Po smiled. "Are you ready for this? I witnessed Holt entering the castle from the city with a sack on his shoulder. He carried it up to the art gallery, removed a sculpture from the sack, and placed the sculpture in the sculpture room, right on the non-dusty spot it was missing from. That girl who disguised Danzhol's boat and turned into canvas, you remember her?"
"Oh, balls!" said Bitterblue. "I'd forgotten all about her. We need to find her and arrest her."
"I feel more and more that we don't," said Po. "She was with Holt tonight, because, guess what? She's Bellamew's daughter and Holt's niece. Her name is Hava."
"Wait," Bitterblue said. "What? I'm confused. Someone stole my sculptures to give back to Bellamew, but Holt and Bellamew's daughter are bringing them back to me?"
"Bellamew is dead," said Po. "Holt stole your sculptures. Holt brought them to Hava, Bellamew's daughter, but Hava told Holt, no, the sculptures had to go back to the queen. So Holt brought them back, with Hava supervising."
"What! Why?"
"Holt puzzles me," said Po, musing. "He may or may not be mad. He's certainly confused."
"I don't understand!" said Bitterblue. "Holt stole from me, then changed his mind?"
"I think he's trying to do the right thing," said Po, "but is confused about what the right thing is. I understand that Leck used Bellamew, then killed her. Holt feels that Hava is the rightful owner of the sculptures."
"Is Giddon the one who told you about Hava?" asked Bitterblue. "Shouldn't something be done about Hava if she's floating around the castle? She tried to kidnap me!"
"Giddon doesn't know about Hava."
"Then how did you figure all this out?" cried Bitterblue.
"I just—did," said Po, looking sheepish.
"What do you mean, you just did? How can I be sure it's all true on the basis of 'you just did'?"
"I'm quite certain it's all true, Beetle. I'll explain why another time."
Bitterblue studied his battered face as he smoothed the glider against his leg. It was clear to her that he was upset about something he wasn't saying. "What are Helda and Katsa arguing about?" she asked quietly.
"Babies," he responded, flashing her a tiny grin. "As usual."
"And what are you and Katsa arguing about?"
His grin faded. "Giddon."
"Why? Is it about Katsa not liking him? I would love someone to explain that to me."
"Bitterblue, don't pry into the man's business."
"Oh, such commendable advice, coming from a mind reader. You can pry into his business whenever you like."
Po raised his eyes to her face. "As he well knows," he said.
"You told Giddon," she said, understanding everything now; understanding when he hung his head. "Giddon hit you," she continued. "And Katsa is angry with you for telling Giddon."
"Katsa is frightened," said Po quietly. "Katsa is too aware of the
strain I'm under. It frightens her, knowing how many people I'd like to tell."
"How many people would you like to tell?"
This time, when he raised his eyes to her face, Bitterblue was also frightened. "Po," she whispered. "Please start small. If you're going to do this, tell Skye. Tell Helda. Maybe tell your father. Then wait, and get advice, and think. Please?"
"All I'm doing is thinking," he said. "I can't stop thinking. I'm so tired, Beetle."
His problems were so peculiar. Bitterblue's heart reached out to this cousin who slumped on the sofa looking weary, disgruntled, and sore. "Po," she said, going to him. She smoothed his hair and kissed the top of his head. "What can I do?"
Sighing, he said, "You could go comfort Giddon."
A VOICE ANSWERED her knock. When she entered Giddon's rooms, Giddon was sitting against the wall on the floor, in rapt contemplation of his left hand.
"You're left-handed," Bitterblue said. "I suppose I should have noticed that before."
He flexed the hand and spoke grimly, not looking up. "I spar sometimes with my right, just for practice."
"Have you hurt yourself?"
"No."
"Is left-handedness an advantage in fights?"
He shot Bitterblue a sardonic glance. "Against Po?"
"Against normal people."
A disinterested shrug. "Sometimes. Most fighters are better trained to defend against a right-handed assault."
Even Giddon's grumpy voice was nice in timbre. "Shall I stay?" Bitterblue asked lightly. "Or shall I go?"
He dropped his hand then and looked up at her, looked straight at her. His face softened. "Stay, Lady Queen." Then, seeming to remember his manners, he made a move to stand up.
"Oh, please," Bitterblue said. "It's a stupid custom," and she lowered herself to the floor beside him, putting her back to the wall for symmetry's sake, commencing an