The second man said much the same. Likewise, the third, though by now Else had the impression that the interrogations were tailored to their objects. Which suggested that the interrogators had a good idea who they were questioning before they started.

Pinkus Ghort was the fourth man taken. He was absent more than an hour. He returned unhurt but drained. He flopped onto his pallet. "That was rough. In a nonphysical way. It's hard to keep everything straight when they ask you the same thing fifty different times fifty different ways."

Bronte Doneto was curious. And worried. His turn would come. He was right there listening when Else countered, "How so?"

"It was like Bo and the others said. Only there was more of it. They was infatuated with the notion that I know all of the Patriarch's personal secrets on account of I was like a pick-up captain in a half-ass gang of robbers that Sublime sent out. So what if I've never been any closer to the old boy than I am right now?"

"Did they threaten you? Did they try to bribe you?"

"No. And that was weird, too. I don't think they really cared what I answered. They just wanted to ask the questions."

That bothered Bronte Doneto. Else asked, "Sir? Have we missed something?"

"They may be using lie-detecting spells. If they have specialist adepts, our answers won't matter. What were the questioners like?"

Ghort replied, "They didn't look like no kind of wizards. They was just soldiers. Guys used to getting their hands dirty. I recognized one of them from somewhere. The guy on the end, on their right, was somebody that I should ought to remember. But I don't know where from."

More men went through the process, some for longer, some not so long. Just Plain Joe was away only eight minutes.

When Joe came back the soldiers beckoned Pinkus. Ghort protested, "I've already been."

"Then you know the way. Let's go."

Ghort was gone a long time.

The soldiers wanted Principatл Doneto next. Things got tense. Ghort said, “Take it easy, Chief. It ain't that big a deal."

"Why did they call you back?" Else asked after the door slammed behind the Principatл.

"Maybe they didn't understand me the first time. They asked all the same questions. I'm thinking maybe Doneto is right. Something is going on besides them asking questions."

"It took them over an hour to get the same old answers you already gave them?"

"Oh, no. That part added up to only maybe twenty minutes. In the middle of it they all just got up and left. Like they went out for dinner or something. And didn't need to worry about me."

"So you just sat there?"

"Well, I got up and wandered around some. I didn't go far. They locked the door."

Bronte Doneto was gone for hours. He was exhausted when he returned. He had little to say. He sucked down a bowl of lentil soup, curled up in his blanket and slept.

His was the last interview of the day.

THE INTERVIEWS RESUMED NEXT MORNING. THE FIRST MAN taken had gone before. He reported, "They're up to something different. It was about religion this time."

Else went third. He was not nervous. He could handle basic religious questions. He had been paying attention.

The room was exactly as described, featureless and brightly lighted. The smell of tallow was strong. Four men sat behind a table, their backs to a wall. One straight-backed, hard chair faced the table. The men did not look like professional inquisitors. The man farthest to Else's right might be a priest. He pegged two more as soldiers. The man between the priest and soldiers, though, was someone important.

The man to that man's right asked, "Piper Hecht?"

"Yes."

"Religion?"

"Yes."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes. I'm religious."

"What religion?"

"Why?"

The man Else suspected of being in control said, "Stop that. Sit down, Hecht. Answer the questions put to you."

"Why?"

A flicker of anger. Nobody else had been difficult.

His left wrist began to itch. He scratched. His fingertips tripped over the invisible amulet, which had begun to get warm.

Sorcery. Of course.

Else said, "I don't understand why you would expect me to cooperate. Why would I help my employer's enemies?"

The man farthest to Else's left said, "Tell us about your life before you joined the force the Patriarch sent to rescue the Bishop of Antieux."

Else suppressed an urge to remain argumentative. Maybe he was not supposed to be able. Maybe that was the nature of the sorcery at work here.

Else spoke vaguely of growing up in Duarnenia, a minor crusader principality on the southeastern coast of the Shallow Sea, on a small estate near Tusnet, well inland, just inside the marches where Chaldarean crusaders of the Grail Order remained constantly at war with the Sheard heathen of the Grand Marshes. He mentioned running away at fifteen, banging around from one minor employer to another, drifting southward. He offered no specifics. Mercenaries seldom did.

He included more detail about his service since joining the Brotherhood-sponsored force. The four probably knew all that already.

The man in charge told the others, "Step outside, please. I want to talk to this one alone."

The room cleared so quickly Else suspected that it must have been planned.

He kept his baffled face on. Just another dumb soldier, he had no clue. Though that would not work for long. His own men tried it on him, regularly, with limited success.

The man who stayed behind considered Else. Else studied the man back. This must be Ferris Renfrew. No one else would fit in just here, just now, would they?

He was about fifty, looked more Firaldian than northern. He had all of his hair. That was black, lightly salted with gray. It had no luster left, though. His eyes were small, brown, squinted, permanently suspicious. His lips were frozen into a pout, suggesting that he thought everyone was lying to him all the time. His nose was completely unremarkable. His chin was strong. His face was rectangular and weathered. He had excellent teeth, which was uncommon in Chaldarean lands.

“Tell me what happened in the Knot. The night your company fell foul of the bogon."

"Sir? The what?"

"The attack. By the night monster. The thing is called a bogon."

"There isn't anything to tell. We survived.”

"You saved the band."

Else shrugged. "That was Principatл Doneto. All I did was, I had a nightmare. It woke me up. It felt like something bad was happening so I woke the Principatл. That's all I did. He belongs to the Collegium. After that I was tied up with bad stomach cramps. He took care of the monster."

"This wasn't your first time, though. Did it go the same at Esther's Wood? And Runch?"

Shaken, Else managed better than he expected. And even tucked away a curiosity about the mention of Runch. No bogon manifested there. He did not reply.

Renfrow said, "There's a connecting thread. I don't know what, yet, but the more recent attacks must have followed because the first one failed."

"Huh?"

"I know who you are, Captain Tage. I've been waiting for you for months. You haven't done anything you were expected to do. That ruction in Sonsa, that was a masterpiece."

"Sir, you've lost me completely. You're not making any sense." Else suspected, though, that the man was not just fishing. "Who are you, sir?"

The inquisitor shook his head.

Osa Stile. That little bastard had not been able to keep his mouth shut.

Renfrow must be the man Pinkus Ghort remembered from somewhere else.

"It's possible you may not know what's going on. If I was to send you into enemy territory I wouldn't tell you everything. I'd let the touchiest parts wait till you'd survived making all your contacts."

This felt more dangerous by the minute.