Josh was staring at a small pig. The pig was made up of hundreds, possibly thousands, of tiny magical moths. He closed the door abruptly, so that none of the other lodgers would be able to see it if they happened to be passing by in the corridor. He didn’t think his landlady would approve if she found out he was keeping predatory magical moths in his room.

“Hello?” he said, experimentally.

The pig’s eyes were glowing. It looked like a nightmare shadow of a pig.

“Babel,” it said. It had the eerie, multi-tonal voice of the moth haunt from the druid library, except smaller and more whispery. This was not an improvement.

It looked like Josh’s idea to train the book moths on charmingly pleasant children’s stories was working out. Kind of. Apart from the fact that the moth pig was creepy enough to send little kids screaming.

“Babel,” Josh said, in a calm, soothing tone of voice.

The pig moved towards him and he flinched. It cocked its head.

“Babel?” it asked.

What did it want? Josh put a hand on his chest.

“Josh,” he told it. The pig stared at him unblinkingly. “Josh,” he said again.

“Josh,” the pig repeated. “Babel. Josh.”

This seemed like progress.

“Babel and Josh are friends,” Josh said, slowly. He made himself crouch down and restrained the impulse to back away when the pig came even closer. He held out his hand, and the pig sniffed at it, just like a real animal would.

“Babel, Josh,” the pig said. Its eerie little voice sounded … slightly happier? It paused again, and then finally said, “Friends.”

Josh fell back against the door with an audible thud, then hoped no-one came to investigate.

“Friends,” he agreed, relieved.

It occurred to him that he had just acquired an animal sidekick.

That night Josh slept badly.

Babel the moth pig had disassembled and then flowed up onto the foot of his bed, before resuming its pig shape. There, it curled up into a ball and appeared to go to sleep, as if it really was a pet. Weren’t book moths meant to be nocturnal?

Josh had explained to it that it shouldn’t go outside the room, and it mustn’t eat any paper or books it found. It listened to this, but didn’t reply, which gave him no confidence it had understood anything he said.

He kept jolting awake in the night, heavy with dread that he had forgotten something, or that there was something he needed to do, before remembering about the moth pig. He checked on it regularly, but to his relief it stayed sprawled at the bottom of the bed the whole time.

When he woke up the next day, the pig was gone, but when he checked the demi john, all the moths had crawled back inside. He hoped it was all of them. One edge of the cork had been nibbled all the way through, which must have been how they had escaped in the first place. He should have found something else to stop the demi john with, but it was too late now.

He sat down and wrote out another story. This one was about a little pig called Babel who lived in a room with a human called Josh. Babel was a good pig who didn’t eat paper or books except the ones that Josh gave him…

Josh stopped, his pen poised above the page. How often did book moths need to eat? Maybe the Marquis of Silbury’s library would have a bestiary of magical monsters or something that might give him some indication.

He continued with the story, which featured someone sneaking into Josh’s room to go through his things. Babel the pig hid as soon as the stranger came in, and watched what they were doing, then reported back to Josh later on. Josh was very pleased with Babel and told him what a good, clever pig he was.

It was a rubbish story but it was the best he was able to do at short notice, and if someone did accidentally come into his room, hopefully Babel would hide instead of attempting to smother them. On one hand it would serve an intruder right if they got smothered trying to steal his things, but he didn’t want Babel killing anyone. Or, more likely, smothering the landlady if she was just coming in to change Josh's sheets or clean. It wasn’t her day for doing that, but he might as well start setting expectations now now.

He posted the pages into the demi john and hoped for the best.

By the time Josh had finished his staff training and his daily weapons practice, it was lunchtime, and he was back at Crosskeys.

“I have a message for Doug,” he told the barman. He was hoping Doug was enough of a regular that the man not only knew where he lived, but was willing to tell him. To his surprise the barman pointed directly upwards.

Sir Doug, one of the lauded Seven Heroes of the realm, lived in a one-bedroom apartment on the first floor, right over the bar. Josh rapped on the door, and waited, but there was no reply. Was Doug out? He knocked again, and heard a bleary voice yelling about being right down, followed by the sound of crockery falling.

That was not encouraging, but Josh obediently went back to the bar, and perched on a stool.

“Do you serve food?” he asked the barman.

By the time Doug came clattering heavily down the stairs, Josh was making his way through a pie that someone had seen fit to stuff with ham, potato, cheese sauce and peas, and was enjoying every bite. A woman had arrived while he was eating, also to see Doug, and was standing there with her arms folded.

The moment Doug came into view, she immediately broke into an impatient speech, in the form of a litany of complaints about her son. It sounded to Josh as if she was one of those mothers who smothered their children by doing everything for them, and then complained when they failed to hold down jobs, move out of the house or achieve anything of note.

Doug rubbed a hand over his eyes, and made a visible effort to focus on what she was saying. It took her some time to wind down, and as soon as he could get a word in edgeways he promised to come and have a word with the lad.

The woman took herself off. The barman silently poured a pint of ale and pushed a plate holding a pie towards Doug, without even being asked.

“Anyone else drop by?” Doug asked him hopefully, after taking a long, thirsty gulp. The barman pointed at Josh. Doug swivelled towards him with surprise.

A short while later they were seated at one of the tables.

“De Haven, right? What can I help you with?” Doug asked.

Josh thought back to the idea he’d had last night, right before Babel the moth pig had frightened the life out of him.

“Do you know Sir Owain?”

Doug snorted.

“I’ll say so. What’s he done now?”

“Er… it’s a long story…”

Doug looked around the empty tavern, a little sadly.

“I’ve got time.”

Josh started with the library, carefully painting himself as a completely innocent bystander who had just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, but who had witnessed a theft from the library at Brackstone, and been instrumental in helping recover the stolen item. This, Josh explained, had turned out to be one of the key fragments.

Doug stared at him.

“Don’t tell me they kept it there, of all places!”

Next Josh skipped to his arrival in Dendral, and his summons to meet the Marquis of Silbury.

“Silbury,” Doug said, wrinkling his brow. “I remember his dad well enough. Must be the son who has the title now. Or grandson, maybe. Easy to lose track. Was he the fat kid who got picked on? The one who was always creeping around and listening at doors?”

Josh paused, and tried to reconcile the gentle-mannered but manipulative elderly gentleman he had met with Doug’s description.

“Well, never mind.” Doug waved a piece of his pie. “You were saying?”

Josh described how the fragment had turned out to be missing, and how Silbury had asked him to verify that Sir Owain’s fragment was still secure, but feared the latter would react poorly to his interference.

Doug gave a great belly laugh when he heard.

“I’ll bet he would! Ozzie always was a moody shit,” he said. “I could never stand politics, but Oz, he lives and breathes that stuff. What do you want me to do?”

When Doug heard Josh’s plan, he paused with his tankard halfway to his mouth and stared. Then he began to laugh again, with great body-shaking chuckles.

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“Is that all? Oh god, can you imagine the look on his face? I like your style, kid. Sure, let’s do it!”

Just like that?

“Don’t you want to check with Silbury just in case?” Josh asked, taken aback.

Doug drained his tankard and slammed it down on the table.

“Finish up, kid, and let’s hit the road.”

"What, now?" Josh asked in surprise.

For all his bulk, and for someone who seemed to spend a great deal of his time sitting in a tavern and drinking, Doug could fairly move when he wanted to. There was hard muscle under the fat, and the extra flab didn’t seem to impede him at all. Maybe that was the power of the Seven Heroes at work.

“How long have you known Sir Owain?” Josh asked, as they left the docks and made their way further into the city.

“Too damn long, kid, too damn long!”

“How did you meet?”

Doug gave him a surprised glance.

“Ozzie and I met at Woodstock—right, sorry, you wouldn’t know what that is—we got to know each other at a music festival. He was there with Tony. We all became good friends. Paul and Siggy came along later.”

Woodstock? Josh tried to remember exactly when that had been. The sixties? The seventies? Where was Google when you needed it most?

The Heroes had been in Six Spires for fifty years. On Earth fifty years ago it would have been the mid-seventies. Josh was fairly sure Woodstock had taken place before then. It meant that Doug was had come to Six Spires in the seventies. And that meant time in Six Spires and time on Earth was concurrent.

Josh had been missing from home for five weeks now.

He tried not to think about that.

“Who is Tony?” He asked instead, trying to remember all the names Doug had just mentioned. “And Paul and Siggy?”

“Tony is…” Doug stopped and glanced around, “…hard to explain. Paul is the sneaky little bastard who went off with my Penny to start a cult, and Siggy is the one who made the damn key we’re about to check on.”

Siggy must be Wayland. Tony could only be Anthony Harrison. Penny had to be Lady Selene of the Shining Light. Did that make Paul the missing Lord Shadow? Some of the Heroes hadn’t been mentioned though.

“What about Gwynifer? And Tigerlily?”

“Jen? She was Tony’s wife, poor little thing. And Lily was her sister.”

They were close to the plaza now. As Doug barrelled straight towards the massive gates of the Order of the Unyielding, Josh caught sight of Ramina loitering at a nearby tea shop, as if waiting for him to arrive. Her gaze took him in, travelled to Doug, and returned to Josh with a questioning look.

Josh fell a couple of steps behind, where Doug wouldn’t see, and made an S shape in the air, then pointed down the street in the general direction of Lord Silbury’s mansion.

Ramina stared at him. She lifted her hands in the air and shrugged her shoulders, mouthing the words “What the fuck?”

Josh jabbed again in the direction of Silbury’s mansion, this time with more emphasis. He turned back to Doug just as they arrived at the gates. There was a small cut-out door set into one of them, and Doug started banging loudly on it.

There was no answer, but Doug wasn’t discouraged. He simply kept banging.

Josh stood awkwardly behind him. This wasn’t quite what he’d had in mind when he’d told Doug the plan. They were already attracted a crowd of curious onlookers.

Doug bellowed something and banged away some more.

Eventually, the cut-out door creaked open an inch, and a curious, disapproving face glared at them narrowly through the gap. Doug availed himself of this invitation by throwing open the door with a clang, sending the door guardian staggering backwards with a yelp.

Josh followed Doug through the door into a narrow courtyard. High walls bordered it on all sides, with an iron gate on the right wall that led to a practice yard, where Josh could see a glimpse of training dummies lined up in a row. He could hear the clang of weapons coming from it, but any people were out of his line of sight. To the left was a second iron gate barring access to a stable yard. Directly ahead was a thick heavy, wooden door that must lead into the mansion.

The door guardian was an older man dressed in servant’s garb, who was expostulating futilely at Doug while repeatedly pulling a bell beside the gate, which jangled loudly.

In a very short time, the bell had summoned two young lads dressed in chainmail with swords belted at their waists. They strode forward with grim purpose, their hands on their sword hilts. Doug planted himself directly in their path with his hands on his hips.

“What kind of welcome is this?” he bellowed. “Here am I to see my old friend and what do I get? A stammering servant and two half-pint bruisers wanting to throw me out? Ozzie, your hospitality leaves much to be desired!”

Josh hung back, watching curiously.

“Sir, you have to leave,” the guard on the right said. His voice cracked slightly, not due to nerves, but because he was that young. He looked about fifteen, but he could well be younger if his voice hadn’t settled yet. Like Doug, he had an American accent.

“Christ,” Doug said explosively. “You’re just a kid. What the hell is Ozzie up to? Run along and tell him Doug’s here, there’s a good lad.”

“Um, sir…” the boy said.

Josh cleared his throat.

“This is Sir Doug, one of the Seven Heroes, and Sir Owain’s brother-in-arms,” he interrupted severely. “Sir Owain might be unhappy if you try to throw him out.”

The guard flicked him a glance and bit his lip. A lot of the locals had poor teeth—often crooked, yellowed and even blackened or missing in places—but the guard’s teeth were pearly white and even, as befit someone hailing from a land obsessed with perfect dentistry.

Not that Josh could talk. Back on Earth he’d made regular hygienist appointments and had his teeth whitened, and they were naturally fairly straight, if not quite movie star quality, and oh shit. His teeth. The moment he opened his mouth he risked giving himself away as an outlander. He was surprised that Doug hadn’t nailed him already.

Josh focused on the teenage guard and sure enough, a character sheet popped up.

> SirKorey

> Oathbound Squire

> Level 16

> Player rank: 694

> Gladiator rank: 418

> Kills: 6 | Deaths 3

> Karma: -120

The one for the other guard was similar, except he was a level 15 soldier, and his name was TheAxeMan.

Korey’s dilemma was resolved by the appearance of a young man, this time wearing a breastplate along with the sword at his hip. The newcomer pursed his mouth at the sight of Doug, listened closely to Korey’s urgent whispers, then straightened.

“I will see if Sir Owain is available, sir” he said to Doug. He was another American, so Josh focused on him next.

> Raicheus

> Oathbound Knight

> Level 31

> Player rank: 295

> Gladiator rank: 276

> Kills: 25 | Deaths 7

> Karma: -480

Josh had assumed that the reason Rob had told him to avoid the Order of the Unyielding was because they would kill him and take his player core if they found out about it. If that was the case, why did the Order’s ranks appear to be full of people from Earth, all with their player cores intact?

Had Rob been wrong?

Raicheus returned shortly with the news that Sir Owain would see Doug now.

The door admitted them into a spacious great hall, which must have taken up at least a third of the footprint of the mansion. A wide staircase swept grandly up onto the first floor, where there were two girls leaning curiously over the bannisters. They also looked like teenagers. They wore long dresses and tabards, rather than chainmail, and they had no swords.

“Girls, I assume you have duties to attend to,” Raicheus said sharply. They immediately withdrew, although they sent several curious backward looks towarsd Doug.

Josh had only had time to focus on one of them before they were out of sight, and found she was a level 19 lamplighter. Which meant he wasn’t the only one with a weird class.

They passed an open doorway on the left, and inside Josh saw a room with nothing but bare, whitewashed walls, three carved wooden panels, and a person in a tunic lying in supplication before them, who was a level 22 soldier.

Josh was getting oppressive vibes from this place.

Sir Owain’s office was large, with wood panelled walls bare of anything except weapons. It was cold, but the fireplace was unlit and scraped bare of ashes. Sir Owain’s desk dominated the room, and behind it sat Sir Owain.

He was a big man, with wide shoulders, but slim and fit compared to Doug. He wore a doublet of rich velvet, masquerading as a plain garment, and had the same kind of dorky hairstyle the barber had given Josh in High Howe, except Sir Owain had grown himself a pair of long sideburns. He looked as if he had walked straight out of the nineteen seventies.

He was handsome, in a clean-cut, chiselled sort of way, with blond hair and cold blue eyes. Josh would have put him in his late twenties.

Like Doug, he had no character sheet.

“It’s been a while,” he said to Doug, with poorly concealed disfavour.

Doug looked around for a chair, spotted one in the corner, and dragged it over in front of the desk with loud scraping noises. Sir Owain visibly winced. His eyes flicked to Raicheus and dismissed him with a sharp little lift of his chin. Josh had stayed near the door, and just before it closed, he heard Raicheus say in a low voice to Korey, “Tell Ricky to report to me when he’s finished with his penance.”

Maybe Rob had been right to warn Josh about the Order.

Meanwhile, Doug landed heavily in the chair, which creaked but held.

“What the hell’s with all these kids, man?” he said to Sir Owain. “Are you running a cult now?”

Sir Owain gave Doug an offended stare.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked.

“I’ll get to that,” Doug said, leaning back and crossing one leg over his knee. “But first of all, please tell me you haven’t been sticking your pork in those girls.”

Sir Owain turned a deep shade of puce and bolted to his feet.

“You take that back,” he said dangerously. “Or I’ll ram your words down your throat. How dare you?”

“Alright, take it easy,” Doug said easily. “Granted, that was more Tony’s schtick. Can’t blame me for wondering, though, with your screwy set up here.”

“I fucking well can,” Sir Owain snapped. “I keep high moral standards in this house! Why don’t you get the fuck out of here and go back to your broken-down bar and keep drowning yourself in beer with your broken-down friends?”

Josh was beginning to get the impression that the purpose was Doug’s visit was to rile Sir Owain up as much as he could, and inspecting the key fragment was only an incidental benefit.

“I won’t be long,” Doug said. “Got a question for you though.”

Sir Owain ignored that. Instead his gaze flicked to Josh.

“Who the hell is this?”

“My squire,” Doug said comfortably.

Sir Owain’s gaze on him sharpened—which was the last thing Josh wanted—then stared at Doug incredulously.

“You’ve taken a squire?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

Sir Owain surveyed Josh grimly.

“What’s your name, boy?”

Josh didn’t want to open his mouth and show his teeth, so he ducked his head when he introduced himself, and turned the gesture into the most perfectly correct bow he could, with his feet set into the T position, and his arms dangling loosely.

Sir Owain appeared to lose interest in him, finally lowering himself back into his seat.

Josh let out a quiet, relieved breath.

“What the hell you do you want?” Sir Owain asked.

“Well,” Doug said. “Turns out some bastard is after the key again.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really. They already got the Church’s fragment.” Doug paused. “Didn’t know that, did you?”

“That’s nonsense.”

“You’ve still got yours, right?”

“Of course!”

“Prove it!”

Sir Owain gritted his teeth.

“If this is some trick—”

“Would I joke about this shit? After everything that’s happened?”

They stared at each other while Josh slowly played the The Good, the Bad and the Ugly theme tune in his head. He was very careful not to sing it out loud. Had that movie been released before the seventies?

“Bet you fifty florins your fragment’s been taken,” Doug said eventually.

“Done,” Sir Owain replied instantly.

They glared at each other again, before Sir Owain got to his feet and strode to the door.

“Follow me,” he said.

Josh wasn’t sure if he had been invited, but he scurried after them anyway.

The vault was, predictably, in the cellars, protected by a massive steel door with a wheel. It looked like a modern safe—there was no iron-bound oak door nonsense here. Sir Owain did something to unlock it, hiding the exact mechanism with his body, then wheeled the door open with brisk irritation while Doug stood rocking back and forth on his feet and humming tunelessly.

Disappointingly, the vault didn’t have a treasure chests or bags of gold spilling coins, or heaped piles of magical items. Instead, it had shelves with crates and boxes. The key fragment was in a small steel box with lead lining.

Sir Owain took a key from around his neck, unlocked it, and flung the box open. Josh couldn’t see inside, but he watched Sir Owain’s face, which was tight-lipped.

“Where did you hear of this?” he flung out.

“It’s really missing?” Doug started forward.

Josh crowded behind him and looked inside the box at the same time. There was a slender piece of metal there, shaped like the one from the Brackstone library, but there was no sense of magic from it.

The Order’s key fragment had been stolen too.