Alas! I know death makes us all his prey, Nor aught of mercy shows to destined man; How swift the world completes its circling span, and faithless Time soon speeds him on his way.
--Petrarch

I crossed to the window and leaned out over the courtyard below. The sound of a hammer ringing upon an anvil floated on the air. The day was much like the last, cloudy and cool, but the ground was wet, indicating that it had rained earlier. There was a slight scent of growing things carried on the breeze which ruffled my robe pleasantly. I stretched and inhaled the clean air, watching the diffused shadows of the surrounding buildings retreat before the mild mid-morning light.

I wondered where Nicolas had gone. I had assumed that we would have at least one full day together to explore the town and settle into our quarters before Nicolas would have to take over his duties. Perhaps he had gone to survey the classroom he would be using. Whatever he was doing, I relished the free time to loaf and think.

My thoughts strolled lazily over the events of the previous day, marveling at all I had seen and done. The terrifying god, my friend in my dream, the fantastic secret room, the girl... I had run the emotional gamut from severe terror to dizzying elation in a matter of a few hours. But oddly enough, I did not feel very drained, as I would have expected. Instead, my senses were sharp and alert, my thoughts clear. I felt more alive than I had in a very long time.

I had to admit to myself that most of this was due to the girl (for so I called her in my mind, not daring to utter her name even in my thoughts). At each memory of her delicate manner, my stomach fluttered with pleasure. I thought to myself that surely I was damned to Hell for the ideas which intruded themselves again and again upon my mind, but I simply didn't care. The residue of the night's dream-bound rebellion was still with me; eventually this sent my mind circling back to the other events of that evening.

"...You can always come here in your need. This place is yours, as am I." Those words rattled incessantly through my head. They reminded me that I was, presumably, an important part of something. Of what, I couldn't even speculate. None of it made any sense. The whole thing had the quality not of a nightmare, but of hallucination. I felt like someone who had lost control of his own mind.

Indeed, maybe I was simply insane. A brief picture flashed through my head, of myself being cast adrift in a ship of fools. I shook my head. However real delusions may seem to a madman, this was more immediate than I imagined such things could ever be. Somehow I was in real danger, and it seemed I had little control over the outcome. I jumped up from my perch on the windowsill and began pacing about the room.

Deus Irae! Deus Irae! Mad God! Mad God! And he wanted me. This was not the way it was supposed to happen. Seduction just didn't seem to be a tactic my saviour would employ. Terror, perhaps... I imagined Moses had been quite frightened when God spoke to him from a burning bush. But then, he had not been ordered to murder someone he had never even met.

It was probably blasphemous as all of Hell to doubt that I had met my creator, but I doubted nevertheless. At first I had not questioned the notion, but recent occurrences had changed my mind. There was no doubting the malign intentions of the demonic presence that had followed me all through the Dreams, but I was confused as to just who was who. At times it seemed that the presence which posed as Jesus Christ or God himself was just the opposite of them. How was I to tell who to trust? I had always learned that the division between Good and Evil was clear, but that even one who was pure of heart and followed the teachings of the Church could not always distinguish between the two. It seemed that both of the powers that fought for me did so with something less than divine grace. I rarely came away from one of these experiences feeling the sense of calm assurance that one would expect to have with God standing behind him, guiding and protecting him. Instead, I usually felt like a battle victim.

I had heard stories of men and women being given missions from God, great tasks to accomplish, like Benizet and his bridge at Avignon. What had been happening to me lately did not seem like the same thing. I had been given no clear task to perform, beyond somehow achieving the death of someone with whom I had no personal quarrel. I knew of no "Lucien." No evil enemy had appeared to threaten me or the Church or those I loved. I found myself wondering if this "god" had the wrong person.

Nor did my Dreams seem like visions from on high. I felt more like I was an intruder, having stumbled into places where I did not belong.

I was beginning to feel the same way about Toulouse. I had been here for one day, and while I could sense no immediate danger, simple reason led me to the conclusion that my being here was endangering people I cared about. When they first began to happen, I had tried to keep my Dreams secret to all but Nicolas. But before long, this became impossible, both because I often cried out in my sleep, and because I occasionally fell asleep at odd times, for example during the early mass... and with sleep would come Dream. These things had made my secret public before long. For the most part, the brothers of the abbey had been, if not patient, at least circumspect. Some had even viewed my affliction as a "gift" from God. Others, I knew, had feared me greatly, and had effectively driven me away.

Here in this city, site not only of a major university but of a holy inquisition, my Dreaming might be taken another way. Yes, this was the true madness, being here. Yet Nicolas was the only true friend I had, and despite his excuse of coming here for my welfare, he was happy to be among others of his intellectual caliber again.

There was no escaping it. Dreams, after all, follow us wherever we go. I would just have to trust the powers behind me to value a chosen tool enough to protect it. Hardly a safe assumption, but it was all I had.

Before long my head was spinning with confusion. I had found a certain amount of happiness in the friendship of another human being, and at the same time found myself entangled in a mystery of such magnificent proportion that it threatened to destroy the foundations of my religious beliefs. I felt as if I were stretched upon a torture rack, being pulled in many different directions at once. On one side of me was the hand of a god, pulling me inexorably toward my fate, on the other something horribly evil, determined to bring disaster raining down on me. And in the middle were Nicolas, who would ever share the consequences of my destiny willingly, and the girl, whom I felt would somehow be drawn into this web regardless of my actions.

I counted the steps from one end of our room to the other, then again several more times. My fists were clenched at my sides, my shoulders nearly touching my earlobes as I paced. The room began to feel like a cage. Hot anger welled up inside of me, anger at being so powerless. I was no stranger to such feelings... ever since I had been sent to the little abbey in Haute Garonne, anger had come to be the one thing I could rely on, the one power that lessened my pain and strengthened my will.

I did not notice Nicolas' entrance until he spoke.

"Well then, young one, I trust that you have had enough sleep?" I whirled and glared at him, then muttered something apologetic and continued my pacing, though this became harder with him standing in the middle of what little floor space there was. He must have watched me silently for some time; then he interposed himself in my path and grabbed me by the arms. I stared at his feet as he spoke, wrinkled, bony things with yellowed nails. His voice was soft. "I see now that something is bothering you. I'm sorry, Alix, please... speak to me."

I felt my face flush hotly. I twisted away from his grasp, turned my back on him and began my never-ending circuit of the room once more. "I don't need your pity, Nicolas. Not today... Not any more."

He became very still. I could feel him staring at me, appraising me. I reached the wall and stopped, afraid to turn around. My shoulder blades knotted together while I waited for the lashing that was sure to come. I had never before spoken to him in such a manner.

"Very well." It was nearly whispered, a surrender. When I finally turned to face him, he was gone.

"Nicolas!" I dashed down the stairs into the street and barely caught sight of him turning the corner. I ran to catch up with his quick, loping stride. I fell in beside him, searching for words to express the jumble of feelings that fought for attention within me. At long last I gave up on this and simply kept pace. Nicolas did not protest. I could read nothing in his face.

After we had gone several blocks, it became apparent that Nicolas had steered us a longer course, apparently to avoid passing the house of the chancellor. I said nothing, but wondered if he had done so in order to avoid reminders of the night's experiences, or if he was simply trying to protect me from the dangerous temptations that the girl represented. Knowing Nicolas, either possibility was likely.

As we walked, Nicolas began making pensive remarks regarding our surroundings, the weather, the quality of the town's facilities, words dropping into silence like leaves in Autumn. With no spoken encouragement from me, he was soon chattering comfortably about the new teaching position, about the university's library (excellent), the facilities (tolerable), and all of the opportunities it would afford us (many). His mild conversation seemed to smooth the edges of my nerves, so that before long I had pushed aside my surly manner, and listened with interest.

This was the beauty of the man, that he always knew what to say, and when.

I could not help but notice that Nicolas steered carefully away from the subject of his conversations with the dean, and this made me all the more curious about it. Finally, during a lull in his oration, I could contain myself no longer.

"Tell me about the chancellor, Nicolas, what is he like? I really didn't get a chance to meet him."

Nicolas was silent for a few steps, and he stared straight ahead, as if he had not heard me. Just as I was about to repeat the question, he spoke. "He is a most erudite and learned gentleman. Most respected."

He began muttering to himself and quickened his pace, forcing me to put aside further questioning for the moment. Before long, we arrived at the Cathedral du Saint Sernin.

This was a marvel of engineering as different from the gaudy papal palace at Avignon as a newborn child from a dying goat. There was not a hint of the obscene to this place. Wonderfully high vaulted ceilings traversed the cross-shaped plan of the building. The dimly lit nave culminated in a choir that was beautifully illuminated by high windows. Behind this were chapels which radiated from the apse like beams of light from Christ's head.

I wandered through the building, only half hearing Nicolas' lecture on the architecture of the structure. At this time of day, the cathedral was relatively empty. Only a few altar-boys bustled about, replacing candles and polishing various surfaces. I stood in the middle of the crossing, arms outspread, eyes raised to the magnificent ceiling.

Nothing of the nightmare cathedral of last night could be found here. No god breathed on my neck, no devil whispered from the shadows. Indeed, I soon found myself wondering how such things as dreams could ever hold any power over a waking world such as this.

For here was exactly what I had needed: A reminder that God existed on earth in the works of man. The author of this graceful edifice seemed to be telling me that the ascension of man into Heaven was a matter of inspiration of the heart, not deeds of the temporal world. Here was eternity personified in the form and passion of a work of art.

We wandered around the church for a while longer, Nicolas continuing his lecture while I continued to be distracted. Today, my heart ruled the little cosmos that was Alix. No morsel of logic would penetrate my thoughts.

When we left the cathedral, it was still relatively early in the day. Nicolas led me to the bank of the wide river, where we strolled lazily. The clouds had broken a little, and soft sunlight filtered down from time to time, igniting small patches of the landscape into golden fire. The water flowed quietly along behind the buildings of the city, and there were few people to be seen. The darkness of my earlier thoughts had fallen away from me completely, and I tossed pebbles into the river and hummed while Nicolas watched me curiously, saying nothing.

Nicolas stopped by a tall elm overhanging the water and sat down. I threw a few more stones into the water, and managed to skim one nicely over its surface, then settled down beside him and stretched out on my back, staring up through the branches of the tree. Nicolas gazed at the far shore, watching the distant workers moving among the buildings and the little docks. An occasional small boat moved past, carrying merchandise or trolling fishermen. My thoughts wandered briefly to ships and boats and the breeze of the sea, but the pang of longing that came with them caused me to turn such musings away. The day had become too perfect for such bitterness.

I had a good idea why my friend was so silent, and I waited patiently for a while for him to broach the subject. "Nicolas," I said finally, "why don't you come out with it? I'm going crazy waiting for the axe to fall. You've been wanting to say something to me all day."

Nicolas was caught off guard.

"Eh? Say?" He fumbled for words. He suddenly seemed uncomfortable, something I was not used to seeing. "Hum! No, that is, nothing important really... "

"It's Isa, isn't it!" I blurted, "I know you don't like her. But that isn't fair. You don't even know her. Nicolas, I know what I am, that is, what I'm supposed to be. And I'll do what you say, but please listen to me. I love her..." I stopped in surprise. I hadn't meant to say that; the thought had not even crossed my mind until then. I tried hard to get myself under control, and did so finally with great effort while Nicolas looked on dumfounded. "That is, I feel... something. I don't know. Damn me to Hell, Nicolas, but all I know is that I can't bear the idea of being away from her."

I sat up and stared in confusion at the ground. I said sheepishly, "I'm sorry, Nicolas, I guess I'm not being very responsible. But I do try, you know; it's just that I've been through so much."

Nicolas continued his staring. I could tell that I had stepped outside of his realm. Finally, he put his hand on my shoulder and said, "You needn't apologize to me. If anything, I owe you one." I looked at him curiously. "Men my age tend to forget what it's like to be young. I should have expected that this would happen some day. Your vows have been tested in every other way, why not this?" He paused and stared out over the water. "I tend to make hasty judgments about people sometimes. It goes with the frock. But I cannot let you rush into something that will hurt you later. For the love of God, Alix, that girl --Isa was it? --she is the chancellor's servant. You are a brother of the faith, and this is not Avignon. You will be ready to complete your vows someday soon. Were he to find out that you were... fraternizing with her, he would have the power not only to prevent you from your studies, but also to censure you severely. Even were it proper, do you actually think I could allow you to carry on a relationship with this girl right under the man's nose?"

I twirled a blade of grass between my fingers and said slowly, "Would it be so bad?" Nicolas turned sharply to stare at me. I could see that I had stung him. "Did you know that I was visited by the god again last night?"

His brows knit together. "But you slept peacefully. I even checked on you once... your breathing was normal..."

"You did?" I said, startled. "Oh, you don't understand. Nicolas, when I was at the chancellor's house, when I was stunned by the drug, I Dreamed."

Nicolas slumped back against the tree. Something seemed to have gone out of him. "I see. And when you awoke,needing me, she was there, and I was not. Is that what this is all about?"

"No! By all the saints in Heaven, Nicolas, you mean the world to me. I understand how important this meeting was to you. I was afraid I had ruined it for you. And I could still ruin everything with my... affliction. It might be best if I were not so closely associated with you."

As I spoke, the conviction grew within me that I was involved in some dark intrigue, and that Isa was a part of it. Even if I wanted to, I could not leave her out of my life. And the chancellor, Dean Gascon, he was involved here too. I had a feeling he could lead me to this Lucien, if the need arose. I was suddenly overcome by the feeling that I was adrift on a rudderless ship, no longer in command of my own fate. The god wanted me to kill for him. This thing I would not do. But in the end, would I have a choice? Whatever the outcome, I did not want Nicolas to suffer for it.

"Alix, you give me no credit. Do you think I fear anything this life can serve up to me? There is but one thing. And that is being unloved and forgotten. It is an old man's fear, but then, I am an old, old man." He looked at me with mirth in his eyes. "So stay with me and learn, Alix. As long as I live I shall teach you all that I know. And don't worry about the chancellor. He was quite impressed with you... how did he put it? 'Such curiosity is reserved for the brilliant and the brilliantly stupid. I can see that your young friend is the former of the two.'"

Sighing, I forced a smile and said, "I know you care about me Nicolas, and I will honor your wisdom in this. But can't I at least have Isa as a friend? Surely there is no harm in that? I don't know anyone here."

He paused for a while, then nodded his agreement, following it with a warning. "Be very careful, young one. The chancellor can be a very stern man, not given to understanding or patience." I shot him a questioning glance, but no further information about Gascon followed.

We returned to the campus in time for a late lunch, over which Nicolas outlined my future duties. He explained that I would be responsible for keeping track of his lessons and papers, finding research material, and helping him stay on schedule by listening for the bells which told the time of day. In addition to this, Nicolas would continue to tutor me until such time as the chancellor saw fit to approve my entrance into the university. Then there was the matter of our eternal souls; but special dispensations for the teachers and students allowed for the attending of a daily minimum of masses, reciting instead from a breviary at the appointed hours. I was amused by the speed at which some of the students I had heard could recite. But it did free us for more work, and I was glad of that. I had always had trouble staying awake at the lengthy evening mass.

All of this meant that I would have precious little time to pursue my own peculiar errands and intrigues. I wondered for perhaps the thousandth time how I had ended up under the hand of this supernatural force. And, for the thousandth time, I envied my brother his position with my father, where his only concerns would be the wind and the tide, the moon and the stars.

Nicolas was asleep. I arose quietly and poured myself a cup of wine, drank it, and prepared another for after I awakened. The dark liquid soothed my tense muscles as I lay on my cot with my eyes closed. Still, it took a long while for me to drift off; I could not quell the stirrings in my stomach at what lay ahead.

But sleep, finally, I had, for suddenly I was standing in a familiar place of black and white. Once again stone monuments rose to either side of me, shimmering white under the light of a huge full moon overhead. Gravel crunched under my feet as I wandered the path between tall grasses. A nearby tree held a white owl, powdery feathers against absolute blackness, yellow eyes watching me inscrutably. Black bats flitted and dove across the face of the moon. A sudden breeze picked up leaves from a pile and sent them whispering past my face, startling me.

So far my experiment had panned out; I was at the edge of the cemetery. To my right, beyond a ragged fringe of neglected tombs, lay a dark forest of black oaks in heavy undergrowth. White mists appeared occasionally between them, then disappeared. Something about that place made my spine shiver.

A fox of silver darted from behind a gravestone and ran across my feet before heading off to my left. Looking after the creature, I saw what I had been looking for: the small mausoleum where I could find my benefactor. I left the path and set a winding course among the stones. As I moved toward it, I took the time to read some of the monuments. Some were very strange, with carvings of staring eyes, or hands outstretched palm up. Others were carved most beautifully, with angels or winged cherubs atop them. The craftsmanship on these far surpassed anything I had learned of the ancient Greek or Roman artisans. But the strangest thing about any of the grave markings was the variety of dates and languages displayed. One was marked "Adouin de Chartres, Born 473, Died 523". Next to this one was a stone with carvings depicting a man on a horse. The inscription read, "Gen. Zachary Allendale, 1802-1881". These were followed by several unmarked crypts and a large tomb, with what appeared to be arabic letters inscribed over the doorway. Off to my left, reflecting the bright light of the moon, I could see a primitive dolmen, made of pale, massive stones piled one on the other. Continuing on, I came upon a large fenced area with perhaps twenty small graves in two neat rows. Each of the markers, which were made of cast iron, bore inscriptions describing in detail the demise of a small child. One had been burned alive in a house fire, another killed in a brigand raid on a small village. All had met with a violent death at an early age. I shuddered and moved on.

As I approached the building, I studied the carvings on the outside. The doorway was a roman arch, a rounded lintel supported by two round, incised columns. Above this were the words, "In reason, light. In light, power". Ivy grew up the walls, obscuring other carvings. I saw the point of a sword protruding from beneath one patch of leaves, a stylized flame showing between some others. The iron gate was open, and I entered.

No illumination met my eyes this time-- the darkness was complete in here. The sound of my bare feet shuffling over the stone floor echoed hollowly back to my ears. I thought of light, and a flickering candle appeared in my hand. I looked around the small room, but no sign of life was evident. I decided to wait. I felt sure that it was known that I was here.

It appeared to me that I was correct when footsteps shuffled outside the doorway. But the person who stood there was not the one I had expected. This was a woman, dressed in a white gown which hung in smooth pleats to the floor. Her straight black hair reached to her waist, framing a delicate face with a pointed chin and large, dark eyes. She smiled and greeted me.

"Well met, young one. I trust that you have not been waiting long?" Her voice was soft and musical. I shook my head dumbly, then, remembering my purpose, arose from my seat upon the coffin and took a step toward her.

"Where is he? I must speak with him."

She looked me up and down slowly. "He was right, you do have a way about you. But to answer your question, he is not here. I am the one you have need of right now. It is true that there is much he can tell you that I cannot, but only I can give you this thing." Her voice seemed to penetrate my veins, to replace the blood there with something... numb. She stepped across the intervening distance between us and put her arm around my shoulders, turning me toward the sepulcher. I did not resist her as she gestured for me to lie down upon the flat stone slab. When I had done so, she leaned over me and placed cold lips over mine. Her hair fell around us like a black curtain.

I closed my eyes and relaxed into the kiss. No thought came to me of resisting, and I think that I could not have done so anyway. But what happened next drove all passion from my mind.

I was adrift in a dark pool which quickly receded to reveal the room in which I slept at the university. I was floating with my back to the ceiling, with Nicolas' sleeping form below and to the left, my own directly beneath me. The cup of wine still waited beside the bed. I could hear my own breathing mingled with that of Nicolas. From the corner of my eye, I saw movement. Looking in that direction, I observed a dark form silhouetted against the sky outside the window. I watched as a man dressed in black crept silently into the room and toward my bed.

Then I was back in the tomb, with the woman bending over me. She thrust something into my hand...

Moments later, I was awake. I felt a presence next to me, and a second later a voice whispered, "Aye, it is you, little devil. It is you."

Without thinking, I thrust the thing in my hand at the stranger. A strangled shout shook the room for a second, then the man fell to the floor, the hilt of a jewelled dagger protruding from his throat. A pool of blackness formed rapidly around him.

Nicolas' voice shouted from across the room. "What is it? Alix, are you there?" A candle flame appeared, revealing Nicolas' terrified face. He started to get up, then sank back down to the bed when he saw the body on the floor. He crossed himself slowly, staring at the grisly sight.

I picked up the cup of wine and gulped half of it down. "I'm alright, Nicolas." I arose from my cot and walked around the body, being careful not to step in the still growing pool of blood. My legs threatened to give way under me, so I sat down next to the old monk. Nicolas' eyes had not left the body.

"I thought I saw... was there a knife?" I looked down. The dagger had disappeared, leaving a gaping hole in the man's throat, just above the collar bone. "I think," said Nicolas with slow deliberation, "you had better tell me what happened." I did not like the sound of his voice; it sounded wrong. It had the tone of someone who has been pushed too far.

My mind scrambled to catch up with recent events, skirting the panic gnawing at the edges of reason.

I knew that I had just placed the two of us in a very serious position. It was time to let Nicolas know as much as I dared. Starting with the content of the drug-induced Dream, I told him of the evening in the dean's house, omitting only the details if my time with Isa. He grunted sharply when I got to the part about the secret room, but said little else. Surprisingly, recounting all of this had a calming effect on me; but the entire time I told my story, neither of us took our eyes from the hardening body on the floor.

"So you know that Dean Gascon is an alchemist," said Nicolas, "I had hoped to keep this from you, but it would seem that God has other plans for you."

"Keep it from me? Why? ...And how did you know?"

"I have met many alchemists, my boy, even dabbled in it myself, once. It is not hard for one such as I to recognize the signs. The man keeps certain parchments and symbolic accoutrements in his house, in plain view for those who would comprehend them. But I wanted to spare your young and anxious mind that temptation. It is a fool's science, born of greed."

I wasn't surprised, then, that the chancellor kept his pursuits secret. While alchemy was not strictly illegal, in this place and at this time it would be fuel for suspicion. But I also thought that even had such activities been tolerated, the man probably would have kept his endeavors anonymous. Those who practiced such things relished the stigma associated with the forbidden.

"But then, who is this?" asked Nicolas, motioning to the corpse. "and what does he have to do with you?"

I shrugged as Nicolas rose and went over to the body. He motioned for me to come over and help him as he proceeded to search through the man's clothes.

He was large and stocky, a bear of a man, and he smelled. His clothes were undistinguished but not overly tattered. His body had been heavily scarred, and the left index finger was missing. His eyes were open, and I could see that they were red-rimmed and wild, even in death.

The smell of blood sickened me as I untied the purse from the man's belt. Inside were several silver coins.

"Well, he wasn't here for money," said Nicolas. "There are easier and more profitable ways to get it than climbing through the second-floor window of a pair of poor Franciscan monks. And look, he had enough silver to last him quite a while."

"There is something I forgot to mention, Nicolas. He said something... something like `It is you, little devil.' I guess he was looking for me."

Nicolas grunted something I did not understand as he pulled a long black-iron dagger from the man's tunic. He dipped it into the blood on the floor and placed it beside the body, then took the purse from me and placed it under the mattress of his cot. "Now then, it's time we called for the local guard. Well, don't look at me like that. If they find money upon his person, and the man dead without any weapon visible, they will come to the same conclusions that we have: that he was here to assassinate one of us. Then it becomes a matter for the inquisition. Would that be better?"

Two hours later, I sat in our room with the commander of the guard and two other soldiers. Also in the room was Dean Gascon. The body had been removed and the floor scrubbed clean, but the taint of death still hung in the air.

Nicolas and I had been answering questions steadily for hours now. At this moment, the he was in the hall so that I could be questioned alone. The Commander was a young man with the bored look of all guardsmen. I had the impression that he was perturbed at the lack of useful information available to him. How did we know that the man had intended to rob us? Why did we wait before calling the guard? We had done our best to answer these questions plausibly. The man was obviously a thief, he had no purse. We had paused to offer up a prayer for the man's soul, pursuant to our faith. The knife? Why, I had awakened in time to see the man leaning over Nicolas' bed, and had leaped to the old monk's rescue. Surely the good Lord had been watching over me when I had wrestled the knife from the thief and stopped him with a quick thrust. Was it not a miracle that the villain was dead, and not the servants of God whom he sought to rob?

The commander listened with practiced skepticism, but obviously could find no grounds to believe that what we were telling him was not the truth. No one was able to identify the dead man as someone of any note, and we had no apparent reason to want to kill him. There was one bad moment when a soldier came upon the hidden purse of silver, but Nicolas simply stated that it was his, and it must have been what the thief was looking for.

The commander, finally satisfied that we were telling the truth, took his leave and left the room, followed by his guardsmen. I leaned on the edge of the cot and did not look up when Dean Gascon re-entered the room. I had been dreading being alone with this man all of the night, but I had guessed correctly that he would want to ask me questions. He had an aura of power about him. Here was a man accustomed to being feared and respected, and it was hard to believe that he was not omniscient as well.

But he smiled at me, albeit blandly, and said, "I don't know what it is about you, boy. Something tells me that I should keep a very close eye upon you. I think that there is much more to this young man who sits before me now than is readily evident."

"In my humble experience, sir, I believe that there is much more to any man than would seem apparent," I said, watching him closely. He simply chuckled and stood up, placing his hand upon my shoulder. His grip was very strong.

"Well said. Now I suggest you get some sleep. Lauds is in less than two hours." As if to support his words, a bell rang three times nearby.

He left the room, exchanging a few mumbled words with Nicolas in the hall. I thought I heard something about "first impressions," and Nicolas' quick "Not at all, chancellor." Then Nicolas shuffled in wearily and lowered himself slowly onto his bed. "I could do without this kind of attention."

"Do you think they were satisfied with our explanation?"

"I don't see how they could refute it. Whether or not the chancellor is satisfied, I think the commander will be, just because it is easier for him to be so. But Dean Gascon? There is a man who is never satisfied with anything less than the whole truth. And I think that he has good instincts; he knows there is something more going on here."

I pondered the candle by my bed for a while, then asked, "Nicolas, what was that man really doing here? do you think he wanted to kill me?"

"You ask me? I wish I knew, my son. He meant you no good, this is for certain. We will both do well to keep one eye open when we sleep."

I held my hand, palm down, over the candle flame until it became too hot, then put it out. I reflected upon the fact that a man's life was snuffed out about as easily, and wondered why I felt so impassive toward the mortal sin that I had committed this night. Outside, it began to rain.


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