Preach didn’t see it my way. On the contrary, he let into me with a full-blown sermon about duty and cowardice and – well, I stopped really listening about three sentences in, so I only caught fragments here and there.

My main takeaways were some nonsense about the realm needing me, and, more importantly, that I would not be safe until the Sorcerer was finished once and for all.

For all his zealotry and ranting, old Preach had a point on that one.

Even if he took and kept the scepter, until and unless he made that known to the Sorcerer, the undead armies would still be looking for me. I knew well enough that Preach wouldn’t go out of his way to save my skin, especially if it meant drawing the eye of the enemy his way – and putting his precious artifacts in jeopardy.

No.

Best case scenario, I’d spend the rest of this war – maybe, the rest of my life, if the war went the wrong way – on the run.

I didn’t want a lifetime of looking over my shoulder, where any moment might be my last. I sure as hell didn’t want to go through life fearing one wrong step might land me in a torturer’s chamber.

Nor for that matter did I want to go through eternity as one of those shrieking undead monstrosities.

Little though I liked it, unless I could find a place to hide, this fight had become mine. Because, unwelcoming as it had been, this world was mine.

And right now, I didn’t have any hidey holes open to me.

Finally, I interrupted. “Alright, alright. I see your point. So let’s say I agree to it…what are we doing, exactly?”

To which Preach didn’t have an answer. “That requires deliberation.”

“So, you don’t even have a plan?”

“I have the beginnings of a plan. But before I can say more, I must consult with my brethren on the wisest course of action.”

“And then?”

“And then, we shall speak again.”

With that, he summoned Brother Aethelthorn, instructing him to feed us and then show Jackoff and myself to a cell. Which sounded worse than it actually was, as the monks referred to their rooms as cells.

So, after a momentary panic, I consented to be led away, leaving the scepter in Abbot Tiberius’s keeping.

For now, anyway.

I really didn’t know what I would do. I suppose it depended on what Preach and his brain trust cooked up. I knew I didn’t want to run, but I also knew I wasn’t going to draw the Sorcerer’s attention to myself. Whatever they came up with, it would have to be something that didn’t require me going toe-to-toe with undead hordes or deranged necromancers.

The more I thought on it, the taller the order seemed – and the more depressed I felt.

So I distracted myself by trying to get Brother Aethelthorn to break his vow of silence. I asked him a slew of questions.

Would he speak if he saw a snake about to strike one of his brothers?

Would he speak if he saw a snake about to strike me?

Would he speak if someone was going to kill him if he didn’t? Would he speak if someone was going to kill other people if he didn’t?

Would he speak if he was the only witness to a murder?

Would he speak if he saw someone putting poison into the monks’ wine?

He made no reply to any of these queries. He just kept walking toward the dining hall, as placidly as ever.

This failing, I decided on a new tactic. “What do you think that abbot of yours will decide we need to do?”

No answer, of course.

“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. I just hope – oh my gods, look out. Snake!”

This failed too. Aethelthorn cast a quick glance about, frowned reproachfully at me as I laughed, and resumed his pace.

Jackoff leaned in to speak in low tones. “I do not understand. Did you really see a snake?”

“Of course not.”

He frowned. “Then, you lied?”

“Of course.”

“And that is amusing?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it’s a prank. Surely you must have played tricks on people before?” He stared blankly at me. “Your teachers? Your knight, maybe?”

His eyes widened. I half expected pearls to materialize in his hand, just so he could clutch them. “Certainly not. That would be most disrespectful.”

“Of course it would. My mistake, Jackoff.”

“Jack Alf,” he corrected.

“That’s what I said,” I lied. “Hey, Brother Aethelthorn…I got another one for you. So suppose someone was about to step into a pit, and you saw it. You didn’t have time to get them out of the way. All you could do was warn them, or watch them fall to their deaths. What would you do?”

The monks might have led an austere existence in general, but their dinners were anything but. We dined on roast mutton with fresh baked bread, honey, butter, and plenty of sides. Tonsured monks circled through the hall with pots of coffee, decanters of wine, and pitchers of water.

I stuck to wine and coffee, both of which were excellent – and both produced on the abbey grounds. Or so Jackoff told me, anyway.

The meal was a quiet one. Many of the monks did not speak at all. More vows of silence, I guessed. Those who did, spoke in subdued tones. I wondered if that was the norm, or if the business in the city had repressed anything livelier.

The atmosphere certainly seemed to have an effect on Jackoff. He wasn’t as bad as Aethelthorn, but he spoke very little, and always in near whispers.

Despite the excellence of the food, the atmosphere felt repressive, and I was glad to be out again in the fresh air when the meal ended.

This did not last long, as Aethelthorn found us and wordlessly herded us toward the dormitories. I was loathe to leave the verdant grounds, with the sun setting in an array of reds and purples to the west, and the birds singing their evening songs all around.

But Aethelthorn had his orders, and for a man who didn’t rely on language, he managed to convey his point well enough.

Must have been a sheepdog in another life, I grumbled to myself as he herded us into a small, bare cell with a single window, two unadorned cots, and an earthenware pot.

It really did look like a prison cell, and for a moment I wondered if we’d been tricked. I waited for several long moments after Aethelthorn closed the door on us, and then tried the handle. To my relief, it opened.

Not a prison.

Jackoff settled onto one of the cots, and I claimed the other. It was every bit as uncomfortable as it looked. I shifted in place, tossing and turning and adjusting.

The squire didn’t move at all, but seemed quite content staring up at the bare ceiling. For all that, he wasn’t sleeping, and I took a bit of malicious comfort from that. He’d been so gung-ho about coming here, I figured it only fair that he should suffer a little too.

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I was just closing my eyes when he said, “Do you think we will know what the council decides by morning?”

“No idea.”

For several minutes, neither of us spoke, and I could feel the first pull of sleep tugging at my eyelids.

“I hope I shall have the courage to do what is required of us,” he said, his tone low and grave.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure you will, Squire.”

“I am not so brave as you, Sir Knight.”

I very much doubted that. The kid wasn’t as smart as me, for sure, but he was a hell of a lot braver. “I’m not a knight,” I said. “And you’re doing just fine.”

“You do not know how my heart quaked at the sight of those abominations,” he said, in that same grave, confiding tone.

I groaned inwardly. Apparently, the atmosphere of this place really had got to him. It was confession time or something. “Everyone’s afraid.”

“But I am a squire of the realm. I should not fear.”

I snorted. “What kind of idiot told you that? Listen, Jack Alf, everyone is afraid. I mean everyone. You. Me. That abbot in there. The king. Everyone. The only ones who aren’t afraid are those undead, and that’s because they’re not people anymore. They’re just – things. Automatons, who exist just to fight for some sick bastard. But being alive, is being afraid. It’s just part of the package.”

For a moment, he said nothing, and I wondered if I’d been too brusque. “You are very wise.”

“Ahh bullshit. I’m average at best. I’m just not propagandized into thinking my life is meaningless or that I have to act like a robot to matter.”

“A robot?”

“Never mind. Point is, your only problem is you believe what other people tell you without thinking for yourself.”

“But, I am only a squire. Who am I to question those who are wiser than me?”

“See what I mean? Question everyone.”

“Even you.”

I snorted. “Especially me, if you know what’s good for you. Now, I’m going to try to get some sleep. Goodnight.”

He said goodnight and lapsed into silence. I was keenly aware of the stillness of the monastery. No one seemed to be moving anywhere at all. Even the birds had gone silent in their nests and perches.

And then, suddenly, I was being wakened by a hand on my shoulder shaking me briskly, and a voice calling, “Wake up. Make haste, good sir. Fire!”

The voice was the kid’s, and so was the hand. I had to slap the latter away, as he seemed intent on battering my brain into jelly in my skull. Blinking into the near darkness, lit only by an ominous red glow, I gasped out, “What the…?”

“Fire,” he repeated. “There’s a fire in the dormitory.”

That explained the haste, and the red glow. “Shit.” I got to my feet in an instant, and grabbed my gear – not that I had much of that. With the kid hot on my heels, I headed to the door. We emerged onto a scene of pure chaos.

Monks in flight, this way and that, forming bucket chains from the rivers and herding animals to safety.

It came as no surprise when the kid jumped into one of the bucket lines. Heroics were right up his alley. But I decided to follow suit. What else, after all, could I do?

I was heading to the nearest human chain when someone grabbed my shoulder. A monk, without a tonsure. Some kind of high-ranking priest, I supposed, who got to keep his hair. “The stables,” he said. “Come with me. We must save the horses.”

I thought of the mount I’d got from Artemus. Probably my best chance at escape, if Tiberius’s plan sucked. I nodded. “Lead on.”

The man moved quickly, keeping to the outskirts of the compound and out of everyone’s way. We seemed to be heading in the general direction of the gate, but through some sort of garden. The path wound its way through bushes and plants, and toward a thick grove of trees.

I’d spent very little time in the grounds so far, and I hadn’t come this way. But I supposed it must be a shortcut to the stables. Still, it seemed odd to me that we passed no one coming this way. Could the pair of us really handle a stable full of horses on our own?

And if the stables were just past the garden, shouldn’t I be able to hear animal noises yet? Whinnying, or stamping hooves – or something?

“Is it much farther?” I asked the back of the priest’s head.

He didn’t turn. “Just up here.”

“Just up where?” I muttered. As far as I could see, there was nothing ahead but trees and bushes.

If he heard, he didn’t bother to reply, instead ducking off path into a particularly shadowy cluster of trees. A shortcut on the shortcut, apparently.

So thinking, and hoping that I didn’t roll an ankle in the dark, I made to follow him. But at that moment, a hand seized my arm and yanked hard. I stumbled backwards – and so just missed the dart that shot out past me.

“Look out,” Jack yelled. How he’d appeared so suddenly, or, if he’d been trailing us, how I’d missed him, I didn’t know, and now wasn’t the time to ask.

All that really mattered was the priest trying to kill me.

I didn’t have the scepter anymore, as I’d handed that over to Tiberius. But I did have a dagger of my own, and it was the first thing I found when I reached into my bag of holding. So, moving sideways into shadow, I drew it.

From within the trees, the priest laughed. A scornful laugh. “A dagger, Kaej? My, my. How the mighty have fallen. Drop it or I shoot.”

“Who the hell are you?” I demanded, letting the dagger flop to the ground. “How do you know my name?”

“Don’t you recognize your old friend?” Slowly, the robed figure stepped out of the shadow. His eyes gleamed in the darkness, and the distant fire cast contrasting black shadow and red gashes across his face.

There was something familiar about him, now that he mentioned it. The face and the voice. But I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“I see that you don’t,” he went on, slowly, almost nonchalantly loading his crossbow for a second shot. “It’s the beard, I suppose. It wasn’t my idea to cut it, but after the Flannery business…” He shrugged.

“Flannery?” I asked. That name too sounded familiar. Something about a robbery, or maybe a murder.

“Now, that’s just offensive. It’s one thing to forget me, but to pretend not to know my finest handiwork?”

“I’m not pretending.”

He snorted. “Rebecca Flannery? The lady’s maid?”

The story came back in a rush. A terrible, Ripper-type murder in the heart of the city. A lady’s maid who had returned home to fetch her mistress’s shawl – and discovered a robbery in progress. The tin cans had never found her killer, but the butchery had shaken the city to its roots some eighteen months ago.

“That was you?”

He grinned, white teeth flashing in the night. “Damned right it was me. Constantine damned near had a fit. Put me on a tight leash after that. But it were worth it. I can still hear her squealing when I knifed her. The way the pigs used to squeal. Same look in her eye too, just like them little piggies.”

My jaw sagged. “Benedict?”

“Ah. You do remember.”

I nodded slowly. I remembered, alright. He’d been one of the guild’s new recruits when I joined. And he’d had a beard then. A giant, fern of a thing, spilling this way and that. The truth was, until tonight, I’d had no real idea of what his face actually looked like.

But I’d always known he was nuts. His favorite stories had been about butchering swine on the farm as a young boy. When he was deep in his cups, he’d wax poetic about the feeling of wielding life and death.

I tried to stay calm. I couldn’t see Jack, so I hoped he’d had the good sense to slip into the trees. Whatever Benedict was doing here, his business seemed to be with me, not the kid. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Can’t a man catch up with an old friend?”

“We could catch up a lot better if you didn’t have a bolt aimed at my head.”

“It’s aimed at your gut,” he said. “I don’t want to kill you, Kaej. Not right away, anyway. If you make me shoot, I’m going to make sure it takes you hours to die. Days.” He smiled, like it was a normal thing to say.

Yup. Definitely fucking nuts.

“What do you want, Benedict?”

“I’d think that would be obvious. Especially to one as smart as you like to think yourself.”

“Well, it’s not.”

“No, I guess it’s not. Of course, you never were as smart as you figured yourself. That’s the thing about you. Too puffed up for your own good. Just ask Garrett.”

That was a low blow, and I scowled at him. “What do you want?”

“The scepter, dumbass. What else?”

“The scepter,” I repeated, slipping a finger into the bag of holding and trying to feel for something – anything – that would be of use.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” He patted the crossbow. “That would be a mistake.”

“I know. I just – how do you know about it?”

He snorted. “You think you’re the only one who knows what’s going on? You really are full of yourself. Constantine heard all about that little trick of yours at the cathedral t’other day. And when we learned you disappeared, well, it didn’t take no kind of wizard to figure where you’d run to, did it?”

“You knew I’d come here?”

“Course I knew. You always picked the losing side, didn’t you? You did it back then, you’d do it now.”

“You’re working for the Sorcerer?” I asked. It was a guess more than anything else, but I needed to keep him talking until I could figure out – something.

“I’m working for me. Benedict,” he said, sharply. Then, in a more subdued tone, “But the guild, yes. We’re no fools. We choose to be on the winning side. You should try it sometime, Kaej. In fact, I’ll give you the opportunity now. Hand over the scepter, and join us.”

“Come to the dark side, eh?” I said. My fingertip brushed the tip of a lockpick, and even it slipped out of reach. “Well, you make a persuasive argument. What with the crossbow and everything.”

“Quit stalling,” he snarled, his good humor gone in a flash. “I know when you’re up to something. I can see it in your stupid face. Hands up. Now!”

“I’m not up to anything,” I lied, raising my hands above my head.

“The scepter. Give it to me.”

“The thing is…and please don’t shoot me. I can help you get it, but I don’t have it.”

“Don’t have it? What do you mean, you don’t have it?” he demanded, jutting the crossbow angrily in my direction – but, mercifully, not firing.

Not yet, anyway.

“I mean, I gave it for safekeeping to one of the priests. But I can take you to his office.”

“Oh no,” Benedict said.

“You need me,” I said. “I’m the one who knows which priest has it.”

He barked out a short laugh. “You really are dumber than I remember. You gave it to the abbot, because that would be the correct thing to do. And you’re nothing if not a good little dogsbody.”

“I think you mean bootlicker or something, not dogsbody.”

“What?”

“A dogsbody’s just a hardworking laborer. A drudge. You’re implying that I’m subservient to the ruling class, not that I have a shitty job, right? So –”

“Shut up,” he thundered.

“Alright, alright,” I said, shifting the bag of holding ever so slightly. “I can see you’re angry. So, I’ll level with you. I didn’t give the stick to the abbot. I’ve still got it.”

He eyed me suspiciously. “In that pretty bag?”

“Guilty as charged. Now, I’m going to set it on the ground.”

“Oh no you don’t. Hand it over, nice and slow. And no dipping your fingers inside, neither, or you’ll look like a porcupine afore I’m finished with you.”

“Well, you don’t need to tell me twice,” I said, shifting the bag off my shoulder and slowly wrapping my hand through the strap. “Alright, I’m going to toss it, nice and slow. Here it comes…”

I threw it, but not nice and not slow. As hard and as fast as I could.