“I am not in a position to help, Your Reverence,” he declared coldly. “As I said, rumours about the murders have reached me, but the names of the alleged victims are unfamiliar. I don’t believe it would be worth asking His Eminence the Bishop about them, either, for he would answer as I have. And ask a question I wouldn’t dare to ask.”

“Oh, please do. You’re in no danger.”

“The bishop would ask: do those mentioned deserve the attentions of the Holy Office?”

“And the bishop would receive an answer,” replied Hejncze at once. “The Holy Office did have suspicio de haeresi regarding the aforementioned individuals. Suspicions of pro-Hussite sympathies and of yielding to heretical influences. Of contact with Czech apostates.”

“Aha. So they were scoundrels. If, then, they were killed, the Inquisition has no reason to mourn them. The bishop, knowing him, would undoubtedly have said one can only rejoice that somebody has already done the Office’s work.”

“The Office doesn’t like other people doing its work. That is how I would answer the bishop.”

“The bishop would respond that, in that case, the Office ought to act more efficiently and quickly.”

Another scream echoed from the crypt—this time much louder, more horrifying and lasting longer. The Wallcreeper’s thin lips contorted into a parody of a smile.

“Oh.” He gestured with his head. “Red-hot irons. Previously it was the standard strappado and screws on the fingers and toes, wasn’t it?”

“An irredeemable sinner,” replied Hejncze reluctantly. “Haereticus pertinax… But let us not get off the subject, m’lord. Be so kind as to repeat to His Eminence Bishop Konrad that the Holy Inquisition observes with growing displeasure that people with delations against them are dying in mysterious circumstances. People suspected of apostasy, of shady dealings and of conspiring with heretics. Those people are dying before the Inquisition manages to interrogate them. It looks as though somebody is trying to cover their tracks. And he who covers heresy’s tracks will find it difficult to defend himself against charges of heresy.”

“I’ll repeat it to the bishop word for word,” the Wallcreeper replied with a derisive smile. “But I doubt he’ll take fright. He isn’t the kind to. Like all Piasts.”

You would have thought, after the last yell, that the person being tortured couldn’t have screamed any louder or more horrifyingly. But you would have been wrong.

“If they don’t confess now,” said the Wallcreeper, “they never will.”

“You appear to have some expertise in this.”

“Not in practical terms, heaven forbid.” The Wallcreeper smiled hideously. “But one has read the accounts of various practitioners. I would particularly recommend the works of Jan Schwenckefeld to the attention of Your Young Reverence.”

“Indeed?”