"The third bell is wrong," Captain Arthur said.

I looked up at the modest chapel standing at the end of the street. From a distance, Old Saint Orison’s didn’t look like a place capable of holding an underground ritual network, a hidden choir, and enough religious impropriety to make an honest graveyard turn itself over in disgust. It was small. Respectable, almost painfully so. Pale stone walls, narrow stained glass windows, blue banners embroidered with open hands, a bell tower rising just high enough to look important without competing with the grand temples closer to the palace. The kind of chapel elderly women trusted with their donations and children trusted with their prayers.

Which made it worse. Large temples had gold, armies, and enough arrogant priests to make their corruption obvious. A chapel like Saint Orison’s had a soup kitchen, a children’s choir, and soft faced clergy who called everyone dear. It wore the appearance of safety, and that was always the most useful disguise there was.

The third bell echoed over the western district, no louder than the first two. That was the problem. The sound didn’t travel through the air the way sound should. I watched people on the street pause when it rang. A fruit vendor lifted her head. A boy carrying bread stopped at the edge of the square. An old man near the public fountain stared toward the chapel doors with a blank expression before shaking himself and looking confused about why. The bell didn’t command them, not openly. It simply slipped beneath their thoughts and waited for something to recognize it.

How disgusting.

"What’s wrong with it?" I asked Arthur.

He frowned. "It sounds like it’s coming from the tower, Your Excellency. But the rope hasn’t moved." I followed his gaze to the bell rope hanging visible through the half open tower window. Still. The bell rang again anyway. No one in the street screamed, no glass shattered, no ward alarm flared to life, and yet I felt the sound settle under my skin with the unpleasantness of a badly remembered dream.

Beside me, Abi’s expression had gone unusually calm, not his ordinary calm, which usually meant he was scheming how to ruin someone’s afternoon. This was different. His eyes had darkened, and his posture had straightened.

"The tower bell is only an echo," he said quietly. "The real sound is below."

"Below the chapel?"

"Yes."

"Through the aqueduct?"

"Partly."

That wasn’t reassuring. "Can you stop it?"

He looked at the chapel a moment before answering. "If I force it, the sound threads may snap back into whoever’s tied to them."

"Children?"

"Possibly. Or anyone who’s already heard enough."

How troublesome. Of course the problem couldn’t simply be a bell that needed breaking. That would have been too straightforward, and the world had apparently decided that every time I found a practical solution, it should place several innocent people directly in the path of it. A personal attack against villainy, if you asked me.

Arthur studied the chapel entrance. "There are people inside."

"I can see that."

At least twenty had gathered in the front sanctuary, most of them ordinary citizens. Women carrying baskets, an old couple from the nearby residences, three laborers still in their work clothes, two children holding hands near the side wall. No one looked armed, and no one looked like a ritualist, which meant nothing. People rarely looked like their worst decisions.

"Do we evacuate them?" Arthur asked.

"Yes."

"Under what authority?"

I held out my hand, and Bernard, standing a step behind us with a leather folder tucked under his arm, immediately placed the folded writ into it. Efficient boy. The document carried two seals, the Crown Prince’s private mark and the Empress’s own, a temporary order for structural and relic inspection granting House Konstantin authority to close Old Saint Orison’s until a palace review concluded. The wording was careful, mentioning neither cults, children, wards, lower chapels, nor the possibility that the Capital might be sitting on top of a sealed disaster with a terrible sense of timing.

Very wise.

"Under imperial authority," I said.

Arthur’s mouth tightened into the faintest smile. "Understood, Your Excellency."

"Keep it quiet. I don’t want a crowd gathering outside. Also, no one touches the tower bell."

He paused. "What if someone attempts to ring it?"

"Stop them."

"With restraint?"

"Preferably." Abi glanced at me, and I sighed. "If restraint becomes impractical, don’t damage the bell."

Arthur looked mildly confused. "The person?"

"The person may be damaged according to the level of inconvenience they cause."

His expression brightened. "Understood."

We crossed the square. The people near the chapel noticed us quickly enough, since a Grand Duke of Sonomi couldn’t exactly walk through a district unnoticed, even in a dark traveling coat with no crest displayed. The guards around me made subtlety impossible, and Arthur’s aura made it worse. He had the particular presence of a man who looked like he’d been born in armor and only reluctantly agreed to remove it for bathing.

A temple attendant hurried down the chapel steps before we reached the doors, young, perhaps twenty, his robe clean, his hair neatly tied, his smile polite enough to be practiced.

"Your Excellency," he greeted with a bow. "We didn’t expect such an honor."

"No," I said. "You didn’t."

His smile faltered for half a breath, and I almost admired the recovery.

"May I ask what brings House Konstantin to Saint Orison’s?"

I handed him the writ. "Inspection."

His eyes moved over the seals, then back to me, the smile returning even as his fingers tightened around the page. "This is highly unusual."

"So is a bell ringing without a rope moving."

He glanced toward the tower. The third bell had stopped, for now. "That may simply be an issue with the mechanism," he said.

"Then it will be easy to inspect."

"Of course." He stepped aside.

Too easily.

There it was, the first wrong note. A harmless chapel attendant would have protested, asked for the senior priest, worried about the congregation and whether closing the chapel before evening prayers might upset the neighborhood. This one simply let us inside, as though someone had already warned him the bell would bring trouble.

I gave Arthur the smallest nod, and he understood immediately. Two knights stayed near the entrance, four spread quietly through the sanctuary, the rest took the side corridors and the rear exit. No one drew a weapon. Not yet.

The front sanctuary sat dimmer than it should have, the lamps lowered despite the late afternoon light still filtering through the colored windows. Dust rested along the pews, and the scent of incense hung too thick in the air, sweet enough to make the back of my throat itch. The people gathered inside turned toward us, some staring, some whispering. The old woman near the front clutched her prayer beads tighter, and one of the children by the side wall began humming, very softly, not a song, just three notes repeated under her breath.

Abi’s head turned at once. The child’s mother noticed and tried to cover the girl’s mouth, and the child flinched so hard the woman pulled her hand back immediately.

That reaction told me enough. I walked toward them.

The mother stood, clearly frightened. "Your Excellency, she didn’t mean to disturb anyone. She’s been humming since the bells began. She can’t help it."

The little girl couldn’t have been older than six, her dress clean but worn at the cuffs, her eyes too wide, her fingers clutching a small cloth rabbit with one ear missing. I crouched in front of her.

"What’s your name?" I asked.

The mother opened her mouth, but the girl answered first. "Eleni."

"Eleni." She nodded. "Did someone teach you that tune?"

Her lips trembled. "The sister said it makes the bad dreams quiet."

My gaze moved to the mother, who looked ashamed rather than guilty, a familiar difference.

"The sisters are kind," she said quickly. "They give lessons. They give soup. Eleni hasn’t been sleeping since her father died. They said the choir practice might help."

Of course they did. Help. Blessing. Peace. All the favorite words of people who wanted something from those with nothing left to give.

I looked back at Eleni. "Does the tune make the bad dreams quiet?"

She shook her head.

"Does it make them louder?"

A pause, then a nod. My smile stayed gentle, though not because I felt gentle. Because she was a child, and children didn’t need to see the thoughts that passed through adults once they realized someone had exploited their fear.

"Captain Arthur," I said without turning.

"Yes, Your Excellency."

"Have the physician’s assistant brought here. This child is to be examined."

The mother stiffened immediately. "No, please. She’s done nothing wrong."

"She hasn’t," I replied. "That’s why we’re going to help her."

Her eyes filled, though she didn’t cry. She simply looked at me the way people looked when they’d learned not to expect anyone to mean what they said.

How hateful.

"You’ll come with her," I added. "No one is separating you."

Her shoulders loosened, only slightly. "Thank you, Your Excellency."

I stood. "Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t done anything useful."

Abi watched me from near the altar without smiling.

The chapel attendant had moved closer to the front, still holding the writ in both hands, his face pale now. "Your Excellency, the congregation is becoming unsettled. Perhaps it would be best to continue the inspection privately."

"That’s exactly what I intend to do."

I turned to the gathered people. "Saint Orison’s will close temporarily for inspection. Anyone requiring food or shelter will be directed to the public kitchen on Mallow Street. House Konstantin will cover the cost until the chapel reopens."

Murmurs moved through the room. The old woman near the front looked startled. A laborer frowned. "The kitchen on Mallow Street is only open in the mornings."

"It will be open tonight."

"How?"

"Because I have money."