December 1069

Snow was falling, ice was freezing, lessons were progressing, no one dragged me out on any jobs that required I go past the walls, my hand was getting better, everything was nice and fine and dandy.

For about a month.

One day, around noon, as I was finishing off lunch, someone knocked at my door. Given the time and the date, I figured it was Elfleda and Eva, and so left the table in the main room in a half-set state as I went to lower the wards and answer the door.

It wasn't Elfleda and Eva.

"John," I said, surprised. The old chaplain was bundled up in a heavy fur cloak, his black vestments barely visible under them.

"Harry," he said with a wan smile. "May I?"

"Uh, yes, please," I said, stepping to the side to make way for him. John nodded gratefully and came into the foyer, waiting for me to close the door before sighing and taking off his cloak.

"Hang it there, if you would," I said, nodding at the coat rack I'd nailed into the wall.

"Thank you," John said, briefly inspecting the coat rack before hanging his cloak by the hood.

"I wasn't expecting you today. Or at all. Actually I was expecting…"

"Feminine company?" John suggested with a slightly warmer smile. Then it dropped off. "I'm aware. I needed to speak with you in private, and so I asked Elfleda to skip a day. Or multiple, as it may turn out."

I frowned. "That sounds like you have a job for me."

"Unfortunately, I might," he said. He looked at the open door that led further into the house and asked, "May I?"

"Yeah. I have lunch prepared. For three, but if the others aren't coming then you can eat their shares."

"Warm food would be very much appreciated, thank you," he said.

As he shuffled towards the table, he glanced around the main room, his eyes briefly falling on the very sparse bookshelf I'd set up. "Are those your copies of my books?"

"They are."

"You finished rather quickly with them," he commented as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Well, not to belabor the point, but magic helps," I said.

He chuckled lightly. "I suppose it does." He sighed, looked down at the meal on the plate – pork, a mix of vegetables – and then frowned at the cutlery. "You use… forks?"

"They're a lot handier than hands," I said. "Do you want to eat first?"

"I think mine is a matter best discussed on a full stomach, yes," he said, before picking up the cutlery and digging in.

I sat down as well, and as I dug in asked, "I thought you'd be with Robert."

"Robert is with the king, and I am no longer a young man. An army out on campaign during the winter is not the place for me." He took a drink, and glanced at my gloved hand – specifically, my right. "When did you take to wearing gloves on both hands? Actually, why did you wear a glove on only your left to begin with?"

"Ugly scars," I summarized.

"Ah. My apologies," he said.

"No offense taken."

We passed the next ten minutes in light discussion of the books I'd copied from him, particularly the Aeneid. The constant cramping and pain in my right arm made any kind of manual or magical labor difficult, so I mostly passed the time by reading or looking like a maniac by running laps through town.

When we were done, and had set our plates aside, John sighed and turned to face me fully.

"Last month, both Robert and the king approached me regarding a very interesting topic," he said.

"Let me guess, Amoracchius."

John nodded gravely. "Yes. I'd like to know what history you have with it."

That was not an easy question to answer. "I knew one of its wielders for a time," I hedged. "We were friends, I'd say. I helped him out with some of his problems, he helped me out with some of mine. Sometimes those problems intersected. Why, did the Church lose it or something?"

"No, nothing like that. At least, I hope not. I am uncertain as to its current whereabouts, or if someone currently wields it, but I believe it is in safe hands." He frowned then, as a thought came to him. "Out of curiosity, could you find it?"

"With one of the other Swords and a license from God, maybe," I said. "But otherwise, no. The way I understand it, I'm a lot likelier to 'randomly' come across it than I am to deliberately find it."

John nodded. "How much do you know about their purpose?" he asked.

Oh. Oh no. Oh fuck no.

I looked straight up at the ceiling and waved my wounded hand, the hand I used to do magic, in that direction. "Are you fucking kidding me?" I demanded. Then I sighed and looked back down at John. "I assume you mean the thirty coins."

"Yes," John said gravely.

I directed another dirty look Upstairs. "Alright," I said, looking at John. "No promises, but I'll hear you out. What's the problem?"

"You are not familiar with the… sealing procedures, are you?" he asked tentatively.

"No, and I'm not sure I want to be. All I know is they involve churches and probably holy water, and anyone who knows about them can guess that," I said. "I'm guessing one broke loose around here?"

John nodded. "The Church tries to carefully assess and evaluate the characters of the caretakers, but sometimes mistakes are made."

"Historically speaking, about half of them get loose that way," I muttered.

John frowned. "What?"

I shook my head. "Just something I heard once. So, Brother Something-or-other took the coin and ran off, and apparently didn't do a good enough job covering his tracks." I frowned. "I assume you know who ran off."

"I do, and I can describe him in some terms, but I am not familiar with him," John said. "Until rather recently, my remit was in Normandy. I was vaguely aware of others that were… as informed as I am among the clergy, let us say, and I would at times pass along messages coming to and from England, but those instances were very rare."

"Okay. Do you know which Fallen's coin was taken?" I asked.

"Ursiel's, if the name means anything to you."

I closed my eyes, sighed, and barely fought down the urge to point a middle finger in a heavenly direction. "Great. So the super-bear that can make himself immune to magic. Wonderful." I sighed. "Please tell me you're here as an intermediary for one of the other Knights."

"I am not," John said apologetically.

"Ugh," I groaned, putting my head in my hands. "Okay. Why come to me? Do you think Brother…"

"Cerdic. Just Cerdic."

"Do you think Brother Cerdic, or I guess now former Brother Cerdic, is still in England? How long ago was this? Why wouldn't he be on the first boat out?"

"I received word yesterday evening, and the sealing monastery was destroyed three weeks ago. It took time for word to reach me," he said.

"So Cedric could be basically anywhere by now."

"Perhaps," John admitted.

I sighed and sat back. "Alright. From what I know, Ursiel's more physical rather than magical, but he's also a Fallen so he's not stupid. The chances I can find Cedric magically by this point are nonexistent. With three weeks of sunrises plus however long it takes me to get anything related to him, plus the Fallen helping to throw off magical tracking, I don't see a way I can find him unless I know where he's going or what he's planning to do. I don't suppose you know that?"

John shook his head. "I do not, unfortunately. Cerdic was a third son, given to the Church. He did not stand to inherit anything and the Church was his life. I do not know what worldly connections he might have."

"Is his father still alive?" I asked.

"I do not know. That information was not provided to me. But if Cerdic came to loathe the Church and sought revenge against his father, then I believe he would already be dead."

"That's true." I chewed my lip and turned the few available facts around in my head. "Cerdic's a native Saxon, right?"

"I have no reason to believe otherwise," John said.

"Do you know if he had any issues with the Normans? Any vendettas?" I asked.

"I don't," he said slowly. "But he could, perhaps. If he felt some connection to his family and they died in the conquest, or after. But I could not tell you if that was the case."

I nodded. "Alright. But let's say that's true, for the moment. Now, if I was a demonic bear looking to sink my claws into a man of the cloth by providing an avenue to revenge while indulging in a rousing display of chaos, there's few better ways than killing a king."

"Do you think that likely?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. That's the problem. I don't know enough about Cerdic to say what he may be inclined to do. I don't know if Cerdic's already fallen down the crazy tree while hitting every branch along the way and the Fallen's in charge now. I don't have the first clue where to start looking." I folded my arms. "Short of throwing a dart at a map while blindfolded and hoping Uriel holds my hand, I don't know where to try finding him."

John frowned. "The archangel?"

"God's spymaster and arranger of coincidences," I said. "I could maybe summon him in your chapel and see if he's feeling talkative, but personally, I doubt that would work."

Also, I didn't really want to summon Uriel. I could, could've done so at any time since waking back up, but, well, I was afraid. That either he'd have the answer to why I was back here, or that he wouldn't. And I didn't know which possibility scared me more.

John looked at me with a serious, almost wide-eyed expression. "You believe you can summon one of God's own angels? An archangel, no less?"

"If you have magic you can try and summon just about anything," I said. "There are a lot of things and beings you shouldn't try and summon, but in this instance, I figure the worst thing that can happen is that he doesn't show up." I clicked my tongue. "Though there's probably not any real point in actually trying. If he was inclined to give information, he'd probably do it by having a book fall open to the right page or something like that."

I paused and looked at my bookshelf. So did John.

"Well, it's worth a shot, I guess," I said. "If it doesn't work I just look like an idiot, which I'm very familiar with."

I got up from my chair and went over to my bookshelf, running a finger along the various spines before stopping the Bible. I hadn't opened it since I'd finished copying this one out; honestly, it was only there for image purposes and the unlikely eventuality I needed to reference or quote it somehow.

Like now.

"Well, seeing as how I'm doing the literary equivalent of consulting the bones for guidance, I guess there's no better book to do it with than the Bible," I said. I took it out, flipped it around so that the spine was facing towards the ground, pressed my hands to the front and back covers, and moved so that it was hanging over the table. I glanced at John. "Let's see what happens."

Then I dropped it.

My hand spasmed in pain as I let go, which caused the book to wobble to the left. It fell about two feet, hitting the table with a thunk as its spine collided with the wooden surface at an angle, its two covers falling open in opposite directions. The book opened most of the way to the end, with the two visible pages looking like they signified the beginning of a chapter.

"Okay," I said, turning the book around and sliding it towards John, before making my own way around the table.

"My eyes are not as sharp as they once were," John said.

"No problem," I said, holding out a hand above the book and his head and muttering, "Flickum bicus."

"Thank you," John said before leaning in slightly. "Paulus Apostolus Jesu Christi secundum imperium Dei Salvatoris nostril, et Christi Jesu spei nostrae."

Yes, I know that should probably be a different symbol or set of characters if I wanted to properly capture the pronunciation. But my right hand isn't working right now and the ae was troublesome to write even when it was.

John went on, "Timotheo dilecto filio in fide. Gratio, misericordia-"

"First Timothy," I said. "Or One Timothy." I frowned. "Not quite the reference I was expecting."

"What were you expecting?" John asked, looking up at me with a curious expression.

"Well, if we're assuming this is a message, and my theory was somewhat right, I would have gone with Kings," I said. "But Timothy… Timothée. Did he end up going with Robert?"

"Timothée Renouth?" he asked.

"Yeah, him."

"He did, he is a milite in the service of Robert."

I sighed, the pieces coming together to form a picture I didn't like. "Great. That's great."

Author's Note: No, Cerdic's last name is not Diggory, or Diggoryson, or anything like that.

Bible quote sourced from the presumably English-transliterated Latin Vulgate.