The fog had thinned by the time Matthias came outside. It had not lifted. London rarely gave anyone that kindness. It merely loosened its grip enough to show the shape of the things waiting beneath it. Prudence stood beside the wall of the Archiepiscopal House, one hand pressed flat against cold stone. Caleb stood near the gate with the black case at his feet. Zeke watched the front steps, arms folded, Michaelangelo resting across one shoulder as if the weight meant nothing. I watched Matthias. He came down without hurry, Gideon at his side and Sabine one step behind. Gideon carried the ledger now. The same ledger in which he had written the condition of Yael’s locking mechanism, Prudence’s statement, the position of the chair, the replaced runner, and every other small fact that would soon become something harder than fact. A record. Records had weight in the Church. Enough weight could crush a person. Matthias stopped at the bottom step. “Sister Mace has not been located,” he said. Prudence did not move. “Where have you looked?” she asked. “The infirmary. Chapel. Refectory. Staff quarters. Workshop. Stables. Carriage sheds. The east and service gates.” “The workshop?” Zeke asked. “Yes.” “Who searched it?” “Two constables.” Zeke looked toward the workshop buildings beyond the main yard. “Then they searched it poorly.” Matthias regarded him. “You have a better method?” “I have people who work there.” The silence between them was not hostile. Not yet. It was worse than hostility. It was two men measuring how far the other would be permitted to go. Matthias turned to Gideon. “Has a notice been prepared?” “Yes, Canon.” “Read it.” Gideon opened the ledger, found a loose page, and began. “By order of the Office of Field Discipline: Sister Honoria Mace is to be regarded as missing pending further investigation. Her presence is required for formal questioning in connection with the death of Bishop Marlowe. Any member of Church staff or civil authority who encounters Sister Mace is instructed to report her location immediately and not to approach without assistance.” Prudence’s jaw tightened. “Missing,” she said. Matthias looked at her. “Yes.” “You have written a warrant without calling it one.” “I have written an instruction not to approach a possibly armed field exorcist.” “She is not a threat.” “She may not be.” The word settled badly. May. Matthias continued before Prudence could answer. “She is absent from a secured site. Her weapon was found beside a dead bishop. A witness places her in possession of it shortly before the death. The same witness now provides an account that cannot be reconciled with Sister Mace’s own reported movements.” Prudence looked at the ground. “I did not say it was her.” “No,” Matthias said. “You said you saw her.” Her face went pale. I stepped forward. “And Yael was mishandled by someone who did not know it.” Matthias’s eyes came to mine. “That is a possibility.” “It is a better possibility than Honoria forgetting how to use her own arm.” “Better according to whom?” “According to the woman who has worked beside her for years.” “Personal familiarity is not evidence.” “It becomes evidence when the weapon agrees with it.” Gideon looked down at the ledger. He did not write that. Matthias did. “Then we will preserve that line of inquiry,” he said. “Alongside the others.” That was as close to agreement as he intended to come. A constable hurried through the gate, cap wet with fog. “Canon Vale.” Matthias turned. “What is it?” “Nothing at the outer road, sir. The gate watch has asked whether they should stop every carriage.” “Not every carriage,” Matthias said. “Only those leaving the district.” “And if Sister Mace is inside one?” “Report first. Contain second.” The constable nodded and left. Prudence watched him go. “You are closing the streets.” “I am controlling the search area.” “You are making her a fugitive.” “I am preventing an armed witness from disappearing into London.” The word witness had changed in his mouth. It no longer meant someone the Church hoped to protect. It meant someone the Church hoped to possess. Zeke shifted Michaelangelo on his shoulder. “Workshop,” he said. Matthias looked at him. “You believe Sister Mace may be there?” “I believe your constables do not know the difference between a repair bench and a coal table.” “Then take one of them.” “No.” “Brother Okafor.” “We are not touching anything,” Zeke said. “We are asking whether Yael was ever there.” Matthias’s expression remained calm. “You may ask. Gideon will accompany you.” “No,” I said. Everyone looked at me. Gideon’s fingers tightened around the ledger. Matthias said, “Explain.” “Because Gideon is your recorder.” “He is a field clerk.” “He is both. We are not inviting the record into a room before we know what happened in it.” “You object to documentation?” “I object to conclusions arriving before the facts.” For the first time, something almost like amusement touched Matthias’s face. “You have become very particular about procedure.” “I learned from an excellent teacher.” He held my gaze for a moment. Then he looked at Zeke. “You have fifteen minutes. The workshop remains within the perimeter. Sabine will remain at the door.” Zeke shrugged. “Fine.” Sabine did not react. But Gideon looked disappointed. That was not comforting. The workshop sat beyond the carriage sheds, attached to a low brick annex where the Church stored field equipment, broken harnesses, brass fittings, spare tanks, and repair stock too expensive to discard. The door stood open. Warm air spilled from inside, carrying the smell of oil, hot metal, coal smoke, and old leather. For the first time that morning, Caleb looked almost awake. He stopped at the threshold. His eyes moved over the benches, drawers, hanging tools, pressure gauges, and rows of dismantled mechanisms with the attention other boys reserved for churches. Zeke noticed. “Try not to fall in love with anything,” he said. Caleb looked at him. “I am not.” “You are staring.” “I am inspecting.” “That is what people say before they steal a wrench.” “I do not steal wrenches.” “Not yet.” A woman’s voice answered from inside. “If he does, make him sign for it.” Izzy stood at the central bench with a small magnifying lens fixed before one eye. Her sleeves were rolled to the elbow. Grease darkened her fingers and marked one cheek where she had apparently forgotten to wipe her hand before scratching her face. On the bench before her lay the opened housing of a Church-issued field device, its brass components arranged in exact rows beside an inspection ledger. Three repair staff waited at the far bench, silent beneath her attention. Izzy looked from Zeke to Caleb, then to Prudence and me. Her expression changed when she saw Prudence. “What happened?” “Bishop Marlowe is dead,” Prudence said. For half a second, the workshop seemed to lose its warmth. Izzy removed the lens. “Honoria?” “Missing.” Zeke shut the door behind us. “Was Yael brought here?” Izzy did not answer immediately. She looked toward the rear benches, where the three repair staff stood with the patience of men who knew being noticed was safer than being remembered. Then she looked back at Zeke. “I have been here since before dawn,” she said. “Why?” I asked. “I was checking their work.” Her gaze flicked toward the opened mechanism on the bench. “One seal was seated badly. Another was lying about it.” One of the repairmen lowered his eyes. Izzy opened the ledger. “I counted every person who entered the workshop. I checked every requisition brought through this room. Honoria did not come here.” “Could she have entered without you seeing?” Prudence asked. Izzy’s eyes lifted. “No.” “Could Yael?” “No.” “You are certain?” “I am.” Her tone was not defensive. It was professional. That made it worse. Prudence moved toward an empty maintenance bench along the side wall. The leather surface was clean. The clamps were closed. Small tools hung above it in measured rows. There was no blood, no brass shaving, no opened kit, no oil cloth laid out for cleaning. Nothing that said Yael had been stripped, repaired, or even set down. “That is the bench Honoria uses,” Prudence said. Izzy nodded. “It has not been used today.” Prudence touched the edge of the bench. Not hard enough to leave a mark. “Did anyone ask for maintenance supplies?” she asked. “No.” “Replacement wire?” “No.” “Oil?” “No.” “Cleaning cloths?” “No.” Zeke looked at the ledger. “What about the rear door?” Izzy nodded toward it. “Bolted from inside until an hour ago. The delivery wagon came through the front.” Caleb had moved closer to the empty bench. He did not touch it. He only looked. “There is no pressure residue,” he said. Izzy looked at him. “You know Yael?” “No,” Caleb said. “But a pneumatic weapon leaves oil near the seals if it has been opened.” Prudence studied the bench. “He is right.” Zeke glanced at Caleb. Caleb lowered his eyes. I said nothing. Some things did not need explaining before they became necessary. Izzy closed the ledger. “Who said Yael was coming here?” Prudence did not answer at once. Then she said, “Honoria.” Izzy’s brow furrowed. “But she did not come.” “No,” I said. “She did not.” The workshop went quiet again. Outside, somewhere beyond the door, boots crossed the yard. Sabine, I thought. Keeping count of time. Keeping us inside the boundary Matthias had allowed. Izzy looked at the empty bench, then at Prudence. “If Honoria said she was bringing Yael here,” she said carefully, “then she was not telling you where she intended to go.” Prudence shook her head. “No.” “What?” “It was Honoria’s face,” Prudence said. Nobody answered. Her voice had gone low. “I heard her voice. I watched her take Yael.” Izzy looked at me. Not for an answer. For confirmation that this was as bad as it sounded. I could not give her one. Because it was worse. A person could run. A person could lie. A person could take a weapon and kill a bishop. Those things belonged to the world. They made sense, even when they were ugly. But a woman seeing a friend take a weapon, and that friend never arriving where she said she was going—that was not a question of motive. It was a question of what, exactly, Prudence had seen. The workshop door opened. Sabine stood in the doorway. “Your fifteen minutes are over.” Zeke looked at the wall clock. “By three minutes.” “Canon Vale’s instruction was fifteen.” “Then tell Canon Vale clocks are inconsistent when people are murdered.” Sabine did not blink. “I will tell him you have finished.” Zeke smiled without warmth. “Do that.” We returned to the yard. Matthias waited beneath the front steps, Gideon beside him with the ledger open once more. The constables had spread farther through the grounds. At the gate, a fresh notice was being nailed to the wooden post. SISTER HONORIA MACE REQUIRED FOR QUESTIONING REPORT IMMEDIATELY The letters were clean. Too clean. Prudence saw them. Her face went still. “She is not required for questioning,” Prudence said. “She is being hunted.” Matthias followed her gaze. “She is being sought.” “That is not different enough.” “It is different under the law.” “That is your answer to everything.” “No,” Matthias said. “It is the answer to what happens when everyone else decides law is beneath them.” Zeke stepped forward. “The workshop confirms she never went there.” “It confirms Yael did not enter the workshop,” Matthias corrected. “And if Prudence saw her take it there?” “Then Prudence saw someone who did not arrive.” Prudence looked at him. For the first time since we had found the study, there was anger in her face. Not fear. Not confusion. Anger. “You know what that means.” “I know what it may mean.” “You are still writing her name on notices.” “I am writing the name attached to the weapon beside a dead bishop.” He turned to Gideon. “Add the workshop statement. Sister Thorne reports no entry by Sister Mace or Yael between dawn and the present time. Note that no maintenance record exists.” Gideon wrote. The sound of his pen was small. It carried anyway. Matthias closed the space between himself and Prudence by one step. “Until Sister Mace is found, the evidence remains unresolved. I will not invent a second person because the first explanation is unpleasant.” Prudence stared at him. “You do not have to invent anything.” “No,” he said. “Neither do you.” For a moment I thought she would strike him. She did not. That took more discipline than anything Matthias had said all morning. A rider came through the gate at speed, horse breathing white steam into the fog. He dismounted badly and hurried toward Matthias. “Canon Vale.” Matthias turned. “Report.” “Gate watch received a statement from a street vendor near the eastern road. He claims he saw Sister Mace leaving the House grounds before the alarm.” Prudence inhaled sharply. “When?” Matthias asked. “Near dawn. He was unsure of the hour.” “Alone?” “Yes, Canon.” “Which direction?” “East. Toward the river lanes.” Zeke’s eyes found mine. East. The rider continued. “He said she was moving quickly. As if she were pursuing someone.” Matthias was silent. That was new. Then he said, “Take his full statement. Have the east road searched from the House to the river. No one approaches Sister Mace alone.” “Yes, Canon.” The rider left. Matthias looked at Prudence. “Do you know why she would go east?” Prudence shook her head. “No.” “Any contacts? Safe houses? Old routes?” “No.” “Any place she would go if she believed she was being followed?” Prudence looked toward the road beyond the gate. “If Honoria believed she was being followed,” she said, “she would not go somewhere familiar.” Matthias considered that. Then he looked at the constables. “Expand the perimeter east.” They moved. That was the moment the case changed. Before, Honoria had been absent. Now someone had seen her flee. Someone had seen her alive. And Matthias had people, records, notices, gates, and lawful reasons to put his hands around the whole city until he found her. Zeke waited until Matthias turned away. Then he spoke under his breath. “If his people find her first, she will not be allowed to explain.” I watched Gideon hand a fresh instruction to a constable. “If she can explain,” I said. Zeke’s gaze sharpened. “You think she did it?” “I think a bishop is dead. I think Yael was there. I think Prudence saw someone wearing Honoria’s face, whether she knows that or not.” “That is not an answer.” “It is the only honest one I have.” Prudence stood beside us, quiet. Then she said, “Honoria did not kill Marlowe.” I looked at her. “You do not know that.” “I know her.” “You know the woman you work beside.” “I know what she would not do.” “That is not the same thing.” Her eyes met mine. For a moment I saw the hurt in them. Then it was gone. “You are right,” she said. That was worse than if she had argued. Zeke looked toward the east road. “What do we do?” Matthias had divided the search already. Constables moved toward the river lanes. Others took positions by the gates. Sabine stood at the steps, watching everyone who crossed the yard. Gideon remained with Matthias, recording the city as it closed. “We leave before the wrong people get there,” I said. Zeke looked at Prudence. “She stays with you.” Prudence did not object. That told me she had already decided. “She can fight,” I said. Zeke nodded once. “I know.” He looked at Caleb. “Then the boy stays with me.” Caleb’s hand tightened around the handle of the black case. “No,” I said. Zeke looked at me. “You want him with Prudence?” “I want him with Izzy.” Izzy had followed us out from the workshop. She stood near the door, sleeves still rolled, her inspection ledger tucked beneath one arm and a compact repair satchel hanging from her shoulder. She raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like an order I was not consulted about.” “It is a suggestion,” I said. “A poor one.” “Probably.” Zeke looked between us. “Why Izzy?” “Because she knows the workshop roads, the service routes, and which doors are actually doors instead of walls with handles.” Izzy considered that. Then she looked at the east road. “And because you expect trouble.” “I expect a missing armed exorcist, a dead bishop, and a Church office that thinks containment is a substitute for understanding.” “That is a yes, then.” Caleb watched her satchel. “You are coming armed with tools?” Izzy looked at him. “Tools are armed if you know where to put them.” Zeke grunted. “She learned from me.” “I learned despite you.” I looked at the road, then back to the House. Matthias had not noticed yet. Or he had noticed and chosen to let us go long enough to see where we led him. Either possibility was unpleasant. “Two groups,” I said. Zeke nodded. “Why?” “Because one group is too easy to corner.” “And if Honoria has turned?” “Then one group is too easy to kill.” Nobody argued. That was the worst kind of agreement. “Prudence and I take the east road,” I said. “We follow the vendor’s statement and look for where the trail breaks.” Zeke nodded. “Caleb, Izzy, and I take the service lanes. We check the workshop routes, river access, and any way someone could leave the grounds without passing a gate.” Izzy adjusted the strap of her satchel. “There are three.” “Of course there are.” “There are always three.” Caleb looked at me. He did not ask whether he should go. He knew the answer. Still, I saw the question in his face. Not fear. Readiness. He had changed in Crawmoor. The black case no longer seemed too heavy for him. He stood differently now. He watched exits before people. He measured distance without appearing to. Zeke saw none of it. Good. He did not need to. I met Caleb’s eyes. “Stay near Izzy.” He nodded. “Do not do anything stupid.” Zeke looked offended. “That was aimed at me.” “Yes,” I said. Caleb’s mouth almost moved toward a smile. Almost. Prudence stepped beside me. Her hand rested near the weapon at her belt. She had not carried Yael’s equal. Nobody did. But she was not helpless, and she did not look like someone who intended to wait behind a locked door while another woman was hunted through the city. “East road,” she said. “Yes.” Zeke settled Michaelangelo more firmly over his shoulder. “Service lanes.” We split at the gate. Zeke, Caleb, and Izzy went south toward the workshop lanes, where smoke hung low between brick walls and the river waited somewhere beyond the warehouses. Prudence and I took the eastern road. Behind us, the Archiepiscopal House stood dark against the thinning fog. Its windows watched the yard. Its gates remained open only because Matthias had decided they should be. I did not look back again. By the time Matthias decided Honoria needed to be found, he had already decided what she was allowed to be when he found her.

Chapter 41: Where Yael Was Not