The Romance of the Way

by Q the Professor

"The Romance of the Way" is my personal tribute to Admiral Styles' admirable RPG, "Love and War", though it also owes a debt to Lun Calsari's "The Way" and Flare's "Romancing Walker". "Love and War" ends on a cliffhanger, so what happens next? What becomes of Ryan Eramond and his friends? Read on!

11. Chapter 10: Revelations

CHAPTER TEN: REVELATIONS

"Do not say, 'I shall hide from the Lord,
who is going to remember me up there?
I shall not be noticed among so many people,
what am I in the immensity of creation?'"
- Ecclesiasticus, ch. 16, v.16-17.

Henrik read the letter again, looking bewildered. Closing his well-worn copy of Galvenian History, Volume Two: From 100 C.E. to the Present Day, he got up from his chair, wondering what he could do, or should do. The simple message lay on the table, written on a single sheet of paper.

Dearest Henrik,

I know I shouldn't be taking too much of your time, but I've had a rather disturbing experience a few days ago. A Sister Miriam from your town came by, and spoke to the Rector of our College several times, as well as to some of the girls. She didn't tell me very much, but it was clear that something terrible had happened in connexion with a prayer group I once belonged to. One of its members, named Thomas Perrin, was from your town, and she seemed to think that he had something to do with it. I'm sorry I can't be clearer, because I don't know much myself. If you could spare the time, could I see you tomorrow? We have a half-holiday then, though we aren't allowed to go home. I'll be waiting for you near the statue of St. Nealus, by three o'clock. Please do come, as I am quite confused on what to do next.

In friendship and prayers,
Bernadette.

Thomas Perrin? The words brought back a painful memory to Henrik. He committed suicide two years ago. What could that possibly have to do with anything? Taking up the letter, he tried to remember all he knew about Thomas, hoping that it would shed some light on what Bernadette had said. A mental picture came to him, of a short, brown-haired boy, with intelligent eyes and an earnest manner.

He was a year ahead of us at school, Henrik recalled, gathering his thoughts. Interested in history and economics, and quite fanatical about politics. He was a Church member, but didn't have too much time for Mother and I – he thought we were rather low-key and lukewarm, or at least that's the impression he gave. His own style of prayer was pretty extravagant. What was the name of that group he joined? Oh, yes, the Infinitus Revival, or something of that sort. They asked me to join, but Father said 'no' outright, and frankly, I was relieved. I never felt comfortable with those tub-thumping groups, where people keep ranting about the Varald and making up long prayers on the spot.

It was all coming back to him now. Thomas began spending more and more time in the group, and would sometimes miss classes. His grades were falling behind. Then, about a week before he – died, he stopped attending either church or school. We never asked, we thought he was just ill or something. And then, Mr. Anderson told us the news one day in school. Thomas had hung himself. He never left a note, never said why. Even the police just said it was a suicide, and moved on. We were all rattled for a while. His parents were quite broken up, and they had a very quiet funeral, just collecting the certificate from City Hall and going straight to the graveyard. None of us were allowed to attend, and the Church wasn't involved. They packed up and moved away soon after, and we never heard of them. For quite a while, no one wanted to take their house, because they thought it was haunted by Thomas. Old superstitions die hard. Even today, it's just being used as a warehouse by Clarissa Crenshaw, to store her "souvenirs". She got it dirt cheap. And she never goes there in person, but hires assistants to bring whatever she needs, because she's probably a little scared as well.

Reflecting on what he'd just remembered, Henrik was struck by something. Those "Infinitus Revival" people – they were just like that crackpot Itarian professor, Gray, whom Bernadette and I listened to at King's College! In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if that corny "Sword of Infinity" song was one of theirs. They used to be strong on what they called "militant music". That's strange….So what was going wrong with that group? Were they the reason that Thomas killed himself?

Making his mind up, he folded the letter and put it into his pocket. Scribbling down a rapid reply, assuring Bernadette that he would come at the time she mentioned, he headed down to the hall, where his father was tying up a bundle of typed pages, looking satisfied.

"Ah, Henrik," he said absently. "How are your studies going, boy?"

"Very well, Father, thank you," Henrik replied. "I've just received a letter from Alton, though, and I need to go there tomorrow."

"To Alton?" Alphonse Spenson. "Well, that's not too far away, and I know you've been working hard. However, I want you to be back the same day, is that clear? You're getting a little old for adventuring, Henrik, as I've already told you."

"I will, Father," Henrik said, relieved. Not that he'd usually ask any questions, but I could have got a huge lecture about how "playing in the sandbox" was for kids, and how I had to study, all over again. Heavenly Father, thank you. "I've just got to post my reply to St. Nealus', to let them know I'm coming."

"St. Nealus' College? I remember giving the women there an invited lecture, about four years ago, on Technique in the Galvenian Novel," Alphonse said, approvingly. "They were very polite, very respectful. Well, if you do meet any of the faculty, remember me to them."

Poor girls, Henrik thought, suppressing a smile. It must have taken all their religious training to keep from yawning during one of Father's talks! "Yes, Father," he said, as he headed for the post office. As he entered it, he was greeted by Constance Juno, looking quite happy. She seemed satisfied with what I told her about Juno, he thought. Maybe he's come home.

"Good morning, Henrik," she said. "I thank you again for finding out that Makarov was quite safe. In fact, I've just had a letter from him, and I'm going to post my reply."

"Good morning, Mrs. Juno," Henrik replied. "Where is he, exactly? He did say he was making further plans, but he never came back, though he said he would."

"He did, for just one day," Constance Juno said, apologetically. "He said he had to meet an old military teacher or trainer of some sort, called Fossen, who lived near Straukpass. He's staying with this man now, apparently, and taking lessons in combat. He must be preparing to join the Military Academy, like his father, I'm sure!" As always, when speaking of her late husband, Mrs. Juno's expression softened, and she no longer looked like a woman older than her years. "I do wish he'd be more careful, but I know his father would be proud of him."

"Training for the Academy?" Actually, Henrik thought, the Academy doesn't really require you to train much, though having gun or sword skills is recommended. And what happened to his plan to find Lugner? Anyway, the Academy will start on its next batch only in the fall, so he must just be getting prepared. "Well, I'm sure that's nice, Mrs. Juno. If he comes and visits you some time, tell him I said hello."

"I will, Henrik," said Constance Juno, as she placed her letter in the mailbox and left. "Peace be with you."

"Peace be with you too, Mrs. Juno," Henrik replied, waving goodbye. A trainer in Straukpass? I didn't even know anyone lived there. Except that crazy old soldier, who thought we were all Zions, and put us all through our paces. Well, if that's the guy who's training Juno, good luck to him!

xxx

"Son," Theodore Eramond said, entering Ryan's room and looking worried, "I'm sorry to bother you, but I need your help with something."

"Huh?" Ryan put down the graphic novel he was reading, and rose from his chair. "What's up, Dad?"

"We've received a couple of telegrams, and they're both saying the same thing," Theodore explained. "One of them is from the Imperial Bursar at Caledonia, and another is from a scientist in Darington. They're both complaining that the packages I sent them haven't reached yet."

"You mean the package with the Emperor's medicines in it?" Ryan said, shocked. "That is pretty serious."

"Indeed it is, Ryan, not to mention how much I'll have to pay them as a penalty, unless we find out what happened! I've asked both of them for four days' grace, and that's where you come in. This is a little different from your previous assignments. I want you to find those packages."

"Find them?" Ryan looked puzzled. "How do I go about that, Dad? After all, both Caledonia and Darington are across the border. I'd need a border pass to go that far."

"That won't be necessary," Theodore said. "You see, all traffic of that sort has to go through Checkpoint Alpha, in Northern Galvenia, as I'm sure you know."

"Checkpoint Alpha? I've been there, once, myself. So do you want me to go there and ask around?"

"No, no, your task is even simpler, Ryan. I've wired Checkpoint Alpha, explaining the situation, and they've sent back a reply saying that none of my men actually got that far. Something must have happened to them in Galvenia itself, perhaps a bandit attack. They haven't crossed over into the Empire. I want you to head there. There are plenty of places around there, such as Lorean Glade and Mount Lorea Mine, where they could have been ambushed."

"But if that's so, wouldn't the packages have been stolen, Dad?" Ryan asked.

"Indeed, son. But if you can find evidence that they were stolen, and inform the authorities in Lorean – or in the nearest town – then we're in the clear, as our goods are always insured against theft. I know your adventures on the Paradiso have left you tired, but could you try and do this?"

"Heck, Dad, why not," Ryan said, excited. "After all, it's not just about the money. I'm sure the Emperor needs those medicines quite badly, and will want to know what happened to them. I guess I'll do the right thing. In fact, I can start today itself, stay in an inn overnight if it gets too late, and then explore the area in daylight."

"Excellent idea, my boy," Theodore said, approvingly. "Considering it's going to be a little more dangerous than usual, perhaps you should ask your friends to accompany you. I know you're no stranger to danger…"

"Very funny, Dad," Ryan replied.

"…but if there really are bandits or thieves around, it can't hurt to be cautious. Why not ask Henrik or Armin to accompany you?"

"Or Lavie," Ryan joked. "If my sword doesn't get them, her brownies will!"

Theodore chuckled. "As much as that idea appeals to me, I think an errand of this sort is a little too risky for Lavie. You could ask Henrik or Armin if they were interested, though. Now good luck, son, and don't try to play the hero. If things get dangerous, retreat, and inform the local police to come and help you out. Understood?"

"Right, Dad," Ryan said, grinning. "I think I've used up my lifetime quota of 'playing the hero', anyway." And, strapping on his sword and his gun-belt, he went off in search of his friends.

xxx

"Ah, Hipper," Deputy Director Lev Andreyev said, removing his eyeglasses as the younger man entered his chamber. "Come in, there are some things I must tell you." They were speaking in their own tongue, not in Common.

Terrin Hipper, looking as nervous as it was only possible for a President-Elect of the Commonwealth to appear, entered the room. "Good morning, Mr. Andreyev," he said, sitting down as comfortably as he could. The man in front of him was the second most powerful person in the Varald Directorate, next to Director Russell Kievan, but he had no honorifics or titles, and his office was as simple, in its own way, as an Itarian priest's quarters. It's the way of the Directorate, Hipper thought. Thrones and scepters are only symbols. But we of the Varald know well how to wield power, even without any trappings.

"Well, Hipper, it looks as if things are looking up," Andreyev commented, pleasantly, folding his hands together and resting them on his desk. "You will, of course, depart for Unity Isle tomorrow, as per Jansen's orders. Everything is in place."

"Thank you, Mr. Andreyev," Hipper replied. "I must confess that this is quite an unexpected turn of events, but it is good news for us."

"And for the Commonwealth, Hipper," Andreyev said, pointing to a photograph on the wall. "Your predecessor, for all his usefulness to us, was mediocre and corrupt. He forgot the Directorate's first rule – that while actions done to benefit the Directorate are commendable, actions that diminish it for the sake of personal gain are foolish and criminal." There was an unmistakable warning in his words, though he spoke calmly and politely. Andreyev never raised his voice, even when angry, because he had no need to do so.

"I understand," Terrin Hipper said, slowly. I wouldn't like to be in Miller's shoes when Andreyev, or one of his minions, "debriefs" him. Most likely, he will end his days in a border prison or under house arrest. The Itarians and their Infinity may speak of forgiveness, but that is not a word that exists among the rulers of the Varald. "Have all the necessary security arrangements been confirmed?"

"Yes, Hipper, they have. Rest assured, you are of no use to us dead. And even if the Zion Empire should make childish attempts at retaliation – which I doubt they will, now that that senile old man has lost his son – the Varald Army will protect you with their lives. Now, Hipper, I must tell you about your first task."

"I am listening, Mr. Andreyev," Hipper said, respectfully.

"Ever since the death of Koketsu, we have been preparing for the eventuality of war with the Zion. It is likely that the little kingdom of Galvenia will form an alliance with them, if they have not done so already. But recent events in the Commonwealth suggest that this may not be necessary."

"Are you referring to the way the Zions folded, and accepted my nomination as President?" Hipper asked.

"Exactly. Jansen tells me that Kanoi was about to be mulish, as he always is, but he received a telegram – perhaps directly from the Emperor – ordering him to change his views. Poor man, that must have cost him a good deal." He laughed quietly. "And – let me speak to you as one member of the Directorate to another – that serves our purposes perfectly well. As satisfying as it would be to fight the Zion Empire, it would not be wise, at this point."

"Why not, Mr. Andreyev?" Hipper asked. A veteran of the 19th Varald Detachment, as well as a military intelligence officer before running for public office, he knew quite well what the answer was, but he was curious to hear what how much his superior would say.

"Because, my dear Hipper, there are times when peace, as boring as it is, is actually what the Directorate wishes, too. Despite Charlemagne's attitude – witness his annexation of Darington – he has not taken any steps to destabilize relations with us. Even Kanoi generally confines himself to verbal aggression at Commonwealth meetings. We and the Zion have found it possible to co-exist peacefully, if not always pleasantly. It is good for trade, for agriculture – and for the stilling of any possible dissent among our own people."

"Dissent?" Hipper seemed puzzled. "Mr. Andreyev, the last 'popular uprising' in Varald was a hundred years ago, and it was suppressed with hardly a fight. What dissent do you refer to?"

"I see you haven't been briefed yet," Andreyev said, apologetically. "Well, about two weeks ago, the Geheimpol uncovered a cell of conspirators who were meeting in an old Youth Club hall, here in Zhemu itself. We seized about thirty men and women, along with the usual half-baked literature – Alamoth Jakov's books, pamphlets belonging to the Church of Infinity, and plans to conduct bombings in public places. They have all been silenced, of course."

That's how it is here, Hipper thought, with a nervous smile. Criminals are punished and even executed, but conspirators are just 'silenced'. They are here one day, gone the next, never to be seen or spoken of again. "But that is commonplace foolishness, Mr. Andreyev. Surely you are not worried about such infantile displays of protest."

"We are not, Hipper. What we are more worried about is that the entire incident, as typical as it was, showed signs of having been staged. The tip-offs that the Geheimpol received were surprisingly specific. The conspirators put up very little fight, almost as if they were accepting martyrdom for a greater cause. It looks like they were a convenient sacrifice, a distraction."

"I'm sure the Geheimpol will get to the heart of the matter, whatever the truth may be," Hipper replied. "At any rate, the 7th and 8th Varald Divisions, which began deploying towards the border after we heard of Koketsu's death, have been instructed to remain on alert, at least until you have assumed office."

"That seems quite satisfactory, Mr. Andreyev – By Terra, what was that?" Hipper rose from his chair, alarmed.

"What happened, Hipper?" Andreyev asked, smiling. "One would think you had seen a ghost."

"There, at the window behind you!" Hipper said, his hand reaching for the pistol at his belt – a possession he had never rid himself of, even after completing his military service. "Turn around!"

Andreyev turned, and saw a man clad in black, his head completely covered by a monkish hood, standing there. "How did that imbecile get there?" he said, irritably. "No one is supposed to be able to enter these premises without passing by our guards…."

The glass of the window suddenly shattered, and before either man could react, the man was inside the room, standing calmly in front of Andreyev, and smiling – no, laughing.

Hipper drew his pistol. "I don't know who you are," he shouted, "but you will pay dearly for this intrusion."

"Oh, is that so?" the man said, unperturbed. "It's always a pleasure to meet high officials. Good day, gentlemen."

Andreyev rang a bell on his desk, a panicky expression on his face. "Get out of here!" he said. "You are intruding upon the premises of the Deputy Director, and you will be punished."

"Somehow, I don't think so," the man said. "Now, Mr. Hipper, do put away that pistol, you'll hurt yourself if it goes off."

"Damn you!" Hipper said, and fired, aiming at the man's arm. Whoever he is, we must capture him alive. I'll cripple him, and then we'll put him through a good old interrogation, Varald-style. His aim was good, but the bullet stopped well short of its target, as if deflected by armour – except that it seemed to Hipper, completely dazed, that it had stopped several inches short of where the intruder's arm would have been. Lands of Ghetz, that didn't even touch him!

"I hope you understand a little better now," the man said, shrugging his shoulders. "Now, Mr. Hipper, I bear you no ill will. In fact, if you do not interfere with me, you will have a golden future." He drew closer to Andreyev, who stepped away clumsily, his face a picture of sheer terror. "But I cannot say the same of you, Mr. Andreyev. You've been a thorn in our side for too long."

"Hipper, shoot him!" Andreyev screamed. "Where are those guards?"

Obediently, Hipper fired again, aiming for the man's head this time. He's an assassin! I must save Andreyev at all costs. By this time, a detachment of guards was rushing down the corridors, and were almost at the door of the chamber. However, as with his first shot, the bullet seemed to stop in mid-air, well short of his head, and fell away slowly, lying useless on the ground.

"Ah, I see we have company. Well, that is my cue to leave," the man said, looking at the bullet with amusement. "Mr. Andreyev, I know you don't believe in an afterlife, so I shall just bid you farewell." He drew a short sword from within his robe, and before a shocked Hipper could react, thrust it into Andreyev's chest. The Deputy Director cried out in pain, then fell face-first on his desk, bleeding.

"I really must work on my aim," the man said, looking at his sword with some annoyance. "Well, as pleasant as this meeting has been, I shall leave you now. Good day, Mr. Hipper, and remember my words." And as Hipper frantically fired two more shots after him, the man disappeared through the window, and was gone.

The guards, who had entered just in time to see the black-clad man depart, rushed forward to attend to the unfortunate Andreyev, but he was already dead.

"What in Zhemu was that?" their leader said, fear in his voice.

"I….." Hipper's hand shook, and he lowered his gun. "That man broke the window and entered, and….I tried to shoot him, but it was as if he was armoured."

"Mr. Hipper," the guard said, respectfully, "that's absurd. The window is broken, but he couldn't have possibly entered that way! Look, the bars are still intact."

"Zion!" Hipper shouted. "Only a Zionese mage could do something of this sort. They are probably seeking revenge for their precious Koketsu, whom they still accuse us of having killed. We must inform the Director at once! Leave some of your guards here, and come with me."

"You're….you're right, Sir," the guard replied, still shocked at the sight of Andreyev's corpse lying prone on his desk. Leaving three of his men behind, the chief guard and President Hipper raced from their building to the Director's base as fast as they could.

"I can't believe it," one of the guards said, brokenly, looking at their retreating figures and the broken glass. "The Deputy Director….we are all lost. We will all be punished."

"But he couldn't have entered that way, the Captain is right!" one of his colleagues retorted. "And look, there's something lying on the floor, there!"

"Perhaps we should look at it," a third guard suggested, taking a step forward.

"Look, but do not touch," the first man said, raising his hand in a gesture of caution. "The Director will not be pleased if we tamper with evidence…."

The second and third guards looked at the object lying on the floor. It was a small piece of metal, about the size of a playing card. On its surface were markings that they could not recognize.

"It's a bit of metal…..with some symbols on it," the second guard replied, "but I don't know what they are."

"President Hipper is right," the third man said. "This looks like the deed of a mage from Zion. But didn't they tell us, during training, that the mages had been purged from Zion quite some time ago?"

"Perhaps they have kept a few for purposes like this," the first man said, angrily. "Those vile Zion and their Galvenian allies….this is their doing. They will pay dearly for this cowardly act."

The other two men nodded their agreement, silently, as they stood guard over Andreyev's remains.

xxx

"I don't quite understand," King Arlbert said, shaking his head, as he looked at the dispatch in front of him. "It seems as if our Zion allies are having second thoughts." He was in the Audience Chamber, and only two other men were with him – the Prime Minister, and War Minister Sheffield.

"Your Majesty," Prime Minister Martell Socius said, softly, "consider the Emperor's health. His presumptive heir is dead, and he knows that embarking on a war might create a vacuum, in which the rest of the Valtemond family…"

"I believe the proper term is 'dynasty', my dear Socius," King Arlbert said, good-humoredly. Despite their political differences, he and the Prime Minister were close friends – in fact, it was often said, by the Opposition, that only the King's favour had protected Socius from losing office on more than one occasion. Such rumours, though plausible, were untrue. Though he gave the impression that his entire policy was one of masterful yielding, and nothing else, Socius was a consummate statesman – and it was a quality that Arlbert could appreciate, even if he did not quite possess it. "I'm afraid my knowledge of Zion genealogy is rather rusty. Who stands to inherit the throne, now that Wilhelm is dead?"

"I believe that there are two candidates, each with a good claim to the throne, should anything happen to Charlemagne," Alan Sheffield said, gruffly. "First is the King's nephew, Renaud. He's a little older than Wilhelm, and quite ambitious. He also has the support of most of the Court nobles. The other is a second cousin, Gerhardt. He is seen as being more stable, less grasping than Renaud, and he has the support of the Viceroys and the military. Should anything befall Charlemagne, there is every possibility that the Empire may find itself embroiled in civil war. Wilhelm's death was unfortunate, indeed."

"Thank you, Sheffield," the King replied. A little older and harder than Socius, Sheffield was not only the War Minister, but he was the de facto head of Galvenia's Overseas Intelligence – Sir Douglas McIverny, the aged noble who held the post on paper, was more than content to let Sheffield run things for him. While the King did not admire him the way he did Socius, he had the utmost respect for his acumen. "So, let us summarize. Following the death of Koketsu, Prince Wilhelm met us all, and discussed the terms of a conditional treaty of alliance against the Varald. After the attack on the Paradiso, we sent Sir Prescott to Caledonia with the formal treaty, couched in the most friendly and liberal terms. Now, Prescott writes back, telling us that Charlemagne has signed the treaty, but has asked us to defer any troop movements for now, advising caution. And, even more improbably, at the Commonwealth meeting, Kanoi of Zion voted in favour of Terrin Hipper, who will soon be sworn in as President. Gentlemen, what on Terra is going on?"

"The obvious explanation, as my colleague suggests, is that the Zion are afraid of civil war," Socius said, calmly. "However, I find that too obvious. Charlemagne is ailing, true. He has tried hard to keep this secret, but we had our suspicions, and they were confirmed by what that Zion agent, Striker, told the Princess. But remember, Charlemagne is the man behind Darington. I find it hard to believe that he would develop cold feet, even if he were ill. Besides, the army is fiercely loyal to him."

"Perhaps he is deliberately spreading misinformation," Sheffield countered. "We still do not know what the man's mission was, or what his intention was in speaking so freely to Her Highness. What is your theory, Socius?"

"It is simple, Sheffield," Socius replied. "The Zion are probably weaker than we think they are. There is a lot of difference between blackmailing one's neighbours into handing over a province, and fighting a war on all fronts against the military power of the Varald Directorate. The days of the Great Zion-Varald War – which, let me remind you, ended in a stalemate even then – are over, and the Zions have disbanded and persecuted their own mage cohorts, leaving them reliant on technology alone. I'm not a betting man, Sire, and war is not sport, but if I could wager on the result of a second Zion-Varald War, my money would be on the Varald. That is why, even with our men on their side, they hesitate. Charlemagne does not want to fight a losing war. Hence, he also tries to pacify the Varald, by accepting Hipper's Presidency without too much fuss. It all hangs together, Sire."

Arlbert frowned. "But can we be sure of that, Socius? It's an interesting surmise, but I find it hard to believe that the Zion are that weak. Sheffield, what are your thoughts?"

"I believe the Zions are playing both sides, Sire," Sheffield said, confidently. "Just around the time of Koketsu's death, there was another incident of significance, which I'm sure you remember, Socius. The arrest of Samuel Talmadge of Glendale. When he was seized, he was found guilty of not just corruption and larceny, but of making illegal copies of confidential military records – records pertaining to our own troop strength and border security. Now, who would be interested in those?" He let the question hang in the air for a moment, then went on. "Certainly not the Varald; they are too far away. Certainly not the plutocrats of the Republic, and most certainly not Itaria. That leaves us with only one option."

"Come now, Sheffield," Socius said, "remember that Talmadge is still safely in our custody; besides, his ally, Kodenai, was killed in a scuffle with our men on Davenport Peak, and all the documents were recovered on his person, hidden inside the hilts of his throwing knives."

"That was fortunate, I agree," Sheffield said, "but it still leaves a question unanswered: with whom were Talmadge and Kodenai trafficking? Those boys you hired said that Kodenai was trying to escape by sea. A ship could only take him to three places: Itaria, the Fulton Republic, and the Zion Empire. The conclusion is obvious."

"Then you think the Zion have further designs on our territory?" Arlbert said, angrily. "Come, Sheffield, the idea is absurd. We have lived peacefully with them for almost two decades, now…"

"Too peacefully, Sire. Charlemagne is not Lord Geraud Valtemond. It is not difficult to see him, in his last years, dreaming of the reunification of the continent of Arlia – or at least the expansion of his boundaries. This would also explain why he had an agent aboard the Paradiso – not so much to protect Wilhelm, who had his own personal guard, but to convey information about Galvenia to his ruler."

"Sheffield, you're being absurd," Socius said, with a soft laugh. "You assume that classified documents related to Galvenian national security would be of importance only to the Zions, because they are our neighbours. But consider this: if the Varald were seeking a war, and knew that we were allies of the Empire, wouldn't such information be valuable to them? Talmadge and Kodenai were probably going to sell their knowledge to Varald agents, who would then create trouble for us once war broke out, perhaps through covert operations at the border. All that would fit in quite well with our experience of the Geheimpol, and the Varald in general. Deceit is part of their modus operandi."

"Both of you make good points," King Arlbert said, pensively. "But honestly, I am inclined to side with Socius on this matter. Remember, when all is considered, Striker helped to save my daughter's life. Why would a simple spy do that?"

"Bluff, Sire," Sheffield said. "He had no way of knowing that the Princess would – would act the way she did, and when he saw her in danger, he saw an opportunity of establishing his own credentials, at little risk to himself. It was the perfect way of slipping back to Caledonia unnoticed, with your blessing, and he took advantage of it."

"I have spoken to the young man myself," Arlbert said, shaking his head, "and while he was quite discreet about his mission, he was quite clear that it concerned matters of purely internal interest to the Zion. I may not be a spy myself, but I can tell when someone is lying, and he was not."

"Intuition is a good servant, Sire, but a bad master," Sheffield said, lightly.

"I will grant you that, Sheffield," the King said, laughing. "So tell me, what instructions should we convey to Sir Prescott now? He sounded quite disappointed that Charlemagne was taking things so coolly, to say the least. He implied that I ought to impress the Emperor with the seriousness of the situation myself."

"Sire, we cannot take risks simply because Sir Prescott wants to earn a few medals," Socius said, patiently. "He is a young man, and has little understanding of what a war involving half of Terra might mean. Recall him quietly, before his passions get the better of him."

"Oh, spare me your well-worn bias against all things aristocratic, Socius," Arlbert said, mockingly. "He was merely following instructions."

"As much as I admire Sir Prescott's record," Sheffield said, "I shall have to agree with Socius for once. The fight with the Varald is not our fight, Sire. If the Zion Empire wishes to attack, we will attack at their side. If they wish to wait, let them wait. That will give us time for some enquiries of our own."

"Enquiries, Sheffield?" Socius asked, pleasantly.

"Yes, Socius, enquiries. Enquiries about the movements and actions of foreign nationals, particularly the Zionese, in our country in the past few months. And, with all due respect to Your Majesty, enquiries about that man, William Striker, and his antecedents. It might be interesting."

"I see I shall have to let you both have your own way, as usual," the King said, shrugging his shoulders. "Socius, write back to Sir Prescott, advising him to return without any further delay, and await further orders. Also, make arrangements for my travel to Caledonia, for Prince Wilhelm's state funeral. Sheffield, I permit you to look into any suspicious actions by foreigners – all of them, mind you, not only the Zionese, but be polite. Don't ruffle any feathers."

"Will you be travelling alone, Sire?" Socius asked, in a solicitous tone.

"Why, Socius, that was my first idea, but I believe that the Queen and the Princess shall accompany me this time," Arlbert said, with a smile. "I trust you can manage things in my absence. We must treat the Emperor's son with the respect he merits, even in death."

"The Princess?" Sheffield grinned. "Are you hoping that she will prove as popular with the Zion as she did in Davenport or Lorean?"

"Perhaps, my dear Sheffield," the King said, rising from his chair. "Time will tell. Now, you have your instructions, and I wish you luck in carrying them out. Good day, gentlemen."

The two ministers bowed before their ruler, and left in silence.

xxx

"Do you have to wear that ridiculous mask everywhere you go, Armin?" Ryan said, as he and his friend continued their trek along the highway. They were now close to Lake Derren, and the sun was setting. "Not that it doesn't suit you, but we aren't acting in a school play here!"

"Hyuk, hyuk. You're a barrel of laughs, aren't you, Eramond?" Armin said, removing the mask that had served him well, both in the Mayor's house and on stage. "At least you don't have good old Henrik to join you in mocking my lovely mask."

"Yes, who'd have thought that Henrik would go dashing off to Alton to meet his new, ahem, 'friend'?" Ryan said, chuckling. "He was almost turning red when he apologized to me for not being able to make it. Quite the smooth operator, our Henrik."

"Feeling jealous, Ryan?" Armin said, teasingly. "Maybe we should have turned up at Alton unannounced, and provided some appropriate music. I have a new version of the Galvenian Wedding Anthem that would suit him and his girlfriend just fine!"

"Oh, please, Armin," Ryan groaned. "Spare him. After all, she and Henrik seem to be quite happy with each other. I've only met them once, and that was quite a good day," he reflected. "It was the day Marianne and I got back together, you know…"

"Geez, Ryan, did those pirates whack you on the head and make you stupid?" Armin said, irritably. "Marianne cheated on you, damn it! And now you're going groveling back to her, just because she bought you a dopey pendant? Come on!"

"Armin," Ryan said quietly. "Before you continue trashing Marianne, answer me this. How did you feel about your dad leaving the family, when you were a kid?"

Armin paused in mid-stride. "What has that got to do with anything?" he retorted.

"Answer the question, Armin, and I'll tell you," Ryan insisted.

"Oh, very well. I was…. Mad. Confused. Upset. And wishing that he would burn in hell for quite a while, if not forever. That good enough for you, Dr. Eramond? You going to ask me about my dreams, next?" Armin said, in an attempt at levity.

"Well, think of how Marianne would feel, to see her father and mother breaking up right in front of her, and not being able to do anything about it," Ryan said, still calm. "She'd be hurt and confused too. She'd feel insecure. Right, Armin?"

"But you were her handsome hero, right? Wouldn't she just turn to you for the hugs and smoochies, instead of that louse Jeremy Stockhelm?" Armin replied. "Sure, she's upset, she's having a hard time. But why Jeremy and not you?"

"Armin, when people are hurting, they don't always think straight," Ryan said patiently. "Marianne made a mistake, but she was going through a lot. She still is. What would you have me do? Ignore her?"

"Well, as long as you didn't go and take up with Lavie, I wouldn't mind that at all," Armin said, laughing. "Just dump her and move on. It's the smart thing to do. Aren't you supposed to be the smart one, Mr. Straight A?"

"You sure are a fountain of wisdom, Armin," Ryan said, laughing as well. "All right, how about this. You lay off the cracks at Marianne, and I let you wear your raccoon mask. Deal?"

"Ha ha, Compadre, you sure know the way to my heart! I guess the A-Man is willing to accept your deal, as much as he would like to continue this discussion," Armin said, amused. "A member of the Brotherhood feels naked without his badge, you know?" He pulled his grotesque mask on quickly.

"We're at Lake Derren now," Ryan observed. "Do you think we should look here? I know we didn't meet any bandits when we came by, but there are plenty of nooks and crannies here, and the lake itself is a good place to get rid of evidence."

"Well, why not!" Armin said, his hand going to the knives at his belt. "We can check here and in Lorean Glade, before we hit Checkpoint Alpha."

The two men walked forward confidently along the path that led to the lake, then circled it. Suddenly, they came upon something.

"What's that, Compadre?" Ryan asked, as Armin knelt down on the ground.

"Looks like a little metal box," Armin said, rising and picking it up. "So what kind of goods are we looking for?"

"Well, there are two packages. One of them was much bigger than this; it's the one I was supposed to take to Caledonia myself. But this could be the other one. Dad said it was for a scientist in Darington, and it was in a small box."

"Darington?" Armin scowled. "Compadre, I'll trouble you not to mention certain words in my presence. Whenever I think of Darington, I just want to slap Socius silly!"

"Let's not get started on the politics," Ryan said, in a conciliatory tone. "Are there any marks on it?"

Armin looked at the box carefully. "It's just a little chest that happens to be locked," he said, and held it close to his ear as he shook it. "No sound. It's either empty, or filled with something very light."

"That might be it," Ryan said. "Dad said the box contained plant and root specimens, for their museum there. Should we open it and check?"

"No, let's look around a little more," Armin said. "After all, how did it get there? Where are your dad's delivery men? This ground's too hard to pick up a trail, but if there was a scuffle here, there ought to be some traces of it."

"Perhaps the ambush took place somewhere else," Ryan said, "and the bandits threw this one away because it wasn't what they wanted. But I'm with you. Let's look…."

"Freeze!" The voice was loud and commanding, and it filled the quiet air around the lake. Before either man could react, a bolt of yellow light – almost like a flame – struck the box, knocking it out of Armin's hand. Part of the ray struck his hand itself, and he yelped.

"Yowch! What on Terra was…" Armin began, then fell silent, his jaw dropping, as a blue-haired woman in military uniform emerged from behind a rock, her sword drawn.

"Stop there, the two of you! I am an official of the Zion Special Forces! If you try to resist, you're going to get burned!" the woman said angrily.

"Sergeant Burnfist?" Ryan said, amazed. "What are you doing here?"

"Flaming fires! It's you!" Sergeant Rebecca Burnfist exclaimed, lowering her sword with a laugh. "Ryan Eramond. What are you boys doing here?"

"I could ask the same question about you, Sergeant," Ryan said, extending his hand to her. They shook hands, with Sergeant Burnfist's grip still as strong as ever.

"Excuse me, Mr. Eramond, would you mind asking your friend why she tried to fry my hand there?" Armin said, heatedly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, son," Sergeant Burnfist said, loudly but kindly. "Let's just say I have an interest in bandits who are preventing the Emperor from receiving his goods. Now, that might sting a bit, but it won't burn. I always use low power when I'm across the border. And who might you be?"

"I," said Armin, looking admiringly at the Zionese soldier, "am the legendary Armin Tamas, of the Brotherhood of the Raccoon! Welcome to Galvenia, Miss Burnfist."

The Sergeant laughed. "That's 'Sergeant' to you, son, but since you're not one of my privates, I'll let it pass. You seem to have a fine taste in silly masks," she said, "but any friend of Ryan Eramond's is a friend of mine. Unless your Brotherhood is a group of bandits, in which case…" She made a menacing gesture with one hand.

"Oh, Armin's pretty harmless," Ryan reassured her. "His mask is worse than his bite, that's for sure."

"Shut up, Eramond," Armin said, laughing and lowering his mask. "Well, it's quite the honour to meet you, Sergeant." He bowed with mock gallantry. "You see, my friend Ryan and I aren't bandits – we're bandit hunters! Ryan's dad found that two of his packages had gone astray, and off he went. Of course, Ryan's completely lost without my knife-throwing skills, so…."

"Enough of the chatter!" Sergeant Burnfist said, sternly, though she was still smiling. "Flaming lands, this is quite a coincidence. I was proceeding to Caledonia with a detachment from the border, when I received to find out why a particular package hadn't reached us yet. A quick wire to Alpha was enough to tell me that the trouble was on this side of the border, so I grabbed my pass and headed here."

"We're actually doing the same thing, as Armin said. Did you find the box first?" Ryan asked.

"Yes, son, I did," the Sergeant said, picking it up. "It was floating near the edge of the lake, as if someone hadn't thrown it in deep enough. I just took it out and stood guard for a while, thinking I'd use it as a bait."

"Nice work," Armin said appreciatively. "Except that you got the wrong guys! Still, there must be some reason why it was here. Either the bandits did their job here, or they just chucked this away later."

"You're not very intelligent, are you, son?" Rebecca Burnfist said, chuckling. "That's a good quality in young men, as long as they learn to obey orders. Would a career in the Zion Infantry interest you? We'll make a man out of you, that's for sure."

"Hey, hey, nothing in Galvenia is as manly as Armin Tamas, lady!" Armin protested.

"Call me 'lady' once more, son, and I won't use low power anymore," Sergeant Burnfist said, hotly. "Anyway, it's clear that this was put here either for disposal, or as a decoy. I'm going to check out Lorean Glade next."

"Shall we come with you?" Ryan suggested.

"As long as your pet raccoon keeps his mouth shut, I don't see why not, Ryan," the Sergeant replied, glaring at Armin. "We don't know who did this, but two and a half heads are better than one."

"Half a head? Why… Sergeant, if you want a half-head, my buddy Ryan is the one you want, not me! He's such a goof, that even after his girlfriend…" Armin began.

"Will you keep quiet, Armin?" Ryan said. "I think teaming up with the Sergeant is a good idea. She helped save the Princess on board the Paradiso, you know. Let's get going, Lorean Glade isn't too far."

"Okay, okay," Armin said, "but no more cracks about my head, Sergeant. Pretty please?"

Sergeant Burnfist laughed. "You're quite amusing, son. Now just stuff the chatter for a while, and let's see what we find there."

"Works fine for me, Sergeant," Armin said, cockily. "Come on, Ryan. Let's take the box and scramble!"

xxx

The town of Alton is a quiet one, and there are few passers-by who stop and spend much time near the statue of Nealus Hessen, the saintly founder of the Order of the Journeymen. If anyone had happened to pass by at four o'clock on that day, he would have come upon a young couple – a tall boy, and a blue-haired girl – engaged in animated conversation; he might have then smiled indulgently, thinking of his own youth, before walking on. But a more curious bystander would have noticed that the pair, though clearly on good terms, were more wrapped up in their discussion than in each other.

"And that's what happened, Henrik," Bernadette said, closing her eyes and trembling a little. "Sister Miriam was very kind, but it was still rather frightening."

Henrik patted her hand gently. "Don't worry, Bernadette, it's all over now," he said. "But it's clear that something has gone wrong with Thomas and those Revival people. The more I think about it, the more I wonder whether Thomas actually committed suicide."

"Suicide…" Bernadette shuddered. "Poor, unhappy soul. May he find peace and mercy when he stands before the Infinity."

"Except that it's not suicide," Henrik insisted. "I've been thinking about it all day, and the more I look at it, the less sense it makes. If it was a suicide, why did they tell you it was an accidental death? Why should a group that's so rigid on faith and morals tell a deliberate lie?"

"Perhaps they didn't want to upset us," Bernadette said, slowly.

"Next, look at what your friend, Miss Rushden, said. She said something was 'dangerous'. A suicide may be tragic and distressing, but not dangerous. When she said 'they took you away from me', that didn't sound like suicide, either."

"Why, Henrik, I never thought of it that way!"

"Finally, look at the way poor Thomas' family reacted: they packed up and left town without a trace. Of course, that could just be grief. But it could also mean that they were afraid of something. Bernadette, we've got to find out the truth! This could be very important. If Sister Miriam and Father Joaquim think there was something funny going on, it can't be a simple, open-and-shut matter! They can't proceed too far, because that youth pastor, Gruber, must have made a dying confession in confidence. But there's nothing to stop others from looking into the matter."

"And," Bernadette said, with mounting excitement, "it would also explain the attack on St. Nealus'! They wanted to destroy Amelia's books and papers, because there was something in them that could be used as evidence! Unfortunately, it's all gone."

"That's unfortunate, I know," Henrik said, nodding his head, "but there's one place where we can still look for evidence. We need to check out Thomas' house, as soon as possible." Briefly, in a few sentences, he explained what had happened to the Perrins' home after Thomas had passed on.

"A warehouse? That means, unless the Perrins took all their possessions with them, there might still be something there!" Bernadette exclaimed. "But how do we get access to it? You said it was rented by that lady with the souvenir shop, now…"

"I have a plan," Henrik said, grinning. And, leaning closer, he whispered a few sentences in Bernadette's ear. She laughed, and nodded in agreement. "It's worth a try, Henrik. We must make the attempt, at least! Even if she says no, we can't let this rest. Let's go ahead!"

"Are you sure you want to come along, Bernadette?" Henrik said, realizing the implications of what he'd just said for the first time. "If what we've guessed is true, we're dealing with people who may have…."

"Taken an innocent life?" Bernadette shook her head sadly. "Now I understand why Sister Miriam herself was so nervous, and why the Rector has been worried ever since she came by. But surely no harm can befall us in that warehouse. Besides" – she smiled at him, shyly – "aren't you the one who saved our town from the Gorn Jabola, Henrik? Didn't you stand by me when we encountered those armed guards? I know I'm safe, and I'm not afraid, if I'm beside you."

Henrik flushed and cleared his throat. "Thank you, Bernadette… but won't your college ask questions if you're gone too long? After all, it'll take us some time to get back to Davenport, and you need to be back before your curfew."

"That's bothersome, certainly," Bernadette said, discouraged. "And the longer we wait…"

"Actually," a voice broke in, "I believe I can help you with that."

Henrik looked up, and came face to face with a thin, elderly man, wearing a monk's robes, but with a merry expression on his face. Around his neck hung a large medallion, bearing the insignia of Saint Guibert XII, the patron of Itarian scholars.

"Do not look alarmed, children, I mean you no harm," the man went on, holding his hand out to Henrik. "It is indeed a pleasure to meet future pupils of mine, even under strange circumstances."

"Future pupils? Are you a teacher from King's College, Father?" Henrik asked, shaking the elderly cleric's hand.

"I'm afraid so, my young friend," he replied. "My name is Marlborough – Father Terence Marlborough. I just arrived from Itaria a couple of days ago, and I came to pay Father Riordan a visit. We were just looking over the entries for this year's scholarship. Some of them were quite good. However, there was one which was remarkable – 'On the Symbolic Significance of the Three Demons of Janwen'…."

Bernadette, on hearing this last sentence, turned a bright red, and lowered her head slightly.

"…for the originality of the exegesis involved. I asked Riordan to introduce me to its author, but he told me that you all had a half-holiday today, and would probably be somewhere about town. Fortunately, I did not have to look very far." He smiled at her.

"It looks like you've already made a name for yourself, Bernadette," Henrik said, looking at her proudly. "Father, did you happen to overhear much of our conversation?"

"I'm afraid I am already privy to the matters you have been discussing," Father Marlborough replied, with a sigh, "and, among my many duties, I have been asked to look into them. It is an unpleasant task, but I believe it is an important one."

"What should we do, Father?" Bernadette asked, still blushing at the recent mention of her essay.

"I'm afraid you're on your own, children, at least as far as visiting Davenport is concerned," Father Marlborough said, regretfully. "I must proceed to King's College by tonight, to complete certain formalities, and I will return to St. Nealus' only tomorrow afternoon. However, I believe I can intercede for you with Father Riordan, and obtain permission for you to, shall we say, investigate a certain warehouse in Davenport – excellent deduction, by the way, Mr. Spenson. He will not refuse me."

And it is a matter of historical fact that, after a short and painless interview with the Rector, Henrik and Bernadette – with the blessings of their new friend – set off on the path back to Davenport. As if aware of the nature of the task before them, they avoided discussing it on the way. Instead, as they walked side by side, and often hand in hand, Bernadette spoke of her childhood, of her mother, and of her year as a volunteer caring for children at Saint Integra's. Henrik, in turn, told her of his father's novels, of his eccentricities, and even of his own dear mother, glad to have a companion with a sympathetic ear. Before they knew it, they were at Davenport, and – a little reluctantly, realizing their walk together had to be interrupted – they headed for the gift shop.

"Why, hello!" Clarissa said brightly, beaming at Bernadette. "Henrik Spenson, and a new customer! Clarissa Crenshaw wishes you a good evening. Miss, I can tell by your attire that you must be an Itarian nun! We have a special assortment of medals and relics, some of them blessed by Lord Geraud itself! Perhaps you would care to look at them? Or this dress, which is said to have been worn by Saint Marguerite herself, on the day when an angel appeared to her…."

"Actually, Clarissa, my friend and I have a little job to do," Henrik interrupted, "and we need your help. You see" – and here he repeated the story he had thought up, and which Marlborough had helped him embellish – "Bernadette is from Saint Nealus' College in Itaria. A visiting scholar has found records suggesting that an important document, of great significance to the Church of Infinity, may be in your warehouse. He has authorized me to offer you a reward of two thousand Commonwealth dollars, if you permit us to search for it."

At the words "two thousand Commonwealth dollars," Clarissa – whose sales were lukewarm at the best of times – allowed her business instincts to overcome all else. "The old warehouse? Certainly, I have no objection. But remember, it's supposed to be….haunted!" she said, laughing nervously. "Do you want some of these defensive charms, which the Journeymen themselves used when fighting demons?"

"Er, no, thank you, Ma'am," Bernadette said, politely. "Unfortunately, our teacher told us to be very specific in our search. Could we have the key, please?" Strategically, Henrik drew two thousand-dollar Commonwealth notes from his pocketbook, and held them out in a gesture of invitation.

"Of course, my dear," Clarissa said, accepting the notes eagerly. "Now, good luck with your search, and if things get too scary, run!"

"Don't worry about that, Clarissa," Henrik said, laughing. Two minutes' walk brought them to the old house, and Henrik unlocked the door cautiously, drawing his sword before opening it.

"Henrik," Bernadette said, laughing, "don't overdo it!"

The house had been cleared of all furniture, and most of its rooms were still unused. One room, which had probably served as a kitchen, contained large piles of curios of dubious authenticity and value; another, which looked like it had been a bedroom, had a smaller number of knick-knacks of relatively recent origin. There were two large wardrobes set in the wall of this room.

"Let's start here," Bernadette suggested. "We could…"

God help you all….

The voice echoed through the deserted house, faint but clear, with an unmistakable threat in its tone.

"Did you hear that, Henrik?" Bernadette said, with a start.

"I did," Henrik said. "Obviously those old stories have a grain of truth to them."

Leave….leave now….

"Very funny," Henrik said, loudly. Bernadette drew closer to him, and her hand slipped into his. "Whoever you are, show yourself, wise guy."

God save you…..if you trouble my rest…..

"Henrik," Bernadette said, nervously, "this could be….more than we bargained for. But we must….stand firm. The Infinity and his saints will protect us."

You don't know what you are dealing with…..Leave, and God save the foolish soul who remains…..

"Wait a minute," Henrik said, as he walked closer to the smaller room, where the voices grew louder.

….for he will suffer, he and his family….

"Henrik, wait," Bernadette said, following him. "What if…."

"I've heard these words before," Henrik said, illumination dawning on his face. "And I can safely say there isn't a grain of truth to these stories about ghosts."

"I believe in the Infinity, and I believe you, Henrik," Bernadette said bravely. "But where have you heard them?"

"Perhaps 'grain of truth' isn't the best phrase," Henrik said, and he was laughing. "Perhaps a better term would be 'crystal of truth!'"

"A….Memory Crystal?" Bernadette clapped her hands in excitement. "Henrik, that must be it!" Walking hand in hand, but quite fearlessly this time, they headed into the room itself. It was illuminated by a single electric bulb, which was apparently left burning all the time. Using Clarissa's keys, they unlocked the first of the wardrobes. It contained a stack of books, most of them dusty and yellowing, and nothing else. The second wardrobe, when unlocked, contained another electric bulb, also burning, and a small object about the size of Bernadette's fist.

"Eureka, as they say in Cosmopolitan!" Bernadette said, bending down to pick it up. It was still 'speaking', but its words had no power to frighten her anymore.

"Just keep it away from the light, and it will shut up," Henrik suggested. "By the Infinity, what a bad joke!"

"Now, to look at these books," Bernadette said, calmly, as she placed the Crystal in her handbag and closed it. "But tell me, Henrik, where did you hear this before? Have you been to the warehouse earlier?"

"Therein hangs a tale," Henrik said in a 'dramatic' tone – causing his friend to laugh for quite some time – and, briefly, he told her the tale of his adventure with Ryan and Armin in the sewers of Davenport. "We found a Memory Crystal there, and returned it to the Guild to be sent on to the Museum," he concluded. "It was broken, and the audio only came in snatches, but the words and the voice were exactly the same."

Bernadette smiled. "I think Father himself did a few odd jobs for the Explorer's Guild, in his youth," she said. "But this means that the person or persons responsible have some connection to the Guild – that's the simplest explanation for how the other crystal, which probably didn't work, came to be abandoned in the sewers."

"Somehow, I find it hard to draw a connection between a Church prayer group and the mercenaries of the Guild," Henrik said.

"Don't be hypocritical, Henrik," Bernadette teased. "You're a connection between the Church and the Guild, after all!"

"Ouch! You've got me there, my friend," Henrik said, with a chuckle. "Come, let's look at the books. There probably won't be anything of interest, but we might as well try."

Their task was simpler than expected, as most of the books were ordinary school textbooks, with the name of Thomas Perrin penciled in neatly on their fly-leaves, identical to the ones they had used themselves in high school. Despite a diligent, page-by-page search, they found nothing of interest, until they came upon a copy of Galvenian Geography for Grade 9. Unlike the other books, this one had several passages underlined.

"Perhaps it's a clue," Henrik suggested. "Or maybe, like me, he was just bad at geography, and found that the markings helped him remember."

Bernadette flipped through the pages, but they could not find any particular pattern or meaning in the passages that had been marked out. "Let's take it with us anyway," Henrik said. "We can always look at it in detail later."

"But….if I take it back to St. Nealus', isn't there a risk that someone might try to get at it, as they did with Amelia's books?" She shook her head, and her hand went to her forehead.

"Don't worry," Henrik said, gently. "I'll keep the book myself, and look at it slowly. Whoever is behind this ugly business, they're far less likely to suspect me."

"Henrik, I can't let you….what if they…."

"There's no other way," he said, quietly. "You've already taken a huge risk by getting involved in this, especially since you're Miss Rushden's friend. I can't let you take on more than you should. Let me do this."

"Thank you, Henrik," Bernadette said, slipping the book into her bag as they left. Informing Clarissa that they hadn't been able to find what they were looking for, they headed away from her shop, feeling excited, and a little frightened – but pleased, as well.

"It's quite late already," Henrik said. "Shall I see you back to your college, then? It's not safe to travel alone at night."

"Goodness, I'm tired," Bernadette said, closing her eyes. "Perhaps I should just check in at the Davenport Inn, and I'll head back tomorrow. After all, Father Marlborough was able to obtain permission for me to take a day off."

"What about the Memory Crystal?" Henrik asked.

"We can hand it in to the Museum, but I think we ought to show it to Father Marlborough first," Bernadette said. "He seems to be a wise man, and knows a lot more than we do about this sad affair."

"Good idea," Henrik said. "Well, then, let's head for the inn, and I'll check you in. I'll come and pick you up tomorrow morning, around the Dawn Hour, if that's all right."

"That would be very nice, Henrik," Bernadette said, and they both headed towards the inn when Bernadette heard the footsteps of someone running up behind her.

"Hey, wait a minute!" a girl's voice called out, breathlessly. "I have to ask you something!"

"Lavie?" Henrik said, puzzled. "What's the matter?"

Lavie, carrying her bow in her hand, came running up to them. "I'm sorry to interrupt," she said, cheerfully, "but aren't you Miss Aquary from Hartridge? I think we met briefly some time ago, when the Princess was in town."

"Ah, I remember that, Miss," Bernadette said, smiling back. "I'm afraid I've forgotten your name, though. Please forgive me."

"Lavie Regale," Lavie said, holding out her hand. The two girls shook hands, and Lavie continued speaking, hanging her bow on her back as she did. "Miss Aquary, if I remember correctly, isn't your father a Healer? What, may I ask, is his full name?"

"Please call me Bernadette," she replied. "My father's name is Jonas Aquary. Why do you ask, Miss Regale?"

"Ohmygosh, then I was right! Your father…..Miss Aquary, I've just learned from my Gran that your father saved my life, when I was little. I wanted to thank him, and I just happened to see you here. What luck!" Lavie said brightly. "Is he with you?"

"What's going on, Lavie?" Henrik said, totally confused by the turn the conversation was taking.

"I'm afraid Father isn't with us right now," Bernadette apologized. "Do you mean he cured you when you were sick?"

Skipping over the details of her grandfather's letter, Lavie narrated the story that her grandmother had told her on Mann Island. "And she said he'd helped me because he had a daughter of his own, and he felt sorry for me. When I heard that, I was sure it must have been you! His name was Jonas, just like your father's!"

"In the name of Saint Integra," Bernadette said, a childhood memory suddenly coming back to her, "are you the granddaughter of Gerald Lancaster?"

"Yes, I am!" Lavie said, nodding her head. "Did your father tell you about me?"

"It was so long ago," Bernadette said, with a warm smile, looking at Lavie with something very close to awe. "But I remember, now. What a blessed surprise! Miss Lavie, it's a pleasure and an honour." She bowed before Lavie – a low, reverent bow, such as an old-fashioned Itarian might use in the presence of an Archbishop, or a Pontiff.

What's going on? Henrik wondered.

"Please call me Lavie," she replied. "Where are you headed now, Miss Aquary?"

"We're just checking her in at the Davenport Inn for the night," Henrik explained. "She came here on Church work, and she'll be going back tomorrow morning."

"Oh, no, you shouldn't!" Lavie said. "Please come and stay the night at our home. I'm sure Daddy will be glad to meet you, too! The Davenport Inn's all right, but I would really like to thank you in some way, for your father's sake. You'd be much more comfortable with us!"

"Are you sure it wouldn't be too much trouble?" Bernadette asked, anxiously. "I'm sure I can manage at the Inn, if I need to…."

"Please, Bernadette," Lavie said, in a pleading tone. "It wouldn't be any trouble at all!"

"Why, I believe I shall, Lavie," Bernadette said, taking a step towards her, and still looking at her with an expression of the utmost respect. "Thank you so much for everything, Henrik. I'll see you tomorrow morning, then."

"You're welcome, Bernadette," Henrik said, as they bowed and shook hands. "And thanks, Lavie, I'm sure your place will be much more comfy than Mr. Sloen's 'luxury budget' rooms!"

"You're right there!" Lavie replied, and – still taking together animatedly – the two girls walked together to Casa Regale, leaving Henrik deep in thought as he returned home.

Who would've thought Lavie, of all people, would make such an impression on Bernadette? The way she looked at her – it was almost as if she were meeting the Pontiff, or a Saint, in person! I must ask her about it all tomorrow.

xxx

It was Commissioner Jansen's turn to receive a telegram late that night, as the Executive Council were gathered in the dining hall, about to retire. As had happened with Kanoi, the news was far from pleasant.

"Is this what you call fellowship and peace, Kanoi?" he thundered, flinging the message down on the table, and bringing his fist down on it as well. "Conspiracy and murder! Are you satisfied?"

Kanoi, taken aback, dropped his cigar on the table, and hastened to pick it up before it left a burn. "My dear Commissioner, what are you talking about?"

"You may feign innocence," Jansen went on, trembling with anger, "but rest assured that neither I nor the Director will take this lightly. It is one thing to disagree with a Presidential selection, and entirely another to perform an illegal, covert assassination. You will pay dearly for this."

"In the name of Saint Guibert," Mazarus protested, "explain yourself, Jansen. What are you raving about?"

"Raving? Why should I not rave? Listen to this, you prattling priest. Lev Andreyev, the Deputy Director of the Varald Directorate, has just been found assassinated, in circumstances which suggest that a mage, or mages, were involved. Who could achieve this, except the Zions and their Imperial Mage Battalion? The Varald condemn this action most strongly! We shall bring a motion for censure on the morrow, and have the matter investigated by the International Court of the Commonwealth…."

"How quickly we change our tune, Commissioner," Lord Lucan said calmly. "When Koketsu and Wilhelm were murdered, you were silent. Now that the assassins come for your own, you begin raising the hue and cry. Truly, the wheel of retribution turns on, respecting no one."

"What is that supposed to mean, Lucan?" Jedda said, clasping his hands. "One would almost think that you were accusing both the Zion and the Varald of planning the assassination of each other's leaders."

"There is no need to be so shamelessly literal, Jedda," Lucan replied, smiling. "I refer not to nations, but to the lessons of history. When we abandon the Charter, and surrender to our desires for power, then war and strife gain a foothold. First Koketsu, then Wilhelm, and now Andreyev. Gentlemen, we are dealing with an enemy who understands our disunity all too well, and is exploiting it."

"Spare me the cheap fiction, Lucan," Jansen said angrily. "Perhaps that idea would read well in one of those yellow-backed novels that you Galvenians like to read on cruises, but this is the real world. Who but the Zion – envious of the election of Terrin Hipper – would dare to do such a thing?"

"You forget, Jansen," Kanoi said coolly, "that the Zion themselves had trouble with their mages, and that the vast majority of them were slaughtered to a man at Inderness, long before you or I were born. In fact, some of them were rumoured to have escaped into the Republic. So perhaps you should be quarrelling with Jedda, not with the Zion." He puffed calmly on his cigar – an affectation that was calculated to annoy both Jedda and Jansen – and leaned back in his chair. "Or perhaps your own people are rising against the oppression of the Directorate, as they ought to have long ago."

"Your lies will serve you little, Kanoi," Jansen shot back. "You realize that an act of aggression on this scale can only have one outcome, of course."

"My brothers," Lord Lucan said helplessly, "let us try to be reasonable about this. As was the case with Koketsu, and Prince Wilhelm, we do not have evidence to suggest that the death of Deputy Director Andreyev was due to a covert operation of any sort. Instead, let us observe a moment of silence for our departed comrade, and see how we can resolve this situation."

"You speak sensibly, Lucan," Archbishop Mazarus said approvingly. "May the Infinity, for whom all things are possible, forgive Andreyev his many transgressions, and grant him mercy."

"You hypocrites," Jansen replied, "what right do you have to speak of mercy and forgiveness? I move that a Commonwealth Commission be set up to investigate the Deputy Director's death, and the complicity of the Zion in it. I am quite confident that President Hipper will support me in this."

"You are welcome to try, once Hipper arrives here. Or should I say, if he arrives here," Kanoi said, smirking.

"More threats?" Jansen rose from his seat, and walked up to Kanoi, who also stood up. Both men glared at each other, unflinching, standing face-to-face.

"Gentlemen, please!" Lord Lucan said, in a pleading tone. "There is no need for vulgar displays of aggression here."

"That is an amusing idea," Jedda said, laughing. "Instead of involving all Terra in a foolish armed conflict, why not let Jansen and Kanoi settle the matter here itself, like nobles? My money would be on Kanoi, of course. He would hit hard, even if Jansen would hit low."

"Infinity preserve us," Mazarus said, throwing up his hands. "Is this what the vision of Lord Geraud has come to? You dishonor his memory, all of you! Viceroy, as the representative of your nation's official Church, I must ask you to remain seated, and settle this with dignity. Do not lower yourself to the level of the Varald."

Kanoi shrugged his shoulders and returned to his seat, still smoking his cigar peacefully. "Very well, my dear Mazarus," he replied. "Jansen, let us discuss this like gentlemen."

"There is nothing to discuss," Jansen said, harshly, and remaining upright. "The Director is already aware of your machinations against the Varald, and rest assured that you will soon learn what a terrible mistake you have made. Very soon." Saying this, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, leaving the four other members of the Executive Council quite perplexed.

"Surely the Varald would not declare open hostilities," Lord Lucan said, in an attempt at reassurance. "Come, my brothers, let us not be too swayed by what Jansen has said."

"Your idealism is admirable, Lucan," Mazarus replied, "But we of Itaria have just cause to fear the Varald. Do not underestimate the roars of a wounded beast; it is still a beast, and its wounds can heal alarmingly quickly."

"Oh, by the Deity," Jedda said, irritably. "A war right now would further destabilize our economy, as well as our trading agreements with the Varald. Let us hope that Hipper proves more sensible than his predecessor."

"Indeed," Kanoi replied. "But there is one question that none of you have considered. Who is it who desires war and conflict so badly, that he has been able to assassinate not just Koketsu and Andreyev, but our own future Emperor, with complete impunity?"

"Another Almonth Jakov," Mazarus said, shaking his head. "Infinity preserve us all."

"If this is true, then…." Lucan began, then stopped. "Gentlemen, let us not make any hasty decisions here. Let us await the arrival of Hipper, and hope that Jansen's tantrum has settled down by then."

"It is true that hope is a virtue," Mazarus said, lines of worry appearing on his forehead, "but sometimes, an excess of a particular virtue is not goodness, but folly. Let us hope, for our sake and the sake of all Terra, that you are right and I am wrong, Lucan."

xxx

"Release that woman!" The voice came from a thicket, and the two armed men stepped back from their prey, stunned.

Before they could react further, a young man had emerged from the bushes, and had rapidly disarmed one of them with a thrust of his sword. The second, a little more alert, made a feint to the right, but his newly-arrived opponent was quicker, and lunged forward, wounding him in the chest. Stunned, the second man groaned, and his seconds of hesitation were enough to allow his adversary to disarm him, too.

The woman, who had fallen to her knees, looked around wonderingly.

"You're going to regret this, kid," the second man said, his hand covering the bleeding wound over his chest.

"It is you who will do the regretting, you bandit," the man said, and in a swift slash, he sliced through the man's forehead, his blade gleaming blue against the full moon. Blinded by the sudden flow of blood before his eye, his opponent stepped back. The first man, reclaiming his sword, tried to attack in turn, but his opponent was too swift. The blue blade slashed through the air again, severing his ear, and he screamed.

"Now, have you learned your lesson, or do you want me to inflict further indignities on you?" the young man said, with a cruel smile.

"We'll – we'll get you for this!" the first man cried out, as he and his companion turned to flee. As they did, the young man raised his sword, aiming straight for the first man's back. A blue beam shot out in a straight line from the blade, and he fell to the ground, a dazed expression on his face.

"Come, now, let us have an even fight, my friend. One against one. Are you man enough, or are you a filthy coward who enjoys molesting unarmed women?" the man called out, challengingly.

"You don't know what you're messing with, son," the first man growled, wiping the blood away from his face, but before he could say anything more, a similar beam shot out from his antagonist's sword, and he, too, crumpled to the ground, still groaning.

"Are…." The woman rose to her feet slowly, leaning on the young swordsman's arm, her look of terror slowly giving way to one of relief. "Are they dead?"

"Unfortunately not, madam," the man said. "I would have wished to inflict a just sentence on them, but the Code is clear. A life for a life. They had not yet taken your life, so I must spare theirs, too. They are stunned, and will remain so for at least two hours."

The woman leaned against a tree for support. The young man watched her silently, making no attempt at a gesture of consolation, though his expression betrayed his concern.

"Whoever you are," the woman said, gratefully, in a weak voice, "thank you….Oh, thank you! I thought my last hour had truly come, and that I would die without seeing my family again."

"It is not safe to travel through the wastes of Northern Galvenia at this hour, madam," the man said calmly. "I myself have heard tales of bandits lying in ambush, all the way from Lorean Glade to the border checkpoint. Vile individuals, all of them. I am glad to be of service to you."

"Young man," the woman said, extending her hand to him, with a tear of gratitude running down one of her cheeks, "I don't know how I can repay you for this. You've not only saved my life, but saved something that even the Government finds important! Thank you, from the bottom of my heart!"

"Are you carrying something valuable?" He looked at her with a detached expression, as if studying a portrait. She was wearing a long white coat, of the kind that doctors in a hospital would wear, and which covered her completely, except for the long, old-fashioned black skirt that reached below her ankles, brushing the ground itself. Her short green hair was streaked with grey, but her face was youthful. She looked at him in turn, squinting.

"I believe these are yours," the man replied, picking up a pair of eyeglasses and handing them to him. She perched them on her nose and smiled, trying to compose herself. "Thank you, kind sir. I'm quite blind without them! The fact is, I was asked to urgently make this trip to Zion, but I'm not much of a traveler," she said, apologetically.

"To Zion? To Darington, then?"

"Yes," she said, quickly and breathlessly. "My superior's been called out of town to question some doctoral candidate or other, and when I got the call from the Prime Minister, I had to leave at once!"

"Madam," the young man said, firmly, "perhaps it would be best to start at the beginning. Let me introduce myself, first. My name is Juno, and I am a Wanderer."

"A wanderer? You mean you ran away from home in search of adventure? How exciting!" She smiled at him, and even Juno found it hard to be annoyed at her, despite what she had just said.

"Not exactly, madam," Juno said, with formal politeness. "I am a Seeker of the Way. I serve Galvenia, and I serve Justice. And who might you be?"

"Oh, my! I haven't even told you, I'm so sorry! Please forgive me," the woman said, holding out her hand. "My name is Aline Sheldon, and I'm a researcher at the Museum of Science and Lore, in Lorean, Mr. Juno."

Juno took her hand and shook it, a little stiffly. "And what are you doing wandering the highways at this unearthly hour, Miss Sheldon?"

"Oh, my, I'm getting all confused! Think, Aline, think!" she admonished herself, aloud. "Well, you see, a few days ago, my boss, Professor Hernandez, received a Memory Crystal that some youths in Davenport had found, quite by chance! It was quite remarkable, really."

"Davenport?" Juno was taken aback, though his face remained impassive.

"Yes, that nice little seaside town, you know? I've been there once, myself, when I was taking my last vacation. The beach is so relaxing! Anyway, something funny happened to the Crystal – it started playing by itself, though we hadn't exposed it to light or heat! I was in the room with the Professor, so I could see and hear it all. But I'm not supposed to talk about that, really!"

"I presume it contained confidential information," Juno said, with a calm smile.

"Oh, yes! Very, very confidential! In fact, as soon as the Professor saw it, she scolded me just for being there, and said that I shouldn't tell anyone what I just saw! Then she called the hotline in the Museum, to the Minister for Science and Technology, and he put her on to the Prime Minister! Do you like Socius, Mr. Juno?" she gushed.

"I take but little interest in the politicians of Galvenia and their empty works, Miss Sheldon," Juno said, coldly.

"What a pity! He's such a nice man, he reminds me a little of poor Father, actually. Though Father couldn't make lovely speeches, the way Socius does! Anyway, the Prime Minister called us back a little later, after my boss had left for her doctoral committee stunt, and said that we were to take the Crystal to Darington, and hand it over to a Zion scientist called Fujiwara, in the presence of a Commonwealth official. Off I went, as far as my little legs could carry me, and I quite forgot that it could be dangerous out here…It was quite fun, actually, until…." She leaned against the tree again, and shivered. "But they say the gods watch over the foolish, don't they? They must've sent you to help me, Mr. Juno."

"Is the Memory Crystal safe?" Juno asked, simply.

"Why, yes, it is! I even found a clever hiding-place for it! Look!" Reaching into a pocket of her lab coat, she drew a small firearm, and opened its magazine to reveal a small white cube. "The trouble is, with this in my gun, I couldn't defend myself when those hooligans attacked! I was afraid, Mr. Juno, so, so very afraid!"

"The danger is past, now, Miss Sheldon," Juno said, a little impatiently, "Please keep that object with you, as securely as you can. I believe I shall accompany you as far as the border, just to ensure its safety. If what you say is true, you may still be in danger. Those men were no ordinary bandits."

"You mean…." Aline wrinkled her forehead, trying to digest what she had just heard. "You mean they knew I was carrying the Crystal with me?"

"Knew, or suspected," Juno said, briefly. "But let us move, now. There is a small inn at Checkpoint Alpha, and you can find repose there, and recover from your recent fright. I will remain with you, in the event of further danger, until morning comes."

"Remain with me? Why, that's just so sweet of you, Mr. Juno!" Aline said, wide-eyed. "For a wanderer, you certainly are being very kind to a simple middle-aged woman, you know! Did your mother teach you to behave like that? She must be a very nice lady!"

"It is the Wanderer's Way," Juno replied, flushing a little. "To protect the meek and the innocent. And unless I am very much mistaken, you are going about your task in innocence. I shall protect you, and ensure that you reach Darington safely. It is what my master would have wanted me to do."

"Ooh, I can't believe this! I speak to the Prime Minister, I'm saved and protected by a mysterious swordsman, and who knows what happens next! Sweet lands, I'm a lucky girl!"

"Indeed you are, Madam. You are most fortunate, I would say," Juno said sarcastically, but the effect was lost on her. She continued chattering away happily, walking beside her new companion, as Juno received a valuable lesson in patience and courtesy on the way to Checkpoint Alpha. And I am sure Fossen, his master, would have approved. For, as he always said, everything on the Way can teach a lesson if we are ready to learn it.

xxx

"We've combed the whole of Lorean Glade, and the surrounding wilderness," Ryan said, shaking his head, "and there's no sign of anything. The only place left to look is Straukpass."

"Then I suggest we do so as soon as daylight permits it," Sergeant Burnfist said, replacing her sword in its sheath. "Flaming fires, this is becoming quite tedious."

"Hey, I have a good suggestion!" Armin said. "Let's find us a nice quiet inn, a warm fire, and some 'flaming fire' in a bottle to keep us all warm. What do you say, Sergeant?"

"Very funny, Armin, you aren't even of age yet," Ryan said. "I'm sure your Mom would be thrilled if she found out you'd been having a tipple on the sly."

"As much as I hate to concede it, Raccoon Boy's right," the Sergeant said. "It's late, and we can't make any progress now. Let's head for the inn in Alton, and resume our search tomorrow."

"Hey, Burnfist, I'm always right, it's just that folks don't like admitting it," Armin said, replacing his knife in its sheath.

"Listen, son, you call me anything other than 'Sergeant' again, and I'm going to make things hot for you!" Sergeant Burnfist protested, though even Ryan could tell that she was slightly amused.

"Geez, Sarge, I'm not one of your privates! Lighten up a little. We're supposed to be fighting bandits, not each other."

"You have a point," Sergeant Burnfist conceded, hiding her face with her glove to conceal a reluctant smile, "but my statement still stands. Call me by my title."

"Guys, give it a break," Ryan said, shooting a cautionary look at Armin. "We're almost at Alton now, though I'm sure Henrik must have left."

"Henrik?" Sergeant Burnfist looked at Ryan questioningly. "Who's that?"

"A friend of ours who was visiting Alton today," Ryan explained. "He's also a good fighter, and would have been of great help if he was with us."

"We'll just have to make do with what we have," the Sergeant said, shortly, as they entered Alton and headed for the inn. The innkeeper, a balding man with a large moustache, greeted Ryan and Armin with enthusiasm.

"Hey, our local heroes!" he called out. "What can I do for you gentlemen? You don't know how relieved we all are that that 'Gorn Jabola' thing is dead and gone!"

"What in the name of Johan is a 'Gorn Jabola'?" Sergeant Burnfist asked, as they all sat down at table, and the innkeeper brought them a plentiful supper. Armin opened his mouth to answer, but Ryan – deciding not to try the Sergeant's temper any further – provided a brief explanation. As he spoke, the Sergeant listened with interest, particularly when he described how the beast had crumbled into dust when defeated.

"That reminds me of Koroth," she said. "I didn't know there were any of those things around, and in Galvenia of all places. I guess he was right, after all!"

"Who, your boyfriend?" Armin asked, winking at her.

"Burn you, raccoon!" Sergeant Burnfist growled, though her tone was still friendly. "No, I mean an Intelligence and Tactics Division officer I met before I boarded the Paradiso, a colleague of Agent Striker's. He told me to keep an eye open for anything that looked….magical in origin."

"Koroth?" Ryan asked, his eyes widening. "You mean the village where Kaleb, the legendary Journeymen, went to fight a demonic sickness, and ended up dying, due to his companion Samath's treachery?"

"The same," Sergeant Burnfist replied. "In his diary, Kaleb mentioned a number of lesser beasts that he and Samath had to fight along the way, which looked like animals or humans, but deformed. They all turned to dust when they were defeated. History of Magic's something we all have to study in basic training, even if the Zion have dissolved their mage squadrons."

"See, Ryan, I told you," Armin said, pleased. "That Gam Jabuka was a beast from Hell itself!"

"Oh, Armin, give it a break, will you?" Ryan said. "So, Sergeant, why were you told to look for magical phenomena?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that right now," she replied, shaking her head firmly. "Not that I mind telling you, but I'd need to get clearance from Striker or one of his men. I can tell you this, though: there are some who suspect that Koketsu may have been murdered by a rogue mage. I personally think it's a silly idea – there are few users of magic left, even in Zion, and they're all quite harmless – but when the Empire tells me to look, I look. And that's what I was doing at Lake Derren, with that box, until Mr. Mask butted in."

"You mean that was a magic box?" Armin said, incredulously.

"Not quite," Sergeant Burnfist replied. "Look at the top of the box, and look carefully."

Armin picked up the box gingerly, and looked at its lid. Near the lock was a small blob of sealing wax.

"That's what we call a counter-charm in Zion," the Sergeant explained, pointing to the wax. "It's a strange substance – an alloy of Kibor and Thorium, which is soft and slippery, even though it's made of two metals. It works by casting a bright light, which can be seen only by those who are mages. Since the bandits weren't going to come back for a box they'd discarded, I thought I might put the charm on it, and use it to smoke out any wizards who were wandering around."

"You mean they would have been attracted by the light, but those without magical skills wouldn't?" Ryan asked. "That makes sense. Neither of us saw anything."

"Now, mind you, having magical abilities is quite different from being able to use a magical artifact, like this weapon of mine. I'm not a mage by any standard, but I can use my Fire Sword just fine. The Counter-Charm only works on real mages."

"But why look for them here?" Armin asked. "Galvenians aren't too big on magic, unless you count magic markers! Ha, ha, ha!"

"Amusing," the Sergeant replied, rolling her eyes. "To answer your question, kid, you need to know a little history and geography, and I don't know if you're in the mood for a lesson."

"Armin Tamas is always in the mood for a lesson – provided the teacher is interesting enough," he said, with a wink.

"Where did you pick up this guy, Ryan?" the Sergeant protested. "He sounds like Prince Ryle of Factoria!"

"Prince Ryle?" Ryan looked puzzled. "Never heard of him."

"He's a legendary figure from pre-Imperial times, though some historians say there was a real person around whom the stories sprang up," Sergeant Burnfist said, looking at Ryan and ignoring Armin. "Apparently he was the second son of a Factorian king, who wandered around doing the usual heroic stuff – saving kingdoms, killing monsters, and finally defeating a demon. One version of the legend has him teaming up with Lady Fina, another mythical figure, to defeat the Devil himself. Anyway, in most of the stories, Ryle is a good fighter, but is also a terrible flirt, who's quite an ass when he tries to charm women."

"Sarge," Armin retorted, "criticize me as much as you want, but donkeys and raccoons are quite different animals! Anyway, your Prince Ryle sounds like my kind of guy, that's for sure." He laughed.

"Burn you, son," the Sergeant said, annoyed. "Anyway, Ryan, the fact is, this part of Arlia may actually have quite an interesting history as far as magic is concerned. Some even claim that the village of Koroth, where Kaleb met his tragic end, may be here, buried under a mountain or a landslide."

"But isn't Koroth in the Zion Empire?" Ryan asked.

"That's a matter of debate, especially since Nealus kept the location of Koroth carefully secret – he was afraid that some would-be Samath would go poking around there again. All we know is that it was a fishing village on the west coast of Arlia, which was buried in a landslide following Kaleb's battle with the demon. For a long time, scholars thought it was the town we now call Lesser Krotor, which has suffered several earthquakes in the past. But now, there are some who think it's south of the border, here in Galvenia."

"Here?"

"I'm not too fond of the idea myself, but I always did love archaeology, and us soldiers must have our hobby-horses in times of peace," the Sergeant said, pushing her empty plate away with a look of satisfaction. "If it's here, it must be due northwest of Alton, though that area is quite a wasteland now. But if that's true, then this would certainly be an area that mages would want to look at, especially if they were up to no good."

"That's interesting," Ryan said. "Anyway, we need to check out Straukpass tomorrow, before we call it quits. Let's turn in for the night, I'm sure we're all quite sleepy."

"Sounds good to me, Compadre," Armin said, as he and Ryan headed for their room, and the Sergeant walked briskly towards hers. "Sweet dreams, Sarge."

"Good night, gentlemen," the Sergeant replied.

"You know, Ryan, I was just thinking," Armin said, as they settled down in the comfortable chamber that the innkeeper had generously given them, "maybe that dame is right. Maybe there is some hidden magical source of power here, and that's where that Gorn Jabola thing came from in the first place."

"Hey, Armin, you know what?" Ryan replied. "That's a pretty good idea. Besides, remember who was hanging around the marsh, and attacked Juno the Luno in the bargain…"

"Damn it….Lugner!" Armin said, excitedly. "I knew the guy was up to no good, and now after what Miss Zion Army of 300 C.E. told us, I'm even more sure! Ryan, the guy must be a mage of some sort!"

"I don't think so," Ryan said. "If he was really a mage, why didn't he just mop the floor with all of us, Juno included, using his magical attacks? Instead, he needed those two bodyguards of his to defend him. I don't think mages need that kind of protection."

"Geez, you're just as much of a spoilsport as Henrik, sometimes," Armin complained. "Maybe he's really a mage, but his magic doesn't work on…..the Three Compadres!"

"Heh, that's a good one, Armin," Ryan said, laughing. "Tell you what, let's call it a day for now, and see if we can find traces of Lugner – or anyone else – in the neighbourhood. We'll even tell the Sergeant about him, in case she runs into him back in Zion."

"Works fine with me, Compadre," Armin said, yawning, as he stretched himself out comfortably on his bed.

xxx

"I must really thank you all, my friends," Bernadette said, beaming, as she rolled up one of Emily Regale's deliciously light pancakes. "You've all been very good to me."

"Think nothing of it," Sigmund Regale said, looking fondly at her, and sipping his coffee. "I still have nightmares about those days back on Mann Island. What if your father hadn't just happened to come by, just at the right time? I owe my child's life to your father, Miss Aquary, and giving you a little Davenport hospitality is the least that Emily and I can do. And feel free to come and visit my library any time you want; I don't have many religious books, I know, but you're welcome to browse around!"

"That's right," Emily replied, placing a dish of freshly fried eggs in front of her, before returning to her seat. "I never thought we'd meet in this way – in fact, I wondered if we'd ever see your father again! He just came into our lives, like an angel from the old stories, and then departed. Poor man, I'm afraid I was rather skeptical about him, and so was Father. It was Mother and Sigmund who carried the day, though." She laughed. "For my Lavie's sake, I'm so glad they did. And I'm sure your father must be very proud to have a daughter like you!"

"Aww, Mom!" Lavie said. "Stop embarrassing poor Bernadette. She's already as red as your strawberry preserves!"

Bernadette laughed. "That's funny, Lavie! My, this is turning out to be such a lovely morning, after what happened yesterday…..that lovely soft bed of yours, Mr. Regale's wonderful books, all this delicious food, and most of all, the pleasure of your company! I'm afraid St. Nealus' will seem rather plain after all this luxury!"

"Well, if you ever feel the need for a day or two of 'luxury', come by again!" Lavie said, kindly. "We could even play a little music together. You've got a lovely alto voice!"

"How….how did you know that, Lavie?" Bernadette said, turning red again.

"Hey, you know, sound carries pretty well from that guest room to mine," Lavie explained. "I always liked those old Itarian hymns, even if I don't really like going to church, or anything. They're so peaceful!"

"You're right there, Lavie," Emily said, approvingly. "Ah, it's been a long time since I've heard them, myself. And Lavie's got a very good ear, and if she says you sing prettily, she's right."

"Well, they were just a part of growing up for me, ma'am," Bernadette said, looking both happy and embarrassed. "Picking herbs in the woods with Father, learning hymns from Mother, riding…."

"Riding, Miss Aquary?" Sigmund's voice sounded unnaturally loud, even harsh, all of a sudden. Emily, surprised at his change in tone, looked at him with concern.

"Oh, yes," Bernadette went on, happily. "Father used to have an old donkey, quite a harmless creature, really, and I used to ride it sometimes, just for fun! Sometimes we'd go together, but as we all got older, it couldn't take too much weight, poor thing. It died, quite peacefully, about seven years ago. I was quite upset at the time, but Mother made sure we gave it a grand funeral, which cheered me up a little! Poor dear Mother, she was always like that."

"How nice!" Lavie exclaimed. "I've never tried my hand at riding myself, though the Princess told me she had a fine horse of her own, at the Royal stables."

Sigmund was now looking at Bernadette with a rather uneasy expression. "What happened to your mother, Miss Aquary?" he asked, gently.

"She fell ill when I was fifteen," Bernadette explained, in a low voice, "and the good Sisters at Saint Integra's tried their best, but neither they nor Father could do anything for her, except keeping her free from pain for two years. I'm only glad she lived to see me finish school; it was always her dream that I should go on to college, and study the Holy Book. Her family always had a love of books and learning, like you do, Mr. Regale. You would have enjoyed their company, I'm sure."

With an unsteady hand, Sigmund raised his cup to his lips once more before setting it down. "My condolences, Miss Aquary," he said, kindly. "So do you and your father live alone, at Hartridge?"

"I'm afraid so," she replied. "Father was an only son, and I don't have any relatives on my mother's side, except an uncle. He and Mother were close in childhood, but Mother said he suffered a loss as a young man, which made him quite bitter. He joined the army after that, and left Hartridge. He did come to pay his last respects to Mother, but though we told him he'd always be welcome to visit us, he never came back."

"Oh, that's a pity," Lavie said, sympathetically. "But don't worry, Bernadette, you know you have plenty of friends here in Davenport now! Isn't that right, Daddy?"

Sigmund, who had listened to Bernadette's story with a somber expression, suddenly collected himself. "Ah… Ah, yes, Miss Aquary, Lavie is absolutely right. Please consider us all your friends, and tell your father that if he should ever come to Davenport, he will find a safe and comfortable harbour here with us." Emily, who was puzzled by Sigmund's reactions, but pleased by his words, nodded in agreement.

"That's true, Daddy! Perhaps I should go down and thank your dad too, Bernadette," Lavie said, happily. "Maybe the next time you get a day off, you could come down here, and we'll all go together!

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, Lavie!" Bernadette said, beaming. "Thank you so much, Mr. and Mrs. Regale, for your warm welcome and your hospitality."

"Oh, stay with us a little longer, child. After all, you said your Rector had given you a half-day off today, and it isn't that far to Alton," Emily said, patting her on the shoulder.

Bernadette looked at her watch. "I'd love to, Mrs. Regale," she said, apologetically, with a shy smile, "but I'm sure Henrik will be waiting to accompany me back, and I wouldn't want to keep him waiting too long!"

"Spenson's a fine young man, Miss Aquary, and I'm sure you'll be quite safe with him," Sigmund said, in a tone that was strangely paternal.

"Once again, I truly thank you all, especially you, Lavie!" Bernadette replied, pleased at the praise of Henrik. "Peace be with this household, and all who dwell in it." She bowed before them, and Lavie bowed back rather dramatically, causing Emily to chuckle.

"Goodbye, Miss Aquary," Sigmund said. "Please do take care of yourself, and stay safe."

"I will, Mr. Regale," she said, as, straightening her hat, she stepped out of Casa Regale and on to the path leading south. The girls exchanged a warm hug, and then Bernadette went on her way quite merrily, singing to herself in a low tone. Lavie and her mother, after waving goodbye, turned to enter the house, but Sigmund stood on the porch, following her as she disappeared into the distance, staring.

"Good heavens, Sigmund," Emily said, tapping him on the shoulder, "what are you staring at like that? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Perhaps I have, Sigmund Regale thought, composing himself with an effort. "Oh, I'm sorry, Emily. I was just thinking of that day when her father came to our help, and Lavie was restored to us. I'll never quite forget that, you know."

"Well, Sigmund," Emily replied, matter-of-factly, "I think Lavie's suggestion is an excellent one. We can always visit him when we get the chance, if you'd like to."

"We certainly shall," Sigmund said, as they entered the house together.

"And I must say," Emily added, "I'm quite pleased at the friends Lavie is making these days – first the Princess, and now that delightful girl. It's just what she needs, to take her mind off a certain young man we both know." She laughed.

"Very funny, Emily," Sigmund said, smiling, as she headed towards the kitchen to plan the rest of the day together with Carmen and her staff.

Destiny certainly can play tricks on us when we expect them the least, he thought to himself, returning to his library and sinking into an armchair. I wonder if that young lady even knows. I hope she doesn't. And I wonder if he is still haunted, the way I am.

xxx

The journey through Straukpass, for the newly-formed trio, certainly afforded them more opportunities for combat than their travels of the previous day. However, their adversaries belonged to the animal, rather than the human, kingdom.

"Darn Garaknods," Ryan said, as his sword sliced through the thick shell of the large, spider-like creature, allowing Sergeant Burnfist to finish it off with a ray of fire. "Why doesn't the Galvenian Government clear out this place?"

"Because," Armin said, cockily, "that's what Governments are good for: doing nothing!"

"You have an unhealthy disrespect for authority, kid," Sergeant Burnfist said, sternly, as the three moved forward. "A stint in the Army would do you a world of good."

"Ha, sounds like fun! Commando Armin, that's what they call me," Armin said, putting his mask – which he had taken off to fight the spiders – back on.

"Before you become a commando, there's a little something called 'basic training', which might be a bit too disciplined for the likes of you," Sergeant Burnfist went on.

"Ah, the joys of military life. If it means I can get chewed out by someone who looks like you, Sarge, I might just take you up on your offer!" Armin quipped.

"Flaming fires, do you never quit, boy?" the Sergeant said, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Look, what's that?" Ryan said, his hand going to his pistol. "I saw them the last time I was here, but I have no idea what they're supposed to be." He pointed to a tortoise that was ambling in their general direction, its shell covered with crystal growths.

"Hey, hey! Those crystals would make a spiffy necklace, that's for sure! Would you like a necklace, Sergeant?" Armin said, drawing one of his knives.

"According to the Zion Code of Military Conduct, soldiers are prohibited from wearing jewelry when on duty," the Sergeant said, suppressing a smile. "Anyway, that's a double-shelled turtle, or a 'Tortystal' if you like using slang. They're quite harmless, unless you attack them. Their crystal shells can be used for a variety of things, including making Memory Crystals, assuming you know how to make them in the first place."

"Leave it alone, Armin," Ryan said, as the creature walked by peacefully. "Let's – Oh, God, what's that?"

The cause for his sudden interjection was a cloak that lay on the ground, of the sort that Galvenian travelers commonly wore. Though the material appeared new, it showed signs of having been slashed with a sharp instrument, and one side was blood-stained.

Armin whistled. "Looks like someone was stabbed over here," he said, picking the garment up. "And Ryan, I hate to bring bad news, but look at this."

"This" was a small monogram, bearing the letters E.D.S, near the cloak's collar.

"E.D.S – that's Dad's monogram, all right. Eramond Delivery Services. It's sewn into the cloaks of all his men, or at least those who make trips across the border," Ryan said, shaking his head sadly.

"It looks like one of them was hurt, perhaps even killed, judging by this cloak," Armin said, looking at it again.

"That's obvious, raccoon boy," Sergeant Burnfist said, dismissively. "The question is, where's the body, and who is responsible? Slashes like this suggest that we're dealing with common bandits, not with anyone using a magical weapon or a gun."

"We'll need to look around," Ryan said, drawing his pistol. "Armin, watch our backs, and cover us. The Sergeant and I will go forward."

"Good plan," the Sergeant replied.

"Hey, hey, why do I get to be the rearguard? Can't we play rock-paper-scissors for it?" Armin protested.

Sergeant Burnfist gave a short laugh. "This isn't kindergarten, kid! There are several caves ahead, where a brigand could either hide, or dispose of a body."

Proceeding cautiously, the trio examined the first of the caves, but it was empty except for a few animal carcases. To their surprise, they found a door next to it, set in the rock."

"People live here?" Armin said, surprised.

"This could be interesting," Ryan said, replacing his pistol and drawing his sword. "I don't know who's behind that door, but it's hard to believe they'd know nothing about our men. At the very least, they would have heard something."

"Some dopey old hermit, probably," Sergeant Burnfist said, knocking on the door. After a minute's wait, it opened, and an elderly man, wrapped in a thick cloak of his own, opened the door.

"Unexpected visitors," the man said, squinting at Ryan and the Sergeant. "How quaint. Well, ladies and gentlemen, how may I help you?"

"Who are you?" Sergeant Burnfist said, challengingly, her hand going to her sword.

"Such impatience," the old man replied. "You must be a Zion. Only the Zionese and the Varald expect the world to march to their time, as the men of Gyrus did long ago."

"Answer my question, old-timer," the Sergeant commanded.

"You may call me Fossen, my child," the old man replied, calmly, eliciting a stifled laugh from Armin. Sergeant Burnfist glared at both of them. "Now let me ask you a question in turn. What is your business here?"

"Now listen here, old man…" the Sergeant began, hotly.

"We're from Galvenia," Ryan said, kindly, "and the Sergeant is from Zion. My father runs a package delivery service, and his customers complained that his goods had gone astray. We found some of them at Lake Derren, and we found this cloak here." He handed the garment to Fossen, who looked at it carefully. "We're afraid that they may have been attacked by bandits and robbed along the way. Do you know anything about this, sir?"

"My, you're the polite one," Fossen answered. "Well, I'm afraid you're right about the bandits. A couple of days ago, my disciple and I came upon a brigand who was attacking a passer-by carrying a parcel, on his travels. Fortunately, we intervened on time, and we disarmed the bandit, who ran away yonder" – his finger pointed northeast – "perhaps towards that old mine. Since there was no point in chasing him, I asked my disciple to take the man, who was wounded, to Checkpoint Alpha for medical attention. You should find him there."

Ryan replaced his sword in its scabbard. "Your disciple? Are you a teacher of martial arts, then?"

"Well, yes, young man. My days of glory are past, of course; all I can do now is meditate, teach, and make soup. Mostly the latter, now that I'm old. Would you like some?" he said, looking at Ryan and Armin kindly.

"You know what, old man, that would just hit the spot!" Armin replied, removing his mask. "Whaddya say, Ryan?"

"Sounds good to me," Ryan replied, and a few moments later, the four of them were seated around Fossen's simple table, a bowl of warm soup in front of each of them.

"I must say, this is quite good, old-timer," Sergeant Burnfist said with gruff affection. "You're all right."

"So tell me, sir," Ryan said, taking a long sip from his bowl and breaking into a smile, "what exactly do you do here?"

"Ah, that's a long story, young man. Few have the courage to live as men lived at the very beginning. But from time to time, a young man does come, asking for help in wandering the Way – or at least, that's what he claims. Most of them don't stay long, because their idea of the Way is just – well – adventure, derring-do, heroism, glamour. Those things don't last. The Way is a story that has no end, and it's the journey, not the destination, that matters."

"Are you a Journeyman, sir?" Ryan asked, intrigued.

"A Journeyman? By the Purpose, that's a strange idea!" Fossen said, laughing. "No, my particular order is far older than Nealus Hessen's, though there are some similarities. But let's talk about your own little quest here, instead. I presume you're on the trail of those travelers, or perhaps the goods they were carrying."

Armin whistled. "Hey, pretty good guess there, Fossen! Do you read minds, or what?"

Fossen shook his head gently. "No, no. It's obvious that you two are from Galvenia, perhaps Davenport, and from your friend's clothes" – he pointed at Ryan – "it's obvious that his family's doing well for themselves, and have done so for some time. There's only one way to do that in Davenport, and that's trade."

"Impressive," Sergeant Burnfist said, nodding agreement. "So where's this disciple of yours?"

"Oh, he's on another journey," Fossen replied, closing his eyes. "We were looking for mushrooms the other day near the border – I have to give him tasks like that, to keep him from growing proud, because he's a rather good fighter and he knows it. We heard the sounds of a woman being attacked. He said he'd handle it himself, so I left him there and returned home. He's probably escorting her to her destination now, whoever she may be."

"Hey, I like this! So you run a protection racket, huh?" Armin said.

"Armin!" Ryan protested.

"Compadre, look at the facts! They don't kill the bandits, they escort the victims – looks like a little scheme to me! Come on, Fossen, 'fess up," Armin retorted, cockily.

Fossen laughed. He had a surprisingly deep, merry laugh for a man of his age, and it echoed through his small hut. "I see you will have quite the journey in future, young man," he said, addressing Armin, and seeming totally unoffended. "The Wanderers do not charge a fee. It is our Way – to protect the innocent, but not to take lives unnecessarily. Our Code is clear. A life for a life. A wound for a wound. Such is the Way of Justice."

"But that's stupid," Armin protested. "Bandits are low-lives, especially those who prey on women. You should just get rid of them and dump their corpses in a convenient cave, if you're all about justice!"

"My dear young man," Fossen replied, looking at Armin intently, "your protestations do you credit, but tell me. Have you never been tempted to do a little banditry yourself - a little work on the side, just for the dollars, or credits, or whatever you call them nowadays? Indeed, have you never yielded to those temptations, at least once?"

Armin cleared his throat rather loudly, shuffled his feet, and looked down. "Um, I….." he began, in a low tone.

"I thought as much," Fossen replied. "By your own words, then, shall I – ahem – 'get rid' of you now?"

"Hey, hey, that's not what I meant, old man!" Armin protested. "I was talking about real bandits…."

"The line between our banditries and theirs is a thin one, my son," he said, still speaking gently. "No, the Purpose does wish us to exact retribution, but it also knows that a man's journey is not over until he decides it. Today's bandit may be tomorrow's hermit, or the other way around."

"You sound just like a Zionese mage," Sergeant Burnfist said, thoroughly enjoying Armin's discomfiture. "As much as I'd like to see you take Raccoon Boy a notch down, though, we have work to do. You said you saw bandits set upon one man, and your disciple helped him. But we're actually on the trail of two packages, aren't we, Ryan?"

Ryan nodded. "That's what Dad said. One to Caledonia, and one to Darington. We recovered the box to Darington near Lake Derren, so it's clear that it's not what they wanted. Did you see what the man was carrying, Mr. Fossen?"

"I can do better than that, my son," Fossen said benevolently. "I recovered the package itself, and I was planning to ask my disciple to take it to Lorean, and hand it over to the authorities there. Unfortunately, he had to help that woman, as I've told you. I thought I'd ask him to do it, once he returned."

"Wonderful!" Sergeant Burnfist exclaimed, triumphantly. "Could you please hand that package over to me, sir? I'll take it to Caledonia myself."

"But what happened to the guy they ambushed near Lake Derren?" Armin broke in. "We've got his package, but he's vanished."

"Perhaps he, too, was wounded, and managed to reach a town nearby," Fossen suggested. "You might check Lorean or Alton, where he could have received medical attention. Or perhaps…"

We will never know how the sentence would have ended, for there was a sound of loud knocking on the door. Ryan and Armin started from their seats, and Sergeant Burnfist drew closer to the door, ready to draw her weapon.

"Open this door," a man's voice said, in loud, angry tones.

"Flaming fires, who's that?" the Sergeant shouted back.

"I told you that bandit ought to have been wiped out, old man," Armin grumbled, drawing a pair of knives.

"The door is open, my friend," Fossen called out. "Enter, if you wish."

The door was flung open, and a man in a cloak entered the room, a pistol in his hand. "You are harbouring contraband," he said, rather dramatically, "and I am an official of the Commonwealth Security Forces. Please hand over that which does not belong to you, and…." He stepped back, surprised, as he saw Ryan come into view. "You?" he exclaimed.

"Commonwealth, my foot," Ryan said, hotly. "You're the bandit here. That package was meant to be shipped by my dad to the Emperor at Caledonia. You can't fool us."

"Yeah, right, loser. Does Lugner write your lines for you?" Armin said, and in a flash, he had thrown one of his knives, hitting the "Commonwealth official" neatly on the wrist. He cried out in pain, and his weapon fell to the ground, firing a harmless shot across the floor as it lay there.

The man turned to run, but Sergeant Burnfist barred his escape. "Not so fast, scum," she said, angrily, drawing her sword. "Do you have any last words before I send you to join your friend, the Lord of the Pits, to burn with him forever?"

"Young lady, please," Fossen said gently, leaning upon a staff he had picked up. "There is no need for unnecessary violence. Your friend has disarmed this man, and perhaps it would be better if he told us what he knew."

"That sounds like an idea," the Sergeant said, with a cold smile. Forcing him onto a chair, she grabbed him by the shoulders. "Let's do a little old interrogation, the Army way. Who are you?"

"I am not at liberty to answer that…" the man began, but was interrupted by the Sergeant's gloved fist coming into contact with his jaw. He almost fell out of his chair with the shock, but managed to recover his balance.

"Wow, Burnfist, I didn't know you could box!" Armin said, laughing.

"Speak!" the Sergeant commanded, as the man rubbed his jaw. "You know very well that we have ways of making you speak, even if you try to act tough."

"Sergeant, wait," Ryan said, warily. "This man has committed a crime by breaking into your home, or maybe even several crimes, but we can't take the law into our own hands. He belongs to the authorities in Galvenia. We'll just take him to the police station in Lorean. I'm sure they can handle the 'interrogation' part, and have a patrol here in case any of his friends turn up."

"Hmph," the Sergeant snorted. "At least answer this, kuno-baka. Whom are you working for? Who sent you here?"

The man remained silent.

"Leave him alone," Fossen said, firmly but calmly. "Our young friend is right. The two of you can easily escort him to Lorean, and since that package belongs to the Zion, I think I shall entrust it to the blue-haired lady, here."

Armin hooted. "Sergeant Burnfist of the Blue Hair Battalion!"

"Burn you all!" the Sergeant said irritably. Though she saw the justice of what Ryan and Fossen had said, she was unwilling to release a man who had tried, though perhaps unknowingly, to harm the Emperor, the ruler of Zion. "Very well, old-timer, I'll play by your rules. But don't blame me when he breaks prison, or gets bail, and starts murdering men and women in the woods! And let me keep him quiet a little." Before any of them could react, she drew her sword, and a yellow beam shot out, striking the man in the chest. He fell out of his chair, with a drugged expression on his face.

"Ah, the Zionese version of the stunning attack," Fossen said, shaking his head. "A little crude, but an effective method all the same, dear lady. Well chosen."

"He's not going to try and escape now, that's for sure," Ryan observed. Using a coil of rope that stood in a corner of the room, gathering dust, he and the Sergeant bound the intruder, and left him leaning against a wall.

Fossen rummaged around in a cupboard, and brought out the same package that Ryan had placed into his knapsack, many eventful days ago. "I believe this is it," he said, handing it over to the Sergeant. "But there's one more item of interest, which I managed to recover from this man's friend when we scared him away. Perhaps you should take it, young man, to show the Lorean police." He drew a small object from the pocket of his tunic, and handed it to Armin.

"A metal plaque?" Armin held in in his palm and studied it carefully. "God, it's ugly. Get a load of this, Ryan."

Ryan took a look at it, and stepped back, with a shocked expression on his face. "My God, that's…." Sergeant Burnfist, stepping forward, looked at it, and covered her mouth with her glove as well, looking almost equally surprised.

"Hey, guys, what's so scary about that?" Armin said.

"Sergeant…" Ryan began, "look at that pattern. Don't you recognize it?"

"Hmm, three circles," Armin said. "They're supposed to be faces. I'd say this one is Socius, this one is Sir Prescott's ugly wife, and the one below – ugh, looks like those creepy paintings of demons in those wacky Itarian paintings! Strange thing to carry around."

"Not bad at all, my young bandit," Fossen said, laughing. "Those are, indeed, three faces, though I would differ with your identification of them. But they certainly represent a man, a woman, and a creature. By the Purpose, this brings back old memories, and not very pleasant ones at that."

"Flaming fires! That's exactly the same sign which that murderer had, tattooed on his arm," the Sergeant said.

"Which murderer?" Armin said, interested.

"A man who tried to kill Princess Carranya on board the Paradiso, in the disguise of a Zion soldier," Ryan explained. "The Sergeant managed to kill him, after I'd disarmed him, and when Agent Striker searched his body, we found a tattoo on him that looked just like this."

Armin's eyes widened. "That's some group of bandits we're dealing with! They dress up as Zions, as Commonwealth officials…..Compadre, aren't we getting in a little too deep, here?"

Ryan laughed. "Perhaps we were doomed from the start, Armin," he said. "Do you know what the signs are meant to represent, Mr. Fossen?"

"It's rather silly, actually," Fossen answered, with an apologetic expression. "Those faces are an old seal, or symbol, representing the Three Demons of Janwen."

"Old wives' tales," the Sergeant scoffed. "I know they're in the Church books, but you're right, old man. That is silly. What do old legends about Janwen have to do with bandits and murderers?"

"I don't really understand, myself," Fossen said, shaking his head. "The seal was used, thousands and thousands of years ago, by native Zionese, who resisted the Itarian religion. They claimed that the "Infinity" was not a real god, but an evil and self-serving demon, and that these three – the man, the woman, and the animal – were the three true gods whom everyone had to worship. But I doubt this man is a follower of a long-dead religion. It's probably just the symbol of a robber band, a gang of thieves, which they chose for its connotations of evil."

"Evil is as evil does," Armin said. "Hah, I'm quite the philosopher, ain't I, Ryan?"

"Very funny, Armin. I still think we should take it to Lorean," Ryan said, placing the plaque in his pocket. "If it's a gang's emblem, the police ought to know something about it."

"Yeah, the Brotherhood of the Three Ugly Faces," Armin said, chuckling. "Almost as scary as Lavie, I'd say."

"Enough chatter," the Sergeant admonished him, as she picked up the package and strode towards the door. "Gentlemen, I'll make my way across the border, and ensure that this reaches Caledonia on time. I thank you for your assistance, even the raccoon. Farewell."

"Hey, do I smell a compliment?" Armin said, beaming as he shook hands with the Sergeant. "Farewell, blue-haired lady, and think of me when you have the time!"

"Burn you, bandit," the Sergeant said, not unkindly, as she shook hands with Ryan and Fossen, and turned to leave. "And have a safe journey to Lorean."

"Thank you, Sergeant, we will," Ryan replied. Raising up their uninvited guest – who was still stunned, but could walk hesitantly – he and Armin thanked Fossen, and began their trek to Lorean.

Fossen looked at the three of them kindly, watching them disappear into the woods, before closing the door and sitting down at his table, deep in thought. I wonder when that boy, Juno, will come back. And I hope, for their sake, that they're right about it being a thieves' sign, and nothing else. Because, if not….

xxx