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Galen groaned and dropped his head. “I was convinced that I’d hurt you terribly and you would be too good and kind and decent to stop me.”

“I believe that’s an allegorical representation of something. Commerce, I think, but I’m not sure what the centaur is supposed to be.”

Confusion, offense, and amusement warred across Piper’s expression. “And now you don’t think I’m good and kind and decent?”

You’re handling this beautifully. You should definitely keep talking. Galen took a deep breath. “I think you’re good and kind and decent and also terrifying when you put your mind to it. I should have known better.”

“Yes, you should have.”

“I hurt you terribly because I was trying not to hurt you terribly. Can you forgive me? Would you even want to be seen with someone as dim as I am?”

There was a long, long stretch while Piper studied him coolly and Galen felt like a body laid open on the slab, as if the doctor’s eyes were flaying him open and looking for something that he might not even have. Then…

“Oh god yes,” said Piper, and kissed him again.

“The centaur might be to indicate prosperity. He’s got a sheaf of grain, that usually follows. Or possibly the artist just liked carving centaurs. Hard to say, really. And I can’t tell if that woman over there is supposed to be Justice or Innocence.”

“Stephen,” said Galen, disentangling himself briefly, “if you do not shut up about the carvings, I will beat you over the head.”

“I didn’t want you to think that I was being a voyeur.”

Piper stepped back, though his obvious reluctance made Galen feel rather better about it. “We have to go spring Earstripe. We can do this later.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” said Galen. “And that’s a promise.”

* * *

“How do we get a prisoner released anyway?” asked Piper. “I’ve never done it.”

“You haven’t?”

“By the time I see someone, they’re usually not a prisoner any more. Or, y’know, alive.”

“I’ll handle it,” said Stephen. “Give me the form.”

The building housing the records was across the street. Like the guard headquarters, it was the remnant of a grand building, but far less money had been poured into fixing it. The floorboards were so slanted that if Galen had dropped a ball at the entryway, it would have rolled through multiple rooms and changed direction at least twice before it came to a stop.

The woman at the front desk wore her hair in a severe bun, and the collar of her plain gray dress came up to her chin. Galen guessed she was one of the nuns working on the transcription project.

“Well!” she said, as Stephen came up to the front, “aren’t you a tall, handsome one! What can I do for you, love?”

Galen revised his guess and chided himself mentally for making assumptions.

“I have a release order for a prisoner,” said Stephen, “but I don’t know where he’s being held. Is that something you can help me with?”

“Sure, love, we can work it out. When did he come in?”

Galen spoke up. “Late last night, as far as I know.”

Piper’s guts twisted at the thought of Earstripe in a cell for most of a day. The jails in Archon’s Glory weren’t the worst things in the world, but they were hardly the place for someone with a healing injury. Please let him not relapse.

Please let some bastard not have gone after him for just being a gnole.

“Then you’re in luck. Records came in at noon, right as rain. Follow me.”

They entered another room that resembled an extremely cramped scriptorium. Four women were bent over papers, making copies in neat handwriting, while a woman in the habit of the Dreaming God looked over their shoulders and made occasional corrections. Galen fought the urge to take a step back at the sight of the habit. He’d spent several months traveling with a group of very particular nuns and his instincts screamed that he was about to be given a chore and a solid helping of disapproval.

“Sister, if you could help these gentlemen? They’re looking for a prisoner that came in last night, but they don’t know the house.”