Lady Simone d’Heroux of Parravon continued giving directions from behind her dressing screen. “We’ll inspect the eastern guard posts today. There have been rumors of odd noises by night in that area, and perhaps we might be able to find some trace of their cause by day.”

The noblewoman was speaking to the thin, fussy looking man by the entrance to her rooms. “Milady,” he began placatingly. “There is no need for you to accompany the guard on these inspections. They are fully capable...”

The noblewoman broke in. “Xavier, does my brother-in-law make it a habit to accompany the men on these patrols?”

This was an argument they’d had many times, every time ending the same way. The major-domo resigned himself. “Yes, milady.”

“Then as head of the household in his absence, does the responsibility not fall to me?”

“Milady, you know the Earl does not like you riding about on patrols with the garrison...”

Simone finished arranging her riding dress, and settled her cowl and veil over her features. She stepped around the screen, and watched Xavier wringing his hands in frustration. “The Earl has not forbidden me to conduct these patrols in the past, has he?”

“No, Milady.”

“Are you trying to forbid me, Xavier?”

The servant fidgeted even more unhappily, but before he could respond, trumpets sounded, first in the distance, and then repeated from the city walls.

The head of the household servants looked to a nearby window, hiding his relief carefully as he adjusted the folds of his immaculate livery. “Milady?”

Though her disappointment was obvious, she recovered as well as possible. “Xavier, I shall not be riding today. Please tell the groom to unsaddle my horse, and that I shall be down later to groom her and put her in the stable.”

Xavier nodded without comment, bowed and left.

The trumpets signaled the return of the army of Brionne. With Earl Cadfael once again in the city, control of the house reverted to him, neatly relegating Simone to her more usual and far less comfortable position of family houseguest.

With a decidedly unladylike oath, Simone returned to her screen and began changing back into her more customary robes.

The army of Brionne passed through the outer gates of her home just past noon. Inside, the men were no sooner formed in ranks than the command to dismiss was given. The armsmen fell out, forming neat lines to return their equipment to the armory before returning to the mundane tasks of providing for their families. The remaining troops, squires and knights, were then marched to the parade ground outside their barracks within the walls of the inner keep. Here to, the word was given in short order, and the soldiers trudged off to take care of their personal equipment, mounts, and weapons before retiring to eat, bathe and sleep.

The Chaos Lord remained in the courtyard of the keep, still chained to the wagon, but oddly subdued. The Earl had noticed the man’s strange melancholy earlier, but his own turbulent thoughts, and, he admitted to himself, a reluctance to speak to the disquieting prisoner had prevented his investigating.

A small spark seemed to animate the slumped figure in the cart, as if hearing the Earl’s thoughts. “Shall we go to see the Magistrate now then?”, he called through the hood.

The General shook his head and rode nearer the wagon. “We have ridden quite a distance, Lord Garrick. An afternoon’s recuperation and a night’s rest should not go amiss.” He climbed down from his mount, turning him over to a waiting groom. “The Magistrate will also need to be informed of our visit. Tomorrow shall be soon enough.”

The chained man did not move. “Shall I be sleeping here in the wagon then?”

The General placed his hand on the side of the cart. “I think we can do better than that. However, simply sending you off to a guest chamber leaves me... apprehensive.”

The cloak sighed. “There is nowhere I can flee to, Milord Earl. And no one to give me sanctuary. I know and understand that I shall be held immediately, and undoubtedly capitally, accountable for any laws that I may break. I want a bath, a meal, and a bed. And perhaps a pillow.” He rattled his chains softly. “And perhaps to have these off as well.”

The Earl smiled. “I would have thought you could simply shake your hands and have them fall away.”

The figure shrugged. “I can. But I thought I’d humor you. Besides, you or one of your guards might think I was attempting to escape and jab a sword into my ear.”

The knight was unsure of what to make of the change in demeanor of the chaos warrior. He turned to his waiting watch captain. “Detail three men to escort this man to the holding cell. Two shall remain on guard there, outside. Have a blacksmith brought here to remove the manacles.”

“A holding cell?” the cloak asked emptily.

Earl Cadfael watched the man carefully. “It has a cot, a washbasin, and a solid oak door to provide you some privacy.”

“If it locks from the outside and not from the in, it’s a prison, whatever it’s refinements.”

The Earl was becoming nettled at the man’s ennui. “As you wish, Lord Garrick. The cell or the wagon until tomorrow morning. Which would you prefer?”

Seth stood abruptly, and stepped from the end of the cart. His manacles pulled easily free and clanked to the wooden planks. “Take me to my cell then, gaoler.” It was only then he seemed to notice the ring of spears the guards had leveled and pointed at him.

“Sorry, but I didn’t feel like waiting for the smith.” There was a faint trace of a smile in his voice. “I didn’t scare you, did I?”

The Earl, more than a little irritated, ordered his men to put up their weapons. “Your escort will lead you to your room. Other duties demand my attention.” Cadfael motioned to Sir Roland’s contingent, waiting impatiently on the parade ground.

Seth seemed to inspect the watch-captain for a long moment, then the Earl. Finally, he shrugged and trudged along with the guards. Earl Cadfael released a breath he hadn’t even known he had been holding. It had seemed for a moment that the warrior might be desperate to try... something.

The Earl turned and began walking to his own quarters, but was met before he had taken three steps by Xavier, who began speaking in a weary monotone.

“I see you’ve managed to tear your tabard again, milord. And your armor looks like it has not been cleaned properly since you left. Though I suppose I should be grateful you’re not covered head to foot in assorted blood. I take it for once you avoided an opportunity to have your head cut off in spectacular battle, and merely returned safely home alive.” A loud sniff. “And you haven’t bathed recently either.”

The Earl nearly laughed out loud. Such an abrupt return to the common complaints after the pains of the last week left him feeling momentarily giddy. But his composure gained the upper hand. “Xavier, I appreciate your candor, but do you think you could possibly wait until we are somewhere slightly more private than the parade square to berate me like the spoiled rotten child I so evidently am?”

The fussy looking major-domo sniffed again. “Whatever my Lord wishes.” Xavier had been a retainer to the house of Cadfael much longer than the Earl had been alive, and had even assisted in his birth. This fact, of course was simply one of many the efficient little man enjoyed tormenting the General with.

“You spent much of your first day squalling about the impropriety of me spanking your little behind, and have seldom stopped since.” The little man began dry washing his hands. “If you think you are too big for this sort of thing, I tell you young man...”

The Earl interrupted carefully, not wishing to truly upset the man. “Zav, could you tell Lady Simone to meet me in the Chapel as soon as is convenient for her.”

Xavier stopped in mid-harangue. “The Chapel, milord? Then there has been some bad business on this little outing, blood or not.” The man’s eyes flicked to Sir Roland’s contingent, obviously waiting impatiently. “Bad business indeed. Lady Simone was in her apartments only a short time ago. I will inform her directly.”

The knight shook his head. “Please see Commandant Bourdon to the guest rooms first, and find space for his attendants in the barracks. Inform Lady Simone when our guests are comfortably settled.”

The Earl moved away from his tsking servant, moving deeper into the keep, trailing his forbidding thoughts with him.

“It shall be as my Lord pleases.” Xavier called after him.

Cadfael managed a ghost of a smile and called back over his shoulder, “As long as you are running things, Zav, who could doubt it?”

Xavier clucked in a ruffled fashion, watching the young man he had tried to raise to be a proper gentleman stride away to the Chapel. So many rough edges. Never enough time. He tsked again, put on a servile grimace, and went to deal with the Commandant.

As the Earl entered the keep’s Chapel of the Lady he felt an enormous feeling of easing tension, followed by an even stronger wave of grief. His wife had often greeted him here after outings with the army. The small chamber smelled of warmth, candle wax, scented oil, and wood. This had been their refuge; his from war, hers from being alone and afraid.

The knight lay his sword on the rack by the door. The Lady approved the use of arms in her service, but never in her presence. He stepped to the foremost pew, bowed, and knelt.

“Lady of the Lake, Mother of the Bretonni,” the Earl prayed. “Many thanks for this day, this opportunity to serve you.” His eyes closed, pressed shut. He could not continue aloud. Lady, please help me. I miss my wife. Evelynne. Her loss is a pain that never ends. I cannot endure it. I am empty. I cannot breathe. Gutted. Why doesn’t this end? Lady? I serve you, Lady, faithfully, but all I think about is being reunited with her. I wish to die...

A soft voice spoke from the shadows of the Chapel. “I lit two candles for her every day you were gone, Luc. One for you, and one for me.”

The Earl tensed at the interruption, terrified for a moment that he had actually been speaking aloud. Then he recognized the voice and relaxed. And then felt it, the same tension he always felt around his sister in law. “My thanks, Lady Simone. I am a poor husband, who cannot even take the time to properly mourn...”

The owner of the voice moved with a quiet swishing of wool, stepping into the light. Tall, and thin despite the bulky gray robes she wore. And over her features, as always, a gray veil, from crown to breastbone. “My brother, we could pray together. We have not yet spoken...”

The knight cut her off savagely. “Nor shall we now.” He stopped, embarrassed, knowing he had shamed her, but unwilling to share the tiniest bit of his pain. “I asked you here to enlist your aid in other matters.”

The gray-clad woman flinched, but spoke evenly, and sat down on the opposite pew. “Of course, Milord. How might I be of service?”

Cadfael pressed his eyes closed. He had offended her. Again. He promised himself that he would take the time to speak to her about... things. He had sworn to. But there were important matters that could not wait. “There are two guests in the castle. Lord Roland Bourdon, Commandant of Porte d’Ouest, and Lord Seth Garrick of the Chaos Wastes.”

Lady Simone’s breathing stopped. “The Chaos Wastes?”

The Earl nodded. “Indeed. Roland took the man prisoner, and was about to execute him, when I intervened.”

The Lady cocked her head. “And why did you do that, Milord?”

As ever, she struck to the heart of the matter. He sighed. “He was about to duel the man in a pubic square after starving him for a week.”

Simone’s posture did not change. “So you did not mind to the sentence, but you objected to the spectators, and his treatment beforehand?”

Once again the man had been neatly skewered by a few questions from this insightful, but frustrating woman. The knight shook his head, beaten. “In truth, Lady, I did what I did because I was tired, impatient, and after rallying my army and marching to his outpost following rumors of invasion, I was more than ready to disrupt Roland’s little scheme, whatever it might have been.”

The noblewoman leaned back, satisfied for now. “And why is the man here?”

“He claimed to be a nobleman in his country, and that he wished to speak to a magistrate.”

She leaned back forward. “He simply claimed to be a nobleman, and you brought him here? You have brought much trouble on yourself if that is the case.”

“There was some evidence suggesting he might be telling the truth.” The Earl explained, somewhat defensively. “His armor, magical, and a Mark of the chaos god Slaanesh branded to his face.”

The Lady considered. “Perhaps, Milord, but taking the man from his captor’s custody? Roland must have been very upset.”

The knight grew very still. “Not at all. He seemed almost anxious to come here.”

Simone considered that as well. “You suspect some scheme at work then. The two of them, are they working together, or is it simply Roland?”

The Earl’s eyebrows shot up. “Working in collusion with the Chaos Warrior would be treason! It’s madness to suggest such a thing!”

“Of course, Milord. What was I thinking?” Her sarcasm cut the knight deeply. “If that’s the case, you should have no trouble at all determining what it might be. Roland has never been the best of schemers. His need to gloat always gets the best of him.”

Cadfael turned toward the altar. “My concern is the Chaos Warrior. He is unlike anything I expected. Very observant, very sharp. He makes me uneasy. Lady Simone, you have always been the most perceptive and discerning of people. I ask you to meet with him, speak with him, and determine what he is planning. Whatever his plans may be, we must thwart them.” His promise nudged him, and prompted him to speak further. Whether this man is a Chaos Lord or not, being near him may place you in danger...”

“I accept your charge, Milord.” she cut in. “And I shall be cautious.” Simone stood and walked lightly to the Chapel entrance.

Cadfael watched her leaving, still uncertain. “Simone, you...” She stopped, not looking back. “You still have the present Evelynne gave you?” His voice twisted on the name.

Her head tilted. “I am never without it, Milord.” She entered the corridor, and was gone.

The Earl grunted, not happy with this latest exchange with his only living family. Then, with a unhappy sigh, he resigned himself and turned back to the altar, resuming his attempts to survive the loss of his wife.

Drat the man, thought Simone as she drifted silently down the hall. And drat Evvie as well. Hmmm. Well, perhaps not that. But a deathbed request that he watch over her ‘headstrong and willful twin’? How could she?

Prior to that, the cloaked noblewoman had done mostly as she pleased, a minor lord’s daughter, one mercifully freed by chance of the typical obligations and duties of her station. She had happily reveled in her independence, ignoring the social taboos of formal education and weapons training for women. Her parents had nearly balked when she had informed them of her sessions practicing sword and knife, longbow and staff with a retired family retainer, she argued elegantly that few enough young nobles had come to suit her, and few more were expected, why should she not live as she might, provided her lessons, formal or practical, were not obviously displayed in view of members of the court. They were finally placated when she agreed to take the more typical lessons in etiquette and court protocol that were mandatory for young noblewomen as well. When they passed years later, no one thought it remarkable that she simply remained on the family estates rather than moving closer to the excitement of the ducal courts; she’d always been the black sheep of her family. Evelynne had married, and would bear the responsibility continuing their line. Simone was content with her freedom and isolation.

Yet now here she was, twenty-five and spinster for life, trained for the court, or the gutter, such as it was. And a shadow had fallen across her near perfect existence. True, he meant well. But all the hovering and stifling and second-guessing and silent guilt and very occasional outright forbiddance of things he felt might endanger her. Or threaten her honor. Or embarrass her family. Or her station. Or herself.

After her sister’s funeral his request she come from her family estates to Brionne seemed so reasonable, so warm. Though Simone had been while content and independent on her estates near Parravon, the sudden loss of her sister had struck her far more deeply than she had thought possible. And she felt a very strong, very familiar feeling of loss and isolation from the Earl as well. She had felt then that perhaps they might be able to help each other...

Then the long trips by the Earl began. Awkward silences. Then the disapproving stares and cautionary talks; ‘Why are you doing this’, ‘Wouldn’t it be better if...’, ‘Are you sure about this’, and on and on. If it wasn’t so obviously sincere and heartfelt it would be intolerable. As it was, it was merely insufferable. If only he had a tenth, a hundredth the respect for my decisions he has for Evelynne’s last. And while I’m considering it, the second I try to talk to him about things that might be troubling him he was busy, taking the men on maneuvers, out the door to visit so and so, important matters to deal with, not now.

She rounded a corner and found herself in front of the holding cell door. The guards on each side of the door snapped neatly to attention. “Milady”, the senior man on the left greeted.

Simone hastily arranged her thoughts. Her hands shifted automatically to her sleeves, a gesture that indicated mere preparedness to the observer, but was in truth the noblewoman’s way of checking her sister’s present without attracting attention. Strapped to her left forearm a sheath held a finely balanced fighting knife; eight inches of good steel, hilt wrapped in rough boarhide so as not to slip when covered in sweat or other, less pleasant fluids. This gift was no ornate decoration; the blade was slightly curved, the first inch from the hilt serrated for better cutting, then running it’s smooth arc to an inch from it’s end, where it angled sharply in and straight to the point. One tug would send the knife in a vicious arc. A hard man’s close fighting weapon. Or a hard woman’s. Old Christien’s lessons had not omitted this little item. Evelynne had never really understood her sister’s fascination with weapons and combat, but she’d condemned Simone’s wild ways less than anyone. The noblewoman touched the hilt reassuringly, remembering her sister fondly, and then stepped up to the guards.

“Good evening Gentlemen. Our guest is within?”

“Yes Milady.” answered the senior man. “Food and hot bat water were taken in some time ago. The servant’s left, and all has been quiet since.”

The noblewoman moved to the door and opened the spyhole. The bed lay rumpled, the soapy washtub was motionless, a chair by the desk where used dishes and cutlery lay...

There was no one in the room.

“Gentlemen,” Simone said woodenly. “Call the guard. Open the door. Our guest has escaped.”

The two guards shared a comic look of shock. “Milady,” gulped the younger. “Surely you jest.”

Simone stepped back. “Open it.”

“Milady we never...”

“Open. This. Door.” She bit the words off sharply prodding the guards into motion.

The key snapped the lock back, and both men hauled the heavy door back. Simone quickly inspected the ceiling over the door, and then strode forcefully in to the room scanning everywhere; under the bed, the desk, the tub...

A wall of water surged from the tub like a tidal wave. Simone, closest and in the open, received the brunt, foaming water soaking her from neck to feet. So sudden, so unexpected the soapy assault, for a moment she could not even speak.

Then the tidal wave did.

“Oh pardon me.” it said. As water ran from it, it was transformed into a glistening Seth Garrick, standing unabashedly in the now near-empty tub. “You took me by surprise. I didn’t hear you come in.”

Simone regained her composure in a single deep breath. Her etiquette and protocol training hadn’t quite covered this, but she definitely knew maintaining composure. And dealing with the uncouth.

“I apologize for intruding upon you in your bath Lord Garrick.” The water in the room should have frozen solid at the sound of her voice. She continued, ignoring her sopping clothes and the warrior’s blatant nudity. “I merely dropped by to make your acquaintance and see how you are getting on. I am...”

“No, no.” interrupted Seth. “Let me guess. You must be...” He considered her outfit. He stepped from the tub, and walked a close circle around her, finishing by stepping back into the tub. “You must be... Princess Drab of the Tent People, right?”

Etiquette and protocol slipped a notch. “Lady Simone d’Heroux of Parravon.” she finished, teeth only slightly clenched. “I looked in and saw the room apparently empty, and thought something might have happened...”

“Guess that’s why you didn’t bother to knock then.” Seth interrupted again, smirking. “But that’s okay. Being intruded upon in my bath is getting to be a real habit for me.”

A tense silence. Then Simone noticed the two guards standing, gape-mouthed, sword out, next to her. “You may leave us.”

The guards looked at each other, then at the noblewoman, and then slowly over to the naked man with horns, and then back at the noblewoman.

“Leave now.” she commanded. And was obeyed. The door shut with a deep thud, but the lock was not thrown.

“Well done, Milady.” congratulated Seth. “I thought they’d never leave.” He considered a moment, then half shrugged before speaking. “I know this sounds like a horrible line, and really it is a horrible line, but we really should get you out of those wet clothes.”

“Thank you Lord Garrick, but I’m fine.” she said evenly, trying not to let her teeth chatter. “But what about yourself? We wouldn’t want you catching a chill.”

For the first time, Seth looked almost embarrassed. “I’d put something on, but all I have is one extremely well used robe which is not at all suitable for receiving guests in.”

She would not break his merry gaze. “Perhaps a towel then, until proper garments can be found for you?”

Seth looked briefly disappointed, then turned around and stepped out of the tub and over to the bed. As he bent over to pick up the towel which lay there, Simone could not help but notice...

Seth twitched his tail briskly from side to side as he dried himself. About two feet long the appendage was the same pale pink as his skin, like a dog’s tail without hair, growing from the flesh above his tailbone. Suddenly, it curled up and seemed to waved coyly.

“You like it?” asked Seth. He wrapped the towel around his head like a turban, and turned to face her.

Her eyes snapped back to his face and stayed there. “Sorry?” she tried to recover.

“I’m the only guy I know who can do it without it falling off.”

Still fumbling, she muttered, “I’m not sure...”

“I think it looks pretty good, myself. Rather imposing.”

“Lady Simone, I don’t know what you’re thinking about, but I’ve been talking about my headwear. Does that help you?”

Simone’s back snapped straight, realizing she’d been tricked. “Very nice, Lord Garrick. But do you think it appropriate? Not many sultanates in Bretonnia.”

Seth seemed to digest this. “Fine. More in keeping to keep the interesting bits well covered here, isn’t it?” He whipped the towel from his head and wrapped it securely around his hips. “Better?”

“It will do, Lord Garrick.” She answered thinly.

Seth walked back over to her, stopping only a few inches away.. “You know, it’s startling at first, I’ll admit. But the more I think about it. Yep, those robes are terrible. Just awful. No form, no color. They hold water nicely, though. But still, they are nasty. Too “Hey, look at me, I’m a potato sack.” His head tilted. “But the veil.” He stalked around to face her. “That’s very interesting. Do all Bret women hide their beauty this way, or is it just a jealous husband who refuses to share you?”

Etiquette and protocol slipped, spun loose, but caught at the last second. “I wear what suits me, Lord Garrick, not to please anyone else. And I have no husband at all, let alone one who would dictate my wardrobe.”

“That’s very interesting as well.” Seth put in. “So mature, so confident, yet unwed. Though if those clothes truly suit you, I can see why.”

Snap. Etiquette and protocol go spinning off into the distance, to be recovered later. “As opposed to parading around naked, hoping to shock the naive and impress the stupid with your daring and style?”

“Oh my.” laughed Seth. “I am impressed. Good to see you do have a spine buried beneath all that canvas. They teach you that at noblewoman’s school, or are you just lucky to have one bred into you?”

The gutter twitched to life. Simone’s right hand moved three inches toward her left sleeve. Then stopped. Seth did not miss the movement, and was even more impressed. The noblewoman spoke quietly and dryly. “Both.”

Seth snickered. “Touché.”

The noblewoman continued, the gutter lurking nearby, but etiquette and protocol found and nearer. “As I was saying earlier, before you began entertaining me with your underwater acrobatics and various appendage waving, was that the Earl had asked me to look in on you, make sure you were comfortable, see if there was anything you required. But apparently all you lack is a constant and appreciative audience, which laughs and claps when you do tricks. I would volunteer myself, but apparently I lack the special something which allows everyone else to see how witty and charming you are. Because when I look at you I see a crude and petty boor, Lord Garrick. Coarse and completely lacking in refinement. That somehow you believe yourself enough of an authority on social grace to laud or upbraid the gifts or shortcomings you perceive in others is... well, it’s rather sad.” She turned and knocked on the door, wanting nothing except to be gone from this frustrating man.

“Wow.” said an astonished Seth. “You’re good at this.”

The door began to move. “Really, Lord Garrick.?” Simone’s voice dripped sarcasm.

Seth’s smile was genuine. “Really. Much better than that monkey LeBrun, or Bourdon, or even your Earl.”

The door swung open. “Of course, Lord Garrick. They’re all men.” She walked purposefully out of the cell.

A moment later the door slammed shut, the lock clacking loudly.

“Gods.” invoked Seth. “What a woman.”

Mid-morning had arrived as Earl Cadfael tapped on the holding cell door. He had spoken with Simone earlier, and oddly, she had purposefully advised him to do so. She had also seemed strangely agitated; if she were a cat, she would have lashed her tail as she talked. However, his sister-in-law had tightly assured him that all was indeed well, that the prisoner seemed in fine form, and that appropriate clothing and breakfast had already been sent to the cell.

The Earl himself looked as he always did, his moustache well waxed, his beard neatly trimmed, resplendent in the formal robes he had donned for the audience with the magistrate. And if he seemed a little hollower about the eyes, well, sleep had been long in coming the night before, and ended all too soon.

The Earl heard a loud “Come in!” shouted through the door. From the tone, not the first time it had been said either. Woolgathering.

At their lord’s gesture, the guards threw back the bolts and swung the door aside. The General stepped in cautiously, finding Seth slowly spooning breakfast from a bowl while seated on the bed. He wore a large, plain brown robe, with the hood thrown back.

The nobleman began with friendly pleasantries. “Good morning, Lord Garrick. You seem well. Ready for the day’s appointments?”

The Chaos Lord stared a moment, then continued slowly to eat. “Who saw to my breakfast this morning?”

The knight was caught off guard. “The cooks, I suppose, Lord Garrick. Why? Is something wrong?”

Another spoonful. “And who informed the cooks that I wanted plain porridge, fruit, whole wheat toast, and a bran muffin for breakfast?”

“I can’t imagine.” confessed the Earl. “My sister was in the kitchen’s this morning. Perhaps she would know.”

Seth’s eyebrows rose. “Was she.” It wasn’t a question. “Then you might also thank her for the clothing that has been provided as well. Very thoughtful of her.” He motioned with a spoon to an alcove for hanging clothing. A full dozen large, plain, brown robes, all with hoods hung there.

The Earl dominated his urge to smile. He had assumed his sister-in-law’s upset was due to the day’s visit to the magistrate; Simone had long been outspoken in her opposition to ‘male-dominated elements of the Bretonnian judicial system’. According to the law, no woman was allowed to attend the Courts of Justice, even as a gallery member, let alone to give testimony.

But apparently the Chaos Warrior had managed to raise her ire as well. He coughed lightly to quell a chuckle. “Perhaps we can find something that fits better a little later. Our appointment presses.”

Seth took one last bit of porridge, then lay his spoon down and stood. “I suppose I should leave some room for lunch. Any idea what that might consist of, Milord? Roots and berries? Maybe a few acorns for flavor? Or perhaps you’d rather just turn me loose in a field to graze for clumps of grass.”

The Earl kept his face straight and his voice even. “We shall have to see, Lord Garrick.”

After a brief delay to reapply Seth’s manacles, they left the Keep for the Brionne Hall of Justice.

The trip was short and without incident. At the Hall they found Commandant Bourdon, pacing impatiently with two of his men on the steps to the large building.

“Let us be done with this.” he demanded. “There is much to be done today, and I’d waste as little of it as possible here.”

Seth tsked from the interior of his hood. “Sir Roland, remember that patience is a virtue, and the truth shall set you free.”

Roland made a disgusted sound and clomped up the stairs to the entrance.

“‘The truth shall set you free’, eh?” The Earl commented. Not for you, Lord Garrick, not today.”

Seth shrugged. “We shall see, won’t we?” Then he began climbing the stairs as well.

The small group moved inside and were briefly met by attendants. After a short announced introduction they were moved into the courtroom proper, escorted by two armored bailiffs.

The Magistrate looked like a thunderhead perched above a mountain sitting behind his enormous marble desk, frowning furiously. Behind him the amassed books of Bretonnian law were neatly ordered on shelves that covered most of the fifty foot wall. The witness stand to the Magistrate’s right stood empty, as did the huge gallery. The room, well lit, yet somehow dim, gave the impression of harsh judgement held narrowly in abeyance.

“Enter the Hall of Justice,” the Magistrate rumbled. “and you shall be heard.” It sounded like a sentence being pronounced.

The group approached the bench. Judge Georges Dusolier had held his position for many years. Deep lines covered his face, and his hair, still thick and long, was pure white. His deep brown eyes flicked from face to face. He then focused on the Commandant and the Earl.

“I had expected you years ago. Well, whatever your disagreement, no trial by combat will be granted...” he began.

“My apologies, your honor,” interrupted the Earl. “But neither myself nor Lord Roland sought an audience.” He motioned to the robed and hooded Seth. “This man requested the magisterial presence.”

The court official seemed taken aback. “This one you say? Step forward, sir, and let me take a look at you.”

Seth moved to the bench without speaking, and pulled back his hood. The judge’s eyes narrowed, and his breath hissed out. “What is this doing in my courtroom?”

Seth broke the dangerous silence. “Your honor. Should it please the court, it is my intention to authenticate my noble entitlement and thus clarify my current legal status. This would be impossible without a trained Magistrate. I ask as a noble that you adjudicate in this matter.

If possible, the Magistrate seemed even more angry. He looked balefully at the two knights, then spoke to Seth. “You ask as a noble that I rule you are a noble or not? Then it would seem at present you would not be a noble, and thus should have no right to ask.”

Seth did not drop his eyes, and continued speaking in a level, almost friendly voice. “A dwarf king is a dwarf king, even in Ulthuan. A lector count is a lector count, even when visiting in Estalia?. These titles are recognized, even though the individuals have no court rank in the country they visit. Therefore, could it not also be so for a Chaos Lord in Brionne?”

The magistrate reflected quietly. “Perhaps. Legal confirmation, this is what you seek then?”

The warrior nodded. “My entitlement might be proven beyond a doubt by this court.”

Judge Desoliers glowered. “Your faith in our system of law is anything but comforting, Mr. Garrick. And this business as to your legal status?”

Seth noted the honorific. “Your honor, I would show that the circumstances of my capture, taken with my noble status, make me a prisoner of war, and not a common criminal.”

“Indeed.” The magistrate’s brows furrowed. “And how shall this be proven, then? You have witnesses to all of this? Credible witnesses?”

“Your honor, all the necessary witnesses are here in Brionne; Lord Roland, his men, and myself.”

The eyebrows rose in surprise. “That might be sufficient to cover how you were made prisoner, but unless you are suggesting that the Commandant or one of his men...”

“No your honor,” said Seth, shaking his head. “None of the Bretonnian men, to my knowledge, was present at my ceremony of investment. However, I was, and will make a reasonably credible witness.”

The Desoliers stormcloud lacked only jumping bolts of lightning. “And you’re not afraid your personal bias in these matters might effect your testimony?”

Seth smiled. “Not at all. ‘Bretonnian Law And Justice, Volume 1254, page 538, paragraph 6; Any defendant or plaintiff, may, at his request, subject his case to the scrutiny of the Veritas, that justice may prevail, and the guilty be revealed.’”

Silence spun out after the Chaos Lord finished speaking. Then the magistrate began speaking, issuing commands.

“Scribes, strike that last comment from the record. Bailiff Rostand, escort the scribes to the entry hall, and seal the door to this courtroom behind you. Do not let them leave. If anyone tries to gain entry before we emerge, use whatever means necessary to stop them.”

Quickly the courtroom staff did as they were told, leaving the room seeming even more cold and unforgiving. Then Desoliers spoke again. “All of you, swear an oath, by your swords, that you will never, upon pain of dishonor and death, reveal what you will hear today.

As one, the knights dropped to one knee, drew their swords, planted the tip in the floor, and said, “By my sword, I swear.”

Seth stood, staring at the genuflected knights. Even Roland had obeyed without hesitation. Noting that everyone was now waiting for him, he knelt, and spoke his vow. “Sure. Whatever. I swear.”

Several sharp glances ensued, but slowly the knights rose, taking their places in the gallery. The magistrate simply frowned down from his bench.

“So it looks like I’ll be getting my day in court after all.” said Seth, cheerily. “I guess I’ll just sit down over in the plaintiff’s area...”

Seth stood on the battlements of the keep, his hood thrown back, watching the sun slowly drop below the western horizon. Three guards formed a loose triangle around him, but he was satisfied.

The guard to his left stiffened, and the warrior knew his repose was about to be interrupted.

“Good evening, Lady. A pleasure to see you again.”

Lady Simone dropped in a shallow but polite curtsey. “And to you, Lord Garrick.” She considered him a moment. “You seem well pleased with yourself. Your meeting with the magistrate went well?”

“As a matter of fact, it went quite well.”

Simone continued. “Really? Pray tell then.”

Seth grinned. “I thought women weren’t welcome in Bretonnian legal circles. Something about them being unable to comprehend their intricacies.”

Simone gritted her teeth. “Actually, it’s out of fear we delicate flowers would be overwhelmed, feeling an overabundance of pity for the guilty. Perhaps finding ourselves corrupted without even knowing it.”

“Ah, yes. You women, always thinking with your hearts.” Seth laughed. “Actually, I’d love to tell you, but I can’t. It’s classified.”

“Classified?”

“Yes. I could tell you, but then you’d have to kill me.”

“What?” The noblewoman had no idea what he was talking about.

“Never mind.” He looked back toward the sunset. “Magistrate Desoliers sealed today’s testimony. No one who was present can ever talk about it,” His voice became deep and mock-serious. “On pain of dishonor and death.”

Lady Simone pondered this. “That’s very unusual.”

“I got that impression as well. So it’s Desoliers, me, your brother, Roland, and Roland’s two men who will carry the knowledge of today’s events to our graves. Even the bailiffs were dismissed.”

Lady Simone watched Seth closely as he said this, and had not missed his deliberate looks at their impromptu chaperones. Then she turned to the guards. “You men are dismissed. I will see Lord Garrick back to his quarters.”

“Milady, we...” one began.

Simone turned on the frost. “Is every guard in this keep deliberately ignoring my orders the first time I give them, or are you all doing so out of some unspoken but deeply held bond of disobedience?”

The three guards snapped to attention, and after a moment’s hesitation marched away.

The Lady turned to Seth. “So you’re aware, insulting, striking, or intentionally harming a noblewoman in Bretonnia is punishable by death, usually by duel. Killing a noblewoman will get you torn limb from limb without the formalities.”

Seth’s lips quirked. “You noblewomen duel a great deal then?”

The frost returned. “Any knight would gladly offer to be a noblewoman’s champion in such a matter.”

Seth continued to smirk. “And common women? I guess they have to duel for themselves.”

“Common women are usually represented by their husbands in a matter like that. Or oldest male relative if unmarried.”

“Seems like a rather male-dominated system of vengeance.”

“Actually, it’s the women who get vengeance. The men just do the heavy lifting.” Simone stepped to the battlement. “So I assume you have something of importance to say?”

“Actually, since you did ask, I was wondering if you’d like to know what happened with the magistrate today.”

Simone stepped back and stared. “You would break your solemn oath so quickly? Just like that?”

Seth rolled back his eyes. “First, it was a solemn oath to the Brets, not to me. I’ve sworn one oath in my life worth keeping, and believe me, I do.” The sunlight played across the scars marring his features.

“Second, it was against the law for you even to ask about the magistrate. It’s suborning perjury. You’re not allowed to know what was said, even if he hadn’t sealed the testimony. So, I think to myself, if you’re willing to break the law, maybe I should be too. Of course, if you’re not even interested...” He drifted off.

“If you were willing to lie when taking your oath, how will I know you’ll tell me the truth now?” she countered.

“What do you want? For me to swear to tell the truth?” He snickered. “Sorry, but there’s just no way. You’re never going to be able to check by asking anyone else. You’ll just have to trust me. The way I trust that you’re not telling anyone what I tell you. If you do, the whole thing comes out; you interfering in legal matters, me breaking my oath. You’ll get a slap on the wrist and a black mark on your permanent record. I’ll get hung.”

Simone felt a sharp pang of guilt. Informing the Earl of what she discovered in these conversations would be a breach of that trust. Of course, this one could never be spoken of to the Earl; he’d probably haul her up to the magistrate himself. But the rest, she was supposed to gather information to protect the people of Bretonnia. But doing so meant betraying...

What was she thinking? This chaos noble cares nothing for anything except his personal aggrandizement. To him a broken trust meant nothing. So this would be to her. The Earl already knew what had happened in the court. There was no need for her to reveal her knowledge, and continuing would prompt the warrior to trust her further.

“Go ahead, tell me then.” She smiled slightly. “You can trust me.”

“The testimony became sealed when I asked to have my case evaluated with the Veritas.” Seth began.

“Veritas?” Simone questioned.

“It’s a book. A gift from some high elf king a long time ago. Twelve were made, and presented when the Bretonnian country was divided into twelve permanent provinces, one to each chief magistrate. They make whoever touches it tell the truth, as they know it.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.” offered the noblewoman.

“Yeah, that’s what the Bretonnian king thought at the time too. So he made a royal edict, that anyone called to question in front of a magistrate could ask to have the Veritas used on each of the witnesses, to ensure absolute truth. They became enshrined in law, and passed into common use.”

“But they’re not used anymore. I’ve never even heard of it before.”

Seth nodded. “Well, that’s because when people started using them, it became apparent that they weren’t all they were cracked up to be.”

“What was the problem?”

“Well, first of all, the only time you’d ask for something like the Veritas would be a time when you thought someone might lie. And a lot of the folks called to the witness stand resented that idea. To be forced to tell the truth when, of course, they wouldn’t lie in the first place. Secondly, the magic of the books doesn’t allow for things like ‘context’, or ‘implied meaning’. So a few sharp legal operators managed to discredit a few rather honorable people because honorable people have a tendency to bluntly speak their minds. In certain circles this is fine, but under legal scrutiny, it can be embarrassing, crude, or even seditious.”

“Feuds began. Duels were fought. But that was small stuff. Then talk began about using the Veritas to investigate public officials, check them for misbehavior, crimes, or possible chaos taint.”

“Oh, Lady.” the noblewoman breathed.

“Indeed.” Seth agreed. There was some talk at the time to even putting the King to the question, to ensure the sanctity and righteousness of the throne. That pretty much ended their popular use right there.

“As they were gifts from Elven royalty, and enshrined in law by decree, the books could not be destroyed. However, the King met with a large number of loyal nobles. All agreed to end their squabbling, and swore that they would never use the books against other nobles of Bretonnia. There were enough, with firm enough control over the men under their command that it fell out of fashion within a year. Within ten, the books had all been forgotten with disuse. And has remained so until now. Today.”

“Where did you hear of these books?”

Seth smiled. “Funny you should ask that. His honor Desoliers wanted very much the answer to the same question. Truth is, a mage friend of mine told me about it. No big mystery. He knew about it from dealings with dark elves, whose memories about such things are much longer than ours.”

Simone was shocked. “How were dark elves involved with the Veritas?”

“They have a keen interest in the activities of their high elf cousins. Any magic passing from their Ulthuan to outsiders is something they tend to recall.”

“In any case, the Magistrate went to fetch the book, taking your brother and Bourdon with him. When they returned, they looked like they’d both been given the hiding of their lives by the Judge. Then I sat down in the stand, touched the book, and began answering tough questions.”

“Questions like what?” asked Simone, interested in questions that the Chaos Lord would find ‘tough’.

“Oh, like my name and place of birth.”

Shock showed though in the noblewoman’s posture.

“Okay, another explanation. Desoliers asked me for my name and country of origin. I told him I was known as Seth Garrick, and I came from the Chaos Wastes. Two evasions in one sentence, and he caught both. He said He wanted to know my name, not what I was known as, and my country of birth, not where I had recently come from.”

“But the book should have made you...” she said.

“Listen. The book makes you tell the truth. In the Northern Wastes I am known as Seth Garrick. I am also known as Halanalain, The Twisted Blue Rose, in the halls of Naggarroth, land of the dark elves. Amongst the chaos dwarves, I am Pheth Pwar, He Who’s Name Cannot Be Shouted. And to the rat-men of the skaven, I am Tic-tictick-chit-it, Horned Pack Leader Laughing Down Empty Tunnels. All of these things are equally true, but completely not what the magistrate wanted.”

“So I told him the truth.”

Simone waited. “And that was...”

“That I didn’t know.”

“What?”

“Desoliers asked my name so that he might be able to check and find out if any outstanding warrants for my arrest had ever been issued in Bretonnia. Completely reasonable when you think about it, since if I had any I would still be liable for any crimes I had committed. So say I was wanted for murder, I give my name, the Magistrate checks, and my case goes no further at all, since I’m executed for my crime. Any pretext at all to end the case, re-bury the Veritas, and move on.

“Unfortunately, that’s not possible, since I really don’t know my real name.”

The Lady shook her head. “How...”

“I was getting to that.” Seth looked sheepish. “I remember nothing at all from before I became a Chaos Lord. An occasional twinge, but nothing I can actively think about. The first thing I clearly do remember is being somewhere dark, warm, lit by torches. There are people chanting, and robed men standing over me. One of them asked me if I wanted to proceed. I told him yes. That’s when they made the first brand on my face.”

Simone flinched back.

Seth nodded his head as if it were nothing to worry about, his hand tracing the disk on his face. “The thing was, when they did it, it was like, like part of my mind was torn away. Like a bunch of things I remembered then were suddenly gone. Then they asked me again, if I wanted to proceed. I said yes, and they branded me again.”

A finger slid off the disk, down the arm to the claw. “More things were ripped free. I don’t even know what. They were just gone.”

The long arc. “One last time, and everything, right up to the start of the ceremony is vapor. Just like that.”

Lady Simone stood rigidly. “That’s horrible! Why would they do that?”

Seth shrugs. “No one ever explained it to me. I don’t even know if what happened to me happens to all the other Slaaneshi Lords, or just little old me.”

“It’s disgusting and meaningless.”

“I don’t think so.” Seth speaks almost tenderly. “I became a tabula rasa, a clean slate. Nothing from my past would interfere with what I had become.”

He shook his head. “Look, I’m wandering here. Describing the ceremony, and then the army of chaos warriors I command, all verified by the magic book pretty much sewed up the question of my noble background. It was the details of my capture which occupied most of the day.”

The noblewoman didn’t look at Seth when she spoke. “And why was that?”

“Well, to start, no one was exactly certain an official state of war had actually been declared between Bretonnia and Chaos, the Chaos Wastes, or the forces of chaos. No signed documents, no formal meetings between heads of state, that sort of thing. The debate had dragged on for some time when it was decided since Bretonnia is a monarchy, that as King, any edicts, commands, or statements made by Louen De Leoncoeur would technically be official state policy. From there is was a short walk to previous statements from the King, like “In our war with Chaos...” or “our war with Chaos never ends...”. These constitute a legal confirmation of an existing state of warfare between the Bretonnian people and the Chaos Wastes, it’s people, and it’s institutions.

“Meaning?” Simone was growing impatient.

“That Roland was correct when he and his men crossed the Elagenne, following the trail of the chaos band I was found in. In this matter he was pursuing enemies of his nation. Not invading Estalila, as might otherwise have been argued.

“You mean you exonerated Roland, after he captured you and beat you and nearly killed you?” Skepticism hung in the air.

“Inadvertently, yes.” Seth admitted. “But more importantly, it determined my current legal status; a noble, taken prisoner during a time of war. The significance of this is obvious.” he continued. “Noble prisoners cannot be killed, tortured, maimed, starved, or confined in dungeons. There are entire volumes of Bretonnian law about this, but it all boils down to a few salient points.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “First, they shall be provided comfortable apartments, decent apparel, necessary servants, and proper food and drink. Next, they are given freedom to move at will within the abode of their captor. Movement outside the dwelling is possible with proper escorts, and restraints only as required. Third, attempts of escape may be punished by suspension of some or all of these privileges. Fourth, any crimes committed by the prisoner during his incarceration shall be punished to the fullest extent of the law, following a complete and impartial hearing with the local magistrate.”

Seth smiled broadly, the last of the sunlight catching on his gleaming white teeth. “In short, until I break a law or attempt to flee, I live, and live well.”

Simone turned and looked at the chaos warrior. “How splendid for you. Today, a stunning victory in our courts. Who knows? Perhaps tomorrow you’ll announce you’re the King’s long lost son, and heir to the throne of Bretonnia.”

Seth smiled mirthlessly. “Tomorrow, perhaps. But unless he has a tail, I think it’ll be slow going.”

A long silence descended, eventually broken by the noblewoman. “So what is to become of you now?”

“Well, technically I’m still in the custody of Commandant Bourdon. However, since he has no residence here Magistrate Desoliers decreed I would stay here until my fate could be better determined.”

“You’ll remain here? In the Keep?”

“In a manner of speaking. My new apartments are being prepared as we speak. Maybe tomorrow I’ll talk the Earl into letting you take me out on a local tavern-crawl, so we can both enjoy my newfound freedom.”

Simone was not amused. “Somehow I don’t think the taverns of Brionne would be interested in custom from one of your kind.”

Seth looked startled, and then puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Followers of the Ruinous Powers would find little welcome amongst the good people of Brionne.”

“You don’t say. How interesting.” Seth seemed lost for a moment, then snapped back to where he was. “Well, perhaps just a short, private walk around the city walls.” He grinned, stepping closer to the noblewoman. It’ll be our first date.”

Simone stepped neatly back. “Perhaps I should ask my brother to come along and chaperone on such an romantic occasion.”

Seth made a face. “Perhaps that would be the ruin of what might be an otherwise delightful evening.”

Another long silence, this one interrupted by approaching footsteps.

“Milady Simone.” said Xavier. The little man glanced at Seth. “Milord.” The word held a great deal of distaste. “The new rooms are prepared. I have been sent to escort you.”

“Well, Lady,” said Seth, bowing. “Thank you for the interesting conversation. I guess I’ll be seeing you around.” He turned to leave.

A lingering question bubbled up from the depths of her mind. “Lord Garrick?”

The Chaos Lord paused.

“Why do you do it? You don’t remember your old life, so it’s not revenge. And you’re not crazy enough to believe you can conquer and rule the whole world. So why? Why do you serve chaos, when you know it will only destroy you?”

Seth smiled his tenderest smile. “Simone. That’s very... stupid.”

Both Simone and Xavier gasped in shock.

Seth continued. “It’s the kind of mindless blathering I expect from your brother. Not from you. I think so much more highly of you. So no more dim-witted cliches, all right? Puh-leeze. If you have any interesting questions, you know where I’m residing. Until then, goodnight, and for goodness’ sakes get some rest.”

Seth turned and walked briskly past Xavier, who stood, lips twitching in confusion.

Simone motioned him away, her face still hot from the rebuke. The major-domo, fled in the direction of the Chaos Nobleman, his voice echoing the warrior’s name over the walls of the Keep.

Seth arrived at his rooms a few minutes later. Spacious, though sparsely furnished, they included a receiving area, a boudoir, and a large basin for washing.

Xavier spoke peevishly. “Your servants will be chosen and ready to begin tomorrow morning. If there isn’t anything else...”

Seth broke in harshly. “Have food brought to me. Meat, cheese, fresh rolls, and some wine. Also I’ll need several parchments, writing materials, and a few decent quills.”

“If that will be all then...”

“Actually, I’ll require a few more pillows, goose down, not duck, soap, towels, perfumed bath oils, some charcoals for sketching, a desk and a comfortable chair.”

Xavier stared at the chaos warrior. “As my Lord requests...”

Seth stepped in close to the smaller man. “I’m not quite done just yet, so please pay attention. Please summon Commandant Roland to my chambers. As well, I’m going to need the names of four or five moneylenders who operate in Brionne and the name of every tavern which operates within the city walls.”

“Yes, Milord.”

Seth’s smirk reappeared. “Now would you mind repeating all that back to me?”

Xavier did so, his memory perfect. But by that time Seth had already flopped down on the bed. He turned his head to face the servant.

“Are you still here? Don’t you have things to do? I think I gave you a list. Be about it then.”

Xavier bowed and departed without a word. Minutes later items began to arrive; the quills and paper first, inks and charcoal, food. Then the desk and chair.

Seth was just relaxing on the bed when Bourdon barged in.

“Is it some sort of bizarre affliction you Brets all share?” Seth complained. He raised a fist and made a rapping motion “Just put your hand out and knock. Does that seem familiar to you? It’s called courtesy.”

“You summoned me here...”

“Yes, I know.” Seth interrupted again. The only way to stop these silly Bretonnians from whining your ear off, he decided, was to not let them get a running start. “Shut the door. We have work to do.”

“I want to talk to you about the testimony, particularly the way you said I...”

Seth jumped in. “Everything I said was to keep you from being demoted to stable boy. You took an army into a foreign nation, without orders or permission from your commander. Cadfael would have shopped you in a second...”

“What? How do you know...”

“I just know, okay? Believe me. Any excuse to smash you out of the picture, he’ll take it.”

Roland smoldered. “That bastard...”

Seth snapped his fingers. “Another time, okay? Here’s the important bit. Contacting allies of mine willing to pay for my release will be no problem.”

“But I thought you said...”

“I know what I said. Now I’m saying something different. What we do is...”

There was a soft tapping at the door. It swung in to admit a young page, about ten years old. “I have materials requested by Lord Garrick.”

“Yes, yes. I’m Lord Garrick. Commandant, take that and pay the boy.”

“Pay him?”

“By the fleshy staff of Slaanesh, a few coins for the lad!”

Roland went white, and the page went beet red. But a few coppers were turned over and the men were again left alone.

“Fleshy staff of...” the knight began slowly.

“Never mind that. What’s on the paper?”

The knight inspected the page. “Four men’s names. Jacques...”

Seth shushed him. “I don’t care. They’re for you. They’re moneylenders, the most prosperous in Brionne. You go, talk to them, see how much you can get, say at least twenty thousand gold for a term of say, sixty days. You’ll probably have to settle for thirty, and the interest will be steep, but that’s that.”

Roland shook his head. “But why? I’m going to get a million gold in just a little while! What do I need moneylenders for?”

Seth took a deep breath. “Then let me explain it to you. First, right now, you’re basically broke. Worse, you have no friends, and no influence. So starting up this whole money for court favors thing is going to take a major image overhaul.”

Roland’s eyes widened in panic. “How did you know about that? No one knows about that! You...”

“You told me at the wagon on the road to Brionne.” snapped Seth.

“I did?”

“Of course you did. Otherwise I wouldn’t have known, right?”

The knight tried to remember. “Well, I suppose I might have...”

“Right. So here’s the thing. Moneylenders have money, but the nobles aren’t going to them. They think it’s beneath them to trade on an equal basis with commoners. And who knows if they’ll be able to pay off the loans once they get them. Life’s tough when you depend on weather, soil, seeds, and benevolent peasants to earn your keep. So they don’t want to trade or conduct business for money they desperately need.”

Seth came to the point. “But taking money from a friend, as a gift? A helping hand between a friend in need and a friend indeed? No shame in that, is there?”

“So you need friends, which you can exploit as clientele. To do that, you need them friendly to you. To do that, you need make them feel comfortable around you. To do that, you have to get to get to know them. Interact socially. Schmooze ‘em. And that’s why you need the moneylenders, Roley-baby.”

“You get the cash by pledging whatever they want as collateral. Your noble name will count for something in a country like Bretonnia. The terms you offer will count for a bunch too.” Seth looked at the Commandant. “If you need to, use the jewelry you borrowed from me.”

Roland clutched the heavy chains through his tabard. “My jewelry?”

Seth rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Your jewelry. Part with it if you have to, but get the money. We’ll take a beating, no fooling, but in the end, you’ll be hob-nobbing with the uppercrust, just like you want.

Bourdon appeared uneasy. “What do I do with the money from the lenders?”

Seth shook his head. Amateurs. “First, you get a place of your own. As long as you’re a guest here in the Keep, everyone will think it’s Cadfael calling the shots.”

“That simpleton! I’ll...”

“Dial it back, chief. Secondly, see if someone doesn’t have a country estate or chateau they are not using. Offer to rent it for a month or so. Don’t haggle. That looks weak and cheap, and you want to appear rich and strong. Buy new clothes, custom tailored. Hire new men. But most importantly, get invitations out for the gala you are throwing at your new home.”

“A gala?” sputtered Roland. “But I..”

“Yes, a gala. That’s how you buy friends, Commandant; food, drinks, fancy dress, plenty of shiny nick-knacks to impress the ambivalent, and make the noble-but-destitute think you have money to toss around to anyone whom you might choose. And of course, for entertainment,” Seth put his fingers in his mouth and made a grotesque face. “Your captive savage, Lord Seth Garrick, Champion of Slaanesh!”