“So we ride.” Kauffung reined his horse around. “We’re not needed here now, anyway—someone else will take care of the matter.”

Indeed, mounted soldiers of the Burgrave of Frankenstein were riding up the highway.

“Here we are.” Dzierżka of Wirsing reined in her horse and sighed deeply. Reynevan, pressed against her back, felt the sigh. “This is the bridge over the River Budzówka, on the other side of which lies Frankenstein. On the left of the road is the Hospice of the Order of the Holy Sepulchre, Saint George’s Church and the Narrenturm. On the right there are mills and dyers’ huts. Further, across the bridge, is the Kłodzko Gate. Over there is the ducal castle, the town-hall tower and the Church of Saint Anne. Dismount.”

“Here?”

“Here. I have no intention of showing myself anywhere near the town. And you ought to think twice about it, kinsman.”

“Indeed I must.”

“As I suspected. Off you get.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t have to.”

“I was asking which way you’re heading.”

She blew a strand of hair away from her eyes and looked at him. He understood her look and didn’t ask any more questions.

“Farewell, kinsman. We’ll meet again.”

“Hopefully in better times.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

In which many old—though not necessarily good—friends meet in the town of Frankenstein.

Almost in the centre of the town square, between the pillory and the well, was a large puddle stinking of dung and foaming with horses’ urine. A large flock of sparrows were splashing in it, while around it sat a group of filthy children busy messing around in the mud, splashing each other, making a racket and constructing sailing boats from bark.

“Aye, Reinmar,” said Scharley, finishing his soup, scraping the bottom of the bowl with a spoon. “I must admit that your nocturnal flight impressed me. You flew like a veritable eagle. A king of flyers. Remember I prophesied that you would become an eagle, after the levitation with the witches in the forest? And you have. Though I don’t think it was without Huon of Sagar’s assistance, but still. I swear on my prick, laddie, you’re making enormous progress in my care. Apply yourself a bit more and you’ll be the next Merlin and build a Stonehenge for us here in Silesia, fit to put the English one to shame.”

Samson snorted.

“What about Lady Biberstein?” the penitent continued a moment later. “Did you lead her safely to the gate of her father’s castle?”