“We are alone,” said Jan Čapek of Sány, interrupting the long silence. “Speak.”

They did so.

“A wizard,” the Hejtman of the Orphans said in disbelief. “You are searching for a wizard? You? Serious men?”

After the serious men had confirmed their intentions, he said, “I’ve never ever heard of Rupilius the Silesian, but there’s a seer, alchemist or mage in almost every castle here, so it’s quite likely that Lord Bergow has one as either a guest or a prisoner. The problem lies elsewhere—”

“You are the problem,” said the old woman, demonstrating her good hearing. “Hanging’s too good for you!”

“Pay her no heed.” Čapek grimaced. “Treat her like a piece of furniture. When Lord Michalec fled before us, he left a great many things. Furniture, livestock, ham in the smokehouse, wine in the cellar. A coat of arms on the wall. And that old crone. In that very corner. I wanted to pack her and her bloody spinning wheel off to the servants’ quarters but was unable to, she kicked up such a row. But I can’t drive her from the castle, she’d die of hunger. I let her stay there, spinning—”

“I’ll sit and spin,” the old woman snapped. “I’ll sit here until Lord Michalec returns and drives you from here, bare arses.”

“Where was I?”

“With the problem,” Scharley prompted him.

“Yes, indeed. It lies in the fact that Trosky Castle, where your Rupilius may reside, is unassailable and cannot be penetrated. It’s impossible to get into it.”

“There’s a man in the company who knows how to do it,” said Scharley, lowering his voice.

“Aha—those two,” guessed Čapek. “That Tauler with the bandage and the other one. Well, I advise not putting too much hope in them. Be particularly heedful if an underground passage is mentioned. Know that all secret passages and tunnels supposedly linking Trosky Castle to other places in the area, even as far as a quarter of a mile away, are legends and fabrications. Fairy tales. If that Tauler promises to deliver you into the castle using a secret tunnel, then he’s either a trickster and a liar himself, or has swallowed somebody else’s lies. Either possibility is perilous to you. If you wander around searching for a ‘secret passageway,’ you’ll finally fall into German or papist hands.

“We Orphans,” he continued, “have been here in Podještědí since spring 1426. If there’d been any secret passages, we’d have found them. Were it possible to get into Trosky, we’d have done so. For the old woman spoke honestly: Trosky and that damned German, Bergow, are thorns in our arses. We never stop looking for a way to rid ourselves of that thorn.”

“The passage may be magical,” Reynevan remarked. “Do you believe in magic?”