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true, however: I was in trouble—very great trouble. And there was no other help in sight.
    “Yes,” I said. “I will come with you.”
    Penebrygg looked relieved, but Nat shot him a worried look. “Sir, are you sure that—”
    “Quite sure,” Penebrygg said. “But we will do without the lantern on the way, yes, Nat? It is better that we go in darkness.”
    “Let me settle Aristotle first.”
    “Of course.”
    Nat said no more, but as he guided the donkey into the stall, he kept a wary eye on me. And to judge by the prickling in my spine, he continued to watch me even after he blew out the light.
    † † †
    With Penebrygg guiding my footsteps and Nat following close behind, we made our way across the uneven yard. It was a moonless night, and the gritty air was thick with fog.
    Was Norrie somewhere in this city, somewhere nearby? I could only hope so, but every step I took seemed to be taking me farther away from her. I peered around blindly, wondering if I’d made the right decision in going along with Penebrygg, or whether I ought to take my chances and bolt.
    Nat’s hand came down on my shoulder. Had he guessed what I was thinking?
    Penebrygg halted. “Mind the step,” he whispered.
    Nat propelled me forward, and I passed into a house even blacker than the yard outside, seasoned with damp and smoke and age.
    “We’ll go upstairs,” Penebrygg said.
    A flint scraped behind me as Nat lit the lantern again, but its glow was so faint that I had to climb the crooked staircase almost by feel. With a falling heart, I heard Nat locking doors behind us, floor by floor. Not much chance of escape, then, should I need to run.
    But perhaps I wouldn’t. As we climbed, Penebrygg offered me nothing but kindness, murmuring words of encouragement and steadying me when my footing went awry. Perhaps I’d been right to trust him, after all. From what he’d said earlier, he seemed to know something about Chantresses and their ways. Perhaps—I thought with a leap of my heart—he would even know how I could find Norrie.
    When Penebrygg pushed open the door at the top of the stairs, I saw at first only a haze of sullen smoke, almost as thick as the fog outside. Squinting, I finally made out the outlines of a long, slant-roofed room, rife with mysterious shapes and shadows. Against the stone of the hearth, three silver globes gleamed in the haze, attached to a square contraption whose name and purpose I could not even begin to guess at. On the other side of the hearth stood a clock, and I could hear still more in the shadows, whirring and clicking like a flock of invisible birds.
    “Here,” Penebrygg said, handing me a cloak. “Wrap yourself up, and take the chair closest to the fire. It’s a cold night.”
    As I bundled myself into the chair, Nat settled on a bench across from me, and busied himself with a scrap of wood and a knife—a smaller one than he’d had in the shed. His face was unreadable, and I found myself reaching for my stone as if seeking reassurance. Cool and heavy, it fitted pleasingly against my hand, and I sat up straighter.
    Penebrygg motioned toward the small table at my side. “We’ve bread and cheese and apples here, if you’re hungry.”
    He himself took a slice of bread and cheese, and Nat took anapple, so it seemed safe enough to eat. My stomach rumbled. It had been noon since I’d last eaten, noon on the island with Norrie . . . .
    Remembering, my throat closed over, and I found I could barely choke the food down.
    Penebrygg eased himself into the only chair left. “Now, then, Bess—”
    “No.” Having gone so far as to break bread with him, I was reluctant to keep up the pretense. “My name is Lucy. I did not tell you the truth before.”
    There was a moment’s pause, and then Penebrygg said, “A wise precaution, I’m sure.”
    But Nat frowned. “If she lied to us about that,” he said to Penebrygg, “who’s to say she hasn’t lied about everything? Maybe she’s not a