The Vampire & Her Witch

Baron Tybal Aleese looked distinctly uncomfortable as the acolyte recounted the story about a knight conspiring with demons.

For all that Percivus claimed that Sir Nurin had been stealing from him by giving tithes to the demons, the truth was far more complicated than that. By refusing to fight, Sir Nurin suffered no losses. He never missed a tithe that he owed, and in fact, Tybal had praised the ’heretical’ knight on several occasions for ensuring that the ranches and farms of his village were among the most prosperous in the barony.

Of course, he hadn’t known how Nurin had obtained that prosperity. By the time he knew, it was far too late to do anything about it. Percivus had delivered the burned bodies of Sir Nurin, his wife, and their young son directly to Baron Aleese, hoping he would ’display them’ before the Aleese Court to send a message that conspiring with demons wouldn’t be tolerated.

Worse, the Inquisitor had implied that if Tybal refused to put up a morbid display of his vassal’s charred remains, the Inquisition would have to ’investigate’ the possibility that others were aware of Nurin’s heresy. And not just aware, but complicit in it and perhaps even engaged in similar actions of their own.

It had taken a generous ’donation’ of some of his barony’s finest horses before the Abbot called off his hounds and left Aleese in peace. Tybal thought he’d finally managed to put the entire sordid affair behind him, but here it was again, rearing its ugly head like an undying demon.

While Tybal stewed in his memories and fretted about what would come of this ’revelation’, Diarmuid had already moved to a second acolyte. This one was older than the first, with a patchy beard and hands that trembled from more than just exhaustion. The questions the Inquisitor asked were similar, and the answers echoed what the first boy had said: thoroughness, patience, pride in their sacred duty.

”He told us to write everything down,” the second acolyte offered. ”Every detail, no matter how small. He said that the secrets you discover may bear greater fruit one day, even if you don’t understand their importance the moment you discover them. He had dozens of notebooks and he said that they were sharper than swords and tougher than armor in the fight against blasphemy.”

A few of the barons shifted uncomfortably at that. At the High Table, Baron Telent Rundel looked distinctly uncomfortable, as if he knew something about the notebooks kept by the fallen Inquisitor and the sorts of things they contained. Baron Serle Otker wore an even more anxious expression and he gulped at his goblet of wine in a futile effort to relieve the discomfort of a mouth that had gone dry.

Diarmuid thanked the second acolyte and moved to a third, a boy who looked barely older than the first but who flinched visibly when Diarmuid crouched beside him.

”The lessons sound innocent enough,” Diarmuid said, keeping his voice gentle as if he were speaking to a frightened animal. ”Thoroughness. Patience. Attention to detail. These are the qualities any Inquisitor should possess,” he said, eliciting a nod of agreement from the young man.

”But I’d like to ask about Percivus’s methods,” Diarmuid said. ”I understand the ideals he imparted, but I don’t know what he taught you to do. What methods did he use? How did he uncover the secrets he was so careful to write down?”

The third acolyte’s eyes went wide at the question, and his face drained of all color as he recalled the ’lessons’ he received from Inquisitor Percivus in the abbey.

”I couldn’t watch,” the boy whispered, shaking his head from side to side. ”I got sick. Just being in the room with him was... I couldn’t...”

He trailed off, and his eyes dropped to the floor.

A murmur stirred at the High Table. Several of the baronesses exchanged glances. Mairwen Dunn’s expression had hardened into something cold and resolute, while Betrys Leufroy pressed a hand over her mouth. Lady Ragna, however, looked directly at Lady Jocelynn, taking in the young woman’s pale face and haunted eyes.

They’d all heard the rumors. Things passed from the dungeon’s guardsmen to household servants that filtered up to the visiting noblemen. Those rumors had felt like twisted exaggerations, too cruel to be true, but if even the Inquisition’s own acolytes were sickened by Percivus’s actions... Perhaps there was more truth to the rumors than she’d been willing to believe.

Before Diarmuid could press further, a voice spoke from among the older Inquisitors.

”Percivus was a master of his craft.”

The man who spoke was not an acolyte. He was one of the full Inquisitors, older and harder than the boys Diarmuid had been questioning, with a crooked nose that had been broken more than once and the weathered skin of a man who had spent years on the frontier. He sat upright among the captives even though his wrists were bound, and he spoke with a quiet conviction that silenced the murmurs.

”He understood something that most Inquisitors never learn,” the man continued. ”That a man’s truest self lies beneath the masks he wears in day-to-day life.”

”Masks?” Diarmuid asked, standing up to face his captive peer directly. ”What do you mean, masks?”

”We all wear masks,” the Inquisitor said, looking at the lords and ladies seated at the High Table as if they were somehow beneath him despite his current situation. ”Loving husband. Doting father. Faithful wife. Caring mother. Just lord,” he said, sweeping his gaze across the High Table to see if any of them reacted to the ’masks’ he described.

”A man changes his mask every time he steps from one room to another,” the Inquisitor continued. ”But beneath his titles, his name, and his position lies the real man, the one you have to reveal in order to find the truth.”

”Percivus didn’t need the lash or the brand to find the truth,” the Inquisitor concluded. ”He used a man’s own desires against him as a lever to pry off the mask. He was very good at it.”

”What do you mean?” Diarmuid asked. ”How did he use a man’s own desires against him? Are you saying that he bribed men to extort confessions? Was he promising some kind of reward to exploit a person’s failings, or was it something else?”

”No, not like that,” the Inquisitor answered. ”Any confession you buy with gold is tainted by it. At times it must be done, but Percivus would never accept anything so flawed,” he said respectfully. ”Instead, he worked on a man’s more fundamental needs: food, warmth, comfort. Family sometimes. He stripped away the masks, one by one, until nothing was left but the person and the truth.”

”And you admired this?” Diarmuid asked, his voice carefully neutral.

”I respected it,” the Inquisitor said. ”His results took longer than the methods most men would use, but it’s hard to argue that they weren’t superior. The confessions he obtained were genuine. The secrets he uncovered were real. No man recants a confession that was given freely, after all.”

”Freely,” Diarmuid repeated, suppressing a snort at the abuse of the word.

Aubin’s gnarled hands had tightened into fists, hidden by the voluminous sleeves of his robes. The gentle warmth in his brown eyes had cooled to something sharper, and his gaze was fixed not on the Inquisitor who was speaking but on the Abbot lying a few paces away.

”It sounds like Percivus was exceptional among the Inquisitors of your abbey, and you all admire him for how he did his ’work.’ Tell me,” Diarmuid said, turning back to the older Inquisitor. ”Who trained Percivus in these methods? Or were these methods his own invention?”

”Abbot Recared trained him,” a second Inquisitor said. He was younger than the first, though his face looked more worn than it had when he entered the Great Hall an hour ago. ”He wasn’t the abbot back then, but he took Percivus in during the War of Inches and raised him up as his protege.”

”Percivus was supposed to be the next Abbot, after Recared,” the young Inquisitor added helpfully. ”No one said it, but we all knew. Abbot Recared didn’t just hone Percivus into the best example of what an Inquisitor could be... He prepared him as his successor.”