“Welcome.”

Such a moment was meant to be savored. Imagine this if you can: the greatest scion of the house of Arnault, a half-naked nun on one side, a grinning ecstatic on the other, and all the wild beasts of this hellish circus grunting and squealing and bellowing about him like the lowest and most debauched of sideshows!

For a second I was afraid that he had not recognized me, but it was rage that silenced him, not incomprehension. His eyes widened as if they might devour me; his mouth opened, but no sound emerged. Outrage swelled him from within like the frog in the fable, so that his voice, when it finally came, was a ridiculous croak: “You here! You here?”

Even now he did not completely understand. Père Colombin Saint-Amand, the man with whom he had corresponded, could not be this man. This interloper had somehow taken the place of the holy man, and the nuns, the nuns…But the nuns seemed to recognize him. Hands outstretched, pleading, praying. Even Isabelle-poor child, grown so wan in the past months, her face ravaged by sickness and disquiet-even she looked to him as to a savior, tears silvering her small pinched face as her hand reached out toward some object hidden behind the pulpitum…

Stupid disbelief slowed all his faculties. I couldn’t have that. I signaled to Isabelle to hold back, and to Perette, who must still be lurking out of sight, to take her place.

Meanwhile Arnault stared at me as if one or the other of us must be mad. “You here. How dare you? How dare you?”

“Oh, I’ll dare anything. You said so yourself, on one or another of our meetings.” I addressed the sisters, who had forsaken their raptures in curiosity and now stared at us open-mouthed: “Did I not warn you of how a fair face may conceal a foul one? The man before you is not what he appears.” I controlled my audience with a gesture as the crowd surged forward. Already, the liveried guards of the retinue had been separated from their masters; the archbishop was cut off-though I was glad to see he was well positioned to witness everything-and only the Bishop stood between me and the congregation.

Don’t let anyone tell you it isn’t worth it. The longer you have to wait, the more exquisite it is. I could see fear in him now-only a little, for he still believed this to be some kind of dream, but it would grow. Behind him, someone wailed and collapsed. They were beginning to move again, restlessly: a ripple that would soon once more become a wave. I took off my cross by the leather thong that bound it, and raised it in front of me. Then I laid it-negligently, or so it seemed-by the side of the pulpitum, and waited for the finale to begin.

This must be the moment, I thought, when Perette was due to appear. I sensed a drop in the voices below me, a slight hesitation in his delivery that no one perceived but myself. I could appreciate his timing: the lull during which the Unholy Nun was to make her last and most dramatic appearance. Unlike myself, however, he had not placed all his trust in Perette. She was not fundamental to his plans but an artistic touch without which he could manage quite well if he needed to. He would be disappointed, certainly; but I hoped her absence would arouse no suspicion in him. He knew Perette was too volatile to trust; I was about to gamble my life on the hope that she was not.

The bishop advanced, too angry for caution or curiosity. He was a tall man, taller even than LeMerle, and from my perch he looked more like a bird, a black crane perhaps, or a heron, as he marched up the steps toward the pulpitum with his robes flapping behind him. The smoke from the brazier stung my eyes, and there was rain dripping on my neck, but I had to see this confrontation. I had to be sure-I had to know that there was no other way than the one I had chosen-before I made my move.

I heard their voices below me, only slightly distorted by the shape of the bell tower. LeMerle’s clear tones, and those of the bishop, hoarse with disbelief and righteous anger, calling out instructions to his guards, which they could not obey without cutting a swath through a crowd of ecstatic nuns.

I could not yet make my move. LeMerle was still too close to the brazier, and if cornered, he might light the fuse and set the terrible sequence into motion. Had I left it too late? Was I to watch helpless as LeMerle carried out his revenge?

Then, as if in answer to my prayer, the bishop mounted the pulpitum and in the same moment, miraculously, LeMerle stepped away from the brazier. Now was the time, I thought, now-and, with a quick cantrip to ensure my safe footing and a whispered prayer to Saint Francis of the Birds, I took the rope in both hands and flung it out into the smoky air.

Mon père. I’m touched.“ I used my other vocal register so that the sound would not carry. ”After last time, I’d hardly anticipated such a warm welcome.“

Behind me, Isabelle was watching, white to the lips. Perette had failed me-a pity, though hardly of the essence-but now came the real test. Would Isabelle play her part to the end? Had I broken her, or would she declare herself against me? I have to admit the uncertainty excited me somewhat; besides, I thought, my escape route was safe with Antoine to keep it clear. At this stage I could risk a little self-indulgence.

“I’ll see you burn for this!” Hardly original, but it fitted the script. “I’ll finish you once and for all!” You see how unwittingly he played my game; his emotions betrayed his every move, as any cardplayer could tell you. With murder in his silvery eyes he came striding up toward me like a great gilded crow; for a second I was sure he would try to strike me, but I was younger and quicker than he was, and he dared not risk his dignity for a missed blow. Even now I could see that he believed it to be nothing but a trick of breathtaking impudence; he was more concerned about Isabelle and the now-unwelcome presence of the archbishop to consider my deeper motives.

“This man is no priest!” he said, turning to address the sisters in a voice that shook with rage. “He is an impostor! A trickster, a common stage actor-”

Less of that, Father. I’ll have you know I was years ahead of my time. “Is that likely?” I said with a smile. “Is it not more believable that this-this mitered abomination-is the real impostor?” Their voices told me they believed it, though there were a few cries of dissent among the many. “Certainly, there is one Deceiver in this hall,” I said. “And who is to say where? False priest, false bishop. Or are we all false? Can any of you say in all honesty that you have stayed true to yourself? Tell me, Father”-here I addressed the bishop in an undertone-“how true were you? How much more worthy to wear that robe than an actor-or a lecher-or an ape?”

He lunged at me then, as I knew he would; laughing, I evaded the blow. But it was a feint; instead of going for me, he made a grab for the silver cross I had forgotten on the side of the pulpitum, and brandished it with a cry of triumph.

His triumph was brief, however. At once and with a cry of pain, he dropped the cross and looked at his hand, where even now white blisters were beginning to rise like fresh dough.

It was a simple trick; placed so close to the brazier, the metal had become too hot to handle; but logic had long since abandoned my susceptible sisters, and the cry went up from the first row, spreading to the back in a matter of seconds.

“The cross! He cannot touch the cross!”

“That’s ridiculous!” shouted the bishop over the noise. “This man is an impostor!” But the crowd was pushing forward, straining in the pews; the guards were still too far away to be of use, and Monseigneur looked about to use his fists when he thought better of it and lowered his hands, teeth clenched.