“A few hours past midnight. It will be chilly. Wear a sweater.”

“Chilly? It’s the middle of summer! And just what am I supposed to beware of?”

“Goodness, you’re a picky one. What is it? You want quatrains? I’ll give you quatrains. Pay attention.” She cleared her throat, rolled her eyes up until the whites showed in the patented, spooky prophetess manner, and rasped out:

“You shall not defeat the man in black

That which you seek, you won’t bring back

The guards will falter in the attack

And you will… you’ll… um… what’s another word that rhymes with black?”

“Snack,” said Kevin.

“Heart attack,” said Winslow.

“She already used attack.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

The woman was leafing through a pocket-sized rhyming dictionary. “Can’t read a word in this moonlight. I’ll have to get back to you.”

“No hurry. Listen, lady, if you could really see into the future, you wouldn’t be standing in the King’s garden at night making predictions. You’d be cleaning up on short-term investments.”

The old woman suddenly straightened up. “Good Lord!” she rasped. “That reminds me. I’ve got to see my broker. What with the market so uncertain and the change in interest rates…” She turned, took two steps off the path, and disappeared into the shadows. But from the darkness she called back once more. “Just beware, young Timberline. Beware of a tall man with dark hair, hypnotic eyes, a scarred face, an evil smile, and an insane laugh. Oh, and a pinkie ring.”

“Wait!” said Kevin. “What’s going to happen to interest rates?” He followed her off the path and looked around. The lights from the castle windows fell on an empty garden. The old woman had vanished.

He returned to the path. His valet had been watching all this over his stack of parcels. “What did you make of that, Winslow?”

“I must say, sire, that the seers here in Deserae certainly give value for money.”

“Yeah. Nonsense, of course. Did you happen to catch all of it?”

“I’m afraid that all I can remember now is to beware the man in black.”

“Yeah.” The Prince frowned. “Didn’t she say he had a beard? It’s got to be Logan, right? A man in black?”

“Perhaps not, sire. It’s hard to judge color in the lamplight. I think His Lordship may be wearing dark navy.”

“I think it’s black. Of course, everyone in the city knows I’m competing with Logan, so that’s not much of a prophecy. It just convinces me that they’re all a bunch of frauds.”

“I quite agree, sire.