The nimbus around Lallit faded, her knees buckled, and Hereward was just able to hop forward and catch her as she fell. However, he could not hold her weight with his injured foot, so both of them toppled back into the bed, just as Mister Fitz peered cautiously around the doorway, a sorcerous needle held in his cupped hand, its inhuman brilliance quickly dulled as he took in the situation.

But as the puppet replaced the needle inside his pointy hat, the small guard with the large ax leapt up the last step, his weapon held ready to use on anyone who violated the purity of the temple’s novices.

“But I haven’t…” protested Sir Hereward. He reluctantly released Lallit, and started patting out the incipient fire at the end of the bed. “We didn’t…”

“What am I doing here?” asked Lallit wonderingly. She had the look of someone still waking from a dream. “I felt the god…”

“Narhalet-Narhalit has been here,” confirmed Mister Fitz. He looked at the guard, his little blue-painted eyes sharp on his papier-mâché head. “This is the god’s business, Jabek, however it may appear.”

“Aye, I feel it so,” said Jabek. He smiled, and added, “But I’ll ask you to explain it to Sister Gobbe.”

“Oh, the mandora is broken!” exclaimed Lallit. She picked up the instrument, whose neck was broken, and cradled it to her. “Sir Hereward wanted to give it to you for your birthday, Mister Fitz.”

“A birthday present?” asked Mister Fitz. “For me?”

“According to the book I was reading, sorcerous puppets have a common birthday,” said Sir Hereward. “The fourth day of the Second Month.”

“But I am not a common puppet,” said Mister Fitz. “Nor can it be said that I was born on any particular day, given my gradual ascent to full sentience over the course of my making. Besides, those other puppets have their birthday on the fifth day of the Second Month.”