"I must say I am surprised, Inquisitor Alexander, that it took you so long to draw blood."

Alexander stood with his helmet in his hand, his feet aching from standing for so long. Before him a man easily in his eighties sat behind a simple wooden desk, holding the report Marcus had written detailing the events with William the smith and Simone.

"It had not been necessary before then."

"Truly? Well, you must either be very fortunate or very lax in your duties."

"I assure you, Keeper, that Inquisitor Marcus and I perform our duties with all diligence."

"You know, I had not even gone a week after arriving at my post before I performed my first execution," the old man said as he leaned forward and put the page on top of the other documents that Marcus had sent down with Alexander. The Keeper waved to a young man wearing a leather collar who stood nearby. "Place these with the others from the Croton outpost," he said. The slave nodded and carefully picked up the stack of pages and marched off. The Inquisitorial Archives consisted of a pair of massive buildings. The first, a spacious library three stories high with shelves that reached to the ceiling and ladders rolling on tracks allowing Keepers to quickly access information that they deemed significant or likely to be inquired after. The second building was a warehouse where documents containing information that was less urgent or significant were stored. The slave was clearly marching to the door leading to the latter.

"What was I saying? Oh yes, the proselytizer. I uncovered her within a week of my arrival down south, turned over to me by her own grandchildren when she attempted to teach them about the gods she had worshipped as a girl, before Emperor Tario rid her land of its superstition."

The old Keeper gave a faint smile and rubbed his chin. "I was proud in my youth, given to vain fantasies. I had always imagined my first kill would be one of the secessionists plotting insurrection, or some charismatic fellow trying to win converts to a religion passed along in secret through the years, even a battle with some fanatic believing his gods would grant him victory over the entire empire. But no, my first kill was a doddering old woman spreading myths she learned in her youth some sixty or seventy years prior. She was the first, but certainly not the last. It seemed like you had but to look under a rock to find someone preaching subversive beliefs of some manner or another, encouraging worship of invisible spirits or indulging in vices and carnal appetites. Which is why it surprises me to learn you have gone two years at your post and the only time you've wet your blade is with the blood of a man fearing punishment for defiling another man's property."

"Perhaps, Keeper, it is because of the diligence of Inquisitors such as yourself in prior years that we newer ones have fewer subversives to find."

The Keeper smiled and nodded his bald head. "Perhaps. 'A man knows toil, his son plenty, his grandson sloth' as the saying goes. Perhaps the north has been freed of its superstitions and there truly is less work to be done, perhaps they have merely gotten better at hiding from you. We read every report that comes to us, Inquisitor. There are still those out there who would tear down the empire and plunge our whole land into anarchy just so they can sacrifice goats and sing to figments of their imaginations, or indulge in whatever perversity their appetites desire. You and Inquisitor Marcus would be wise not to let your guard down."

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"We will execute the duties of our office to the best of our abilities, Keeper."

"Good. One more thing before you go, Inquisitor," the old man said. His face had never appeared friendly but now it was hard and serious. "You mentioned that you came to the capital on behalf of the magistrates of Croton to recruit a new smith for the town to replace the one you killed."

"Yes, Keeper."

"The Inquisition is not a messenger service. We cannot perform our duties if those in our jurisdiction see us as their servants to be ordered about. You are young and inexperienced so this failing can be excused this time. However, in the future, do not, ever again, tarnish the reputation of the Inquisition by acting as a mere courier at the beck and call of every man too lazy or cowardly to make the journey himself."

"I won't Keeper."

"You may leave now."

Alexander nodded and left the archives building and placed his helmet back on his head as soon as he stepped out into the daylight. The town that served as the Inquisition headquarters spread out before him. Barracks, dining halls, training grounds, administrative buildings all laid out in a carefully organized manner. The streets were busy with men hurrying from place to place, some in their grey Inquisition armor, other wearing plain tunics and leather slave collars. Alexander could see the baths off in the distance and for a moment considered visiting them. Instead, he turned and walked towards the eastern gate.

Beyond the inner walls the town was surrounded by farmland, which was in turn protected by another, outer wall. The crops were already much higher than those surrounding Croton, a combination of the warmer climate and coaxing by the Thaumaturgists enabling them to grow faster in order to supply the needs of the Inquisition. The fields would sometimes be planted and harvested two or three times in a single season by the small army of slaves serving the Inquisitors.

The sun was already low in the western sky when Alexander passed through the gates of the outer wall. He would likely be making the last bit of the journey back to the city in darkness. The day had not gone as Alexander had planned or hoped it would. In his mind, he would leave the inn at dawn after a quick bite to eat, arrive a few hours later, deliver the reports to the archives, have lunch in the mess hall with whatever friends he had from his time in the academy who were still there, then visit the baths before returning to the city for the night.

Instead, the Keeper he delivered the records to insisted on questioning him. He was asked repeatedly why he was delivering reports that he did not consider urgent instead of waiting for the usual courier. The Keeper insisted on reading each document that Marcus and Alexander had written over the past half a year since the courier last came before winter settled in. The Keeper read every line on every page, stopping to ask Alexander to clarify some detail or he would recite a story that the described event reminded him of or to offer the young Inquisitor condescending advice should the situation arise again in the future. The ordeal had taken hours and when he was finally dismissed Alexander simply wanted to leave and return to the city so he could conclude his business and return home as quickly as possible.