"The money is needed," Scharpe said in a dour, bass voice, staring off past Jonas' left ear at the darkening sky. "And for the money, you will be welcome. I must take your word that you are not dangerous; I can only pray that you do not betray that trust." It was far from a warm welcome, but Jonas was satisfied with it. "I shall work to do you good," he said, "and not evil." "Stranger," Scharpe said, "work for your own good; do nothing for me. This is an accursed family; there is no good to be done to me, or my wife or child." Jonas tried to look reassuring. He thought of several things to say about the sunny side of life, and decided on none or them. "My sympathy--" he began. "Your sympathy may endanger you," Scharpe said. "My son is gone; I pray that there is an end to it." Jonas peered once into the mind of the man, and recoiled violently; but he had enough, in that one glimpse, to tell him the reason for Scharpe's misery. And it was quite reason enough, he thought. "Herr Knupf--" "We do not mention that name," Scharpe said. "My wife has resigned herself to what has happened; I am not so wise." "I promise you," Jonas said earnestly, "that you will be in no danger from me. No, more: that I will help you out of your difficulties, and ensure your peace." "Then you are an angel from Heaven," Scharpe said bitterly. "There is no other help, while the Inquisitor remains and our sons become suspect to his rages." Jonas shook his head. "There is help," he said, "and you will find it. Your son is gone; accused, questioned, confessed and burnt. But there will be no more." Scharpe looked at him for a long time. "Come with me," he said at last, and led the way into his mud house. Inside, there was only one large room, but it seemed spacious enough for four. Three pallets lay against the far right wall, a single one against the left. Scharpe went to the back of the house, near the single bed. "This will be yours," he said, "while you are with us. It is poor but it is all we can offer." "I am honored," Jonas said. "Here we are alone," Scharpe went on, his voice lowering. "My wife and daughter have gone to visit a neighbor, for they have not yet closed us off entirely from all human contact." [Illustration] He grimaced. Jonas peered into the mind again, very gently, but the mad roiling of pain and memory there was too strong for him, and he returned. "If you have anything to say to me," Scharpe said, "tell me now. No one can hear us, not Herr Knupf himself." "To say to you?" "Regarding your plan," Scharpe said. "Surely you have a plan. And if I may play any part in it--" Jonas blinked. "Plan?" he said. "Of course," Scharpe said. "You speak of an end to troubles, an end to the Inquisition and the burnings, an end to the question. And so you must have a plan for ridding us of Herr Knupf; one which you will tell me." Jonas shook his head. "I have no plan," he said.