Rocked gently in the snug little coach for hours on end, Royce had watched as each of the others succumbed to sleep. Their eyes closed, opened, then closed again. Heads drooped, only to pop back up. A hand might wipe lips, then the process would begin again. Finally, breathing would grow deep and regular. When that happened, limp heads stayed down, swaying from side to side and looking like their necks had been broken. At this point, even the biggest bumps and sways couldn’t wake them.

  Royce disliked the notion of sleep on principle. He saw no reason for it. Eating and breathing both made sense. Like a fire, fuel and air were necessary to keep the blaze going. But what purpose did sleep serve except to make a person helpless and vulnerable for several hours every day? If he needed the rest, that might make some sense, but most often he grew sleepy when doing nothing. He ought to be able to sit motionless indefinitely?—?for a month, at least. The arbitrary compulsion to sleep, whether he liked it or not, was a forced constraint and another reminder that he was a pawn in a game he didn’t want to play. The whole thing was stupid.

  At least he thought so until Gwen fell asleep with her head on his shoulder.

  Resting like a feather near Royce’s neck, her hair brushed the lobe of his ear, and her cheek rocked with the motion of the coach. He was fearful that her head might slide off its perch. This concerned him far more than he was comfortable with. He mentally argued that his anxiety was entirely due to his desire for her to rest and it was unrelated to how it made him feel. He twisted and contorted his body, leaning into her to form a safer resting place. The position was awkward and untenable. His muscles would soon cramp, his neck ache, but no power on Elan could make him move.

  It’s only because she deserves a good sleep. I owe her that much, don’t I? A little discomfort is nothing compared to what she’s given me.

  For Royce the amount was measured and made greater by contrast with how little others had done.

  The coach continued to roll and sway. The windows were hopelessly fogged. All Royce could determine by then was that the sunlight was weaker, the day slowly fading. This soft illumination filled the warm interior, made warmer still by Gwen’s body pressing against his. With everyone asleep, Royce no longer felt exposed or watched, and for that blessed moment, he experienced a strange sense of peace. Unable to shift, straighten, nor even willing to cough, Royce resigned himself to just sitting. He tried to look at her but couldn’t risk turning his head that far. Instead, he stared at the one exposed hand that rested on her lap near her knee. It wasn’t much, but oh so better than looking at Arcadius, who was starting to drool, his head cocked against the seat padding.

  Royce had never studied a hand before, never examined or appreciated one. He judged hers to be perfect and wondered what it might be like to place his upon it, to intertwine his fingers with hers.

  His eyelids drooped.

  Gah!

  At that moment, more than any other, he didn’t want to sleep. He gritted his teeth and silently cursed the name of every god he knew.

  His head dipped. He pulled it back up in defiance, forced his eyes to remain open.

  It makes no sense. No sense at all. And being so illogical makes me . . .

  Royce awoke when the coach stopped.

  The jostling caused Gwen’s head to slide off his shoulder. She caught herself and jerked back. Sleepy eyes looked at him, then widened. “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” he replied.

  Royce wiped away the moisture on the window with the heel of his hand. Outside, it was dark, but there was a light. In the center of the yard, a pole rose where a bull’s-eye-style lantern hung, drawing a swarm of swirling insects. Its lonely gleam revealed the common clearing between buildings.

  “Wake up, folks,” the driver called, lightly clapping the roof. “Stretch your legs. Get something to eat.”

  Albert scrubbed his face with both hands and made smacking noises with his lips. Arcadius continued to sleep until Gwen reached out and shook his knee.

  In response, the old professor lifted his head. “I wasn’t sleeping, dear, just resting my eyes.”

  Gwen leaned forward and peered out the window. “Where are we?”

  Albert yawned and stretched his arms out as wide as the coach allowed. “Another stage stop I suspect.”

  Royce opened the door and climbed out, feeling unpleasantly stiff. He was instantly greeted by the damp night air. While chilly, it wasn’t cold, and there was no snow on the ground. Crickets and frogs chirped, and the air smelled of grass, dirt, and the distant suggestion of a dead skunk. Royce’s feet landed on the rut-scarred lawn. A darkened stable stood to the right, a workshop of sorts to his left, and straight ahead lay a modest, single-story, wood-framed house.

  Hadrian climbed down, looking haggard.

  Royce yawned and wiped his eyes.

  “You slept?” Hadrian sounded surprised.

  “Nothing else to do. How about you?”

  “Once the snow stopped, I got some sleep. I think. Hard to tell, really.”

  Gwen climbed down. She squinted, her hair mussed up on one side, her face still stiff from sleeping. “It’s a lot warmer here.”

  “How lovely,” Arcadius declared, exiting the carriage with all the nimbleness of a man trying out stilts for the first time. “It’s like we’ve jumped ahead three months, skipped the rest of winter, and missed the worst parts of spring.”

  “Leave your stuff and go on up to the house, folks,” Shelby told them as he unhooked the coach from the team. “We’ll be a short while. Briar and Gus will feed you. They’re a nice couple, and Briar is a fine enough cook.”

  The door to the house flew open, and Heath came running out.

  “They awake?” Shelby asked.

  “Are now,” he said as behind him a light appeared beyond the curtains.

  The first two things Hadrian noticed upon entering the coach house were the bright fire in the hearth and the smell of bacon. Before the fireplace was a large, sturdy table surrounded by chairs. Additional seating was stacked against the back wall. Above it all and hanging side by side from the roof beams was a strange duo: a wagon wheel and a ferryboat captain’s wheel. The two were nearly the same size. Just below them, burned into a rough board that served as the mantle to the hearth, were the words Wheels of Dreams.

  Already there were plates and spoons set out. A man, who was so tall and thin that he appeared stretched, was busy lighting the candles on the table. “Hullo, ladies and gentlemen!” he said brightly. “I’m Gus. Come in, have a seat, my wife will be?—”

  A short, ragged woman burst into the room backward, holding a blackened pot with towels on each hand. “Hot dish!” she announced, bustling her way to the table and slamming the pot down in the center. She straightened up and took several short breaths while wiping her face with one of the towels. “Sit down and eat. There’s more coming.” With that, she ran back out through the same door where she’d entered.

  “That’s my wife,” the man said. “Briar Rose. You might not have caught it, but she’s very pleased to meet you.”

  “Pleased to meet you as well,” Gwen said, then yawned as they all spread out around the table.

  “Indeed,” Arcadius agreed. “It’s a lovely place you have here.”

  “Oh, this house isn’t ours,” Gus said as he moved to the next candle. “Shelby built this place. He’s got two coach stations, along with a string of little stables running from Tur Del Fur to Ervanon.”

  “Had two!” Briar shouted from the kitchen.

  “That’s right, he had two. The other one was up in Chadwick, in Fallon Mire. That used to be the main one. He got rid of it. And we’re hoping to take this one over one day?—?make it into a proper inn. Heath thinks they’ll have a dozen or more coaches working this route. That’s a guaranteed revenue stream.”

  “I want to be a coachman,” a young girl announced as she entered, carrying a basket of steaming rolls that she placed on the table. She displayed round cheeks decorated with freckles and a big smile.

  “This is my daughter, Copper,” Gus said.

  “Her real name is Dorothy,” Briar explained as she burst back in, this time with a sizzling skillet of bacon, the contents of which she scraped into the previously delivered pot. “But we’ve always just called her Copper. Don’t have a clue why.” Briar paused, looking at all of them, bewildered. “Sit and eat. Won’t take the Hansons more than a hoot and a giggle to get rolling again. Those two are as dogged as hounds on a trail, and you won’t be stopping again for hours.” ?Then once more she was gone, her daughter chasing after.

  They all took seats.

  “Go ahead and dig in. Eggs are in the pot, too, I think.” Gus shrugged. “Being out on the edge of Avryn as we are, we don’t adhere to formality here, and regrettably we’ve slipped into heathen ways that the rest of our Maranon neighbors would shame us for. But honestly, we just don’t have the time, and most of our customers don’t, either.” He smiled as if he’d made a joke. “Acourse, if you want, I could say a blessing?”

  “Oh, I doubt that will be necessary,” Arcadius said as he reached for the bacon dish. “We are a barbaric lot ourselves, I’m afraid. And given that we’re headed across the border to the land of the godless, I think it’s best we don’t start practicing now.”

  Gus nodded, not the least bit surprised.

  “Milk!” Copper shouted, returning with a pitcher. “Still warm!”

  “Goat or cow?” Arcadius asked.

  “We have three goats,” Copper replied.

  “Lovely! Cow’s milk gives me indigestion. Bring it around here, my dear.”

  Royce remained standing near the door to the courtyard. When Hadrian looked over, Royce walked out.

  “Excuse me,” Hadrian said and got up. “I’ll be right back . . . I hope.”

  Outside, Royce was walking without any urgency toward the lantern pole. Despite the chill, his hood was down.

  “What’s up?” Hadrian asked.

  Royce turned. “A demon?”

  Hadrian smiled awkwardly. “Would you rather I used your name?”

  “Technically, that is my name?—?at least one of the ones they gave me.”

  “So . . . you’re mad at me?” Hadrian normally didn’t need to ask. When angry, Royce had two demeanors: quiet and brooding or bloodlettingly violent. At the moment, he was neither.

  “Huh? No.” Royce shook his head. Then he looked up at the lantern on the pole, where a small cloud of insects swarmed. He continued to stare as if fascinated by the concept of illumination.

  Hadrian thought he knew most of his partner’s moods and what they meant. This wasn’t a hard thing to learn, for there weren’t that many. What made it challenging was how Royce’s attitudes indicated the opposite of normal people. Quiet, to the point of cold hostility, was actually his normal state and no cause for alarm. If he did speak, his words were curt and to the point, suggesting he’d already run through the conversation in advance and was only suffering the necessary obligation of letting the other person know how it turned out. Chattiness, however, was an indication of a problem. His need to talk, but failure to do so, was like seeing a fish floating upside down. “What’s going on, Royce?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “Can I have a hint?”

  Royce pointed at the light on the pole. “Look at all those moths.”

  Hadrian gave it a glance. “Can I have a better hint?”

  “The moths just keep butting the glass of the lantern,” Royce said.

  “It’s late, Royce. I don’t even know the time, but after midnight, at least. I’m groggy, and just standing here I feel like I’m still riding the coach. And it’s not like I’ve ever been good at puzzles, even when wide awake. So could you . . .?”

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “If there wasn’t glass on the lantern, the moths would kill themselves.”

  “Uh-huh, they do that. We see it all the time with campfires. I actually think we’ve discussed this before. Can’t recall why. Likely you were explaining something to do with the stupidity of people. Yeah, that seems right.”

  “The thing is, they can’t help themselves, and it’s not the light’s fault, either. It’s just there. Bright and irresistible. You’d think the moths would know better or should know better. Look at them hitting that glass over and over again, so intent on seeking their own death.”

  “You’re starting to scare me now. What’s going on?”

  “I think there’s a chance Gwen likes me.”

  “Of course she likes you. We’ve had this conversation before, too.”

  “Yeah, now I think she . . .?”

  “She what?”

  Royce took a deep breath and swallowed. His face tensed. “She slept with her head on my shoulder.”

  “Okay. And . . .?”

  “And? What do you mean and? Did you hear what I said?”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “Of course not. I just said she was sleeping. You’re not listening to me at all, are you?”

  “I am. It’s just that?—?never mind. That’s?—?that’s great, Royce.”

  “No, it’s not!” he snapped and began to walk again, this time in a circle around Hadrian.

  “It’s not?”

  “No!”

  “Don’t you like her?”

  “Of course I do?—?that’s the problem!”

  Hadrian looked up at the lantern. “Can we go back to the moths again? I think I missed something.”

  Royce stopped moving, took a breath, and let it out. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “You don’t?” Hadrian finally understood why he had struggled to grasp the meaning of his friend’s awkward rambling; this was a mood he’d never encountered before. Royce was seeking advice. “Okay, I get it. Not a problem. I actually have a decent amount of experience with women. It’s easy. Not complicated at all. You really only have two options. You can express yourself?—?you know, tell her how you feel, and ask her how she feels.”

  Royce cringed.

  “Or not.” Hadrian rubbed his hands together and regrouped. “You’re right. Words are not your strong suit. Sure. So, go the other way.”

  “What’s the other way?” ?There was no hope in that question. Royce looked at him with a face full of dread.

  “Kiss her.”

  The thief’s eyes widened.

  “You do want to, don’t you?”

  Royce’s face hardened, and he gritted his teeth as if Hadrian were performing field surgery on him. “Yes, but that’s . . . it’s so . . .?”

  “You have kissed a woman before, haven’t you, Royce?”

  His answer was a violent glare.

  “Oh? Oh. Really?” Hadrian stared, off balance for a moment. “I suppose I should have guessed that, shouldn’t I?”

  “I’m . . .?” Royce began, then floundered into a series of short breaths. He turned away, once more being drawn toward the light on the pole. “I have no idea what to do. It’s like I’m trying to pick up a soap bubble, and I’m terrified that if I touch it, the whole thing will burst.” His hands clenched into fists. “I’d really love to slit Arcadius’s throat for this.”

  “The professor? What’s he got to do with it?”

  “It’s all his fault. ‘I think we should all go,’ he said. ‘Certainly this wonderful lady deserves a holiday,’ he babbled. Since I’ve known him, that old man has been nothing but trouble. I’ve killed whole families that were guilty of less.”

  “Royce, you’re not going to kill Arcadius.”

  “Of course not?—?Gwen would hate me if I did.”

  “Ah . . .?” Hadrian decided to let that go and take the win. “Okay.”

  “Which brings me to the point.”

  “It does?” Hadrian thought they’d already reached and plowed through that field, so discovering they still hadn’t was surprising?—?and more than a bit scary. “I mean, what is the point, Royce?”

  “That whole demon thing you did. Your handling of those three tax collectors. That was smart. With Gwen inside, if they had opened that door . . .?”

  “I know. I know.”

  Royce brushed the grass with the toe of his boot. “And Gwen would have had a front row seat for it all. She would have seen the demon at work. And if she had? After that . . . I don’t think she would have slept with her head on my shoulder.”

  “Royce,” Hadrian presented him with a sympathetic look. “After that, I don’t think she would have slept at all.”

  “Exactly, you get my point. Good.”

  “So, are you thanking me?”

  “No!” He looked aghast. “I’m merely pointing out that you did a good thing. I’m extending a compliment, but let’s not get carried away.” Once more, Royce looked up at the lantern and the moths. “I know exactly how they feel. They hate that glass, but it’s all that stands between them and the abyss.”

  “You are such a romantic, Royce. I would definitely avoid talking to her. Go with the kiss. Even if you miss, slam teeth, slide off, and fall on your face, that will be better than comparing Gwen to a bottomless pit.” He turned. “I’m going to eat now before Albert consumes everything Briar Rose cooked.” Hadrian took a step. “Oh, and for your information, Gwen doesn’t like you.”

  Royce spun in a panic. “You said she did.”

  “The woman is in love with you, Royce. I have no idea why. I’m not sure anyone does. I don’t even think Professor Arcadius with all his knowledge can crack that one. But yeah, she loves you. So, relax. Talk to her, kiss her, murder a bunch of puppies in front of her?—?you can’t lose this one. I only wish I could be so lucky.”

  “Dwarfs dwell in hollow mountains and underground?—?often in caves hidden behind waterfalls,” Arcadius was saying when Royce returned to the meal. The professor sat at the head of the table, his long sleeves rolled up to the

  elbows. With his slick-with-grease fingers, he held a strip of bacon like a baton, which he used to conduct his lecture to the rest of the table.

  “I’ve heard that lady dwarfs are ugly,” Copper said as she cleared the empty serving plates. The little girl had a poorly assembled stack and struggled with the unruly tower that threatened to topple.

  The professor shook his head, and while once more wielding his bacon baton, he explained, “While often suspected to be stocky and bearded, female dwarfs are actually remarkably beautiful, made all the more so by their petite size. And despite their reduced place in the world today, the dwarfs have a long and proud history and once fought with the elves for dominance of the world. That was back when their king ruled the entire peninsula of Delgos, and they mined gems and gold by the wagonload. But those days are long past. Still, each and every dwarf hides a treasure beyond imagination, but”—?he paused to wink at Copper?—?“dwarven hoards are always cursed. So nothing good ever comes from stealing from them.”

  “Are dwarfs really made from stone? Do they live forever?” the girl asked, still hugging her shifting spire of plates.

  The professor of problems is at it again, Royce thought. He doesn’t care whose life he ruins.

  Arcadius had used a child’s curiosity to put the little girl in this jam. The kid had lingered too long at the table, enchanted by the stories of a senile old man, and now she would break a fortune’s worth of pottery and obtain a beating for doing so. Her parents would pay as well, and maybe the family would go to bed hungry. They might even be removed from this cushy post and left homeless and destitute, all because the old man didn’t know when to shut up.

  “Nothing lives forever except love and hate,” Arcadius said. “But dwarfs live as much as thrice as long as a man. And while they aren’t made of stone and stand only between twenty-seven and forty-four inches in height, the dwarf possesses the strength of twenty men. Although, scholars believe the dwarf’s vigor is due mostly to magical objects, which they manufacture at their grand underground forges and workshops.”

  “I thought the wee folk shunned magic, even more than the church,” Gus said, coming to the aid of his daughter. Seeing what Royce saw, he promptly took command of the teetering stack.

  “That is indeed a strange paradox with them. Dwarfs are disdainful of magic but wield their own. Each and every one knows full well how to make themselves invisible. They are rumored to be capable of traveling great distances instantly, and are known to have wrought enchanted rings, cloaks, and belts that multiply their strength and protect the wearer from hunger, cold, and so forth. They know where to find stones that when placed beneath the tongue grant the ability to understand and speak previously unknown languages.”

  “And they are universally hated,” Royce said, taking a seat across from Gwen, who looked to be halfway through her meal of some sort of egg casserole and a slice of bread.

  Royce hadn’t eaten all day, but looking at her, he had no appetite.

  I imagine moths don’t eat much, either.

  Arcadius put his bacon baton in his mouth and nodded while chewing. “They do suffer a good deal in the popularity department, that’s true. What with the mass circulation of such bedtime stories as “The Dwarf and the Dairy Maid” and “Little Wren and the Big Forest,” they face an uphill battle when trying to change the attitudes of adults who grew up with such gruesome fables. True or not, why parents wish to send their babies off to dreamland filled with tales of terror, I can’t begin to fathom. But it is interesting to know that once upon a time, children used to leave broken toys outside their front doors at night in the hope that a dwarf might pass by and repair them before dawn. And an optimistic tot would also leave a sacrificed bit of food on a plate and perhaps a hat or pair of socks as a thank-you in advance. Such were the bright and happy days before literature murdered innocence in the cradle.”

  “You want some of this?” Hadrian asked Royce, scooping the last of the egg dish onto his plate.

  Royce shook his head.

  “It’s good,” Gwen said.

  “Sure is,” Copper agreed. “Mum is a great cook.”

  “But you don’t want to follow in her footsteps,” Gwen said. “You want to be a coachman. Isn’t that right?”

  The girl nodded. Freed of her monument of crockery, she stood between Gwen and Albert, leaning on the table with both hands and swaying with excess energy. “I’m gonna be like Heath and have my own coach. Only mine will be a coach-and-six, and I’ll beat his time. Heath says ladies don’t drive coaches, but I don’t see why not. I’m good with horses, isn’t that right, Pa?”

  “Certainly better than you are with clearing a table,” Gus replied.

  “See!” ?The little girl glowed.

  “Well, don’t you listen to Heath,” Gwen said. “Don’t listen to anyone. You can do whatever you want. You just need to be smart and work hard.”

  “That’s what I think.” ?The girl looked around. “What is it that you do, ma’am?”

  Gwen hesitated and bit her lip.

  “She’s the most successful businesswoman in the entire kingdom of Melengar,” Royce answered for her. “And I think it’s fair to say that she started from even humbler beginnings and faced greater challenges than you can possibly imagine.”

  Copper’s eyes went wide.

  Gwen looked stunned.

  The girl stared at Gwen in awe. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

  “Gwendolyn DeLancy,” she replied, “but you can call me Gwen.”

  Shelby entered, carrying the driver’s box, and Gus quickly rushed over to help.

  “Have Briar restock this,” Shelby told him. “We’ve still got a long way to go. And remind her that we’re going into warm weather. So she shouldn’t include anything that’ll spoil. Have her check the cellar for nuts and raisins. Those are good on the road. We can eat them as we drive.”

  “I think she’s already got snacks made, but I’ll tell her.” Gus took the box into the kitchen.

  “Everyone having a nice meal?” Shelby asked. His face was red and weathered from the wind and wet.

  “Wonderful,” Hadrian replied with a full mouth.

  “Indeed,” Arcadius said. “This has been an extraordinary delight.”

  “Good. Good.” Shelby nodded. “Heath is nearly done switching out the

  team and refitting the wheels for the next stage of our trip.”

  “The wheels?” Albert asked.

  Shelby nodded. “We’ll be crossing into Delgos in just a few miles and dealing with less agreeable mountain roads for this next part, and there won’t be any more snow. Heath is putting on smaller front wheels to grant the coach a tighter turn radius to get through the narrow passes. He should be done in just a few minutes, then we’ll get rolling again. If anyone needs more blankets, just ask Gus or Briar. But honestly, from this point on, keeping cool will be more of a challenge than staying warm.”

  Outside the little front window of the coach house, Royce saw something big enough to be a man move. He guessed it was Heath, but as Shelby exited, he spotted Shelby’s son near the stable.

  “How many people are here?” Royce asked Gus when he returned. “Besides the passengers.”

  “It’s just Briar, Copper, and me. Is there something I can get you?”

  “No. I’m fine.” Royce got up.

  Hadrian was busy shoveling the remaining food into his mouth as Gus hovered, ready to take his plate. Albert sat back, breathing deeply and unbuttoning his doublet. Gwen was once more talking to Copper, and Arcadius busied himself by cleaning his teeth. No one said anything as Royce left.

  Outside, he was once more greeted with the cool night air and that lingering scent of skunk that wafted in from the surrounding forests. This time Royce avoided looking at the lantern and moved into the shadows at the side of the house.

  In the stable, the horses were acting up, whinnying, snorting, and stomping.

  “What’s with Jack and Rabbit?” Shelby asked from somewhere unseen, his voice carrying on the cool night air.

  “Dunno,” Heath replied. “Seems spooked.”

  But why? Royce thought.

  He’d always had an intuition for trouble, a sense for when something was wrong. Long ago, he’d guessed it was his imagination, but decades of evidence had eroded logic. He’d come to accept it as a gift?—?at times he counted on it. At that moment, he fully agreed with the horses. Something wasn’t right.

  But what?

  The courtyard was small. Just the house, the stable, and a workshop. There was one other building not readily visible, and Royce spotted the little trail that led into the scrub toward the obligatory outhouse.

  It’s over there. Whatever spooked me and the horses. It’s hiding in the cover of the bushes and trees.

  Drawing Alverstone, Royce started to hunt.

  He followed the trail, then inched around the outhouse to where the thickets blocked the view from the stable and house. There, in the radiance of the moon, Royce spotted a man seated on the body of a rotting tree within a ring of young pines. Royce realized, with no small amount of concern, that he knew this man. He was certain he’d killed him just the night before.

  The man remained attired in his tattered gray cloak, hood up; his sickly, pale face shone chalk-white in the moonlight. His long red hair and beard peeked out, providing the only color. He looked comfortable and relaxed as he watched Royce approach.

  “We need our codex,” he said in that familiar, raspy voice.

  Royce peered at the man’s neck. A dark mark proclaimed the place where Royce had sunk his knife.

  Definitely the same guy.

  This time, Royce maintained his distance, studying the man and trying to solve the bizarre puzzle.

  He should be dead. And how did he find me? And how did he manage to keep up with the Flying Lady?

  The man’s presence was impossible, but here he was. Royce could think of only one answer.

  He followed me back to The Rose and Thorn, saw us enter the coach, and when Hadrian and the drivers were looking forward, he jumped on the back.

  This was the only plausible possibility, but plausible might not be quite the right word, and it only solved one of the haystacks of problems.

  “Dost thou have our book?” the man asked, and Royce once again noted the odd accent, joined now with archaic language. But even buried under all that rasp, he had clearly said book.

  He thinks I’m someone else.

  “I don’t have any books,” Royce replied. “I’m not a big reader.”

  “Either thou possesseth it or thou knowest the place it now lies.”

  The man waited.

  So did Royce.

  “Thou need not be frightened of us, Royce.”

  So much for a case of mistaken identity.

  “We cherish thee. Thou art . . .?” He thought a moment, then nodded. “In truth, thou art our only friend. Thou hast freed us from our eternal prison, a kindness for which we are evermore obliged. And we trust that thy efforts in restoring unto us the vessel of our tragic youth shall be an effort worth rewards beyond mere silver or gold.”

  “Diamonds?”

  “Eternal life.” ?The man smiled.

  “I’d prefer diamonds.”

  The man laughed at this?—?more cackle than laugh.

  Royce advanced slowly. “Are you genuinely offering me a job? If so, I’ll need to know exactly what you want and the price you’re willing to pay.”

  “We must have our book, that which thou stolest from Lady Martel of Hemley Manor. In return, we shall grant everlasting life.”

  “You’re after the diary?” At least one piece in this puzzle made sense. Nearly two years before, Royce had stolen the diary of Lady Martel. The contract had been arranged by Albert through Lady Constance. Neither Royce nor Hadrian nor Albert knew the identity of the employer, and it was presumed the employer didn’t know the identity of the thieves.

  “The codex of our writing belongs to us.”

  “And who are we?”

  The ghost-white creature seated on the decaying log grinned, revealing a full set of gleaming teeth set in black gums. “We are Falkirk de Roche.”

  Royce knew the name. While not a history buff, he was aware that Falkirk de Roche had died a very long time ago. This meant the man before him was lying. The impostor also knew far too much about too many things, and he had made the mortal error of spying on Royce. The red-headed-wannabe ghost was also peerless among people walking the surface of Elan in that Royce had tried, but failed, to kill him. Any one of these would have been sufficient, but when combined, they made Royce’s response less of a decision and more of a forgone conclusion.

  Once more, Royce went for the throat, but this time, he made certain to go the extra mile and decapitate his unfinished business. Alverstone was no common blade, capable of cutting iron and stone. Slicing flesh and severing bone was a breeze. The self-proclaimed Falkirk fell again, but this time in two parts.