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me.
    – You have the manuscript.
    – No.
    – Then there’s the matter of obtaining copyright, I suppose.
    The Count snorted.
    – Copyright. That is most amusing. To whet your curiosity, let me say that the text of this book has never been attributed definitively to any known author. And in fact, I’ve never even set eyes on a manuscript. Intrigued?
    – And mystified.
    – Glad to hear it. I surmised from your work that you would be one to accept a challenge.
    Flood bowed his head.
    – Your generous offer has –
    – Yes, yes, the Count said, scratching at his wig and stirring up a cloud of powder. I have an idea, a chimera, you might say, that I hope you will be able to help me with. The finished work will be my property, of course, although you will be allowed to imprint the colophon with your device. You will find I am not parsimonious with credit where it is due.
    – Thank you, Excellency.
    The Count returned to his breakfast. Irena lifted a porcelain sauce boat shaped like a Spanish galleon and poised it over Flood’s cup.
    – Chocolate?
    – Please.
    She poured him a full cup of the thick steaming liquid, and it occurred to him he had never had a cup of melted chocolate in his life. He took a trial sip. It was good. Very good. He took another, longer gulp, savouring, then looked up, met the Abbé’s amused gaze, and set his cup down with a clunk.
    – Nothing quite like it, the Abbé said. Hearing a voice as smooth as the dark ambrosia he had just tasted, Flood realized these were the first words he had heard the man speak.
    – Did you know, the Abbé went on, that to the Aztecs chocolate was a sacred drink? They used to offer it to their most distinguished victims, the ones considered worthy of having their hearts torn from their chests to feed the gods.
    Flood let out a nervous, barking laugh and quickly bit into a crescent-shaped pastry. I
will not make another sound at this table …
    – Here we don’t show our guests such courtesies, Abbé, Irena said. They usually leave with their hearts intact.
    – I confess I find that hard to believe, Countess.
    Flood glanced back and forth at the two of them, aware of a world unknown to him, where wit and flattery flew like shuttlecocks. The Abbé set his knife and fork down in the middle of his plate and sat back, stroking his immaculately shaven chin. Apparently he hadn’t been so unexpectedly awakened, and Flood wondered whether he was a guest or a permanent resident. The slightest of smiles hovered at the edges of his full-lipped mouth, the kind of careful almost-smile Flood had seen time and again on men of a certain distinction who desired the services of a skilled and discreet printer. I’
m here but I’m not really here
.
    – My daughter is in charge of the books, the Count saidwithout looking up. She will explain to you how we have arranged everything.
    – I will, Father, Irena said.
    The Count’s head shot up again.
    – Assistants, he said through a mouthful of sausage. I expect, Mr. Flood, you’ll require assistants for the project I have in mind.
    – I most often work alone, Flood said. But I would certainly welcome any –
    – I have just the fellows for the job, the Count said, stabbing his fork in Flood’s direction. Wait until you see them.
    Glancing into the passageway down which his bed had disappeared, Flood saw a horse being led by a groom. He looked at Irena, whose line of sight also must have included the apparition, but she was busy pouring her father another cup of coffee.
    – I see, the Count said, that the brewing machine has finally stopped cranking out that godless Mahometan gruel.
    – I made the coffee, Father, Irena said. We tried all morning to repair the faulty valve, but it needs a new –
    The Count’s wrinkled hand paddled the air.
    – We will have a look at it later.
    – If I may say so, Excellency, Flood ventured, I am more concerned about
where
I am to work. I would imagine I could be most productive if a