The oration for the Feast of Saint Cynessus the Blind had already started when Jean-Claude, Marie, and Jackhand Djordji arrived at the temple with Rebecca in tow. The worship hall was packed like a pickle barrel. Jean-Claude’s hunter’s eye pointed to all three of his prey markers being inside. Yet with everybody in feast-day robes, many with hoods pulled up, it was impossible to pick the Last Men out of the crowd.

It was Marie who’d suggested they come around back. They could get a better view of the faces in the crowd from the balcony behind the dais.

A rectory was attached to the apse of the temple. Rebecca slipped in through a basement window and hurried to unbar the door. There was a time when Jean-Claude could have squeezed through that window. These days he’d get stuck like a cork in a bottle.

“What is it with you and strays?” Djordji said. “Never meets an urchin you doesn’t coddle.” As thin and knotty as an old rope, Djordji had trained the best fighters in l’Empire over the last half century. He’d also trained Jean-Claude, though he wouldn’t admit to it.

“She just followed me home,” Jean-Claude said. “I didn’t even feed her.”

“You bought her a fish pie on the way up here,” Marie said in a voice that sounded like it was echoing through a misty graveyard at night. Her whole form was white and bright as the silver moon Kore, and her expression was as blank as a porcelain doll’s.

“I offered everyone a fish pie on the way up here,” Jean-Claude said.

“Only because she was hungry,” Marie countered.

“It’s not like she can’t get her own,” Djordji said. “She picks about a dozen purses.”

Before Jean-Claude could retort, the door shuddered and opened, and the urchin in question poked her head out. “Come on.”

Jean-Claude led the way through the clerical residence and along the passageway to the vestry behind the dais. A startled usher hurried toward them, “Messieurs, mesdemoiselles, what are you doing—”

Jean-Claude doffed his hat and said, “I’m so sorry we’re late; the crowds were terrible.”

“But—” said the usher.

“Has the sagax arrived yet? We were supposed to meet him for private instruction.”

“No, but—”

“If he’s not here, we’ll just wait for him in the gallery. I think I see one of his attendants. Thank you. Builder keep you.”

Jean-Claude’s companions slipped by the usher while Jean-Claude kept him occupied. Djordji paused and peeked through the curtain separating the vestry from the dais. Beyond, the temple orator delivered the blind saint’s Exhortation of Return in the Saintstongue. The congregations of the Enlightened faithful chanted along, speaking words they believed without understanding.

“Sharpshooters in the window,” Djordji snapped. “Three by my count.”

Jean-Claude abandoned the usher. “Marie, countersniper.”