“So, I ought to thank you for the chance of regaining my freedom of movement,” said the man, setting off more echoes. “Thus, I thank you. Although it seems to me that a certain Wrocław canon is the person I ought to be more grateful to, perhaps? And an event that took place… Well, say it for form’s sake, so I can be completely certain I’m talking to the right person. And that this isn’t a dream.”

“The eighteenth of July, 1418.”

“Where?”

“Wrocław. The New Town…”

“Of course,” confirmed the man a moment later. “Of course, it was Wrocław. Where else, if not there? Very well. Now come closer and assume the required position.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Kneel.”

“My brother has been killed,” said Reynevan, not moving, “and my life is threatened. I’m being pursued and must flee. But first I have to take care of a few things, and settle a few scores. Father Otto assured me you’d be able to help me. You and no other, whoever you are. But I have no intention of kneeling before you… How should I address you? Father? Brother?”

“However you like. Uncle, if you wish. I couldn’t care less.”

“I’m not in the mood for jokes. I told you: my brother’s been killed. The prior said we can get out of here. So, let’s leave this sorrowful place. And on the way I’ll tell you what needs doing. You’ll know enough, but nothing more.”

“I asked you to kneel.” The echo of the man’s voice rumbled still more deeply.

“And I told you: I have no intention of confessing to you.”

“Whoever you are,” said the man, “you can choose one of two ways. One leads to me, on your knees. The other leads through the priory gate. Without me, naturally. I’m not in anyone’s pay, laddie, nor a thug hired to take care of your affairs and settle your scores. It is I, take careful note, who decides how much and what information I need. In any case, it is all about mutual trust. You don’t trust me, so how am I to trust you?”

“The fact that you’re leaving prison is down to me,” Reynevan snapped back pugnaciously. “And Father Otto. Take note of that and don’t get too big for your boots. It’s not me but you who is facing a choice. Either leave with me or rot in here. The choice—”

The man interrupted him by knocking loudly against the wood of the confessional.