“Would you care for some reward?” he asked as Beheim settled himself. “A glass of wine, maybe. Or then again something more grounded, on the off chance that you wish? Conventionally I would have the necessities to hand, however I was not ready for your visit. Continuously best to come reported. That way”— with an avuncular wink, he connected and tapped Beheim on the knee—”there’ll be no surprises.”Beheim had a dread of the frenzy dammed up behind this charming veneer. He gave a compulsory shiver. The whimsical iron example of the seat base appeared to mark him with cold arabesques. “I’d invite some bourbon,” he said. “Bourbon it will be!” The Patriarch required a decanter to be brought immediately. He loosened up his legs, collapsed his hands on his stomach. “You’ve progressed nicely, my kid. Better than I’ve any option to anticipate. You’ve shown remarkable boldness and a speck of intelligence. With karma, we’ll have stopped this tedious business by tomorrow night.” “I trust so a lot, my ruler,” Beheim said, attempting to introduce a picture of firm ability. “Be that as it may, there is no assurance of achievement. The snare is a straightforward one, and self-evident. Excessively self-evident, maybe, to get an unobtrusive animal like our killer.” “Why inconspicuous?” the Patriarch asked, inclining forward in his seat; his voice became obnoxious. “What nuance is there in butchery of the sort he has submitted? Valid, your cousins do have their nuances, however they are moved predominantly by dread, by each way of nonsensical concern. The straightforwardness of the snare isn’t really a risk. The straightforward rationale that advises it will make it an extraordinary enticement. Maybe the killer will think I have failed to remember something, neglected something. What’s more, with respect to its conspicuousness, all things considered, unobtrusive animals will frequently find in the undeniable the most tangled of potential outcomes. I’m very sure you will discover a hare in your catch tomorrow.” He tapped his temple. “I have an inclination for these things.” He looked toward the steps. “Ok! Here is your bourbon.” The lady dressed in white was diving the steps, bearing a plate whereupon rested a decanter and a glass of cut precious stone. As she moved out from the shadows Beheim saw that however her body had stayed well proportioned and smooth-cleaned, her face had rotted, the ligaments coming unstrung, the tissue destroyed, the lips disintegrated, so that spoiled gums and dark teeth and a part of the skull were totally uncovered. Her eyes were terrible opening and released a thick liquid. It was all Beheim could do to hold back from jumping away when she offered him the glass. “You might leave the decanter, Christina,” the Patriarch said, and she put the plate downward on the table close to Beheim. Her breath was a fluid sibilance, and as she inclined close he heard a weak squeaking and imaginedthis to be the sound made by some meaty build stripping away from the bone. He swallowed down two fingers of bourbon, drawing strength from its fire, and presented himself with another. “Something beautiful,” the Patriarch said as Christina got back to the covered room. “Under conventional conditions, at any rate.” He lifted his voice. “Not pretty at all presently, are you, my dear?” Christina didn’t appear to hear. “She’s unimaginably vain,” the Patriarch went on. “We’ll simply need to trust this shows her something new.” “why is she being rebuffed?” Beheim inquired. The Patriarch gave him a curve look. “For attacking my protection, obviously. What’s more, as a result, taking a chance with your life.” “Taking a chance with my life,” said Beheim musingly, considering how to put his next question without getting an irritated reaction. “Believe it or not. I may have killed you.” “However”— Beheim wavered—”you knew what my identity was, did you not?” “Ah!” The Patriarch waggled an index finger noticeable all around, as though to stamp a snapshot of disclosure. “Obviously! You’re perplexed with regards to why I would chase you, realizing that you were playing out a help for my sake. All things considered, that is a simple enough inquiry to reply.” Once again he inclined forward, yet on this event he didn’t appear to be at all avuncular. “There are rules,” he said in a sepulchral tone. “Decides that should not be broken.” He gestured, as though he had recently conferred an incredible insight. “Decides that request submission. There can be no reason to legitimize their infringement.” “I see,” said Beheim. “No, youngster.” The Patriarch reclined and folded his legs. “You don’t see. Not yet. Furthermore, maybe you won’t ever will. It isn’t given to everybody to see these things.” Ragged mists were passing before the moon, causing a surge of dainty shadows across the flagstones, and Beheim had an impression of the precariousness of the spot, of the shaky psyche that had imagined it. It could all be whisked away in a moment, he thought. The seats, the evening glow, the gesturing greeneries. It was a cover, an appearing.