a divinely inspired purpose.