Isabelle’s hand faltered an inch from the coals. Even then it might have been enough, but for a sudden draft from the open side door. Damn it, Antoine. I told you not to leave your post, whatever happened. In any case, the girl faltered, looked up in spite of herself, recognizing the language of ancient authority. That was a foul blow, Juliette; using my own weapons against me. But is it good enough? And, seeing your advantage, will you play or will you fold?

“The devil knows his Latin too,” I reminded Isabelle softly. I began to move, very slowly, toward the side door and the second brazier. A wise man always covers his bets, and if one fuse fails to light, it’s safer to have a second in reserve. But Antoine was standing at the side door, barring my exit with her huge body, and I saw that she too was watching the fake Virgin with a strange expression on her face.

“Listen to me, all of you.” The Winged One speaks again, and I can hear a hoarse note in her voice. “Père Colombin has lied to you. He has deceived and tricked you since the moment he arrived. Remember the curse of blood? That was only dye, red dye, that he slipped into the well to frighten you. And the Unholy Nun? That was-” She stopped then, realizing her mistake, and I grinned and began to recite the rite of exorcism.

“Praecipio tibi, quicumque es, spiritus immunde-”

“Look at his arm!” cried the fake Marie, in the voice of Juliette. “Make him show you the mark of the Virgin on his left arm!”

Timing, my dear: timing. If you’d thought of that at the start, you might have hurt me badly. But we’ve passed the time for signs and symbols; at this stage we need something more visceral: something closer to the nerve.

“Name yourself,” I told her, smiling. “Name yourself, because I don’t think anyone here believes you’re the Mother of God.”

“He is Guy LeMerle, he’s a theater actor and a-”

“I said name yourself!” Once more, Isabelle’s hand began to creep toward the brazier. “In the name of the Father!”

“He’s doing this for revenge-”

“In the name of the Son!”

“Against the Bishop of Évreux!”

“In the name of the-” She was going to do it; her hand was an inch from the coals; her long sleeve had begun to smoke-

“The bishop, his father!”

That was such an unexpected blow that I actually staggered. All around me the sisters had frozen; Isabelle was staring at me; the bishop’s face was cheesy with shock. The liveried guards were beginning once more to push through the crowd, swords loosened at their belts. And still my Ailée went on. “Admit it, LeMerle,” she cried. “Isn’t he? Isn’t he?”

My God, I thought, she’s good. Wasted on these tame things, she should be setting stages alight in Paris theaters. I gave her a little bow to acknowledge it, then I turned to the bishop, who was watching me with a look of sick horror. “Well, Father,” I said, smiling. “Aren’t you?”

The storm was almost over our heads now. Through the gaps in the roof I could watch its approach, hell’s black circus striding across the flats. Below me the candles grew suddenly dim as a cold gust rushed in from beneath the doors. A sound arose from the crowd below, a throbbing like that of a rotten tooth. Eyes flicked from bishop to priest, from Virgin to bishop. My ankle began to wobble with the strain of standing still for so long, and I shifted slightly to ease it.

“Well?” said LeMerle, almost caressingly. “Aren’t you?”

There was a pause. Now I could see how cleverly LeMerle had used my intervention; if the bishop denied the Virgin’s accusation, then he validated LeMerle’s imposture and Isabelle would light the fuse. If he admitted it, he was publicly disgraced in front of the archbishop, his retinue, and the entire abbeyful of nuns. But there was one detail LeMerle had forgotten; though I was not yet sure how-or if-I could turn it to my advantage. At the side door, almost invisible in the smoke from the brazier, stood Soeur Antoine, head lowered like a bull about to charge.

I suppose I should be grateful, my Juliette. How you knew, I cannot guess-witchcraft, perhaps. But what a way to force him into a confession! My own plan was more dramatic, perhaps-I always enjoy a fire, you know-but I should have guessed you’d try to protect these poor sheep you call your sisters. Well, my dear, have it your own way. Let them keep their lives-if you can call it life. In either case, justice is done.

“Well, Father?”

Arnault gives a single nod.

Ahhh. The sound is like a tower of cards falling.

It’s a lie,“ said Isabelle.

“No, my dear. It’s the truth.” LeMerle was watching the bishop; with a sudden movement he opened his priest’s robe and let it drop to the ground. A cry went up from the sisters; underneath the discarded robe he was dressed for travel, booted and spurred, with a leather vest leaving bare his branded left arm. It was the Blackbird of the old days who stood now smiling before the assembly, and as if to complete the tableau, lightning chose that moment to crack its bright whip across the sky, framing him in a sudden blaze of white.

The moan from the crowd had reached a pitch that I could barely tolerate, dragging at my heels like undertow. For a second I looked directly below me, and the world gave a sudden lurch. I felt the beginning of a tremor in my left leg, a tiny ticking of the calf muscle which, if left unchecked, would jerk the rope from under me into the kicking air.

I understood that this was precisely what LeMerle was waiting for; that the apparent recklessness of this unveiling had been as coolly calculated as the rest of his plan. One against sixty was odds even he might have hesitated to play; but if I were to fall…

Once more I shifted, uncomfortably aware of the slackness of the rope and of their white coiffes below me, waiting like gulls on a sea of eyes.

Ten more seconds and she will fall. Ten seconds more, eyes fixed on the white figure in the air. The diversion should be enough-the moment of flight, the broken shape on the marble-moment enough for me to find my exit. If not that, then to grab a weapon. Any of these sisters might buy my escape, but I would prefer Isabelle as hostage. A sword, a horse, and hotfoot across to the mainland. I’ll maybe leave the chit’s body in a ditch for him to find, or better still keep her with me. I could find uses enough for her where I’m going, and every day I’d fix in her flesh the barbs of my revenge. Not for myself-no, not this time. But for her, for Juliette, my sweet deceiver.

That I should live to see the day when I wished my Ailée to fall! He’ll pay for that too, you’ll see, in full coin. The congregation has become a chorus. The note-the long-drawn-out vowel of their despair-rises, swoops, soars again. Some weep in confusion, some tear their faces. But all eyes are on us both now, I watching her, she watching me. A turn of the friendly card-jack below, queen above-and our roles can be reversed once more. Even the guards remain frozen, swords half-drawn, awaiting an order that never comes.

I know what you’re doing, LeMerle. You’re waiting for me to fall. Buying time. I can feel you willing me, wishing me to slip, to stumble, the rope arcing into empty air without me, the long slice of darkness to the ground. I can feel your thoughts pressing against me. I am drenched with the rain now as water spurts from the gutter into the tower. The bell, barely three feet above me, spatters its note in a thousand droplets of sound. I will not-will not fall. But the gulf beneath draws me, and my cramping muscles scream for respite. I feel as if I have been here motionless for hours.

The rope jerks again in response to some involuntary spasm. The keening of my sisters makes me dizzy. And yet I will not-