“Renthalar!” said Iäna. “Isn’t that the name of the man who murdered the foundling girl?”

“His brother. Dost think the two are connected?”

“I think it unlikely that they are not. Thou wert seeking Osmin Temin originally because of the murder of the marquise, wert thou not?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“And thou knowest that she knew the Renthalada.”

“She was having an affair with Anvina Renthalar,” I said, remembering what Azhanharad had told me.

“And somehow a woman she bore a grudge against was embarrassed in public by some of Mer Renthalar’s photographs? I think it unlikely that this is a coincidence.”

The jagged edges suddenly meshed together. “The photographs were sent to the marquise by a well-dressed elven woman. Which could probably describe half Amalo, but does describe Osmin Temin. And she’s the thing the two stories have in common. I can’t at this point prove she was ever in Mer Renthalar’s studio, but she could have been, and she was certainly the sort of person who would send distressing and pornographic pictures to an elderly lady purely in order to cause trouble.”

“May we all be so successful in our endeavors as Osmin Temin was in causing trouble,” Iäna said dryly. He hesitated. “Art thou any better?”

“Can I hear the dead, dost mean? No. There is no change.”

“What wilt thou do?”

“That is for the Archprelate to decide. I have written to him, but I do not know when I will hear back.”

“And yet thou’rt still sane! I’m not sure I would be.”

“Sometimes insanity is tempting,” I admitted.

In the dark, Iäna’s hand found mine, and we sat for a while in silence, until I dredged together enough fortitude to say, “I am keeping thee from thy rehearsal. I should go.”

“As long as thou com’st back,” said Iäna.

I walked to the Dachenostro and took the Zulnicho line to Ulvanensee, where Anora and his prelates were organizing the burials of twenty-three people. The headstones weren’t ready, of course, but Vidrezhen and Erlenar had made temporary ones out of wood, and there was little chance of a ghoul rising in Ulvanensee. Anora kept the grounds too carefully, and the cemetery was surrounded on all sides by the city, with living people coming and going almost constantly. Bad territory for ghouls, which liked solitude and disrepair.

Anora stopped what he was doing and said, “Thara! An answer to thy letter has come!”

“It hasn’t been long enough,” I protested.

“I had him go by airship,” said Anora.

“Airship? Anora, that must have cost—”

“Hush, Thara. It cost no more than I can afford. And it was well worth the money, for the Amal’othala’s courier and mine traveled together.”

“So the Archprelate got both letters—”

“Essentially at the same time, yes. But here. Open it!”