Which had been enough to make Zivco Ilić concur. Unlike Radovan, he was no skeptic when it came to Zorya. His people were from Negotin in eastern Serbia, and he’d grown up with the Vlachs. His family had turned to them in times of need: when a job had to be secured, a proposal of marriage accepted, a run of bad luck ended. He remembered his mother’s funeral, and the old women forming a watchful phalanx around the open coffin, because it was not unknown for the unscrupulous to place beneath the corpse a small possession belonging to an enemy – a key, a button – in order to hex them. The item would be buried with the dead, and shortly afterwards the target of the curse would die in turn.

Many would have laughed at these superstitions, but Ilić knew better. Zorya might have discouraged any investigation of her origins, but her nature had something in common with that of the Vlach witches, which was enough for Zivco Ilić. He looked after the girl, and hoped the girl might look after him in turn. So far, the arrangement appeared to be working.

‘Well?’ said Ilić.

‘The lawyer is hiding something.’

‘Treachery?’

‘No,’ said Zorya, ‘it wasn’t that strong, and it’s not recent. It goes back years. But he’s frightened, and his commitment is wavering.’

‘Is that what you’ll tell Spiridon?’

‘I’ll tell Spiridon what he needs to hear.’

‘And if he asks me?’ said Ilić.

‘You’ll inform him that I shared nothing with you.’

They walked on.

‘What you said to Frend, about his daughter—’ Ilić began.

‘Yes?’

‘Was it true?’

‘Have you ever known me to lie?’

‘No, I have not.’

They walked through the Museumplatz, but drew no attention. Zorya would have sensed it.

‘What about me?’ said Ilić.

‘What about you?’

‘I, too, have a daughter. Will I ever see her again?’

Katarina was eight. Ilić and her mother had not stayed together for very long, but he still sent money regularly, and spent time with the child when he could. He thought he perceived a little of himself in her dark looks, but no one else had ever agreed. Perhaps that was best, for the girl’s sake. Zivco Ilić had never contemplated modeling as a career option.

Zorya stopped.

‘Do you really want me to tell you?’ she said.

‘I think so.’

She reached out and took his right hand in her left. She closed her eyes and squeezed. Her grip was very firm and very cold. After a time, he felt it ease, and her eyes opened again.

‘No,’ she said, ‘you will not.’

Ilić nodded once. ‘I guessed,’ he said. ‘You’re not the only one who experiences intimations of bad luck.’

‘I’m sorry, Zivco. I wish it were otherwise.’