Once we were safely outside the chapterhouse, I turned to Vandenberg and said, "Okay, Yolk-"

"Yolk?"

"That's what I'm going to call you, because you remind me of an egg yolk," eliciting a forced chuckle from the boy. "So tell me, what's our first step?"

"I have no idea. I have no idea what we're supposed to even be doing."

"We're investigating the cause of the riot. We're going to find out who started it and make sure they burn. Then, we're going to make sure it doesn't happen again. So: first step?"

"Why are you asking me? Clearly you already know."

"Because you're going to learn how to investigate, even if it kills you."

"Go to the plaza where you were almost killed?"

"No. The first thing we need to do is get an accurate picture of who died. I'm sure the corpses have all been burnt by now, but there should be a record of the dead, in the archives."

"The archives? Seriously? They are no place for a witch hunter."

"They are exactly the place for a witch hunter, when the situation calls for it. Now come!"

We strode off into the square, pushing our way rudely through the crowd. Within minutes, we were at the gate of the Greifensburg, the Gryphon's Roost, the home of Leopold von Bildhofen, 69th Prince and Duke of Carroburg, and the home of his archives. We presented our credentials to the doorman, and were whisked away to the top of the citadel. Fortunately for my weakened condition, the modernized castle boasted an elevator. Duke von Bildhofen was wise, I mused, as servants cranked the pulleys that moved the box. Most lords and cities and even universities put their archives in the basements, or converted dungeons, where they would fall prey to the depredations of damp and cold and rats and mice.

Herzog von Bildhofen's archives occupied a long room on the top floor, taking up the south wall of the citadel. The doorman left us at the entrance, and Yolk hauled on the heavy door, allowing me access. Inside was a small man with a wispy beard, one milky eye, and spectacles. He looked ancient, but I suspected he was actually younger than me. "Good morrow, mein Herr," I said to the librarian, jovially. "My name is Erich Duquesne, and this is my associate, Yolk," at the mention of the nickname, the younger Templar grimaced. "We need to access any records you have kept regarding the recent riots, including any personal property taken from the dead, which I am told has been stored here pending condemnation by the courts. May we have your name?"

"I am Chronicler, Second Class Kurt Diebner," he said in a rather reedy voice. "You may of course access whatever you wish, and I will be happy to show you to the location of the records you seek. However, I must warn you that they may be less complete than you are hoping."

"Well, that's no surprise. Recordkeeping after incidents like this is always sloppy."

"That's not what I mean, sir. I mean that other witch hunters have been into the archives, and I am afraid they have taken some items. For what purpose, I do not know, but none have been returned."

I felt anger prickling under my collar. "Corruption," I growled. "I understand that you could not have stopped them. But I do not suppose you kept any kind of record of them? Did they give their names?"

"Some did. I discreetly made a note of those. Some did not. But I attempted to commit their faces to memory, and have made some sketches."

"Well done, man. Very well done. I will see to it that a letter of commendation is placed in your file. Provide my associate with those sketches and a copy of the names."

"What?" Yolk asked

"I know you're not eager to do this work with me, so you can do a different job. Take this information and find these men. Find out what they did with the property, and get it back. If it's been sold, confiscate the money, and confiscate the item from the merchant."

"So you want me to go make an enemy of the whole citywide chapter?"

"No. I don't want you to. But I am giving you an order. If it helps, you can tell them it was my order, which happens to be the truth." I thrust a finger into his perfect face. "But if I find out you went easy on any friends, or took any bribes to look the other way, and," I snapped by thumb and middle finger loudly, "rest assured that I will find out, you will hear of it."

"Aye, Junior Templar, First Class," he said, coming to rigid attention.

I ignored him, and turned back to Diebner. "One other question. And think very hard about the answer to this question, for your life may hang in the balance. Did any of them take any chaotic or tainted items?"

Diebner shuddered, and hesitated. Finally, he said, "I do not know."

"You best hope they did not. If any have, it will be difficult to keep you from burning."

"Why?!" he nearly wailed. "If they did, I was not involved!"

"Alas, we have only your word on that. If you have any references who could testify or swear out affidavits as to your purity and honesty, it would be wise to arrange that. And, if it comes to it, I will be sure to emphasize the fact that you risked your own personal safety to record the identities of the thieves."

Diebner deflated, as though one outburst had exhausted him, "Thank you, Herr Hexenjäger."

I turned back to Yolk, and said, "Templar Vandenberg. If you discover that anyone has taken or received tainted artifacts originating from this archive, burn them. Regardless of their station."

Vandenberg clearly considered commenting on this possibility, but visibly reconsidered and simply barked smartly, "Zu befehl, mein Herr."

"Dismissed." Vandenberg clicked his heels together, and departed in a swirl of overcoat.

"Now, Diebner, take me-"

"Why did you dismiss Vandenberg?" de Smedt asked

"I just told you."

"You thought he'd enjoy your other job more?"

"No, but it needed to be done and I knew he was going to be difficult about searching the archives, so I decided to use him where I thought his talents lay."

"Forgive me this, Herr Duquesne, but how do we know you didn't dismiss him so you could secret tainted artifacts, or destroy evidence on behalf of cultists?" There was a slight intake of breath around the room. Not from Duquesne, who had been waiting for this shoe to drop.

"I see our true colors are at last fluttering in the breeze."

"Call it whatever you like, Duquesne. Answer the question," de Smedt snapped, an ugly scowl on his face.

"No."

"No?!"

"No. Because I'm fairly certain that whatever answer I give to that question will be used to incriminate me. I've done this myself, you know. So I will simply say this: I did not then and never have offered aid, comfort, or succor to enemies of the Empire or humanity, including, but not limited to, the Ruinous Powers of the Immaterium, commonly known as Khorne, Tzeentch, Slaanesh, and Nurgle. I have never participated in any of their schemes or conspiracies, and have never acted in their interests of my own initiative."

"Very good, Herr Duquesne-"

"But not enough? Just do it already. You know you want to. Just get it over with."

"Very well," de Smedt said, turning to one of his clerks, "Fetch Herr von Hochschildt, please."

"Mind reading freak."

"What will he find in your mind, Herr Duquesne?" de Smedt asked, looking smug. Prick, Duquesne thought.

"I have no idea."

"Really? How is that?"

"Are you aware of everything your mind contains? Do you have complete knowledge of yourself? Of course not. I have read the philosophers who say that the adult mind is a sky-high pile of memories, impulses, delusions and minutiae, only some random proportion of it knowable to us in our waking states. So I have no way of knowing whether the freak will pull something out of my brain that I never actually did but merely thought about or which I've forgotten about or buried that nonetheless incriminates me."

"Is that all?"

"No. I don't trust him. I think he lies about what he finds in men's minds."

"Quite an accusation. I don't suppose you can back it up."

"I can. I can think of at least four occasions where a man or woman burned because of the freak's testimony, even though I had evidence contradicting him."

"You never considered that your evidence might be wrong?"

"Of course I did. But what goes on in someone's mind is fundamentally proof of nothing. The things that the freak found in those minds might have been idle fantasy or musings, not reflective of what actually happened. And I had documents, physical evidence and statements from witnesses that directly contradicted the things he said he saw."

"Well, as you just said, no one can truly know what is in their minds. How do you know he didn't see it?"

"I have no doubt that he saw the things he saw, in one way or another. I am not saying that he made those things up out of whole cloth. I'm saying that when he read those minds, he knew what he was expected to find, and he found it. The lie was to himself, at the beginning. Everything afterward just confirms it."

"An impressive level of thought, Duquesne. But it won't protect you from his reading."

"Oh, I have no doubt he'll relish it."

"Why is that?"

"This one, I know you know."

"Of course I know you had his brother burned for witchcraft while you were both in Middenheim. Incidentally, I read those reports, and I agree with you, though I don't share your suspicion of the survivor. Did von Hochschildt follow you here, by chance?"

"Obviously, though I can't prove it, which doesn't surprise me. So then that begs the question: how sure are you of his purity?"

"Sure enough."

"Or maybe you're just that determined to carry out your orders."

"You chastise me for talking around what I mean. I say you should do the same. No one is being framed here, Herr Duquesne."

"Maybe not by you. What about the freak? How do you know he won't frame me?"

"It's a chance I'm willing to take," de Smedt said, with the barest indication of a smile.

"That's not funny."

"It's a little funny," de Smedt said with a disconcerting grin, that made Duquesne reconsider leaning into the inquisitor's 'joke.'

A few moments passed in an increasingly uncomfortable silence until Gerhard von Hoschshildt, Prelate of the Grey College, a master of the Lore of Shadows glided silently into the interrogation room. He wore a massive grey cloak. His arms and hands were hidden in his sleeves, and his face was invisible under a heavy hood. The cloak was luxuriously trimmed in the fur of grey wolves. Other than the robe, there was only one thing visible: on a heavy chain around his neck hung the Sword of Judgment, a reminder of the heavy burden borne by Grey wizards: the burden of action. For them, to know is not enough.

The man moved silently across the floor, and inaudibly pulled out a chair. With a slight rustle of fabric, he settled in. He did not raise his head or look at anyone. "You summoned me, my Lord High Inquisitor?" His voice seemed to come from every direction and no direction at once. Certainly not from inside his hood. Duquesne shuddered, the palpable air of magic around the man inspiring both revulsion and distrust.

Even de Smedt didn't look entirely pleased. "Yes, Herr von Hoschildt. This witness has been less than forthcoming with the tribunal, and we would ask for your assistance."

"Of course," he said, and his hood dropped a fraction of an inch.

When he invaded my mind, there was no dramatic flash of light. He didn't extend his hand. He didn't babble out an incantation. One second I was staring at his creepy hood, and the next everything was dark, and I felt a searing pain in the center of my brain. Suddenly, I was aware of tendrils of grey smoke worming their way into the crevices of my brain. I lashed out at them, destroying them. Suddenly, in my mind's eye, the wispy grey shadows condensed into a vaguely humanoid shape. The thing said "Don't fight it. You might not survive."

I gritted my mental teeth and grunted, "Fuck out of my head, freak."

"What are you trying to achieve, here? This my world, not yours. I could crush you instantly-"

"Then do it! Godsdammit, just do it! You've been wanting to all these years. And I'm already tired of this fucking charade."

The shadows pulsed, sensing my defenses weakening. They burrowed back into me, further than before. They burrowed, burrowed, burrowed, seeking, seeking, seeking. The pain grew with each second, to the point where it felt like my brain felt as though there were a whole other person inside it, because there was. And then I struck. Lashing out, I hacked at the roots of the tendrils, their connection to the world outside my brain. I felt them retreating, and I redoubled my efforts, severing one after another. A few escaped, but not enough, or so I hoped. "Got you, fucker," I said.

If I was right, von Hochschildt's consciousness was trapped inside my brain, and he'd hear me. If I was wrong, he'd kill me. He might kill me anyway, but now he was practically cut in half, and I had the advantage.

"Very clever," a raspy voice said. "You're strong. How did you know how to that?"

"Before I burned him, your brother told me how. He hated you. And me, but you more."

"You'll burn in the end, too, murderer."

"Finally, some life out of the wet blanket. I never condemned an innocent, not once. You, on the other hand, have. So you're going to suffer a bit before I let you out. And when I do, you're going to stay out of my head or I swear my last fucking act will be cracking yours open on the table, magic, guards, and Lords High Inquisitor be damned."

Von Hochshildt's silence was deafening.

"We can do it that way. Tell me, freak, how does it feel to be cut in half? Is it fun? Comfortable?" I asked, punctuating each statement with another attack on the part of Hochschildt stranded in my brain. The freak groaned and wheezed satisfyingly. "Because it's nothing compared to what you did to those 'heretics,' to their families. Remember that."

Finally, von Hochschildt let out a wheezy chuckle, and said "You don't fool me, Duquesne. Even now, I know your mind. You don't care about some dead or tortured peasants. Who's the real freak?"

"You may know my mind, freak, but I'm going to make sure you don't remember," I said, and redoubled my attacks.

When I released him, I had no idea how long had passed since von Hochschildt's inquisition had begun. But as soon as I did, I felt a huge weight lifted from my mind, and I blinked furiously, my sight returning slowly. I was staring up at the ceiling, having fallen off my chair. I levered myself back up, and was rewarded with another nail in my head. I pushed through it and managed to haul myself into my chair. I stared at de Smedt. He stared back.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, his voice oddly choked.

"Herr von Hochschildt," I said, through a choking cough that might also have been a laugh, "isn't as good at his job as he's led you to believe."

"Restrain him," de Smedt said, and the door guards marched into the room. They grabbed me under my shoulders, hauling me briefly to my feet before slamming me back down onto my knees, and cracking my head onto the cold stone floor. I screamed, and unconsciousness pulsed invitingly at my temples. I considered succumbing for a long moment, and then pushed back.

It was then that I heard von Hochschildt speak, in that same tortured wheeze I had heard in my mind. He was saying, "-cannot say for certain that this man is guilty of any crime at this time. However, his mental defenses are much stronger than I have encountered, other than other magic users or high-level cultists. Further, if Herr Duquesne had nothing to hide, he would not have defended himself."

I considered trying to rise, but thought better of it when I realized the guards would crack my head on the floor again, which would certainly lead to unconsciousness this time. I heard de Smedt saying, "In that case, I must adjourn this deposition to confer-"

From the floor, I managed to interrupt, saying, "My Lord High Inquisitor, if I may be heard in my defense?"

"Don't let him speak, my Lord. We have no idea of what he's capable," von Hochschildt said.

"If he's capable of killing with words, he's been able to do so since the deposition begun. He hasn't-"

"Forgive me, my Lord, but that is only as far as you know, and you are not a wizard. If he can kill with a word, he can also influence your minds with the same. And no, you would not have noticed the change."

"In that case, examine the deponent and the others in this room. If they have been bewitched, we will have the deponent's head this instant," de Smedt. He turned to the guards, "In the meantime, put him in a chair. But restrain his hands and gag him."

I submitted to de Smedt's new measures, while von Hochschildt became completely motionless. The hairs on my arms prickled as waves of slight magical energy emanated from the Gray Wizard.

After a few minutes, de Smedt became impatient and demanded, "Well, man? Is there witchcraft in this room?"

Von Hochschildt didn't move, but still managed to look hesitant, "Not at this time, my Lord."

"Well, then, I see no harm in letting the deponent speak. Ungag him, but keep him restrained."

"Thank you, my Lord. And, with respect, Herr von Hochschildt is full of shit. I am trained to defend myself from intrusions into my mind, which I believe is standard for witch hunters. And if I am stronger than most witch hunters, then it is because I am smarter than most witch hunters. I explained why I cannot trust Herr von Hochschildt. I defended myself because of our history, and his general untrustworthiness, not because I have anything to hide. Moreover, I am entitled to defend myself, whether against Herr von Hochschildt's intrusions or from the charges alleged by yourself. And I could have killed Herr von Hochschildt while defending myself. I did not. Last, I have already said that I have nothing to do with any of the Ruinous Powers."

"And at this point, Herr Duquesne, we have only your word on the last point. You have adduced no proof to that effect."

"I am not the proponent, my Lord de Smedt. You say I am a traitor to humanity and league with the most despicable forces imaginable. If my conduct as a witch hunter has not always been exemplary, I am reasonably certain it has never been criminal in the least. It is therefore your burden to prove that I am guilty."

"There is reason in your words. But that is not the law, and you know it. I can cite dozens of statutes and opinions placing the burden squarely on the accused."

"They are not just."

"That is irrelevant. They are the law. And we will comply with the law, and to its fullest extent. You, who have claimed that your superiors have violated the law in prosecuting heretics and mutants, cannot possibly object to compliance with the law."

"Their justice is relevant. We cannot become just unless we do just acts. If there is reason in my assertion, it must be acted upon, lest its reason go unheeded. We cannot simply say that it is reasonable and then ignore it, or say that it is academic or a matter for a different tribunal. It is before you today."

"Oh, but I can, and it is not. This is a deposition, not a trial. Matters of justice are not our concern. Our concern is to perform the necessary inquisition to discover the truth of what has happened in this accursed city."

"And what happens when the truth must take action?"

"Then, I trust that you will be there to advocate for yourself and whomever else you choose."

"Will you guarantee that I will have that opportunity?"

"I will," de Smedt said quickly. I didn't smile, but my eyes must have glinted, because a horrified look passed across the faces of the commission and the wizard. De Smedt grimaced, and said over his shoulder, "Off the record."

He turned back to me and said, "Very clever. But you must know that if I am as unprincipled as you think, I can easily have that guarantee removed from the record."

"You won't."

"How do you know?"

"I don't really. But you do have principles, or else you wouldn't have discussed justice at all. And regardless, my Lord, at this point, it is your business. Not mine."

De Smedt's eyes narrowed, and he pursed and relaxed his lips a few times. He turned back to the reporters, and said, "Back on the record. Mark this area of questioning for follow up. Herr Duquesne, please continue."

"I was talking to Diebner about his records, and…"

Title note: The title is reference to the work of my favorite science fiction author, John Scalzi, among other things.