“He knew someone was here,” René replied. “He heard me putting logs in the hearth. But the chimneys would tell him as much. Perhaps he did not know you were here. Necessarily. Otherwise I do not think he could have been so easily dissuaded.”

He sat down on the unmade bed and leaned back, one arm behind his head, propping all but the dirtiest end of his boots on the blankets. He was a mess. Sophia felt sure he hadn’t slept. He’d been moving near dawn, when she saw him behind the curtain, and he’d been splitting logs not long after that. She’d heard him from the stable, where she’d gone with her sword to render unwarranted destruction on three bales of hay. He had his coin out of his pocket now, flipping it into the air and snagging it easily with the same hand. He opened his fingers, and the coin was face up. He made a mess look rather good.

“Did you tell her?” René asked. Benoit shook his head while René caught the coin again. Face. “Benoit says there is someone watching the house.”

Sophia felt her forehead crease, remembering rustling, and branches that moved when there was no breeze. She looked to Benoit. “You think, or are you certain?”

“I watched a man leave the trees after you went into the house last night. He circled, and then went back through the woods. I did not see a man replace him, but there could have been one. I do not think there was.”

So Benoit had not gone back to the farmhouse after all; he’d been watching her. She wondered if he’d seen Cartier. Probably. Likely the whole time, from the footbridge on. Benoit did not like her, but this might be the second time she needed to thank him for her life. She sat on the corner of the bed and ran her hands through her hair.

“What did he look like?”

“Large,” Benoit said. “Muscled. Knitted hat. No beard. But that is all I can say.”

“Who outside this farmhouse knows you are here, Mademoiselle?” René asked. Flip. Three turns in the air. Face.

“No one. Other than Cartier, of course.” She tried to think. “Nancy and her husband must know I haven’t gone far, and they might guess Spear’s, but they wouldn’t tell anyone. I’d stake my life on that. Could it be Mr. Halflife, do you think?”

“Then why is he not the one sitting on my bed, Mademoiselle, pen and ink in hand? This man that was watching, he was right behind you last night, Benoit says.”

Sophia looked closer at René. He was tired, yes. But he was also ticked. What about, exactly, she was not sure. “LeBlanc, then?”

“Why?” he asked, without sarcasm.

She didn’t know. If LeBlanc knew she was the Red Rook, wouldn’t he also be right here in this room, with twenty gendarmes and a pair of shackles? Her gaze went to Benoit.

“What is your opinion, Benoit? Do we find out who he is? Or do we move?”

Benoit sat down in the chair. “It is my belief that men show more truth when they do not know they are showing it. When they know they are caught they will tell you all lies, everything lies. I have told René that I think we should go on as we are, aware that there are eyes, give them nothing to see, and see what they show us. And I will be watching back, of course. He is unhappy with this course, I think.”

Sophia turned her head. “Are you?”

“Yes. But that does not mean I think Benoit is wrong, because he is not.”

Sophia looked at him carefully. “Unhappy” was not near as accurate as her assessment of “ticked.” Then a letter caught her eye, on top of the pile of things René had rescued from the sight of Mr. Halflife. It was that day’s post, freshly fetched from Bellamy House. She snatched the envelope, tore it open, glanced through the contents, and looked up.

“I have the numbers of the prison holes.”

“That has not been posted straight to here?” René sat forward to look at the address.

“Of course not. There’s a … Never mind. It’s forwarded twice.” She read on. “And it’s no wonder it took so long. Jennifer and Tom aren’t in the normal tunnels. They’re deep, in a separate shaft.” Sophia bit her lip. That was a complication. She’d never been down to those cells. “And Madame Hasard is in a cell alone,” she continued, “on the first level …”

“Have they seen her?” René asked, voice very calm. A certain sign, Sophia was learning, that he wasn’t.

“They don’t say. Probably not.”

She watched him frown. He was elbows on knees now, rubbing a hand hard over his rough jaw. He’d been much gentler with hers, she thought. She looked back at her letter.

“We have two days before we sail for the city. I need to go to the sanctuary to get the last odds and ends, and it will take a good part of a night to mix up all the Bellamy fire.” René leaned against the headboard, flipping his coin. “So,” she said, looking back and forth between them. “Do either of you know when Spear will be back?”

The coin flipped, and René cursed softly at the minted silhouette of the premier’s building in the Sunken City. Facade.

“I know you had him followed,” she added.

Benoit replied vaguely, “I do not think we should be worried about Hammond.”

Sophia sighed. That was all the answer she was going to get. And since she didn’t quite think Benoit a murderer, she decided to be satisfied.

René said, “For now, none of us should be alone outside of the house.” A thought of a smile hovered around that corner of his mouth. “And that means no more climbing out of the windows, Mademoiselle.”

So he knew she’d gone out the window, did he? And what was it about her that he hadn’t noticed? She said, “No more climbing out of windows, or just no more climbing out of them all by myself, Monsieur?”

That made him grin. A real one, and it gave her a secret little thrill.

“As for your tasks, we will all go,” said Benoit. “A walk to Bellamy House for some of your things should not give anyone watching much to think on.”

“And what about Mr. Halflife?” she asked.

“Ah,” René said. The coin flipped to face. “We should not go until highmoon. Your member of Parliament will be sleeping well by that time, do you not agree?”

“I have no idea. Where is he sleeping?”

“Did I not tell you?” The grin widened. “Monsieur Halflife has invited himself to sleep at Bellamy House tonight.”

It was strange to see the sanctuary—a place Sophia had always associated with secrets and shadows—so brightly lit and filled with people. The room was deep under Bellamy House, no danger of Mr. Halflife knowing they were there, unless he’d seen them coming across the lawn, which he hadn’t. René had skirted around to Nancy’s flat at the back of the house and found that Mr. Halflife was on the opposite side, near her father’s wing. They hadn’t spotted anyone watching their progress on the road, either, though it was impossible to know who might be wandering the woodlands. Mr. Halflife could be wandering, too, she supposed, but nighttime guests of Bellamy House tended to favor locked doors, an extra candle, and a blanket pulled up to their chins.

Sophia bit her lip, rolling her thick paper into a tube, ready for filling with her brother’s recipe of powders. She wondered what Mr. Halflife expected to accomplish by staying there. If he hoped to find the deed to the Bellamy land lying about on her father’s desk, he would not, as it was currently tucked into the hidden drawer in hers. Or perhaps he was waiting for her to appear one day at the breakfast table, where he could courteously convince her not to marry the man who could save her family and sign away her home instead. She might undo the Bellamys when she blew up the Tombs, but she was fairly certain she would not ruin them out of polite obligation over middlesun scones. And it was hard to seriously fear a man who was afraid of fleas.