A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being. “You too sing?” he asked. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. He smiled complacently. "Patience Kite has lured him to Enfield on a false scent after Blueskin. I am going to take you entirely at your word. Melusine ran to catch at his arm. Knowledge was sacred in Athens, knowledge and his twin, Art.
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