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“I rang it not,” Agnes whispered back in a voice that could be heard all over the church. “The ribbon binds too tight. See you?”

Kivrin couldn’t see any such thing. In fact, if she had taken the time to tie it tighter, it wouldn’t be ringing at every movement, but there was no way she was going to argue with an overtired child when the mass was going to begin any minute. She reached for the knot.

Agnes must have been trying to pull the bell off over her wrist. The already fraying ribbon had tightened into a solid little knot. Kivrin picked at its edges with her fingernails, keeping an eye on the people behind her. The service would start with a procession, Father Roche and his acolytes, if he had any, would come down the aisle bearing the holy water and chant the Asperges.

Kivrin pulled on the ribbon and both sides of the knot, tightening it beyond any hope of ever getting it off without cutting it, but getting a little more slack. It still wasn’t enough to get the ribbon off. She glanced back at the church door. The bell had stopped, but there was still no sign of Father Roche and no aisle for him to come up either. The townsfolk had crowded in, filling the whole rear of the church. Someone had lifted a child up onto Imeyne’s husband’s tomb and was holding him there so he could see, but there wasn’t anything to see yet.

She went back to working on the bell. She got two fingers under the ribbon and pulled up on it, trying to stretch it.

“Tear it not!” Agnes said in that carrying stage whisper of hers. Kivrin took hold of the bell and hastily pulled it around so it lay in Agnes’s palm.

“Hold it like this,” she whispered, cupping Agnes’s fingers over it. “Tightly.”

Agnes obligingly clenched her little fist. Kivrin folded Agnes’s other hand over the top of the fist in a so-so facsimile of a praying attitude and said softly, “Hold tight to the bell, and it will not ring.”

Agnes promptly pressed her hands to her forehead in an attitude of angelic piety.

“Good girl,” Kivrin said, and put her arm around her. She glanced back at the church doors. They were still closed. She breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to face the altar.

Father Roche was standing there. He was dressed in an embroidered white stole and a yellowed white alb with a hem more frayed than Agnes’s ribbon, and was holding a book. He had obviously been waiting for her, had obviously stood there watching her the whole time she tended to Agnes, but there was no reproof in his face or even impatience. His face held some other expression entirely, and she was reminded suddenly of Mr. Dunworthy, standing and watching her through the thin-glass partition.

Lady Imeyne cleared her throat, a sound that was almost a growl, and he seemed to come to himself. He handed the book to Cob, who was wearing a grimy cassock and a pair of too-large leather shoes, and knelt in front of the altar. Then he took the book back and began saying the lections.

Kivrin said them to herself along with him, thinking the Latin and hearing the echo of the interpreter’s translation.

“‘Whom saw ye, O Shepherds?’” Father Roche recited in Latin, beginning the responsory. “‘Speak: tell us who hath appeared on the earth.’”

He stopped, frowning at Kivrin.

He’s forgotten it, she thought. She glanced anxiously at Imeyne, hoping she wouldn’t realize there was more to come, but Imeyne had raised her head and was scowling at him, her jaw in the silk wimple clenched.

Roche was still frowning at Kivrin. “‘Speak, what saw ye?’” he said, and Kivrin gave a sigh of relief. “‘Tell us who hath appeared.’”

That wasn’t right. She mouthed the next line, willing him to understand it. “‘We saw the newborn Child.’”

He gave no indication that he had seen what she said, though he was looking straight at her. “I saw…” he said, and stopped again.

“‘We saw the newborn Child,’” Kivrin whispered, and could feel Lady Imeyne turning to look at her.

“‘And angels singing praise unto the Lord,’” Roche said, and that wasn’t right either, but Lady Imeyne turned back to the front to fasten her disapproving gaze on Roche.

The bishop would no doubt hear about this, and about the candles and the fraying hem, and who knew what other errors and infractions he had committed.

“‘Speak, what saw ye?’” Kivrin mouthed, and he seemed suddenly to come to himself.

“‘Speak, what saw ye?’” he said clearly. “‘And tell us of the birth of Christ. We saw the new-born Child and angels singing praise unto the Lord.’”

He began the Confiteor Deo, and Kivrin whispered it along with him, but he got through it without any mistakes, and Kivrin began to relax a little, though she watched him closely as he moved to the altar for the Oromus te.