Agdelina gave the frightened serving girl a sympathetic smile. “Best you make yourself scarce, but first open the front door, child. You mean nothing to our unexpected guests. Only when our Inquisitive friends have already carted us off, will the town guard come by to bother with you. So best you be sorting inventory in the backrooms of your paw’s shop alongside your brothers, by then.”

  She turned to Eric as the panicked young woman hurried off. “They came too soon. I didn’t realize faerie princes required so much sustenance. The fault is mine, I suppose.”

  Eric’s eyes widened in alarm. “Our weapons are in the foyer!”

  This earned a snort. “Good. We don’t need idiots charging to their death, or turning my home into a charnel house. So best you appear just as meek and harmless as you can, for all that you smell ever so faintly of oiled steel that your finery and the dwarf who made them can’t completely disguise in a proper dining hall. They should have no interest in you. Best you appear cowed and humbled so their guard is down. Now come. Look properly surprised when—”

  A trio of cool-eyed men dressed in blackened suits of steel and mail, wearing white tabards with crimson crosses upon their chests and equipped with viscous looking bardiches in their hands abruptly stormed into the dining hall.

  At their head was an officious looking man wearing a teal uniform with a crimson cross, along with well polished boots and breaches of a similar hue. In his hand was a copper and brass scroll case he popped open before unrolling a vellum scroll with practiced ease.

  “Dame Agdelina Petrova. You and your disciples are to be remanded into Inquisitorial custody for questioning, to be carried out immediately!”

  Agdelina flashed a bright smile. “Of course we are . May I ask the charges?”

  The officious looking man sneered, scrunching up a mustache that reminded Eric of nothing so much as an oily mouse scrunched onto his face. “For the charges of witchcraft and demonology, of course. Now, where are your disciples?”

  Agdelina’s eyes widened in surprise. “You mean the school children I teach numbers and letters to?”

  “I mean the girls who should know better than to leave their mothers’ sides before your tainted arts corrupted them!” The man hissed, glaring down at an unfazed Agdelina. “A proper woman knows her place. Demure and obedient before father and husband. Natural law manifest!”

  Eric’s jaw clenched. It was all he could do to demand his fists to relax, to take slow breaths that wouldn’t antagonize the assholes now crowding the otherwise spacious dining hall.

  Amazingly, even when surrounded by men covered in steel with deadly weapons they looked all too eager to use, Agdelina managed to keep her cool.

  “Regrettably, the rumors of wolves frightened the children’s mothers to such a tizzy that they now refuse to let their little ones out of their sight. No matter that we are safely in town. I gave no class today, but if you wish to hear children reading the gospels, you may stop by any Sunday after sermon.” She flashed a cool smile. “With the priest’s blessings, of course.”

  The man before her glared. “A priest that will soon find himself excommunicated, I assure you.”

  “Oh, I doubt that.”

  “Silence woman! You will come with us now, or we will drag you out in chains!”

  “But of course,” Agdelina rose to her feet fast enough that none could accuse her of failing to comply, and not so fast that high strung fanatics could use such as pretext to strike her dead.

  She sighed, gazing down at the table still laden with so many gustatory delights. “I so hate to see good food go to waste. Please, be my guest and help yourselves.”

  The three steel clad enforcers stared at their speaker who merely sneered, his slight paunch that of a men who never had to worry about hunger’s specter.

  “We will decline your ill-gotten fruits, of course. Though we will permit your servants to give such to the poor. For such is the Christian path.”

  “Indeed it is,” Agdelina concurred, dipping her head. “Shall we?”

  The officer glared, looking displeased, it seemed, that Agdelina was offering no resistance. Giving him no pretext to humiliate her by dragging her off in chains.

  He then turned to glare at Eric and Ivan.

  “You. Ivan Petrov, and you, stranger. You’re coming with us as well.”

  “Of course,” Ivan said, calmly and with no heat at all to his voice, Eric forcing a quiet nod, taking his friend’s lead.

  In very short order, they were traveling down the city streets once more, only now they were heading toward a far more crowded and dingy area of town, lacking the bucolic warmth of the quarter they had just left, now surrounded by imposing brownstone edifices with very little in the way of greenery.

  Eric kept his head held high, pointedly ignoring the frank stares and gossipy whispers that their passage through town elicited, escorted as they were by fully uniformed inquisitors until they stopped before the largest building of all.

  “This is the city hall. The cells are below,” Agdelina calmly clarified.

  The guard closest to her glared. “Silence, woman. You’ll get a chance to speak soon enough.”

  And in very short order, Eric found himself being escorted down a narrow flight of stares and down a chilly damp limestone corridor where all three of them were led to a ten by ten foot holding cell free of any cot, bed, chair, water pale, or any creature comfort at all, save for a single hole in the far left corner that stunk like a cistern.

  Somewhere along the line the Inquisitor and his henchmen had broken off, all three having docilely followed the prison warden leading them deep into the bowels of the keep, a pair of bored-looking halberd wielding guards by the prison entrance the only other security that Eric could see.

  It seemed that Ivan voluntarily surrendering his hanger and the docile and well-dressed nature of Eric and company had precluded any suspicion or rougher treatment, which Eric appreciated, because he really didn’t want them claiming armor he had purchased just hours ago.

  The warden gave a mocking wave into the interior of the large prison cell at the end of their walk. “There you go. You’re all one party, yes? Good. Don’t give us trouble, answer the Inquisitor’s questions as best you can, and who knows? You might actually get to see the light of day.” The man flashed a hard smile that could mean anything as Eric and the others calmly entered the cell.

  The man nodded. “Good. You’ll get a pitcher of water to share, if you’re quiet and don’t give me any trouble.”

  The warden slammed the door shut with a loud clang and a satisfying smirk before locking the cell door behind him and wandering back down the corridor to do whatever he did while ignoring his prisoners, though Eric had noted that all the other cells appeared to be empty, a few doors even looking rusted shut in the dampness.

  He couldn’t help frowning, the situation revealing a couple truths right away.

  “It seems that crime isn’t that common here.”

  Agdelina snorted. “Only crime is what the Inquisitors and mayor feel like labeling as such. Lest anyone get too big for their britches and fail to defer to that would-be king.” She then gave Eric a pointed look. “And best we watch our words… lest we unintentionally offend interested parties.”

  Eric flashed a smile, instantly understanding. No doubt their jailers weren’t quite as careless as they had first appeared. For all he knew, someone was listening in on their words, even now.

  Or perhaps not. Unlike books and movies, real life truly could be stranger than fiction, with opposing parties being confoundingly brilliant as one crossed future commanders and kings in the earlier chapters of their rise to power, or so lazy and slothful as to beggar description, and be hardly worthy of any mention at all. For the brilliant and deadly managed to catch so many would-be opponents by surprise precisely because sloth and negligence truly were as common as dirt everywhere, save in the most disciplined, organized, or profit-driven of empires.

  Still, Eric found himself surprisingly free of worry. He knew of at least two ways he could handle the lock, with either the essence of Fire or his blood magic. And now, for the first time in a while, he had the chance to slow down and focus on simply cycling his Qi, humbled anew by how effortlessly it was to cleanse his lungs and body of waste with every exhalation of Enigma’s ether-rich air, even in the dampness of a prison cell, striving to wick away the last of his stubborn meridian plaque.

  “What exactly is he doing?”

  “Meditating. Something you might try yourself at some point, Ivan.”

  “Someone’s coming.”

  Eric felt a slight tap on his shoulder a short while later. “Eric, ready yourself.”

  Eric gave a quiet nod, though he couldn’t quite hide his smile at an hour spent in a cell that he didn’t regret one bit.

  Congratulations! Plaque occlusion has decreased from 1.59% to 0.67%.

  At any other time and place, Eric would be whooping with excitement. But here and now, with the glaring warden holding a key, he settled for a quiet smile.

  “You two, stand at attention. You’ll be speaking with the mayor himself. If you’re smart, you’ll answer his questions and give him no lip.” He flashed a broken smile. “Hell, you two might just be enjoying the sweet taste of freedom in a matter of hours.” His smile hardened as he smacked the lead-weighted truncheon in his hand. “But if you give him any lip that makes me look bad… I’ll make your next few days a living hell before they formally put you to the question.”

  Ivan dipped his head. “We understand.”

  “Good. Come on. The woman stays behind. You two, Let’s go.”

  Eric soon found himself being led from damp limestone prison corridors up hardwood steps to crossing kiln forged tiles across a frescoed entryway leading deep into the vaulted passages of the city hall itself, almost palatial in its construction and more befitting baroque era excess than a colonial outpost. All the more so when a pair of what Eric took to be the Inquisitorial regiment joined them, fully kitted like cuirassiers once more, sabers at their hip, with vicious looking halberds in their hands. The cool hooded looks they gave from underneath their open faced helms were that of cold-eyed killers who would happily cut Eric and Ivan down in the blink of an eye.

  It was all Eric could do to keep the wild smirk from his lips as he lowered his gaze like a proper prisoner, and perhaps Ivan’s sharp hiss in his ear hadn’t been entirely necessary but certainly didn’t hurt as they soon found themselves before an imposing oak door opened by the jailer himself.

  “The prisoners, yer excellency,” he formally called.

  “Excellent. You are dismissed,” said a surprisingly cheerful looking figure seated behind a massive oak desk, dressed like a proper English gentleman of the era. Yet his powdered wig, silk shirt, tailored waistcoat and cravat did absolutely nothing to hide who he was from astunned Eric, staring at the gnome-like man welcoming them both with such warm bonhomie.

  It was the smile of a man eager to help friends out of unfortunate circumstances, eyes twinkling with bemusement and fatherly understanding.

  And just underneath all that was the cold, calculating gaze of a man who would happily play to your sense of ideals and conscience to coax a fortune from you while swearing that you were as noble a soul as anyone could hope to be… then snap a steel collar around your neck, brand you a criminal, and sell you to slavers.

  It was Mayor Stibbs.

  In the flesh.

  Eric clenched his fists, heart roaring with fury.

  Still recalling the bitter sacrifice he had made. Surrendering the sweet potent boon of his first territory… and twenty precious years of his life, for the sake of a town that had desperately needed a hero. Before being branded a criminal, locked out of his own sanctuary, and forced to flee for his life before finally being caught and collard by slavers.

  All thanks to the treacherous serpent before him.

  After spouting so many platitudes about fighting for a higher cause.

  One final noble sacrifice for the codes and keys to a fortune.

  And by the darkest of twists, Eric had gotten that fortune in the end.

  But he still owed a certain smirking bastard payback.

  It was all Eric could do not to charge across the well-appointed office, leap over the polished hardwood table, and hammer his fist through the bastard’s skull.

  The only things holding him back was the knowledge that the pair of halberd-wielding Inquisitor guardsmen would cut down both Ivan and doom Agdelina, still back in her cell, the moment Eric struck. That, and the cold-eyed glare of the man seated beside the mayor wearing the fine silks of a noble yet dressed in an inquisitor’s colors, save for a cravat imprinted with the insigna of a purple rose and swan that clashed with the uniform, though clearly the cool-eyed man was of a rank not to care in the slightest.

  Along with the English saber at his hip, he possessed a positively wicked-looking dwarven double shot crossbows held casually in his hand, pointed right at Eric.

  His stormy grey eyes pinned Eric’s own, giving a slow shake of his head.

  Eric’s furious thoughts blazed. Before he took a shuddering breath, and adopted the mien of a jaded young courtier well used to the twists and intrigues of court, hands relaxed as if never clenched into fists.

  Because even if he managed to take out the two heavily armed and armored inquisitors by seizing the Vor… the crossbow wielding noble would have calmly pierced the heart of Agda’s father, dooming her grandmother as well, still stuck in a cage and absolutely helpless, save for her dignity. They would both fall to his fury and there wouldn’t be a damn thing Eric could do to take his rash actions back, even if he was skilled and ruthless enough to kill all four bastards and flee before facing repercussions himself.

  Thoughts realized and understood in the blink of an eye.

  So quickly that the man who, in another place and time had gone by Mayor Stibbs, hadn’t even sensed it all play out.

  Yet the knowing look in the nobleman’s eye made it damn clear that he was ready for anything, cool half-smile promising that no matter how capable Eric thought he was, his friends would pay for any foolishness on his part with their lives.

  The mayor, for his part, favored them both with an absolutely brilliant smile.

  “Well if it isn’t Ivan the famous hunter and his… assistant? Hmm…” the mayor favored Eric with a pointed look, smile straining a tiny bit. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of your acquaintanceship before, young man.”

  “Eric of clan Silver,” he said, doing his best to keep his fury buried under a courtier’s smile, giving the tiniest of courtly bows, his dwarven made armor so expertly made and padded so as to clink not at all, the fifty extra pounds not bothering Strength that now kissed the upper limits of what mortal man was capable of once more… even if it was a mere hundredth of what it was in any realm save this one.

  Their interrogator’s bonhomie smile didn’t waver for a second, though his eyes took on a steely glint. “How… fascinating. You may call me Lord Stibbs.

  Eric stiffened, mask of benign interest frozen on his face as he choked back a furious mental howl while Stibbs droned on.

  “You’re clearly of noble blood and yet somehow find yourself in the New World, our humble York still just finding its feet, far from the prestige and prosperity that I suspect is but a few short years away. But still. What could possibly entice such a promising looking youth to stray so far from his home? Ireland’s continuing conflict with the Crown’s righteous rule, perhaps? Or are your origins a bit more Scandinavian? A Swedish prince exiled from court, mayahap?”

  Eric felt the weight of the Inquisitor’s heavy glare once more and so did his best to sink back into his role, flashing a bemused smile that revealed nothing. “I’m merely someone enticed by tales of the wealth and adventure to be found in the New World. And where there is newfound wealth…”

  Eric let the pause linger, mind racing over half a dozen logical reasons why a young aristocrat or noble would risk so much traveling halfway across the world… before he settled for the obvious, which fit in perfectly with his interest in Luigi as well. “There are often fresh, untapped markets and opportunities for trade that could see your city blossoming like never before in record time.”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  This earned a glare from the inquisitorial noble, though the mayor positively beamed.

  “Ah, so your modus operandi is that of merchant prince? Glorious! You’ll find a veritable treasure trove of furs that should fetch a generous price in the finer European boutiques, for our hunters and trappers are quite skilled at their craft! And they have also developed masterful methods of tanning the hides and preserving the furs, such that even mink holds its gloss for seasons after capture, so shall travel the great Atlantic in absolute pristine condition, I assure you!”

  He then gave a knowing smile Ivan’s way. “Now it makes sense. For who better to educate a trade envoy than the best hunter and trapper in our humble community. And considering dear Ivan’s contacts... No doubt you’ve already come to an arrangement that will pay off most handsomely in the seasons to come!”

  He then sighed rather melodramatically. “Unfortunately, I fear you’ll find our tariffs and port duties a rather stubborn point of contention. For you see, the cost of shipping goods through perilous waters necessitates no less than a fifty percent export duty on all goods sold.”

  Eric, no fool, knew there must be a reason for Stibb’s blatant pronouncement. Normally governors would encourage trade in fledgling communities such as this one, so admitting to blatant robbery seemed utterly counterproductive. Unless of course, he was looking for a reaction, a pressure point to entice the conversation in the direction he desired.

  And Eric would rather have him tilting at windmills than striking his true vulnerabilities, so responded exactly as he imagined a true enterprising nobleman or, indeed, merchant prince would.

  His eyes flared with genuine ire. “Outrageous!” He roared. “Not even King George would charge more than 20%! And I know for a fact that his colony charter allows for no more than a 15% export duty. He knows better than to stifle colonies just getting a foothold in the New World.”

  Stibbs smiled at Eric’s declaration though the man beside him looked offended at Eric so much as raising his voice while the pair of heavily armed and armored Inquisitors to their rear slammed the buts of their polearms on the marble tiles with a loud crack.

  “You will show respect for lord and master, or you’ll pay the price!” The largest of the glaring pair roared.

  Ivan, not perturbed at all, just smiled coolly at the governor. “I do recall you belly aching about the need for some stalwart trader to finally be willing to take the warehouses’ worth of tanned leather and hides before they all spoilt, Governor. From what I recall, you laughed off the idea of charging any export—”

  “Silence!” Stibbs scowled, slamming a tiny gavel onto his table.

  Eric suppressed a smirk as best he could.

  Stibbs cleared his throat. “Regrettably, our situation has changed. And I’ll have you know that I’m well within my rights to charge what I must for the sake of my town!” He snapped, glaring Eric’s way before waving the words away like so much foul smoke.

  “But that’s the least of our issues at the moment. What concerns me, dear trader, and regrettably backward Ivan, is the individual who you’ve broken bread with. The woman you unfortunately chose to associate yourself with, when we now know to be practicing forbidden rights in a method and manner that have had multiple witnesses accuse her of witchcraft!”

  “Was most definitely witchcraft,” snapped the inquisitorial noble with a cool glare. “A crime for which she will burn. The only question is, whether you two will be joining her… or whether you have it within you to be redeemed.”

  Ivan’s eyes bulged with fury. “You will do no such thing!” He roared, hands curling into fists.

  In a flash, Eric saw how it could so easily play out. Stibbs so certain he had everything in the palm of his hand. Yet the gold glint in the eye of the clear chief inquisitor in a noble’s kit told a different story as his lip curled cruelly, and Eric sensed the pair of alarmed guards behind readying their polaxes to--

  Finesse check: Critical Success!

  You have successfully struck your target.

  Unarmed Combat successfully quantized at Rank 8!

  “Ivan, control herself!” Eric roared, gripping his friend’s arm, even as a hip check and Strength far beyond what his opponents expected sent one armored guard stumbling into the other, the pair falling to the ground with surprised clatter.

  He ignored the clatter and the outraged look in the chief inquisitor’s eyes, subtly positioning himself so any crossbow bolts would hit his well armored form and not his friend, who was still glaring at the mayor.

  “Lord Stibbs is no fool.” Eric flashed a hard smile, quickly talking over the blustering outrage welling up from the man who clearly wanted them dead. “In fact, if my sense of these things is right, he’s an experienced negotiator. No doubt he seeks only to show us just how precarious our situation is. And that with the right assistance and guidance… perhaps there is a way out of this unfortunate misunderstanding that leaves us all far better off than we were before.”

  He then turned and chuckled coldly at the pair of flustered guards trying to pick themselves up. “If they truly intended us harm, they wouldn’t have had well-meaning buffoons at our back. Relax, dear friend Ivan. Lord Stibbs has our best interests at heart, I’m sure.”

  The man beside Stibbs seethed. “How dare you presume—”

  “Quite right, quite right!” Assured a warmly chuckling Stibbs, now clapping his hands and talking over his glaring partner. “I see you’ve finally had the sense to work with someone who’s not blind to the ways of the world, Ivan. Excellent! For it is true that I do want wants best for all of us. For our entire community, in fact!”

  He then affected a dramatic sigh, gesturing towards at his glowering partner in this farce. “Yet as my good friend Lord Hatson, Chief Inquisitor of New York has pointed out, Agdelina Petrova has been accused of witchcraft, and we have multiple witnesses that will attest to such.”

  The man forced a conciliatory smile even as the pair of snarling guardsmen finally lurched back to their feet, glaring at Eric and Ivan both... yet the tiniest of headshakes kept their ire in check.

  “Of course, there is no need for you two fine folk to be forced to pay for another’s transgressions over a simple misunderstanding. For what would happen to your dear unwed daughter and her bastard child then, friend Ivan?”

  Eric’s jaw clenched, choking back a spike of fury, and now it was Ivan who had finally embraced the role of the courtier that he had no doubt once been.

  He might have been caught off guard at first, but it was clear he would no longer be fazed at all by any further threats, slights, or insults.

  Instead, he flashed the mayor a hard smile. “One can only wonder what perilous task I’m expected to embrace that would remove such an ugly stain from my reputation… and my mother-in-law’s as well.”

  Stibbs was now beaming, even as Lord Hatson continued to glare. “Indeed, a very astute question, friend Ivan! For the proper act of contrition… of reconciliation, can obviate even the most heinous of crimes!” He turned to his companion. “Isn’t that right, dear Edwin?”

  Edwin Hatson glared, nostrils flaring, before he finally dipped his head. “Your contrition will earn you clemency. But only so long as you and your clan are gone by season’s end.”

  Stibbs furrowed his brow at this. Edwin gave an angry jerk of his head.

  “No. We will suffer not a witch to live in our sight! But we shall allow those so base and foolish as to taint themselves and wallow in sin to leave our sight… and pursue those pathetic wretches no further.”

  Ivan’s gaze hardened. “One can only wonder how a simple hunter and farmer such as myself managed to earn the ire of the revered head of the Inquisitorial order… but no matter. What service is it that you wish me to perform, Governor Stibbs? Before my family and I are to be summarily exiled as reward for my efforts?”

  The mayor chuckled. “Oh no need to be so melodramatic, dear Ivan. We’re trying to do you a favor. And fear not, you will certainly be compensated for… the hardships of an abrupt departure.”

  Ivan raised a single brow. “Coin and peril offered in the same breath. One can only wonder at the nature of this task.”

  The mayor cleared his throat. “No doubt you are well aware of the so called Academy of Enigma and it’s stultifying effect upon this town?”

  “A school filled with diabolists and the most vile of sinners, tainting the hearts and minds of countless innocent children!” Lord Hatson declared, eyes blazing as he continued to hold his crossbow with rigid professionalism. “Sinners that must be cleansed from the face of this earth!”

  Ivan stared coolly at the incensed Hatson for long seconds as Stibbs tried to ameliorate his words.

  “So, it’s a purge, then. And you need pawns to set the spark that will see their entire house in flames.”

  Lord Hatson’s furious ire cooled to a vicious smile. “I see you understand your place then, Ivan Petrov. Exiled Russian Prince so tainted with dark dealings and foul arts that it’s a miracle you were accepted into this colony at all. It’s good to see that you know your place.”

  Eric blinked at the sheer hostility in Lord Hatson’s demeanor, but all Ivan did was smirk.

  “A curious thing about poor fools sent to light the fires of revolution. They rarely survive the first spark.”

  The grey-eyed man flashed a vicious smile. “Oh, I do hope you refuse, Ivan. I would so dearly love to put you and your entire family to the rack. I have absolutely no doubt that you and your daughter will be screaming all the confessions we require to see that academy burn, when your granddaughter is put to the stake.”

  Ivan blanched, his courtly demeanor cracking at such a vile threat.

  Even Stibbs furrowed his brow. “Edwin…”

  The man slammed his fist to the table, the other still keeping his doubleshot trained on the former prince. “Suffer not a witch to live and purge the world of her vile spawn! It is in the Book of Retribution, and its tenants will be followed!” The man roared.

  Before his features stilled to cold calculation once more. “Unless, of course, proper contrition is shown. Then, you may leave with your lives. Exiled like the vermin you are. Your farm forfeit to the Inquisition, and you will sign papers to that effect this instant. Unless, of course, you can answer a simple question. One you should know well, with the mission Oliver Encely gave you, just over a year ago.”

  Ivan glared at the inquisitor. “What mission is this?”

  The inquisitor slammed his fist against the governor’s desk, glaring down at Ivan. “Don’t play coy with me. You know damn well what I’m talking about!” He then forced a smile that was as feral as any wolf. “The Dragon’s Eye, Ivan. You, alone, of all the hunters, dared the mist. You alone refuse to wear the Robes of Enigma, no matter your infernal gift for that foul art.”

  The man pinned a pale-faced Ivan with his glare. “And I know for a fact that Oliver Encely paid you in gold for that treasure, Ivan. I’ve seen the records.” He flashed a fierce smile. “Because I too have resources in unexpected places. Desperate souls eager for redemption for themselves… and their tainted offspring!”

  Ivan paled. “You would put the Enigmatic’s own children to the question? Monstrous!”

  “What techniques I employ to exact justice are not your concern, Ivan Petrov. The eye alone is!”

  Ivan’s look of horrified surprise turned to cold contempt. “So that’s your gambit, is it?” The man snorted, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Inquisitor. No matter how you much you threaten… I can’t reveal prizes that I never retrieved.”

  “Liar!” The inquisitor roared.

  Ivan calmly shook his head. “Every word I told you is true.”

  Hatson’s nostrils flared. “Yes. I sense that it is. Very well. Your farm is forfeit and you and your daughter will leave New York with nothing but the thinnest of linen smocks and your lives in the darkest hour before dawn. May you freeze and be damned to hell long before you ever reach any shelter or sanctuary. And if you refuse to obey and comply with your final task… you will all be burned as the foul witches you are!”

  Eric took a shuddering breath, jaw clenched, forcing in himself the same calm rigid perfection Ivan showed when he took slow, measured steps to the table, cold eyes glaring into an increasingly discomfited Stibb’s own.

  “If you wish to use vile slander as a pretext to rob me of what I invested three years of my life into building and expect me to catalyze the destruction of the only academy in the colonies… then it’s clear that the Inquisition is making a play for the entire New World.”

  Hatson’s eyes glared. “The doings of your betters do not concern you, trash!”

  Ivan chuckled coldly. “Do you really think New York will come so easily into your hands by working hand in fist with the Inquisition, Stibbs? Or are you a single forged letter away from being burned at the stake yourself?”

  He flashed a bitter smile at the hot-eyed inquisitor. “As it stands, with Academy and Inquisition keeping each other in check… you’re permitted a modicum of power and independence, my dear Governor. But the moment you throw your lot in with men willing put innocent children to the stake… best you not kid yourself. No measure of decency or forbearance will keep them from doing the same to you, the instant you displease them in any way, shape, or form. So best you prepare yourself to play the proper puppet in all—”

  Ivan’s words abruptly cut off with a thwack when a quarrel tore through the thick hardwood table, an inch from Ivan’s hand.

  “Silence, cur. You have already dared to refuse me once! Should you add insolence and slander to your list of offenses, the next bolt will be through your eyes!”

  Lord Hatson glared as the pair of poleaxe-wielding ruffians raced forward, the closest slamming his poleaxe against Ivan’s knees.

  Ivan crumpled with a fluidity that made it clear that his movement was intentional, that he was, indeed, rolling with the blow to minimize actual damage while the Inquisitorial guard above him glared with sadistic glee.

  “Know your place, filth! The next time you dare speak so to your betters, You’ll be payin’ for it on the rack!”

  The man then dropped his polearm before dragging Ivan upright and slamming him against the governor’s table. “Now sign the document and know yer place!”

  Eric’s heart pounded, taking in the distracted guards, the placating mayor still trying to assuage Ivan, and the coldly smiling Lord Hatson who now had the one remaining bolt aimed right for Eric’s eye.

  “You’re a complete unknown, boy.”

  Eric stiffened at those words.

  The man flashed a chilly smile.

  “I don’t like unknowns. I find they tend to skew things in directions filled with temptation and sin.”

  Eric forced his hands to relax, crooking a single eyebrow. “So, your saying that your faction is completely opposed to trade? My understanding is that certain doctrines have been relaxed in the motherland. Are you truly ready to incite old fears and rock the upper echelons who even now are enjoying their creature comforts and an understanding with the temporal earthly powers that be?”

  The man’s eyes flared with fanatic heat. “Don’t you dare bring the insufferable moderates to this discussion, boy! The New World will be cleansed by a flaming sword that will sear away all sin!”

  Eric dipped his head. “Of course it will. But you and I both know that material wealth oils the gears that forge your men’s armaments, clothe their persons, and fill their bellies. Surely your masters back home expect you to keep such truths in mind. Even if your… enthusiasm brings them unexpected boons in terms of properties under their administrative care, your supervisors will no doubt have all the more praise, should their New World holdings prove to be profitable as well.”

  Eric flashed a brilliant smile. “Extremely profitable, should you be prudent enough to make use of highly skilled and influential trading partners with their fingers in a dozen major markets throughout the known world.”

  Eric paid no attention to the message flickering so faintly in the back of his mind in this particular shadow realm, all his focus on the man before him, fearing that maybe he had pushed a bit to far, if the look of hot fury the man was projecting was anything to go by…

  Before Lord Hatson flashed a cold smile.

  “Merchants. You all care for nothing save coin.”

  Eric dipped his head. “We care for profitable arrangements that assure you have the resources you need to carry out your mandates, while also assuring a certain degree of fortune for ourselves as we all do our part to facilitate the righteous path.”

  Hatson’s gaze narrowed, finger dangerously tight on the crossbow trigger. “Thirty percent of all profits you earn here will be tithed to the Inquisition. And you will have access to all the markets placed under our care. So long as it’s understood that you and your associates will aid us in securing fresh New World markets. New York today… Boston next year. I assume you have the resources and wherewithal to aid us?”

  Eric chuckled. “Now we’re getting somewhere!” He flashed a jaded smile. “As a matter of fact, my associates do indeed have access to such resources. Swiss and Scandinavian soldiers of fortune who have served our interests well for centuries. But they can be costly.”

  He raised a hand before the man’s scowl. “We are more than willing to split the costs for quality mercenaries… or, should the Inquisition see fit to declare our endeavors worthy, we will absorb the full costs for half the tithes you would collect…”

  “A twenty percent tithe on all profits garnered from New World materials and manufactured goods. No less! And this entire arrangement is contingent upon you and your…” He sneered at Ivan. “Acquaintance of convenience resolving the Academy matter at hand.”

  Eric chuckled. “How wonderful. I knew we could come to a mutually beneficial accord.” He then beamed at a tight-faced Ivan, barely holding it together. “Things are looking up, dear Ivan. Let’s put this ugliness past us, and see what we can do to assure New York a future along the righteous path, shall we?”

  Ivan glared at Eric’s knowing smile.

  “Gold,” Ivan whispered harshly, eyes locking with the inquisitor’s own.

  Lord Inquisitor Hatson’s jaw clenched. “You dare ask for anything save for your family’s lives, wretch?”

  Yet Governor Stibbs dipped his head. “Of course we will pay you good gold for your farm… and as thanks for you long service, friend Ivan! And don’t worry. Our dear inquisitor merely wishes to make a point. Of course you will be permitted to leave with all the goods, clothes, and supplies you can take with you. We’re not monsters. We are, in fact, the most understanding of masters! Now, you need but fulfill this final task for us, and you and your family can return back to the Old World, profiting after three years of struggling on a perilous farm, no? And you even have the acquaintance of a clearly skilled and influential merchant to smooth your way.”

  Hatson’s lips pressed in a tight, disapproving line, before he gave an infinitesimal nod.

  “You will surrender your farm to the Inquisition as is your duty. And you may leave with your family, whatever you can carry on your back and whatever gold coin the mayor thinks you’re worth, once justice has been carried out against those who would blaspheme against the entire city.”

  Ivan took a slow, shuddering breath, before giving the slightest of nods, only then signing the document put forth before him… that Hatson then eagerly rolled up with a satisfied smirk.

  “It is done. Now enough beating around the bush, Stibbs. I have no access to any secret treasure. Merely a hunter’s skills. So what is it that you’re so eager to have me do?”

  Stibbs gazed coolly at the Russian farmer even as his fingers flashed with the pretty luster of gold. Putting forth one coin after another, such that even the inquisitor guards were gazing at the fortune eagerly.

  The mayor flashed a bonhomie smile at Ivan’s breathless expression. “Complete but the simplest of tasks, and you will be well rewarded.”

  Lord Hatson then dipped his head at the until now silent guard. “Give him the package.”

  Eric’s guts crawled as the sneering guard stepped outside of the office for but a moment… before returning with what looked an awful lot like a leather backpack, complete with a pair of sturdy looking straps, casually handing it to Ivan.

  “You went shopping for supplies earlier if anyone asks, of course,” Stibbs explained. “And we know that Oliver has an unhealthy affection for your family. So all you need to do, my dear friend Ivan, is ask the headmaster for permission to meditate or take your ease in the academy library, or even better, sequester yourself in the headmaster’s own sanctum sanctorum, if you can manage it. Perhaps while your friend regales the sick man with fantasies of wealth and trade. Then you need but take out the top pair of books, place them somewhere, and leave. A crowded room would be best, so that none can deny having glimpsed the tainted work! You will then return here, report your success, and you will receive half your payment!”

  Hatson glared. “And you will receive the rest of your payment, your pardon, and the foul witch you call ‘mother,’ once the Enigma worshipers are in their cells, where they belong.”

  Stibbs gave an awkward cough. “Of course we don’t have to tell you what will happen to you and yours, should you even think of breaking our trust, do we old friend?”

  Ivan flashed a bleak, bitter smile. “I’m no fool, Stibbs. I know how this game is played. Once this mission’s done, you’ll never see me or mine again.”

  Eric gave the man an encouraging smile. “I could always use a skilled factor back home, Ivan. I’ve seen firsthand how well you can judge the value of furs. And I promise you, I’ll pay you far more coin than trapping and hunting will bring you here.”

  Ivan sighed and nodded. “I think I will take you up on that offer, friend Eric. And with the fortune I’ll earn with one final mission that reminds me far too much of life in my homeland, I can’t even say I’m coming out behind.”

  Stibbs positively beamed. “You see, Ivan? You’ll be leaving New York in far better circumstances than you arrived. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Hatson snorted, finally lifting his crossbow. “You two have your assignment. Now go. Complete your mission and report back. And best you not give us any reason to regret our forbearance.”