“Those are primroses,” I said.

Tom was proud his guess had turned out to be correct. “What now?”

The riddle said pray upon his grave. Were we meant to take that literally?

There were several people praying there already. I moved closer, trying not to make it obvious I was looking them over. As far as I could tell, they seemed to be ordinary pilgrims. As for the primroses—

There.

I nudged Tom. Deep among the pale yellow flowers, someone had tucked a paper, folded tight. “That must be what we’re looking for,” I whispered, and I stepped toward the rail.

Tom yanked me back by my collar.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he said.

“Taking the primroses,” I said, puzzled.

“You can’t steal flowers from Saint Erkenwald.”

“I’m not. Those flowers were meant for us. Look, there’s a note and everything—”

He yanked me back again.

“I let you get away with a lot of things,” Tom said. “I even let you steal a painting from the Louvre—”

“We swapped a painting from the Louvre,” I protested.

“—but I am not letting you rob a saint!”

“I told you: It’s not robbing if it’s meant for us. Look, I’ll just grab the note—will you please let go?”

Tom kept his fingers wrapped firmly around my collar. “And what do you imagine will happen,” he said, “when everyone sees you take something from the grave?”

That was a fair point. There were plenty of faithful around. If they saw me reach over and grab the flowers, they might think I was a thief. I’d end up with a good thumping—if I was lucky.

“So what am I supposed to do?” I said.

Tom didn’t have an answer for that. “I suppose we could wait until no one’s watching.”

“With this crowd? We could be here till midnight. What we need is a distraction.”

“Oh no,” Tom said.

I snapped my fingers. “That’s it.”

“Oh no.”

“Fireworks!” I said. “I still have two of them in my sash.”

Tom stared at me. “You want to shoot fireworks… at Saint Erkenwald?”

“Not at—how little you think of me,” I said, genuinely offended.

“It’s not like I don’t have good reason.”

“Name one time I set fire to a saint.”

“You burned down the king’s carriage!”

“That’s not a saint! And it was an accident! Are you ever going to let that go?”

“Let it go? It happened yesterday!”

“Always stuck in the past, you are.”

“You’re the one talking about fireworks!”

“Outside,” I said. “I was going to say we shoot them outside.”

That mollified Tom a bit. Still, he said, “What would that do? No one will see them in the cathedral. Were you going to announce it? ‘Hey, everyone, stop praying and come see the show?’ ”

He was irritating me—even more so because he had a point. “Fine. Let me think of something else.”

“I’m just saying the answer doesn’t always have to be fire.”

I glared at him before turning back to the pilgrims. I couldn’t think of anything that would draw their attention away from the tomb—at least nothing Tom would let me do.