“His name. The bishop’s confidant.”

“It’s certain that the bishop himself fears him.”

“His name.”

“He knows about you.”

“His name.”

“Birkart of Grellenort.”

Reynevan drew a dagger. The knight’s eyes closed involuntarily, but he opened them immediately and looked boldly at Reynevan.

“That’s all, Sir Jan Smiřický. You’re free. Farewell. And don’t try to threaten me any more.”

“He won’t,” said Samson Honeypot suddenly.

Jan of Smiřice’s eyes opened wide.

“You have no luck with treason and conspiracy, Jan of Smiřice,” continued Samson calmly, taking no pleasure from the impression he was making. “Not at all. They don’t pay. It will be the same in the future. Beware of conspiracy and treachery.

“So many ideas and plans inside you. So much ambition. In truth, you could benefit from someone to stand behind you, to advise you in hushed tones, make suggestions and remind you. Respiciens post te, hominem memento te, cave, ne cadas. Cave, ne cadas, Sir Jan of Smiřice.

“Listen, if you have ears to hear. Nescis, mi fili, diem neque horam. Your ambition, Lord Smiřický, will be your downfall. You don’t know the day or the hour of that downfall.”

When Reynevan left the cellar, Samson had vanished somewhere, but reappeared a moment later. The two of them walked along backstreets towards Swordsmiths Street.

“Do you think that was wise?” began Reynevan. “Your closing speech? What was it? A prophecy?”

“A prophecy?” Samson turned his idiotic face towards Reynevan. “No. I just came out with it. But was it wise? Nothing is wise. At least not here in this world of yours.”

“Aha. Funny I didn’t guess at once. Speaking of which, are you going to Soukenická Street?”

“Of course. Aren’t you?”

“No. There are probably plenty of casualties. Knowing Rokycana, he’ll have ordered them taken to the church. There’ll be heaps of work, every doctor will come in handy. Furthermore, Neplach will be looking for me. I can’t risk him finding me in the House at the Archangel.”

“Of course.”

They entered the Old Town Square. The naked and bestially mutilated body of Hynek of Kolštejn, the Lord of Kamýk, Hejtman of Litoměřice, knight of the Štěpanice line of the Valdštejns, from the family of the great Markvartices was no longer hanging from the pillory. Father Rokycana must have ordered it taken down. Although it pained him, Father Rokycana tolerated killing and officially even approved of it, within certain limits, obviously—only for a good cause, and only when the ends justified the means.

But he never allowed corpses to be desecrated. Well, let’s say, almost never.

“Farewell, Reinmar. Give me the amulet. You’re liable to lose it and then Telesma will tear my head off.”