You inform the Lyrical Poetess that you know about her grandmother and the tattoo. The Sly Librettist chokes on his coffee when you mention the thing he left in the marshes. You let the lovers know where they can see the zoetrope depicting their last tryst. It all falls into place without incident. The thespians, poets and such will all be at the revel and on their best behaviour.

You just hope Mr Wines appreciates all this effort. Secrets don't grow on trees. Or do they? Secret trees would be wonderful, wouldn't they? Ahem. You have a revel to get to.