"May we come in?" Sir Emeric asked at last.

"Absolutely not," said Dr. Yves with a shake of his head.

Sir Emeric's nose curled in disgust. Clearly, this heretic was hiding something far worse than just the Cathar cross inside his home. "May I ask why?"

"You may ask," said Dr. Yves, scratching at his scraggly beard. "But I may choose not to answer you. Oh wait! I just did."

Sir Emeric wanted nothing more than to punch this alchemist in the nose and force his way in, but Shlomo placed a hand on Sir Emeric's shoulder and gestured with his head toward the people of Codul, who watched the scene unfold from across the street, their brows furrowed. Each of them held some manner of tool; a hammer, a wood-cutting axe, a pitchfork, and they held them as if ready to use them as weapons.

Shlomo approached Dr. Yves. "Well, every man is entitled to his privacy. After all, for all we know you may have a young lady lying naked in there, whether because you were busy making love to her or if she was merely your patient. Whatever the case, it is not our business, is it? No, our business concerns the cure you are developing, and we would like to speak with you about that. If we cannot meet in your home, is there some other place you might suggest we meet?"

Dr. Yves pointed his bony finger down the road, toward a tavern. Above the tavern's door hung a wooden plaque with a picture of a bear dressed in armor and carrying a sword in its paw as it sat upright on a horse. "Let's meet at The Chivalrous Bear."

Shlomo snorted at the name of the tavern, and even Fulk gave a light chuckle. Caleb stared at the tavern and tilted his head to one side, then the other.

"Drink there often, do you?" Sir Emeric asked.

"Yes I do," said Dr. Yves. "Ask anyone. I will see you there shortly. I just want to finish up my work and I'll be right there."

Without another word, Dr. Yves slammed his front door shut.

Shlomo shrugged and started on his way down toward The Chivalrous Bear. Sir Emeric and the others followed. "Something strange is going on with that man," said Sir Emeric.

"He's an alchemist," said Shlomo. "I wouldn't be surprised if he's sampling his own medicines all the time."

"It's more than that," said Sir Emeric. "Did you see the symbol on his floor?"

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Shlomo shook his head.

"I did," said Fulk. "The symbol of the Cathar cult, the one you folks wiped out some time ago. You think he's a surviving Cathar?"

"I did," said Sir Emeric. "Until he told us to meet him at this tavern. Cathars were absolutely against drinking, or any other sort of physical pleasure. If he drinks at this tavern regularly, like he claimed, then he's not a Cathar, but he has their symbol on his floor."

Fulk grunted. "Then, clearly, he was not the original owner of that house. The original owner probably got evicted... or hanged, or burned at the stake, or whatever you people do to heretics these days, and Dr. Yves bought the house."

"Why does it matter if he's a cat-harr?" Caleb interjected, his voice sounding genuinely curious.

All five Crows went silent for a moment. Finally, Sir Emeric said, "I suppose it doesn't, really. Years ago, the Church was worried that the Cathars were leading people to Hell because they said the God of the Old Testament was an evil God while the God of the New Testament was a good one. That and... well, many other heretical beliefs they espoused. But a lone Cathar, especially one who's not terribly devout, is hardly a threat to anyone."

"Or, rather," Fulk said, "If he's a threat to anyone, it's not because of what he believes, it's because of what he does."

"That's true," said Sir Cristoff.

"And it's possible he might actually help us," said Shlomo. "Sir Emeric, I know things are different among the Templars, but among the Crows we can't be so ready to declare people our enemies because of what faith they follow. Not long ago, our best hope for a cure was Mujahid, a Moor."

The five of them finally arrived at The Chivalrous Bear and entered the tavern. Like all buildings in Codul, it was made of gray, stone bricks and immaculately clean. Even as patrons inside spilled their drinks, boys working there rushed to clean up the mess from the ground. Sir Emeric noted that the serving wenches here dressed far more modestly than in typical taverns. Not just more modestly, in fact, but also more expensively. Their clothes were bright and colorful, complimented with copper jewelry and glass beads.

Sir Emeric and Sir Cristoff took seats near the door, both sitting on opposite sides of the table so they could keep eyes on the crowd.

Shlomo glanced over at the bar, then back to Sir Emeric and said, "Would it offend your Templar sensibilities if we ordered drinks?"

"It wouldn't offend me," said Sir Emeric, "But you are not to drink anything here. We have a job to do, and need to stay sober and alert."

"Where's the fun in that?" Shlomo asked. "Haven't you heard? All is vanity and chasing after wind. All a man can do is eat, drink, and be merry."

"Wine and strong drink are for the poor, Lemuel," said Sir Cristoff. "So that they may drink and forget their troubles."

Shlomo grumbled and took his seat at the table with the Templars. Caleb and Fulk did the same, but without grumbling.

A few moments later, Dr. Yves walked in the tavern door.

"Doctor!" called out the bar-keep.

Dr. Yves waved. "Aye! Have the wenches bring me my usual." He strolled in, heading toward the table where the five Crows sat. Behind him walked the masked man in black. Dr. Yves gestured to a seat on the opposite end of the table and said, "Useless, sit there."

The masked man in black did as he was told, apparently responding to the name "Useless."

Dr. Yves sat near the Crows. "Now, what shall we talk about?"