Melcher Fitz stormed down the halls of the monastery in the early dawn hours, dozens of plague doctors in tow, each with their swords drawn. Each step was a fierce stomp, shaking the floor on that second story. When they reached the end of the hall, Melcher banged his fist on the wooden door there. "Giradin! Open up! Now!"

The door to Melcher's right opened and Sir Emeric stood in the doorway, clad in a nightshirt and trousers. The Templar rubbed his tired eyes and glared at Melcher. Fitz sneered back at Sir Emeric, his face unhidden by any mask. He silently dared the Templar to rise against him.

St. Giradin's door opened, and the young saint stood there in a white sleeping gown. "Melcher, what's wrong?"

"Where's Fulk?" Fitz demanded. "He's not in his room, where is that rotten scum?"

"Rotten scum?" St. Giradin repeated. "Fulk may be a sinner, but he is repentant. And all of us are sinners in the eyes of--"

"Save your sermon for someone who cares!" Melcher snapped and smashed his fist on the wall. "There's been a murder!"

"A murder?" St. Giradin intoned, his eyes growing wide.

"I want to know where Fulk is, now! If he didn't tell you where he was going, then use your 'Holy' powers to find him, if you really do have any."

"Slow down!" St. Giradin insisted. "Who's been murdered?"

"Mujahid," Fitz spat out. "Now, where's Fulk?"

"Mujahid?" St. Giradin fell to his knees. "Oh, by God!"

"Fulk!" Melcher Fitz demanded again. "Damn it, where is he?"

"Master!" called a doctor approaching from down the hall. The older doctor pushed forward Sir Cristoff, the Templar's wrists bound in manacles. "I found the Templar you were asking about."

"Good," said Melcher, "Put him in a holding cell."

Sir Emeric stepped out into the hall and pointed an accusing finger at Melcher Fitz. "You can't lock up a Templar for no reason!"

"He's a suspect," Melcher said, his nostrils flaring with hate and his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. "He was seen speaking to Mujahid last night, shortly before the Moor went missing. What's more, he's already threatened him once before, and I imagine killing moors is easy for crusaders like you."

Sir Emeric turned to Sir Cristoff. "Demand a trial by combat! I will be your champion."

"No." Sir Cristoff shook his head. "I would not see any more blood spilled. Let him lock me up, if for no other reason than to be sure I've not tampered with the investigation."

"Don't be a fool!" Sir Emeric chastised him. "The holding cells in this place are for the sick and dying, not for prisoners. You're sure to catch plague in there!"

Fitz smirked at Sir Emeric. "What's wrong? Not confident your so-called saint can heal him if he falls ill?"

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Sir Emeric clenched his fists. "'So-called saint,' you say? The Pope himself has declared this man a saint!"

"Then you should have utter faith in his ability to heal the sick," snapped Fitz. Melcher turned back to the doctor who held Sir Cristoff. "To the holding cells with him."

"Yes, master."

As the doctor and Sir Cristoff left, Melcher turned back to St. Giradin. "Now, tell me where Fulk is!"

"I... I shall need a moment to pray," said St. Giradin, taking a step back into his room and reaching to close the door.

Melcher's hand reached out and stopped the door from closing. "No tricks! Whatever you do, you shall do in full view of all of us."

St. Giradin shrunk away from Fitz's rage, but then shrugged and knelt next to his bed with his hands folded and eyes closed. "Blessed Mary, Mother of God, pray for us. Almighty Lord, Jesus Christ, please show me where Fulk is right now. Lead me to him."

The young saint rose from his spot on the ground, his eyes still closed and one hand extended out, as if someone invisible held his fingers and guided his steps. He walked toward Melcher, who gave him a most puzzled look.

"I suggest you get out of the way," Sir Emeric whispered.

Melcher Fitz and the doctors behind him parted, opening a path for St. Giradin to walk through. The saint continued down the hallway, and turned at the flight of stairs, his extended hand leading the way.

Fitz, his entourage, and Sir Emeric followed St. Giradin down the stairs and then down another hallway. St. Giradin's hand turned to his left and rested upon the handle of a nearby door. His eyes fluttered open. "Fulk? Are you in there?"

"Gir? Aye, come in," came the murderer's gruff response.

St. Giradin pushed the door open, but before he could enter, Melcher Fitz pushed past him and pointed his sword at Fulk's face. "Mind telling me what you're doing in Mujahid's room?"

Fulk raised both his hands in surrender and backed up against the wall, his eyes crossed to keep watch on Melcher's weapon. "Hey, now! Watch it! I ain't done anything!"

"I'll decide that!" Melcher snapped. "What are you doing here?"

Fulk hesitated a moment, peered past Melcher to St. Giradin, then said, "When I heard that Mu was killed I... I wondered if his notes were still here. You know... his notes on the cure he was working on in Elekvaz?"

Fitz snorted. "You expect me to believe you're investigating the murder, just as I am?"

Fulk's brow furrowed. "Yes, damn it! I do expect you to believe that. Because Mu was like a fucking brother to me, you ass!" Fulk turned to Mu's desk, which was pushed up against the wall, and flung open one of the drawers. "Check them all. His notes are gone, Fitz! Whoever killed him took all his research!"

"I'll do my own investigation, thank you very much," said Melcher. "As for you, you're going to the cells. Until we find out who killed Mujahid, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Fear took its place on Fulk's face. "No... not the cells! Fitz, throwing me in one of those cells is a death sentence!"

"One that's long overdue!" said Melcher.

"Melcher," St. Giradin chimed in.

"Piss off, boy!" Fitz spat. "Fulk, you have two choices, you can cooperate, or I can run you through here and now."

"I'll take his place in the cell!" St. Giradin cried.

All eyes turned to the young saint in that moment. Sir Emeric looked at St. Giradin and shook his head, trying to warn him not to do this.

Fitz raised an eyebrow. "How will that help me? I'm trying to make sure Mu's murderer did not escape. I dare say, if you tried to kill Mujahid he would have handily vanquished you first."

"It's no secret that you hate me," said St. Giradin. "Let's not hold any pretenses about that. I'll allow you to lock me up while you investigate this murder if you will let Fulk go."

Melcher thought about it a moment, scratching his own chin.

"Think of it this way," said St. Giradin. "I'm sure you think that some of my followers might be Mu's killer. If you lock me up during the investigation, and it turns out one of my followers really was Mu's murderer, then he's likely to confess before anything truly horrible happens to me."

A grin tugged at the corners of Melcher's lips, but he forced it down. "Very well. Take Giradin down to the cells and lock him up."

Sir Emeric watched with utter horror, helpless as the doctors escorted St. Giradin away in chains. His heart sank to the deepest of pits as the young saint disappeared from view.