“She was a pretty girl, Christopher, but not an intelligent one. Certainly not clever enough to be a criminal mastermind.”

“Sounds like the perfect cover,” I said. “Spread the word there’s some man in charge of everything, then play the artless young maid.”

Now everyone looked skeptical. “You’re reaching,” Simon said.

“I’m not. I’m just not jumping to conclusions. That’s what I’m supposed to avoid, isn’t it?”

“But you are jumping to conclusions,” Simon said gently. “You saw the Raven as this larger-than-life figure, so you can’t imagine him dead. In the end, all he was, was a man.”

I stared out the window of my bedroom. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me. But if the Raven’s really gone, why were you attacked?”

“Maybe it wasn’t to do with me at all,” Simon said. “Maybe it’s because of you. You and your king.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ashcombe told me a girl was murdered yesterday at the palace. I was there, Christopher—very likely there when it happened. He also suggested you’re in service to the king now, though he didn’t say exactly how. So: A murder happens in Whitehall. You’re part of the investigation. I’ve made no secret of why I’m in London, and no secret that I was coming to see you. Whether it was mistaken identity, or eliminating one of your allies, I suspect whoever attacked me is wrapped up in whatever it is you’re doing. And that’s nothing to do with the Raven. Is it?”

No. As far as I could tell, it wasn’t.

I still didn’t accept that Rémi was necessarily the Raven. Colette was a ridiculous suspect, true. But all we really knew was that Master Benedict had been, according to the letter the Raven had sent me in France, a thorn in his side for a long time.

I stopped.

Thinking of Master Benedict made me think of Paris. Not of the Raven. Of the clues we’d followed to solve the riddles.

And now I couldn’t get that thought out of my mind.

“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “Are you in much pain?”

Simon looked at me askance. “Is my constant grimace not enough of a hint?”

I gave him an embarrassed grin. “Sorry. I’ll prepare the poppy.”

I set water to boil down in the workshop. Bridget joined me, trying to poke her beak into the cork that stopped the jars. Once the pot was over the fire, I asked Tom and Sally to help me look for Master Benedict’s coding device. “It’s in one of the spare rooms. I can’t remember which.”

“What does it look like?” Sally said.

I described it to them. “Everyone take a different room. What?”

Tom watched me with narrowed eyes. “You’re up to something.”

Was I that easy to read? I beckoned them close, so Henri, in the shop, couldn’t hear. I wasn’t sure if he knew English, but I wasn’t going to take any chances.

“This whole business,” I said, “with the letters I’ve been getting, and the codes. Does it feel familiar to you?”