“Tell me as much of what happened to you as you’re willing to,” Martin ordered, “but don’t fill in the gaps with lies, not tonight.”

I slumped against his shoulder, comfortable like sun-warmed stone. “Someone tried to kill me. Stabbed me. Someone who had the means to spy on Sniper’s followers, who must have heard them talking about my capture and got to me faster than Sniper could. And whoever it was wanted to make it look like my original kidnapper was responsible for my death, so stabbed me again in the same spot.”

“Your original kidnapper?”

I would not answer. Do you find my silence strange, reader? Dominic does not have to remind me aloud of the power he has to harm many I care about. Think of Voltaire and noble Aldrin ever in his power, reader. Think of Saladin. “How did you get Sniper to give me back?” I asked.

Martin told me what he believed was my true ransom: the three terms confirmed between Sniper and our Master. Term one: my history would be completed as planned, but each fresh chapter would be sent to Sniper’s faction as soon as I completed it, so Sniper, Lesley, and Enemy Tully could veto or edit my words. Term two: Sniper would write a chapter of its own, to explain its disappearance on March twenty-seventh, and was free in that chapter to exhort my readers to join its deadly cause. Term three: Dominic and I would be watched carefully over the next weeks, and the Enemy notified if either of us made a move against him before the truce was done. I rejoiced at heart: these were fair terms, reader, happy terms that would make my history better in the end. But Martin was deceived: these were not the true price exacted by Providence for my release. The price was that they spoke.

The Addressee: “I will help you speak with your captured bash’mates without revealing your location. Live transmissions are easily traced, but Papadelias will facilitate exchange of text or recorded messages. They will be monitored, but neither censored nor admissible as evidence.”

O.S.: “Tempting.”

The Addressee: “I will also aid you in communicating with your supporters. Back channels breed doppelgangers.”

O.S.: “What?”

The Addressee: “There are now as many lies circulating under the names of Ojiro Sniper and Tully Mardi as there were under the name Voltaire when all Paris knew there was no greater draw for readers than the title of their banished Patriarch. Fugitives cannot control which words carry your names.”

Hobbes: “I had that problem too from time to time! Upstart nobodies circulating underground pamphlets with my name on them when I was forbidden to publish. Infuriating!”

Reader: “Yes, I have seen the phenomenon from the other end. It is maddening slogging through tome after tome of false Seneca or Canner to find the real works.”