“What is happening here? Who is this unconscious man?”
The persistent citizen was quick to answer, “The First Saint, Purest Paladin of Wellness! A man without memory, for the last seven years!”
“Then why is he unconscious?”
“He succumbed to the Well Knight’s questioning. It was… shocking. Blessed be the Lady that you have arrived!”
No retort nor refutation came from the hapless Storkul Purge, and, lying at her very feet, Emancipor felt a surge of sympathy. That quickly went away. Let her roast, he concluded. And opened his eyes-immediately noticed-then fixed them on Storkul Purge. Another groan, another apparent plunge into oblivion.
“She did it again!” the citizen said in a gasp.
“Excuse yourself, Storkul Purge,” Invett Loath commanded, “and await the Knightly Judgment at the Day Temple of Wellness.”
A muted, “Yes, Purest Paladin.”
Emancipor heard her boots scuff away.
“Awaken, First Saint,” Invett Loath said.
This was perfect. Emancipor’s eyes fluttered open. Bewildered, then resting with apparent recognition on the beat-stained, chiseled features of the armoured Knight standing over him. “I–I have never seen you before,” the manservant said, “yet I know the purity of your soul. You must be the Paladin. You must be Invett Loath.”
A gleam of pleasure lit the man’s sharp blue eyes. “You are correct, First Saint. There is a little-known prophecy that I would be the one to find you, and deliver you to our king. Are you well enough to stand?”
Emancipor struggled to his feet. Tottered momentarily and was steadied by a gauntleted hand.
“Come, First Saint of Most Glorious Labour-”
The manservant’s knees buckled, forcing the Paladin to quickly clutch at him.
“What is it, my friend?” Invett Loath asked in alarm.
Ignoring the massive crowd surrounding them, Emancipor straightened once more, then leaned close to the Paladin. “A-a vision, Oh Purest. A terrible vision!”
“This is fell indeed! What have you seen?”
Emancipor lifted his head slightly. He would have to think of something, and fast. “For the ears of you and the King and none other!”
“Not even the Grand Nun of the Lady?”
“Oh, yes. Her too.”
“Then we must be away. Here, take my arm…”
Well Knight Storkul Purge leaned against the back wall of the Day Temple, staring sightlessly as waves of dread swept through her. She was doomed. Knightly Judgments never favored the judged. She had participated in them enough times to know that as an unmitigated truth, and she well recalled the secret visceral pleasure when adding her voice to the chorus of condemnation. Crimes against Wellness were without question the most serious offences these days, and that seriousness was only getting more serious. She frowned at that thought, then shook her head, suddenly fearful that she was losing her mind.
Then again, perhaps that was for the best. Insanity like a cocoon wrapped about herself before the moment of adjudication.
Damn that Invett Loath! Every Well Knight knew that the myth of the First Saint was an invention. The foreigner was little more than a quick-witted opportunist, clever enough to make mockery of treasured superstition whilst, at the same time, stroke Loath’s ego. If anyone deserved adjudication, it was the Paladin of Purity, stomping about the city in the blinding cloud of his unsullied righteousness, a cloud thick enough to choke the fittest citizen.
Ah, did she have something there? Had not Invett Loath set himself above all others? Was he too not bound to conformity and secure mediocrity? Dare she challenge him?
“He will devour me alive,” she whispered. “Who am I fooling? He’s already sharpening the spike for me on the wall. By the Lady, I need a drink!” Her mouth shut with a click of teeth at that exclamation. Looking about, she saw, with relief, that no one was close.
Then, a small, raspy voice whispered, “Did someone mention a drink?”
Storkul Purge’s head snapped round. The voice seemed to have come right beside her, but there was no one there. “Who spoke?” she demanded.
“I’ve caught a most delicious trail.”
The Well Knight looked down, and saw a small, gaudily dressed shape lying beside her right boot.
The thing sniffed. “Do you not recognise me, Storkul Purge? Granted, these clothes ill fit me. ’Twas a dancer, a twirling, spinning celebrant-”
“You fool,” Storkul said, sneering, “those clothes belonged to a puppet. I can still see the strings.”
In a small voice, the thing said, “A puppet? Oh! I’m wasting away!”
“You are Vice,” she said. “You are Ineb Cough. Why aren’t you dead yet?”
“Oh, you don’t understand! It was all I could manage to crawl to you! The lure of your desire-I heard it!”
“You are mistaken-”
“Ah, a lie! Good! Yes, lies are good. Lies are where I begin!”
“Be quiet! People will hear.”
“Better and better. Yes, we will whisper, you and I. A drink, yes? Spirits, yes? I have caught a trail, leading out through Inland Gate. A trail, I tell you, redolent with all manner of indulgences. Liquor, rustleaf, durhang-”
“Inland Gate? Why, I was just there!”
“Someone has entered the city, my dear…”
“Someone? A foreigner? Yes, a foreigner!” She knew it!
“We must backtrack along his trail, you and me, Storkul Purge. We must!”
She was silent, thinking. Visions raced through her mind. Dramatic pronouncements, scenes of triumph at the fall of both the foreigner and Invett Loath. But it would not do to act too quickly. No, the two must become further entwined, each the champion of the other in their grand deceit. Yes, she could see it now. Soon, there would be a new champion of purity in Quaint.
But first… “Very well, Ineb Cough, backtrack we shall.”
“Delicious! Pick me up, then, my dark-hearted woman. Through Inland Gate, onto the open road beyond!”
“Quiet! You’re getting too loud!” She reached down and collected the puny creature that was Ineb Cough. “Say nothing more,” she whispered, “until I tell you it’s safe.”
Approaching the gate, she saw a guard step out, his eyes on her. “Well Knight, what have you there?”