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‘How can you know that?’

I shrugged. ‘I was a professional inquisitor. You think they name just any idiot to the Glorian Justiciars?’

He chewed on that a while, then asked, ‘Cade, just how good at this investigation business were you?’

The chair creaked in complaint as I levered myself to my feet, as if it was already missing my company. ‘Good enough to know that we’ve been set up, and not just by the Lords Celestine and Devilish. The Seven Brothers are both as righteous as they believe themselves to be, and as vile as we expected. If they win the fight, these Pandorals of theirs are going to bring more pain and suffering to the Mortal realm than you or I have ever seen.’

‘So you’re saying the fate of all humanity is down to you, me and the most pathetic bunch of unstable wonderists ever assembled?’ He stared at the bottle in his hand, brought it to his lips, but then pulled it away. ‘Can we beat them?’

‘Of course.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

I took the bottle from him and drained what little remained so I could hold the glass up to the fading light of the sun coming through the cottage door. Hazidan used to do that– hold up a filthy glass to the sun or a lantern. She liked to see the way the light became distorted, and in that distortion, she said, a more honest vision of the universe could be found.

‘The Lords Celestine and the Lords Devilish conspired to get you and me here because we’re good at leading a small crew. They allowed us to recruit Aradeus because they wanted us to feel comfortable enough that we’d still commit to the job even after they made sure we’d end up with Galass– who became a blood mage through their machinations.’

‘And the boy?’

‘I can’t tell you how, but I’m absolutely positive he’s the key to the entire operation. He’s how we’re going to win.’

‘Given you’ve just declared victory, Cade, I’m curious why you’re scowling like that.’

‘Because winning and surviving aren’t the same thing. They’ve given us the tools to destroy the gates, Corrigan, but not to escape the battle. They’re expecting us to win, but not live.’

‘Why? Why would they. . . ?’ His question drifted off into nothingness as he worked out the answer for himself. Corrigan might have made a passable justiciar himself, if he weren’t so fond of criminality. ‘They don’t want witnesses.’

‘These sorts of jobs, would you want anyone knowing what happened?’

I headed for the door. I’d still need to talk to the others, make sure they knew the plan,such as it was. More importantly, I needed to make sure they were committed.

‘Cade, wait.’

I stopped, already knowing the question that was coming. ‘Yeah?’

‘The guy you refused to kill– the wonderist. Who was it?’

‘Nobody,’ I said. ‘Just some big, loud-mouthed thunderer who was guilty of a hundred sins, just not of the crime for which I’d been sent to drag him to a sham trial followed by a swift execution.’ I couldn’t help but smile then. ‘Dumbest, most corrupt son of a bitch you ever saw, but underneath all that bluster and lightning was a soul the Lords Celestine knew would never bend to their wills. When the time came, I couldn’t bring myself to kill him.’

He didn’t make a sound, but I swear I could hear Corrigan’s mouth drop open. ‘Wait. . . you mean. . . ?’

I left him to ponder that last thought as I headed out into the early evening. I imagine it must’ve made him feel a little better about all the times he’d saved my life to believe that, just maybe, he was the reason why I’d abandoned the Glorian Justiciars.

Would have been a nice story, right?

Chapter 40

The Girl and the Boy

I spent the next couple of hours going from cottage to cottage, spending what time I could with our misbegotten little crew. Every profession has its traditions, and among us wonderists, it’s basic courtesy to say something rude and hurtful to each of your comrades before heading into battle. The logic– if there is such a thing in this sorry business– is that since such despicable insults could never be intended as last words, they instead convey your conviction that both of you will survive to laugh at such ill-chosen sentiment. . .

I never said this was a rational way to make a living.

‘You spoke to Galass?’ Fidick asked.

‘I did.’

I could see how hurt she’d been when the boy had insisted on having his own cottage, so I’d made some nonsense up about how those who have beheld the Lords Celestine often need periods of solitude to make sense of the experience, lest it overwhelm them. Technically that’s true, although I knew it didn’t apply in this case.