By the time Hadrian and Royce returned to the Turquoise Turtle, it was getting dark. Everyone else had eaten, the fire was out, and Auberon was gone. Gwen had saved plates for the two of them, which they ate outside at the little table beneath the lemon tree. Gwen had set aside a dish for Baxter, too. Constantly shadowing Royce, the man was always present, but Hadrian had never seen him eat or sleep. Hadrian wasn't certain how he did it. To Royce, Baxter was an annoyance; to most of the others, he was an intruder. Only Gwen saw a man forced to do an unpleasant job, and she took pity on him. When she handed him the plate, Baxter looked surprised but took it and ate by himself on the other side of the yard.

The fish was once again amazing, and Royce and Hadrian ate by Gwen's side as the tranquility of night gathered around them.

"Albert says he can get us on a ship leaving tomorrow." Gwen told them. "Nothing fancy, of course. We won't have a room, or even beds. To hear him talk, we'll be stuffed like sacks of grain into a darkened hold and trapped there for a week. Personally, I can't wait. I've never been on a ship before."

She smiled with such bright eyes and contagious cheerfulness that for a moment Hadrian believed her.

She's a great liar, he thought, and he wondered if this ability to make a person feel good about any situation was a skill of her trade.

"We're not leaving," Royce said without looking up.

"We aren't?"

"Not yet."

"Did you find a way in?"

Royce shook his head. "Not yet."

Gwen stared at him, puzzled. "But I — we — can't afford to stay. I've been to the market. The prices here are insane. That bag of ground peas I got for Hadrian cost a whole silver. A silver for a bag of nuts is nuts. I won't tell you what the fish cost. I wouldn't have bought a thing if Albert hadn't been with me. He said the reason the prices are so high is because of all the rich turists — people who don't care about the price or even bother to look. He explained that the money goes to people who need it more than the likes of Lord Byron, and that buying things help the local residents."

Hadrian already knew Albert was an excellent liar because it was the primary skill of his trade, but the viscount's talents never failed to impress him.

"I do have a few coins," Gwen told them. "But —"

"Money is not a problem," Royce said.

"Is Lord Byron hiring you back?"

"I doubt Lord Byron will even talk to us — or Albert, for that matter," Hadrian said.

"Then how —"

"I negotiated a new contract with his boss." Royce wiped up the last of the sauce with his index finger.

"So, we have money again?"

Hadrian chuckled, leaving Gwen confused.

Having sucked the last of his meal off his finger, Royce produced a small gold key with a diamond in the grip and held it out to her.

"What's this?" she asked as he placed it in her palm.

"That is a key to the city." Royce pointed at the ghost. "He has one, too. Possessing it means you're working directly for Cornelius DeLur. Show this to any shopkeeper, produce vendor, Yellow Jacket, city administrator — anyone in Tur Del Fur, really — and you'll get what you want. All doors will open for you."

Gwen stared at the thing, looking half amazed, half terrified. "And he gave this to you?"

"Scary, isn't it?" Hadrian said, cleaning his own plate.

Gwen nodded. "I don't think I want to hold this anymore."

"Sorry, but you're the official key bearer," Royce told her.

"Why me?"

"Because there's no one I trust more with unlimited money and power."

"What if I lose it?"

"Don't do that," Royce said. "In fact, tomorrow, first thing, go out and buy a nice necklace to put this on, wear it on the outside of your clothes, and never take it off."

"On the outside? Won't someone try to steal it? There's a diamond in it. And this looks like real gold."

"Oh, it is real gold and a real diamond, believe me, but no one will steal it." Royce said this as if the very idea was absurd. Then, seeing the confusion on her face, he added, "Anyone carrying one of these in this city is as untouchable as an Imperial princess. Harming a key holder is tantamount to suicide." Royce pointed at Baxter. "In fact, I would have slit his throat days ago, if not for that."

"You're trying to keep me safe, then?" Gwen asked.

"You also do most of the shopping."

"I'm not sure Auberon will honor the key," Hadrian pointed out.

Royce considered this, then nodded. "You're probably right. We may still have to find a new place, after all."

"I'll talk to him in the morning," Gwen offered. "He can't have anyone else scheduled to stay here, and if this key works the way you say, I could pay him in trade. Maybe he needs paint for his boat or a net for fishing. Do you think I could buy those things with this?"

Again, Hadrian laughed. "You could buy The Blue Parrot with that."

Gwen looked down at the key, once more appearing terrified.

"Good," Royce said. "Now, where is Arcadius?"

They found the professor inside. The old man was on the main floor but tucked within the infrequently used niche near the stairs. He sat on a big yellow cushion directly across from Albert. Between the two was the little table, the one with the strange design on the surface. Like much of the furniture, it was part of the house, carved right out of the floor, standing on a single pedestal leg. Hadrian always wondered what the thing was meant to be used for. The table was too small for a desk and too tucked away for meals. The complexity of the design on the surface was the real mystery. It didn't look like a decoration, as it didn't extend across the surface but took up a small area in the center. The image was composed of twenty squares in an irregular pattern, and within the squares were smaller, more decorative designs. Both men stared at the table intently while Rehn, who sat cross-legged on the floor, had no trouble seeing the action on the dwarf-high table, and he watched with great anticipation.

"What's going on?" Royce asked.

"We're playing a game," Arcadius explained as he stroked his beard thoughtfully.

Hadrian noticed there were four little black pyramids on the table along with fourteen stones — seven of one color and seven of another. Albert moved one of the dark stones three spaces along the rectangular design. He grinned at the professor, who appeared displeased.

"Oh, that's a problem," Rehn said in a decidedly Pickles-like voice, and Hadrian wondered if excitement caused his mother's accent to escape.

Arcadius provided commentary to the newcomers as he scooped up the four little pyramids. "Despite being the youngest one here, Rehn is the reigning champion. Of course, it helps that he grew up playing this."

"It is a very old game," Rehn said. "I think perhaps it is the oldest. My mother taught me how to play when I was just a child. She brought it with her from the Old Country, and she said it was ancient."

The professor dropped the pyramids on the table, which rattled with a small sound.

"Two!" Rehn shouted with delight.

Arcadius moved one of the light-colored stones up two squares onto one with a flower design. "I toss again, correct?"

"You do," Rehn confirmed, his voice serious.

The professor gathered up and dropped the pyramids once more. Both Rehn and Arcadius shouted in delight, then Arcadius removed one of Albert's dark stones from the play area, replacing it with his own.

Albert slumped down on his cushion, and looking up at them said, "I think he cheats."

"Actually, cheating is allowed," Rehn said, "if you can get away with it. But in truth, the professor is not in need of cheating."

"I need to speak to the two of you," Royce said, indicating the professor and Rehn.

"That's fine," Albert declared. "All I do is lose."

Arcadius struggled to climb off the big yellow cushion, which was no easy feat for an old man. He returned to the more conventional bench, where Rehn took a seat beside him. "What can we do for you, Royce?"

"I need to know who Falkirk de Roche is, or was, and what's so important about his diary."

Arcadius nodded, puckering his lips as he did. "I see, and may I ask why?"

"Because when Gravis Berling locked himself inside Drumindor, he wasn't alone. Cornelius said it's been reported that a pale, red-haired man in a hooded cloak went with him."

"The one who took the book?" Rehn asked and looked at Hadrian.

He nodded. "That's what we suspect."

"And this same guy claims to be Falkirk de Roche," Royce added. "He's teamed up with Gravis who, according to Auberon, intends to use the volcano to erase this entire city in a pretty spectacular act of revenge."

"That sounds almost like praise," Arcadius said disapprovingly.

"If it wasn't also suicide, I'd consider it genius. Point is, to stop Gravis, I need to know what I'm up against. So why are the two of them together?"

Arcadius spread his hands in a show of surrender. "I honestly have no idea."

Royce looked at Rehn, who also shook his head.

"All right then." Royce dragged over a little stool and sat down facing Rehn. "At least explain why you stole the book from the courier."

Rehn looked uneasy seated so close to Royce, who was making no attempt to appear friendly.

Rehn shrugged. "Because I thought the professor would like to see it."

"Why?"

"I'm the lore master at Sheridan University, Royce," Arcadius said. "I'm always interested in old books, particularly when they are surrounded by mystery. The book you fetched for me from the Crown Tower was just such a tome. This one is equally interesting."

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Why?"

"Its age for one, but mostly due to the turmoil and interest that surrounds it. As far as I have been able to discover, the book was stolen from a seret sentinel named Garrick Gervaise by a thief posing as a monk."

"Why'd he take it?"

"He was working with another fellow who made a living out of digging up and selling old artifacts. I believe his name is Bernie DeFoe."

Royce tapped his chin. "There was a Bernie DeFoe in the Black Diamond. He was what we call a digger — a tomb raider. He had his own team, but he worked mostly out east in Vilan Hills. Got some good stuff, I heard. The Jewel, that's Cornelius's son Cosmos, never thought highly of the endeavor. Results took too much time, cost too much money, and rarely turned a profit. Cosmos was going to shut Bernie's operation down, but the digger was obsessed, and he wouldn't stop. That drove a wedge between him and the BD. So he broke ranks. I never heard what happened to him. I always thought he was dead, but it looks like he's still digging and thieving."

Royce stood up but continued to peer down at Arcadius. "So that's it? You wanted this book because it was old and because a digger wanted it?"

"There's more," Arcadius said. "Bernie's partner, the one who actually took the book from Gervaise, was a fellow by the name of Virgil Puck."

"Really?" Hadrian said. "Royce and I knew a poet named Virgil Puck. Well, that's a bit of an overstatement. We were hired to haul him in on charges of unlawful carnal knowledge of Bliss Hildebrandt. He was murdered before we could." He turned to look up at his partner. "You think it could be the same guy?"

"Given he told us he knew Lady Martel and had read her diary — yes."

"If he read the book, wouldn't he have been cursed too?"

"He certainly wasn't having the time of his life when he was with us, and then he was killed by the king's men for reasons that were never clear. If he wasn't cursed, he certainly wasn't blessed."

"When I found Rehn, it seemed everything was trying to kill him. So, if Puck was cursed, I'm just surprised we didn't want to kill him, too."

"Technically, I did," Royce said. "You were the one against it."

"True." Hadrian nodded. "Okay, so Gervaise's book was stolen by Virgil, who was working with Bernie. But how did Lady Martel get it?"

"My guess is that Bernie and Virgil were using her," Royce said. "You steal from a sentinel and it's like hitting a beehive with a short stick. They'll come after you, and you don't want to get caught with the goods. So, you hand it off to an unsuspecting innocent and pick it up later."

"But before Virgil could retrieve it," Hadrian ran with the thought, "we stole it from her and gave it to Lady Constance. So how did Rehn get it?"

Royce began to pace. "Cornelius told me that the Black Diamond had the diary for the last two years. I suspect Cosmos DeLur was angry about Bernie and Virgil stirring up trouble without permission. When he found out the stolen merchandise was in Medford, he decided to teach the pair a lesson — a fatal one in Puck's case. But seeing it was in Medford, Cosmos didn't want to start a turf war with the Crimson Hand, so instead of sending one of his men to get it, he hired Lady Constance, who contracted us. According to Cornelius, the church began to suspect Cosmos had the diary and that's when he decided to move it down here, out of their reach. That's when Rehn intercepted the courier." Royce stopped pacing and turned to face the young man. "I'm guessing you killed him?"

Rehn didn't answer, but looked sick, causing Arcadius to lower and shake his head.

"It wasn't like that," Rehn said.

"Not like what?" Royce asked.

"Not like I laid a trap and murdered the man." Rehn clutched his elbows and bit his lip, then he began to rock his head. "Okay, so . . . I did lay a trap, but I didn't murder him." He looked at the floor. "I only killed the man."

Royce looked perplexed. He turned to Hadrian. "You speak Bothered Conscience, don't you? What's he saying?"

"I think he means he never intended to kill the courier, but something happened?"

Rehn nodded enthusiastically. "I only meant to rob him. My plan was simple. I was going to bang him on the head and take the book. But the courier was traveling on horseback, and I had no horse. I knew he was riding down the West Echo Road and would go right by the Tiliner cutoff. There is a signpost there — two, in fact. They stand opposite one another. I got a length of rope, and I tied it across the road between the two posts. I knew he would be on top of a horse, so I shimmied up and tied it high on the poles as I didn't want to catch the horse. I would be so very upset if I hurt an innocent animal, you understand. Then he came. I didn't expect him to be in such a hurry. He was riding very fast, and as it turned out, the rope was a little too high." Rehn grimaced. "The man's head was almost entirely severed by the rope. Would have been if the rope hadn't snapped." Rehn put his face in his hands. "I never meant to kill him."

"But you got the book?"

Rehn nodded, his face still covered by his hands.

"You're lucky he died. Had you tried to bang him on the head, there's a very good chance he would have killed you."

Rehn didn't seem to hear Royce. He was still shaking his head in remorse. "Then everyone began looking for the book and for me. I sent word to the professor, begging for help."

Royce narrowed his eyes and turned to Arcadius. "I thought your random visit to The Rose and Thorn was a bit too well-timed. We don't see or hear from you for years, and then you pop up just as this holiday-of-a-job arrives."

Royce then focused on Albert, who was still at the little table, fussing over the tiny stones. "For your own sake, tell me you didn't receive this job from the old man here and then pretend he had nothing to do with it."

Albert held up his hands. "I was approached by Lady Constance. Or rather, she sent me the job proposal because she was already down here."

Royce turned back and peered at Arcadius.

"As you so frequently point out, I'm an old man," the professor said. "Rehn needed help, and I needed a ride. I also was concerned that there might be violence. I have no sons to call on. All I had was the two of you." Arcadius sighed. "I'm sorry for the deception, but I had hoped to preserve the lie I told you about Pickles, and spare Hadrian the pain of a reopened wound. But as it happened, none of my plans worked."

"Oh no, professor," Rehn objected, "you saved my life. If Master Hadrian hadn't found me when he did, I would have certainly died."

Hadrian said, "But at least now that we gave the book back, no one else should suffer."

Arcadius sighed, "And whatever information the book contained is forever lost. I so wanted to read it. It would have been fascinating."

"Right up until the nightmares make it impossible to sleep," Rehn said. "And everything you do fails, and each day your life gets worse and worse."

"I thought you told me you couldn't read," Hadrian said.

Rehn shrugged. "That was Pickles."

"Right." Hadrian frowned. "Did you read the whole thing?"

Rehn nodded. "It was taking the professor a long time to arrive, and I was bored."

"What was in the book?" Royce asked. "Was it a diary?"

"It certainly started that way. All of it was handwritten with beautiful penmanship, but from what I could tell, it was the diary of a man named Falkirk who was leaving on a trip with two other men. So it was sort of a travel journal, I suppose. The other two men who went on the journey were significant, at least Falkirk thought so. One was a great artist named Dibben, the other a fellow named Bran, who Falkirk held in very high esteem. At least at first."

"What happened?" Arcadius asked, now just as interested as everyone else.

"They traveled together to a tower called Avempartha — an elven tower. Bran was looking for something — a book, I think. They didn't find it, and the general conclusion was that the book went over a waterfall. They had lingered too long at the tower and winter was upon them. On the way home, however, the three were beset by a terrible snowstorm. Dibben kept them alive, somehow, but the situation was dire. They were out of food, and Dibben was getting tired of whatever he was doing. Then they came to an old fortress on the sea. In the dark of night, as the storm grew into a blizzard, they sought refuge.

"Falkirk described the castle as dark and unsettling. The whole of the place, he said, was ancient beyond belief, but their host was a young woman so beautiful Falkirk lacked the words to describe her. Whenever he wrote about Lady Mileva, he sounded like a lovesick boy. Also, there were two other visitors from afar. One was a young but despondent fellow who Falkirk described as a Fhrey."

"A what?" Royce asked.

"That's an ancient term for an elf," Arcadius explained.

Rehn paused a moment to make certain they were done, then went on. "This young Fhrey fellow had a companion named Trilos, who was described as most mysterious. All that was said about him was how he disagreed with Bran about the fate of the book they all searched for, which spoke of such things as the Great Cauldron, the Dark Fork, the Five Thousand Stairs, the Great Gate at Rol Berg, the Hall of Glass, and something called Death by Steps."

"The Great Gate at Rol Berg is the entrance to the ancient city of Neith." Arcadius said this more to himself than to them.

"See, you know about these things," Rehn said. "This diary was important, wasn't it?"

"I don't know," Arcadius said. "The church certainly appeared to think so. They were clearly using those directions in their dig."

"So, the diary is a treasure map?" Hadrian asked.

"In some sense, yes, but not one leading to gold and silver, I don't think. Was there anything more about this book the three sought, the one said to be in Neith?"

Rehn shook his head. "Not that I remember. Falkirk wrote about it casually, as if anyone reading his journal would already know."

"I see. Well, that's a disappointment," the professor said. "Go on."

"Falkirk described how the three were trapped by deep snows and bitter winds for weeks, and how in that time Falkirk fell in love with their hostess. She appeared equally smitten by him. That's when the diary begins to change."

"Change how?" the professor asked.

"The penmanship got worse, the entries shorter and more infrequent, and the topics grew strange. Falkirk wrote about secrets that Mileva was showing him, and how she was older than she looked. His obsession with her grew, and there were hints that he and she had entered into a bargain of some sort. Then the diary lost most of its what I did today format. He began writing strange gibberish like: she has shown me the way, and I will live forever now, and these pages will be my pile of bones, and I can't do it . . . he is my friend. At times, it seemed like he was arguing with himself.

"Then there were several pages of symbols and gibberish, and then a series of names that were written in a different color ink. On these pages were strange symbols that were not drawn but seared into the page. After that, there was a final horrible passage that has been burned into my mind word for word. It said: If you read this, you will be cursed with ever-increasing and unrelenting misfortune until you return this book to me at the temple. That is where I am trapped, and you must move my body outside the ring of the horrible prison where Dibben ensnared me. Do this and not only will the curse end, but I will bestow upon you the gift of eternal life."

Rehn shuddered. "It might seem silly to you now, but in that little hovel all alone in the dead of night, those words terrified me." He took a breath and wrung his hands. "I can't explain it, but I knew it was true, as if the words reached out from that page and grabbed me by the throat."

"I think they terrified Lady Martel, too," Hadrian said.

Royce looked up and nodded. "That's what she and her dog, Mister Hipple, were doing in Rochelle. She must have been looking for Falkirk's tomb. Somehow, she knew he'd been buried there. But his temple wasn't very easy to find."

"What happened to this woman?" Rehn asked.

"Not sure," Hadrian said. "We found her dog curled up on a fresh grave in a pauper's cemetery. We kind of thought it might be Lady Martel's because we couldn't think of any way her little dog could have ended up there."

"Lady Martel went missing a little over a year ago," Albert confirmed. "No one knows what happened to her. One of the great noble mysteries, really, and a popular topic of speculation."

"So all the pieces have fallen into place except the one we need the most." Royce resumed pacing. "What does any of this have to do with Gravis? He and Falkirk are in this together now, literally. They are both inside Drumindor, but why?" Royce's sight settled on Arcadius. "Is there anything from your study in lore that can help?"

Arcadius sat back and stroked his beard once more. Apparently, he'd given up on trying to clean his glasses in favor of this new obsession. "All I know is that Dibben was the founder of the chief monastery for the Monks of Maribor, which is still located north of Vernes, and that Bran is a nearly mythical religious figure."

Hadrian raised his hand. "I actually know about him. Learned all about the guy in Dulgath. Bran was the protégé of Brin, some legendary hero who did all kinds of crazy stuff that Bran later wrote about. He was also the founder of the Brotherhood of Maribor."

"That's right." Arcadius pointed a finger at him. "I am impressed. Very good, Hadrian. Now where was I? Oh yes — Falkirk. Let's see, Falkirk de Roche was an early, first-century member of the Monks of Maribor. We know this because of inscriptions on the first-century temple in Alburn."

"I know that place, too," Hadrian said. "Royce and I both do."

The professor peered at him. "Indeed. From what I heard, the two of you burned the place to the ground."

"Had to," Royce said. "Villar was . . . " Royce stopped and stared at the wall.

Hadrian looked at the same space and saw nothing.

They all waited while Royce blinked a few times.

"When he does this," Hadrian filled the silence, "I can never tell if he's thinking or hearing something."

"Thinking," Royce replied. "Remembering to be exact. The duchess said they pulled two bodies out of the temple. One was Villar, the other Falkirk de Roche." Royce lifted his hand and shook a finger in the air. "And in Kruger, Falkirk thanked me for freeing him from his eternal prison."

"You spoke to Falkirk de Roche?" Arcadius asked.

"Spoke to him once, killed him twice; didn't take either time. But if that wasn't his tomb, if he wasn't even dead, and if cutting his head off didn't kill him, I suppose the man could survive several centuries and a fire, right?"

"I will live forever now," Rehn quoted eerily from the diary.

"The temple was on sacred ground, remember?" Hadrian said. "Maybe that has something to do with it?"

"That's right. What do we know about immortal beings who can be trapped on sacred ground and have a thing for books?"

Arcadius frowned. "There are a lot of legends, Royce. The Manes are the dead that eschew the afterlife in order to return and haunt the living. And there is the story about Kile and the White Feather: a god who supposedly wanders Elan in the guise of a man, but nothing like . . . well, now that I think about it . . . " The professor tapped his lips. "There is the legend of Rowfinn."

"What's that?"

"An old wives' tale about a witch named Rowfinn, who lived in a forbidden forest and killed anyone who entered. She is said to have slept on a pile of human bones out in front of her cave. The pile supposedly granted this witch eternal life, but she had to add to its pile once a month and couldn't sleep again until she did so. But there's nothing in the story about a book. Indeed, the most notable thing about that story is that Rowfinn ate all her victims, and for no reason ever explained, she began her feasts by eating the victims' faces."

"Sounds like the Morgan," Hadrian said.

"The Morgan? You mean the ghost of Glenmorgan the Third?"

Hadrian nodded. "Heard about him in Rochelle."

"That is what we in the trade call the Myth of Guilt. The man was murdered by greedy, power-hungry cowards, and their guilt created this irrational fear that their crime would come back to haunt them."

"It's just strange because they say the Morgan also eats its victims' face first."

"And the Morgan legend comes from Rochelle," Royce said. "Where Falkirk was trapped."

"So, maybe there is a kernel of truth in all of this?" Arcadius pondered.

"Fun as all this is, it doesn't help stop Gravis," Royce said. "And we no longer have the luxury of time. This job has a deadline, and right now I don't have the slightest idea how to go about getting inside Drumindor, and if I did, I wouldn't know how to stop the volcano from blowing up."

Gwen entered carrying their cleaned plates. "You'll figure it out, Royce," she said. "I know you will."

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