“No,” said Baslan without any sense of irony.
Titus crossed his arms before his chest. “After your lot finally let me go in the evening, I retreated to my room to enjoy a little peace and quiet. I was there until lights-out. Not long after lights-out, two boys threw a rock into my window. I chased them down, gave them what for, and dragged them to the front door of their house.”
“Are there corroborating eyewitnesses?”
The question was for Mrs. Hancock. “The prince was in his room at lights-out—I knocked myself. Both the prince and his neighbor’s windows were broken. As for the rest, I will go check right now.”
“And you will confiscate all the prince’s books,” ordered Baslan.
Mrs. Hancock rolled her eyes but did not remind him again about their separate jurisdictions.
Titus exhaled. A very good thing that Fairfax had his mother’s diary. And that he had stowed his copy of the Crucible, disguised as a volume of devotional poetry in medieval French, at the school library, until he could move it to the laboratory.
Baslan held up the Citadel’s copy of the Crucible. “What do you know about this book?”
“Oh, that. I play Big Bad Wolf to Little Red Riding Hood. She likes it rough, did you know? I did not.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What else are you going to do with such a contraption? Of course Sleeping Beauty is probably prettier, but I am not going to fight dragons for any girl. And the chit who lives in the woods is agreeable enough, but those dwarfs in her cottage are perverts. They always want to watch.”
Baslan’s face turned splotchy. “Did you use such a book as a portal to get into the Citadel tonight and make away with Horatio Haywood?”
Titus laughed. “Listen to yourself, Baslan. Are you mad?”
Baslan’s throat worked. “As you are no doubt aware, Atlantis is seeking a young woman who can summon lightning. We encountered her tonight.”
“Why did you not take her into custody?”
“She was in this book. We want to know where she is now.”
“Still in there, obviously. Have you never heard of Helgira?”
“Who?”
Titus rolled his eyes. “Helgira the Merciless, one of the most famous mythological, folkloric characters known to magekind. Oh, I forgot, Atlanteans do not know anything.”
Baslan clenched his teeth. “Atlanteans are not ignorant, but we do not pay attention to stories of lesser lands.”
“Well, then, how did you enjoy your encounter with Helgira?”
Baslan fumed, but had nothing else to ask Titus. Mrs. Hancock returned shortly with Trumper and Hogg, still mostly naked.
There followed a scene of great comedy, at least to Titus. Trumper and Hogg, half-frightened, half-opportunistic, neither quite noticing they were speaking to a phantom projection, accused Titus of not only abduction, but of innumerable acts of violence and perverse cruelty on their persons, and therefore providing incontrovertible evidence that if anyone had killed the Inquisitor, it could not have been Titus.
Mrs. Hancock returned once more, carrying an armload of books. “I have His Highness’s collection here, Inquisitor. Will you send a courier for them or shall I?”
Titus rose. “I will leave you two to discuss details. Good night, Inquisitor. Good night, Mrs. Hancock. And good night, Messrs. Trumper and Hogg—it was my pleasure.”
The no-vaulting zone was gone in the morning. And when the prince’s spymaster returned, reports flew out of the writing ball.
The Inquisitor was indeed dead. As was, apparently, the Bane—though no intelligence on whether he had been killed outright by Iolanthe’s lightning or by the subsequent fall. The double deaths caused both panic and rejoicing in the Citadel—which turned into ashen fear a short while later, as the Bane walked back into the Citadel looking younger and more vibrant for having been resurrected a third time.
Inquisitory personnel initially accused Lady Callista of tampering with evidence—the blood that came out of the Crucible had all been cleared away by the time they’d arrived. But she’d wept over how awful the blood looked on the floor, and all of a sudden everyone agreed that of course she had every right to keep her own home free of such upsetting sights.
The news that mattered most to Iolanthe, however, concerned the punishments that were to be meted out to the boys who’d left Mrs. Dawlish’s home that night: twenty lashes to Titus, five each to everyone else. What if she’d be required, as she’d heard rumored sometimes, to lower her trousers in the course of the punishment? She’d lasted this long; she did not want to be found out as a girl for such a silly reason.