“Grief,” agreed Min Lethormin. She sat down beside me and said, “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Camilo Lethormin. I’m a clerk in the Amal’theileian and hear everything.”

I thought of Min Talenin and Merrem Bechevaran in the cartographers’ office and did not doubt her. “I am Thara Celehar,” I said and stopped the reflexive, a Witness for the Dead. “A … a prelate of Ulis.”

“You must be a friend of Tomasaran’s,” said Min Lethormin. “No, wait. I do recognize that name. You’re the Witness for the Dead.”

I froze for a moment, and Tomasaran said, “Othala Celehar is taking a sabbatical.”

“Leaving you in charge?” said Min Lethormin.

Tomasaran hesitated, but then said, “Yes,” firmly.

Merrem Nadaran’s egg tart was excellent, and lunch turned out to be quite pleasant. Min Lethormin was a vividly engaging storyteller and did most of the talking. I was grateful to escape questioning about my “sabbatical.” I thought Min Nadin had guessed there was something more to the story, but she was kind enough not to ask in Min Lethormin’s presence.

From the boardinghouse, I returned to the Veren’malo and walked to the Vermilion Opera. Iäna would be in rehearsal, of course, but I was hopeful that he could spare me a minute.

The goblin woman sweeping the lobby smiled at me and I nodded back. In the auditorium, I heard Iäna’s voice before I saw him. He was explaining to the chorus how he wanted them to stand—this had to be a rehearsal for The Dream of the Empress Corivero, for there seemed to be some confusion between the Chorus of Roses and the Chorus of Rooks.

I came down the aisle, and one of the chorus members said alertly, “There’s Othala Celehar.”

“Celehar?” Iäna said, emerging from the wings. “Oh, hello! Here to see me?”

“If you have a moment,” I said.

“I do,” he said, “for I think perhaps all of us could use a break. You stay there—I’ll come to you.” He came downstage and crossed the plank that acted as a bridge between the stage and the auditorium.

“We can go elsewhere,” he said as he reached me. “The third-floor boxes are private enough—it’s frequently a consideration when one works with people as temperamentally nosy as opera singers.”

“All right,” I said. We went out to the foyer and started climbing stairs.

Iäna said, “Thy foundling girls have all been snapped up by the city’s wardrobe masters.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” I said. It was one less thing to worry about in the middle of the night.

“Ulsheän is delighted. She took two girls. One of them she says should be apprenticed to an embroiderist and the other one does invisible mending that is truly invisible.”

“A rare talent,” I said.