“Very well,” says Ríordán, and goes to take the box from the shelf. “Locked, of course; but I imagine you will be able to open it for me.”

Something to do; that’s better. He finds me some tools, things they use for binding books—seen them before. Try not to damage the box, nice piece in walnut. My hands are steady enough now. A tap here, a tap there and it’s done. Not a scratch.

Ríordán opens the box. Takes his time over sorting out what’s in there. I can see there aren’t any pigeon messages. Nothing from Mathuin. But he lifts out a bigger piece of parchment, rolled neatly and tied with a red cord. “This may be the one you’re interested in,” he says. “Let me see . . . Ah yes, I believe this is his translation of the old document. Shall I read you the entire contents?”

“Please. He didn’t show you before?”

“He told me the gist of it, when I pressed him. About the curse. About the fifty years. That a woman could break it.”

He doesn’t even know as much as I do. But how much of what Flannan told us was lies anyway? “Read it. Please.”

He does. It’s the story I know already, Lily and Ash and the fey curse. The Tower of Thorns, the little folk, the darkness come over the whole place. Midsummer Eve. Only it’s in fancy language, like poetry; like a grand old tale. He gets to the end. A willing woman has to hack a way through the thorns and go up the tower. When she gets there she has to cut off the creature’s head. Then Ash will be restored to himself and the lovers will be reunited.

Brother Ríordán reads that bit—no surprises yet—and I think we’re going to get nowhere. Then he says, still bending over the box, “Oh. Wait.”

He takes out another sheet of parchment. Only a few words on it. “A second page,” he says. “When this is done, the doom will fall upon the assailant.”

Takes a while for it to sink in. I look at him; he looks at me.

“Doom,” he says. “What doom?”

But I’m already out the door and running.

• • •

Pelting along, trees whirling round me. Breath coming hard. I trip over something, nearly fall, kick it away, keep running. The bag with the creatures. Cat and fox. Why did I waste time fiddling with that rubbish when I should have had my eyes and ears open for danger? Why didn’t I see what that man was from the start?

Running on, keeping on, got to find her, warn her before it’s too late. Make sure he doesn’t get to her first. Slipped away, has he? Don’t think so. He’ll be around somewhere, watching and waiting. Can’t leave till he’s seen if it’s worked, whatever it is. Can’t leave before he knows if he’s done the job. That bastard! He’s probably been Mathuin’s tool ever since Cass died, and that whole story about escaping is one big lie. How dare he do that to her? How dare he?