“Was there dancing?” Lorine asked, carefully folding Karigan’s gloves and laying them in their box.

“Dancing?”

“Yes. Did . . . did you and Mr. Harlowe dance?”

Karigan flashed not to the party, but to their sword practice sessions, which was dancing of a sort, and lingered in her memory causing a half smile to form on her lips. Recalling herself, she removed the smile from her face and cleared her throat. “Er, there was no dancing. I can’t imagine dancing to that awful music steamer, anyway.” She could not quite read the look on Lorine’s face. Hope? Did she wish to ask questions of her mistress that one of her class was not permitted? If Cade remained steadfast in his desire to be a celibate Weapon, Lorine’s interest in him would only lead to disappointment.

Karigan went on to describe some of the circus performers and exhibits, but Lorine seemed only mildly interested unless Cade’s name came up.

When all was done and Lorine left, Karigan lay in bed waiting for the bell to ring out one hour, haunted by the specter that had been Lhean. Where had he been hiding all this time? Had he known she was here, too? If so, why hadn’t he come to her? Had it really been him? Yes, Cade had seen him. Everyone had seen him.

The tolling of one hour startled her awake. Somehow, despite the events of the evening and her concern for Lhean, she had managed to doze off. She made her stealthy way to the library where the professor and Cade awaited her. As they began their descent into the underground, she lingered behind to change into her black swordswoman’s garb and then hastened down the steps to catch up with them.

As they walked through the underground, each of them bearing a taper through the dark passage, Karigan and Cade told the professor about their evening, their voices ringing against the deserted storefronts and buildings of the Old City preserved beneath the foundations of the new.

“That’s remarkable,” the professor said when he heard about Karigan’s sword on exhibit. “I knew about the survey of the Imperial Preserve, but very little was ever disclosed about it.”

Cade related the part about the image trapper. “We left in a hurry,” he said, “and failed to retrieve the portraits.”

“That is unfortunate,” the professor said, “but probably not a significant problem. Silk already knows what you look like, Old Button, and I cannot imagine there is much he will gain from seeing our Miss Goodgrave’s image. It will but sate his curiosity about her appearance. You were better off appeasing him rather than intensifying his suspicions.”

It was much as Karigan had thought, but it was a relief to hear the professor thinking along the same lines.

They continued their description of their evening, and when they mentioned the hummingbirds, the professor’s expression darkened. “Yes, Silk has always been drawn to the rare and exotic, and has accrued a collection I can only guess at. I’d warrant he doesn’t feed just pig’s blood to those birds.”

Karigan shuddered.

By the time they reached the second floor of the mill, they had gotten to the part about Lhean.

“My word!” The professor halted in the middle of the room. “An Eletian? In this day and age? I’d heard Silk was hunting a ghost in the Old City, but I never imagined . . . My word.”

“He was one of my companions on the Blackveil expedition,” Karigan said.

“One of your companions? He came through time with you? I think I need to sit down.”

So they moved on to the library sitting area, the professor sinking into one of the armchairs rather than sitting behind his desk. Karigan remained standing.

“To see an Eletian, a real Eletian. How fantastic. And you saw him, too, Cade?”

Cade nodded.

“He needs help—to be rescued,” Karigan said, “before Silk—before Silk has him stuffed or something.”

The professor shook his head. “No, no, my dear, he wouldn’t do that. The Eletian is a great find, a creature of etherea. Much too valuable to be sacrificed as a specimen for the Imperial Museum. No, Silk will use him to his advantage.”

Karigan folded her arms and shifted her stance. That did not sound much better. “How?”

The professor shrugged. “Take him to Gossham, I suppose, where he can be shown off, and Silk can impress the Adherents. It would help remove him from his father’s shadow.”

Karigan paced rapidly back and forth, back and forth, then halted. “He and I have to find a way home. I mean to go home, and I’m not leaving him behind.”

At first the professor looked confused, then he said softly, “You mean, return to your own time.”

Karigan nodded.

“Well, now, how do you propose to accomplish that?”

“I do not know,” she admitted, “but I feel Lhean is part of the answer. You must help us—please.”

“I was thinking this was your home now. That’s why I was a little taken aback.”

“You have been very kind to me,” Karigan said. “You’ve kept me hidden, but my home is in the past.”

“I see.”

Did he? Did he understand what it was to be ripped away from everything you knew, everyone you loved? And there had been so much left undone. The professor’s features sagged. She hadn’t meant for her words to sadden him, and she hadn’t meant to blurt out her intention, but best he hear it now so there would be no surprises later. She would, she knew, miss him, as it appeared he would her.