Miranda looked. She had no surprise to gasp out, either. There, in a woodcut of the Inner Circle of Stephen's time, was the image she had carried here. Pointed chin and wide cheekbones, a good, hawklike nose. And under it, the name. "Dervish," she said.
"You know him?" Jemuel asked.
"The names of the Inner Circle are kept secret, aren't they?"
He nodded. "For the period in which they serve, yes. I got this much later."
Miranda thought for a second. After recounting what she could from the journal entries, she said, "Why would the Circle have sent one of their own to pose as a village idiot and get into Stephen's good graces?"
"More than that," said Jemuel, "Why would he then allow his wizard abilities to show?"
Miranda sat back on Jemuel's familiar rug. "To entrap Stephen. Maybe they thought he would preach the Gospel of the Opening, as it were, to Dervish."
Jemuel said, "And how do you feel? Do you feel entrapped?"
"In what way?"
"Have you been doing a little preaching, Miranda?"
Miranda leaned forward. "What we speak of must never be mentioned again."
"Of course, " Jemuel said. "I'm too old to go about burning witches. At any rate, I trust you to keep what must be kept to yourself."
"I understand. This spirit, Dervish apparently, wants me to cast a spell. I have two choices, come Lammas Night."
"And they are?"
"Banishment, or flesh."
"I don't see the problem."
"There is a spell attached to the flesh spell. I understand Dervish wanting to be flesh again, but the attached spell is not the kind of thing I think such a die-hard Circle man would approve."
"I'm not sure I want to know its nature," said Jemuel, in all seriousness. "Is it the kind of spell Stephen would want?"
"Yes."
"But..."
"But it doesn't add up. If these two were enemies in the end, why would Dervish's reward be tied to Stephen's?"
'Things are not always as they seem."
"Indeed," said Miranda,
"I think if I were you, I'd try to talk to the real Stephen," said Jemuel.