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“We have a task for you,” said the Angel.

The consternation this aroused in me, as you may expect, gentle Reader, given your knowledge of my individual history and situation, was near enough to overwhelm; nonetheless I held firm, and, mastering my discomfort, though it was a mighty struggle indeed, answered in kind.

But I forget myself; I must first establish the particular circumstances that led me to this startling turn of events. They are of a singularly peculiar nature; I daresay that by the end of this tale, these happenings, which I recollect with the utmost awe and reverence, shall be deemed most extraordinary, certainly memorable and worthy of your esteemed consideration.

After the Battle at the Hotel—which events I need not relay to you, for they are by now well known and a matter of much discussion and import, doubtless to become a lodestone of both History and Legend—I found myself in a state at once sublime, near blissful, yet also oddly discomfited.

As you are similarly aware of precisely Where I suddenly, and against all expectation, came to be, I shall not dwell upon it; rather I wish to emphasize that my senses were at the time quite overwhelmed, and it was all I could do to remain standing upright. The shock I received, having greeted Death on the field of battle as a comrade, and just as swiftly departed that worthy personage’s company, only to find myself thereafter surrounded by the wondrous and strange sights and sounds of the Higher realm, left me quite dispossessed.

Despite my hardy and resilient constitution, and my ever-industrious and clever Nature, I remain at my innermost essence no more than a Man; and as the events surrounding the Battle were fraught with the most heightened emotion and severe demands upon one’s courage, it is natural that I neared the utmost limits of my endurance. I therefore stood quite mute, and I am certain to all appearances entirely bereft of sense and use, before an assembled company of Angels.

I was then given a small reprieve. The Angels, into whose company I was thrust without warning or preparation, were, and are, not of a cruel nor capricious nature. Rather, it is to say that they are inclined to meticulous reasoning, steadiness and steadfastness of both mind and heart, and good Order above all things. Therefore my arrival was in the first place, awfully and dreadfully disruptive. To say that I was the cause and locus of much consternation and unrest would be a dire understatement. For what, in this Realm of perfection, unquestioning and unquestioned Good, can be done about (or yet for) a prodigal Sinner?

What, indeed.

I know not how many days I remained in the care of these Beings and their companions, the fortunate and blessed sons and daughters of humanity, who have passed from the tribulations of mortal existence to their new and everlasting reward in the Celestial precincts. These kindly souls, while certainly not lacking in curiosity and inquisitiveness toward this bizarre recent addition to their ranks, welcomed me with as much hospitality and comfort as any such as I could have any right to desire or expect. So I was neither alone, nor outcast, but gently and honorably, if somewhat cautiously, received.

After some indeterminate time spent, as I recollect above, recovering my wits and gaining my bearings, I was deemed well suited to take part in further investigations. I thus was obliged to convene, and pass a good deal of time in conversation with several personages of varying degrees of import and influence. To say that I went along with these interviews with an affable mien and good cheer, desiring only to make my Hosts feel more comfort than distress in my presence, would not be untrue; only that I was then, and may be even now, grappling with all that had happened, and all that had yet to happen. I was keenly aware of the precariousness of my position; and since it was, for all anyone in that space of power and cosmic Wisdom could tell, entirely unprecedented, with no example to guide the way, I must confess to a persistent anxiety and disturbance of spirit.

It is in this fragile state that we return to the Angel, and her pronouncement upon me.

As is generally known from my personal history, owing to the publicized nature of my interviews in Heaven as well as my honestly-earned notoriety in Hell, I am no stranger to Missions of a complex and subtle kind. Through many hours of discussion and deliberation amongst the Angels, precious little of which I was privy to, it was decided that, in order to both facilitate and confirm the seeming condition of my Salvation, I was to perform a certain Task on behalf of the Heavenly Powers.

The account that follows represents my best attempt to relay the events of this undertaking. I hope that you shall find them, dear Reader, by turns elucidating, wondrous, infuriating, or perhaps even inspiring. Regardless, they are above all truthful; and thus I relate to you the story of how one Sir Pentious, formerly of Hell, lately of Heaven, performed a service at the behest of an Angel, for the uncertain benefit of a particular damned and unsuspecting Soul.

For now that all is said and done, I leave all remaining judgement and discernment to you alone.

What happened next, I relate with great difficulty and dismay, for though my long life has yielded numerous diverse and enlightening experiences, the sheer wonder which seized me eludes my powers of description. I shall attempt, with what abilities I have at my disposal, at the least to impart a fraction of what transpired. 

There was a most queer sensation of—I wish to say movement, but I fear that this would fail to capture the profundity of the sudden transition—I daresay the feeling may be most clearly described as a state of suspension in an unfathomable, ineffably vast space. Sound, too—though my pitiful attempts to translate such wondrous perceptions into words will surely fail me. At best I shall compare what fell upon my ears as the chiming of a thousand thousand bells, each tuned to an exquisitely different pitch.

All this took place in no more than the blink of an eye. Suffice it to say that one moment I was there, and then in a span of time no longer than a second-hand’s movement was there; and I opened my eyes to my surroundings.

I found myself standing, quite at ease and unbothered, in the kitchen of a good-sized house. Against one wall stood a large hearth, in which a banked fire smouldered, releasing its smoke through a chimney; the floor was of plain slate, and the ceiling above me bore exposed wooden beams.

Through the single small window, absent of glass but equipped with sturdy wooden shutters, I spied a wedge of close-cropped grass, and beyond that a hint of a cobblestone street, all bathed in the fading light of a fine late summer afternoon. Voices carried from nearby on the breeze assured me that I was not entirely alone in this novel space.

The room was simply furnished and rather plain, if not entirely primitive; the sturdy table and benches appeared well-made, with fine carvings of curling vines and blooming flowers; the large kitchen held a fine assortment of pots, pans, and all manner of implements. Indeed, this was no rough peasant’s hut, but the house of a well-to-do merchant or craftsman; and I soon began to comprehend not only the where, but also the when, of my present situation.

Then a thought occurred to me with a most severe jolt; I hastened in a great fervor to search for a mirror. There was no glass to be found in that chamber, and I was loath to open either of the two doors, lest I encounter another living soul, for my mind had seized upon the simple fact of my appearance. You are surely familiar with my likeness, and to individuals such as you and I it is of no great concern, being largely in the vein of Hell’s common denizens; though doubtless handsome and most elegant, my physiognomy is otherwise unremarkable. I suspected, with no little apprehension, that such a favorable impression may not be shared by the folk of this time and place.

To the mirror, then, with urgency; alas, I quickly came to realize that no such luxury would be found even with my seemingly comfortable means. Nevertheless, a polished pan of copper or tin will do nearly as well as glass, and so seizing a fine piece from above the hearth, with bated breath I beheld my reflection.

Curious, how very curious—! For, in the dim and wanting vantage of copper and fading sunlight, I beheld myself—oh, but myself, indeed, for how peculiar and dazzling was the image that confronted me like a vengeful wraith. Here I was, as I have long been accustomed—though my complexion has of necessity been somewhat altered by my mystifying journey through the realms, the general shape and character of my features remain as they have since I shuffled off the mortal coil. My fierce fangs, my dazzling hood with its myriad hypnotic eyes, even the sleekness of my fine-scaled body—all intact and unchanged.

But—and here is where the reflection seemed—not to lie, but perhaps to prevaricate, in a way most subtle and perplexing—somehow beyond, or beneath, my well-inhabited form, another showed through, as though from within the metal surface, like a figure seen through a two-way mirror in a dimly lit room.

There it was, unmistakable, different, startling, yet intimately familiar, and carrying with it such a bittersweet tide of longing and loss that I let out a stifled cry of dismay.

For there in the copper stood my own self, as I have not been for many, many years; indeed, it was an uncanny likeness of my old body, my living, mortal form.

Trembling, I reached a hand up to touch my own face. The man in the reflection followed suit. Oh, how very strange, strange and disturbing! All was accounted for, as ever it had been: the fine and glowing skin, with only a few lines of distinction to add worldly wisdom—the bright eyes glimmering with intelligence and expression, above a mouth filled with perfectly ordinary, strong teeth—the thick fall of dark hair, always a source of vanity and pride—the unaltered human body, and oh, of course, by all things holy and not, as I chanced to look down upon myself—legs.

How could this be possible! I could scarcely comprehend the mystery, the sheer strangeness of what my eyes attempted in vain to convince my poor overtaxed brain. To all appearances I was at once myself—grand, serpentine, forever touched by both Hell and Heaven—and myself—that is to say, an ordinary, if surpassing in nobility and fineness of feature, living man.

So proceeded in rapid succession, shock after shock; it was with some reluctance that I conceded the strain upon my reserves of composure, and so I abandoned any further effort at understanding my present circumstances, and resolved to retire for the evening posthaste.

On ascending the staircase (during which I endeavored with teeth both sharp and blunt clenched to withstand the sensation of at once slithering in my usual manner and walking in the fashion long-lost to me), I found a simple but well-furnished and comfortable bedchamber. Radiant heat rising upwards from the hearth and the warmth of the day conspired to tempt my weary body and mind to rest. Thus, with a firm effort to quiet my tempestuous thoughts, and resolving devoutly to take my mission in earnest upon the morrow, I climbed into bed, finding it passably clean and wholesome—and was sound asleep the moment I lay myself down.

Morning found me awakened gently by the sounds of an old, solid house: the rafters creaked in a reassuring sort of way, as if to say ‘here we are, another day, as we ever have been’; and through the open window, for I had neglected to close the shutters in the previous day’s exhaustion, came the first rays of the breaking dawn.

For a brief moment, I was entirely at peace. The confusion, perplexity, anxiety, and vexation of the preceding day seemed no more than a brief fancy, or perhaps an opium-dream; my freshly woken mind held none of the discord born of juxtaposing contradictory natures, or even of finding oneself in an utterly foreign place and time.

Alas, this reprieve was not to last. Harsh reality intruded as rudely as a boorish drunk barreling uninvited into a lady’s parlor. I had no means to escape the truth of my situation; and so I fell back upon my bed with a sigh, until I had gathered enough of my prior resolve to see my given task through, for good or ill.

At this juncture I should emphasize that I had very little idea as to what, precisely, had been asked of me, or indeed what objective this mad journey might intend to achieve, for the Angels had not seen fit to enlighten me with their grand plans. Nor had they deigned to answer any of my questions, nor offered much guidance. I was given only a brief imperative: that I should find a certain person, and that this person was to be, in the Angels’ words, saved. From what circumstances or peril, I could only hope to speculate; likewise, this person’s identity was entirely mysterious to me. Frustration loomed eager to consume my reasoning; yet resolve set against despair buoyed my efforts.

This conundrum would form the basis of today’s work. So, with fresh vigor and renewed determination, I rose from my bed and set out to gain what knowledge I could.

Upon rising, I had fully expected to resume those necessary habits which are fundamental to all living creatures on Earth; but realization came swiftly, to my immense relief, that I felt neither hunger, nor thirst, nor any other pressing need. I was still, in truth, a denizen of the afterlife, and therefore might partake in food and drink (and other related essentials to which I shall merely allude in deference to propriety) only if so desired. So it would seem that my presence amongst the living was a mere veneer, my true nature remaining that of one past such base necessities.

Thus one obstacle was removed from my path; for if I was correct in my judgement of the general time and place to which I had been transplanted, food and drink, as well as certain conveniences to which we in the modern age are accustomed, might very well prove scarce or of unsuitable quality. Survival, then, would pose less difficulty than I may have expected while I went about my important business.

If I could, indeed, solve the mystery of what that business may entail.

I noticed more details of my appearance. My true self—that is, my Heavenly form—was attired in the same sharp fashion as when I left that realm. My more mundane self, however, as revealed in that subtle and mysterious duality I glimpsed in my reflection, was clad in a manner I may only describe as archaic.

I perceived that this curious overlay was fast becoming the dominant, and my serpentine form the recessive. But I digress—my ‘new’ body, the effigy of my original appearance with which it seemed I was to perform this mysterious duty, wore a tunic of a surprisingly good blue, over snug hose (how very odd that sensation, as you might imagine!) and a linen shirt and under-clothes. A fine leather belt completed the ensemble. 

With my powers of observation and reasoning refreshed and invigorated by the effect of a good night’s rest and distance from the previous day’s trials, I soon identified the most likely era to which I had been transported: the age we call Medieval, which has been the subject of much scholarly interest in my time.

I fortified myself with this small morsel of deduction—at least as a starting place, for this age spanned numerous centuries. My precise location in space, that is, in which country of the grand sweep of Europe (for I was certain, based upon the style of the house, that I had not left my ancestral continent) remained to be seen.

I made my way downstairs—and stopped short, for I was not alone in the kitchen.

There in the early morning light stood a figure whose aspect, while blurred and overlaid in much the same manner as my own, was unmistakably familiar. Scarcely could I believe the evidence of my own eyes; yet, as he turned toward me, I flung myself upon him with a cry of bewildered joy.

For here, against all logic and belief, was in all solidness and presence one of my beloved Egg Bois, of whom I have been so grievously bereaved.

After some time spent clutching the dear little fellow to my breast, and unashamedly shedding tears of overwhelmed emotion, I gathered my wits enough to take stock.

My new companion—whose name, given upon my urgent pleading, was Henry—carried his own mirage-like human disguise, as I have said. As with mine, his true nature was easily discernible, yet seen as though beneath a barely transparent shroud. 

Heaven—for from where else might such miracles arise?—had made of my simple Egg Boi a stout, homely lad. Aged about sixteen summers, he had a plain, unassuming face, clothes similar to mine in style but of coarser make, and a pleasantly rounded, healthy constitution. 

As I stood marveling, imagine my joy when the back door burst open, and admitted two more identical lads—a company of three Egg Bois! I embraced and cosseted them all, the two new arrivals being called Willem and Aethelstan.

With my composure soon recovered—aided by my sweet lads’ cheerful urging—and my purpose renewed, I set out to explore the house. In addition to the front door facing the street, the central room contained two more doors. One, from whence Willem and Aethelstan had come, led to a larger yard in the back, where a vegetable garden backed onto a narrow lane. 

I ventured to wander a little way down the lane. Two-story buildings much like my own stretched on towards a large square. I did not venture close enough to witness the goings-on there, bustling as it was and myself still over-conscious and out of place. I also spied in the distance, at the top of a hill, the unmistakable shape of a true castle. And so my deductions were at last fully confirmed.

Returning to the house, I passed through the second door. Within lay a most astounding and invigorating sight—a great workroom, furnished with all manner of apparatus the likes of which must be rare and wondrous in this day and age. I admired the large alembic, and felt the heat of a second hearth complete with bellows. Shelves containing neatly labeled reagents, tools, and vessels lined the room, while a large table provided space for measuring, grinding, mixing, and any other needful procedure. Indeed, the alchemist whose work would take place here—which must surely be myself—could want for nothing.

So it would seem that my profession, as it were, involved the creation of alchemical mysteries. Although my first science is and always has been the study of mechanical arts and inventions, I am no stranger to the modern chemist’s methods. Similarly, it would seem my Egg Bois, my youthful ‘apprentices’, possessed a modicum of skill and ability, for as I stood inspecting the workroom, they piled in and set themselves to work at the various tasks laid out.

At this stage, I felt it prudent to withdraw and collect my thoughts. So I returned to the kitchen, boiled a kettle, and, finding a store of suitable herbs, prepared a pot of ‘tea’ and sat down to think.

Here I was, ensconced in the house of a prosperous craftsman and likely merchant, in a likely market town near a castle, during the Middle Ages. What, then, was to be my purpose here?

To find my heretofore unknown target, and once found, to offer salvation, with whatever means I might find at my disposal.

A daunting task, to be sure, and one that stymied my best efforts at investigation; for being so utterly out of place and adrift, I had no means to identify this personage, nor the first inkling of how I might effect anyone’s salvation.

I at once decided that nothing was to be gained by sitting idly by. Always I have been a man of action; if no clear plan existed or could be created, then my powers of improvisation and adaptation must surely carry me forward. So resolved, I set out to explore some of the environs, perhaps to greet some of my fellows, and to establish my place among them.

What adventures that first day in town brought forth!

It was Thursday, the day after and two days before the twice-weekly market, and my fellow artisans were hard at work, labouring along with their apprentices to prepare the next offering of goods. I was to be no exception to this rule, for no sooner had I reached the market square than I was accosted by several townspeople in turn.

“Master Pentious!” (and so I heard my name spoken, though surely here I was known by another; the wonder of my dual appearance must extend to my name, unsuitable as it is to this historical time) called a stout woman. “Will we see you on Saturday? I’m nearly out of your tincture for fleas.”

Startled, I replied with what equanimity I could. “Certainly, Goodwife. Your flocks are in good hands.”

Similar interactions followed apace throughout the day; so I, or rather my mysterious and wondrous alter-ego inserted wholesale into history, was a well-known and respected presence among the folk here. My remedies and concoctions could be found in every baker and brewer’s shop, every family’s kitchen, every farmer’s field. These brief conversations assured my reputation as an uncommonly skillful and indeed all but supernatural master of the alchemist’s art.

I would be remiss if I did not mention, however, the odd manner in which I was recognized. For although my skill was unquestioned and valued by all, I noticed a distinctive wariness in the townsfolk’s attitude towards me. Plainly respected and respectable as I was, nevertheless heads were put together in the shadows as I passed by; and many of those who approached me did so with a certain deference, lest I turn my strange methods from beneficence to malice.

I soon felt grateful that, in this particular segment of the long ages, witches and the persecution thereof were not common; for by the end of the day I was certain that the town’s general opinion was that I must be, if not a witch, then something very similar in kind.

Thus fortified with some small bit of knowledge, I concluded my day’s exploration of the town with a visit to the local alehouse, for my purse was heavy with coin, and although I had no need of nourishment, I felt that food and drink might ease my preoccupied and busy mind.

As the long day turned to dusk, the alehouse soon grew lively and crowded. I found a place at one of the tables, and accepting a mug of ale and a bowl of thick stew from the proprietress, allowed myself an evening’s respite.

It was there, while I basked in the fire’s pleasant heat, replete with good food and ale, drowsy with the day’s exertions, half listening to the daily gossip of the town, that I first heard his name.

“His Lordship’s to pay us a visit on Saturday, ‘s the word from the castle,” a man was saying to his companions. This caused an immediate stir, everyone in earshot quieting down to listen, and so my attention was naturally drawn to the conversation.

“We’d best all be prepared, then. Not a thing out of place,” said another man.

“And not a thing to draw His Lordship’s attention, neither,” added a woman in hushed tones, with a glance over her shoulder.

Another woman, perhaps more in her cups than most present, gave a loud laugh, jarring in the sudden sombreness. “Aye, aye. We all know how we ought to behave. Our gracious Lord” (and here again I perceived that strange rippling, as though the sonorous waves cut the air in a pattern attuned to my ear, and mine alone) “Zestial won’t have any foolishness at all, will he?”

“That’s enough, Meggy!” called the tavern-keeper in a sharp tone. “I won’t have His Lordship maligned under this roof.”

If I had drunk more deeply, I would have sworn my eyes deceived me, for it was most disconcerting to see several people cross themselves, as though someone had dared to name the Devil himself.

Meggy, seemingly unconcerned by the round displeasure of her neighbours, had nevertheless said her peace. Silence reigned a further few moments, and then conversation returned gradually until the nervous tension abated.

I sat back on my bench in shock, my ale forgotten.

Of all the names which I might have overheard, let alone recognized, here was one most unexpected, and in such a striking manner! So here was another Sinner—and not any ordinary Sinner, but an Overlord—and not any Overlord, but none other than Zestial, most mysterious and terrible of all. Surely this must be the target I sought, for what other reason could see our paths collide in such a serendipitous fashion? Now I must turn my mind to action; I would fain prove myself to Heaven and Overlord alike. 

Thus, I pondered all the rest of the evening until I had settled into bed with my Egg Bois and my thoughts.

The next day, I awoke early and set straight to work in my shop. I determined that if I were to confront an Overlord—and such an infamous and beguiling one as Zestial—I must forearm myself with as much preparation as possible, given the bare scraps of knowledge I had at my disposal.

To that end, I went about my work in earnest. To my sincere joy, the Heavenly enchantment, which had provided so much ease and convenience, extended to my work, and though I am not an alchemist in the main, I found instant success in my endeavours.

By the day’s end, I had produced an ample supply of potions and tinctures for the market: pesticides (for I had learned enough history to be well aware of the terrifying threat of the Plague), perfumes, medicines of all sorts from headache remedies to cures for gout, garden fertilizers, chemicals to make a candle’s flame burn flamboyant blue or green. The townsfolk should be well pleased, and perhaps the ‘witch’ in their midst might attract the attention of the Lord himself.

I would be remiss if I were to deny apprehension. Zestial’s reputation in Hell, though mysterious and blurred by long absence, was of the most terrifying nature, and it would seem that his earthly conduct was no less severe. Still, I had at my disposal considerable resources; and being in truth a creature of the eternal spirit before flesh, should have little to fear from this mortal illusion.

It was with great hope and optimism that I found and opened my stall in the market before dawn the next day, while considering my next steps. First, I thought, I ought to simply meet Zestial, or at the least observe him. That would likely be the extent of my opportunity for this initial contact. Beyond, I must endeavour to learn what, precisely, I must do to ensure Zestial’s salvation.

There was a tricky business, I thought as the market opened, commencing commerce. My stall did business at a steady rate; none would meet my eyes, but folk seemed well content to deal with my ‘apprentices’, and soon my purse grew heavy.

A certain expectant nervousness hung over the square, for Lord Zestial had yet to make an appearance, while all anticipated his arrival.

Just before noon, I chanced to explore the market and visit some of my neighbours’ stalls. When I passed through the square’s center, where public announcements would take place, I saw something gleaming in the sun. I drew closer, curious. There, in the very center of the busy market, stood a stone pedestal.

Protected from the elements by a simple lattice of wood, upon it was placed a large chalice, fairly glowing in the noonday sun. As I gazed upon it, I discovered with my craftsman’s eye that its appearance was veritable—its majestic radiance was no illusion, for it was indeed made of solid gold. I stood amazed for a moment; the chalice sat entirely unguarded, with no bars of iron nor locks to ward it.  

I noticed several folk watching me, most from the corners of their eyes, but a few openly, as though they expected some act of audacity. I met the gaze of one such with boldness, and said pleasantly, “A fine day, is it not, Goodman? The sun’s brilliance upon our bounty brings glory to our Lord, both on Earth and in Heaven.”

He merely glowered at me suspiciously, and hastened away; and I could not but notice that, though the pedestal stood in pride of place, not one among the people would dare to glance upon it, let alone make any movement towards it; indeed, it was given such a wide berth as though it lay within an inviolable sanctum.

Most curious. I resolved to discreetly gather what knowledge of the matter I could; but then my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of horns.  

Everyone sprang to attention, gathering in the square as though drawn by a magnet. Presently the entire market had assembled. The horns sounded again; at once, the square fell nearly silent, save for the sound of hooves on cobblestones. They drew nearer, as the first of the Lord’s entourage cleared the wide street leading down from the castle and entered the square.

I craned my neck, surrounded by the dense crowd of folk waiting respectfully to greet their lord. Several men-at-arms and attendants preceded his entrance, all on horseback and elegantly turned out in striking black livery. 

Following these, I caught a glimpse of a tall man riding a magnificent black stallion. His herald cried in a piercing voice, “All hail His Lordship, Lord Zestial of Chepdin and the Greater Venford!”

The crowd parted before me as if by some divine order, and I saw for the first time, as he dismounted and took his place in the center of the market square, Zestial, as he was then and there.

At first, the dominance of his Hellish form was near absolute, and his living form terribly obscure. A great effort of concentration was required of me before I could perceive his mortal self.

Beneath the spindly, many-legged demonic form, I beheld a tall, handsome man of around forty. He was possessed of a certain distinctive sharpness, as though his entire being were composed of the edge of a blade; from his sharp jaw to his booted feet, not a thing about him was soft or yielding. His piercing leaf-green eyes passed over the crowd like a hunting hawk’s, and in that searching gaze I felt pinned down and speared, as though his shrewd vision had exposed my very heart.

So I was still capable of sweating. No matter; I did my best to blend into the crowd, which held itself in a similarly nervous and vigilant attitude. A sparrow alighting on the church’s spire could have been heard by all.

Zestial’s presence commanded the utmost attentiveness and respect. Here was a man whose authority reigned supreme, not merely unquestioned, but absolute, decreed by Nature herself, as the Sun’s cosmic thrall over all things trapped in its pull. So Zestial held the crowd transfixed, and all eyes fixed upon him.

At his side was a wiry lad, nearly grown, perhaps seventeen or eighteen years of age. This must be a son of his, though between the two was scarce resemblance; Zestial’s mortal form had fair skin and bark-brown hair, while the boy was rosy-cheeked and tow-haired, slim as a stripling birch where Zestial was well-proportioned and wiry in strength.

Zestial addressed the crowd from his place before the golden chalice. Not a breeze nor a bird’s song interrupted the queerly gentle roughness of his quiet voice.

“Good morning to you, my dear people. I trust that all has been well since I visited you last. You all—” and here he seemed, in an uncanny fashion, to meet the eyes of every individual soul present—”know how deeply your lord cherishes peace and good order. It is fitting that you show such a fine example. I should be sorely grieved to see disorder and turmoil in my own beloved home.”

A soft chorus of ‘Yes, milord’ and ‘Lordship’ echoed throughout the square. Zestial seemed pleased and, turning to his son, said, “Come, Alfred. Let us see what today’s market has brought for our inspection.”

The crowd gave a collective sigh of relief when Zestial and his son left the immediate vicinity—though only, I noticed, after he was well past the point of hearing—and I returned to my stall, where my excited Egg Bois were ready to regale me with their impressions of the lord’s intimidating presence. Indeed, their minds, small and constrained as they are, sensed his force of will with an acuity only those who have served greater men may possess. It would be false to claim that I had come away from the spectacle unaffected; for the sheer weight of Zestial’s power here, though he had but spoken mild words in a softened tone, could not be denied.

Now that the lord had moved on, the market’s activity resumed, and my own equanimity returned. I had brought along a small workbench, having found my workshop not entirely bereft of mechanical materials, and sat tinkering with what I intended to become a tiny automaton. This was quite unlike anything else to be found in the market, and I soon found myself the focus of a knot of captivated children.

I confess that I have never shrunk from observation when practicing my art, particularly when my audience would make plain its admiration. Thus, to my enthralled observers I expounded upon the intricacy and precision of my craft; the brilliance which preceded it, having spent hours in research and study to obtain the underpinnings of theory; and the general reputation which I, Sir Pentious (for I intended to lay claim to my rightful title, as granted to me by His Majesty the King, of my own epoch if not this previous one) should rightfully enjoy as an inventor and creative genius of the first rank.

“Fascinating,” said a low, velvety voice.

The children scattered.

I slowly turned around. Behind me, entirely outside of my notice, Zestial himself had approached, and all this time stood silently and avidly gazing upon my work, looming over the scene with a preternatural stillness of being.

To my credit, I did not startle; but I was struck quite speechless by this sudden interruption, and sat staring up at him with what I am certain must have been a look of pure imbecility.

Zestial, for his part, took no notice of my lack of proper protocol. I ought to have jumped to my feet, doffed my hat, bowed low, and shown him all manner of deference, for he was here unquestioned ruler and master of all; yet I met his gaze head on, quaking only in a small fashion, and only on the inside.

He said nothing more for a time, only came closer in a circuitous, wolf-like fashion. His narrowed eyes trailed unhurriedly over my tools, the worked metals and tiny gears and springs, and finally the little toy man I had created in a flight of fancy.

“Well, my good Sir,” he said at length, peering down upon my work. “It would seem that your talents extend far beyond the arts of the chemist and the apothecary. How delightful!”

I could detect in his tone no insincerity or overt malice; and mustering my courage—for what had I, in my true Heaven-sent form, to fear?—I smiled at him and said, “Thank you, my lord.”

“So you are an inventor,” he said, declining graciously the seat which I vacated and offered to him. “As well as your many other well-demonstrated skills. Most intriguing.” Long fingers splayed over my work, lingering with a delicate possessiveness.

At this, I could do little but nod dumbly, for my mind was entirely preoccupied with my purpose. I had not expected to gain Zestial’s attention so soon, nor in such force; and I was sadly unprepared to make conversation, or indeed to keep my wits about me under such intense scrutiny. But I soon rallied, and, as Zestial continued his quiet pondering of my craft, my quick mind supplied a ready invitation.

“If it please your lordship,” I began, keeping my tone very even, “I am ever your humble servant. Only ask, and with every means at my disposal, I shall endeavour to provide anything your lordship’s noble heart may desire.” So saying, I swept up the little mechanical creation, and bowing my head, offered it to him with cupped hands.

This caught his attention; those brilliant eyes snapped from the toy to me, and instantly I was ensnared, as a spider ensnares a fly in its web. It was then I knew I would be able to deny him nothing; for fate had drawn us implacably together, for good or ill, and my own salvation depended upon some yet unknown, yet critical shift in his dark and hidden heart.

When he took the toy from my hands, smiled his razored smile and said, “We shall see, my dear Sir. Perhaps you may be of service to me,” I knew at once that I was lost; the die was cast, and here began my fate.

Much to my surprise, this occurrence was to repeat itself several times over, until a veritable routine developed. Where once a visit from the town’s lord was an occasion to be remarked upon and prepared for with great care, Zestial now appeared on market days more often than not. These visits held markedly less pomp than his first; he travelled without an entourage, only a single manservant, and kept largely to himself, forgoing public addresses or conspicuous inspections.

He was a constant visitor at my stall, neglecting to attend me not a single time. At first I found his presence unsettling, for even in mortal guise, he possessed a formidable influence, and all the town trembled and shrank before him.

His manner towards me (as, in truth, to everyone he met; he was never churlish or uncouth) was unfailingly courteous, even pleasant; and he seemed to hold a genuine interest in my work. Thus my reticence was gradually eroded, and I found in him a source of natural and stimulating conversation. I worked in peace while he watched, a silent, admiring presence.

If the townsfolk thought me strange and frightening for myself alone, this increased regard elevated me to a new height of intimidation; and though my newly humble character felt a stirring of conscience at the mingled respect and fear in these good peoples’ eyes, I could not deny the satisfaction of having gained some influence over my target.

As summer moved towards autumn, and the harvest drew closer, Zestial said one Saturday, “I would visit you at home, my friend, if you are amenable; for I am vexed by a certain peculiar circumstance, and it is my hope that you may lend me your assistance.”

An opportunity! At once I said, “As you wish, my lord. My abode is humble, and unfit for your lordship to set foot in its meagre confines; but as I am ever at your service, my home is open to you, and you will be welcome.”

So the trap was sprung.

Scarcely a fortnight later, during which I wracked my considerable intellect with scenarios and hypotheticals, and spent much time listening to the gossip of my neighbours, Zestial called upon me.

He rode up to my door on his fine horse, alone and unbothered in his manner, as though visiting a humble craftsman’s home was but a daily trifle for him. I kept my composure as he knocked upon the door, and, seeing the near panicked scramble of my neighbours, I invited him in, apologizing ostentatiously for the condition of my home, the poorness of my fire, the meagreness of my food and drink, and anything else I could think of which might be expected when faced with such a dignified visitor.

Once I had my Egg Bois see to his horse and settle it in the yard, I offered him the best seat at my table, prepared for my guest with ale and bread and butter, meat and cheese (I was accustomed to purchase some victuals occasionally, to keep up appearances), taking for myself another, and so we sat together.

He seemed in no great hurry to converse, preferring his own counsel and dignified silence. This gave me the opportunity to study him further, as he averted that arresting gaze from me to take a drink of ale.

Beneath the sharp spider’s form, the man was just as barbed and deadly. Sheer cunning and wicked intelligence could be matched only by his indomitable charisma; and though he was at all times courteous, soft-spoken, the picture of the chivalrous noble, I shivered to recall the hastily squelched whisperings in the alehouse. I had only to think of the golden chalice, sitting pristine and unmolested in its place in the square, and of what severity, what terrific and frightful consequence, must have brought forth such a phenomenon; the answer lay within the man before me, so mild-mannered and inspiring such terror and awful deference.

If I had before been a notable personage in the town, treated with equal parts respect and wariness, then elevated further by Zestial’s initial attention, I would now attain a near legendary status; Zestial’s favour would prove a double-edged sword. That was a concern for another time; for it became clearer and clearer to me, the more I would come to know of Zestial, that his wrathful nature would surely prove his undoing, and must be the target of my interference. For now, though, I would set such worries aside, follow his lead, and hope for an opening.

At length, Zestial spoke. “I have come to you with a request, my friend. I hope to call upon your prodigious skill and knowledge, for I am sorely tested, and I fear I have few in whom I may confide.”

This piqued my interest. Zestial, it was whispered, had few intimates; no one in town knew him to have ever married, nor to have much close kin. Despite having no lady, he one day some fifteen years previously appeared with the young Alfred, announcing him as his legitimate heir; swiftly thereafter all speculation and rumour was relegated to the deepest shadows and whispered musings, lest loose tongues lead to perilous ruin.

“I am at your service, my lord,” I said. “Though it pains me to imagine that anyone should wish ill or misfortune upon you. Ask, and be assured that I shall endeavor to the ends of my ability to lend you my aid, humble as it may be.”

If Zestial found my obeisance false, he gave no sign. He heaved a great sigh, startling me in its sincerity, before setting his cup down and leveling that indomitable gaze on me.

“I am beleaguered with an enemy most subtle and cunning,” he began. “Though I have no concrete incident or example to offer you, my dear Sir, I remain nonetheless convinced that someone near me has designs upon my life.” At this, his deep, icy eyes, always seeming so stern and utterly beyond reproof, took on a haunted cast that set me quite aback. 

“No, nothing to alarm you, my friend,” he at once insisted, seeing my expression. “But there are certain signs and portents, undeniable, and while I am well-protected, I feel it would be prudent to augment my defences, for I never knew a wise lord to be careless with his personal wards.”

Zestial spoke as though we were old friends. How mysterious and subtle was the spell woven by Heaven! Determined to make the most of this advantage, I proposed at once to insert myself into whatever trouble he had imagined.

“We cannot have that!” I cried, pounding the table with my fist. “I shall work to any ends required to see to your lordship’s security. Your chambers will be nigh impenetrable. I have many marvels at my disposal, and given your lordship’s generous patronage, may yet find many more; and I swear upon my life, no harm shall come to you, that I may have the smallest means of preventing it.”

Zestial laughed at that—a sound like lava flowing unseen in the deepest places of the Earth—and turned his sharp smile on me. “Nay, my friend, speak not thus, lest we invite such misfortune; but only lend me your cleverness, and I shall fear nothing under Heaven.”

So we decided henceforth that I should wait upon Zestial in his castle, and turn my skills to his benefit; for some threat, real or perceived, haunted him, and of all his vassals, I and I alone stood best placed to provide succor.

Dear Reader, if only either of us had known then just how true that would prove to be.

Later that same night, as I prepared for sleep, it occurred to me that Zestial had once been notably absent from Hell for some significant time. Might this adventure have some influence on that strange and unexpected occurrence, as fantastically distant in time it may be? Impossible to tell; but the concept stayed always in my mind, turning with languid and ponderous momentum.

Zestial lost no time in summoning me to the castle. He sent a footman in crisp livery, with a fine carriage and a valet to ensure my comfort. Thus accommodated, I gathered the bags and trunk which I had prepared with my tools, materials, and personal effects, bade my Egg Bois to stay safe and well in my absence, and undertook the brief journey up the hill.

For one such as myself, who has seen the great castles of Europe only as ruined glory beset by the ravages of age and curious visitors alike, to see one living, in its prime, struck me with both wonder and awe. To be a scholar of history! What a marvelous experience, of which those learned and fascinated men could only dream!

The Venford, if I have not mentioned before, was an entirely prosperous region, rich in natural wealth and trade, and the seat of its lord reflected this in spades. All was of the finest make, the most luxurious quality that this primitive age could supply; the multitude of servants and other householders rushing about their business seemed well-fed and salubrious, though none would meet my eyes.

Already my mind worked directly and at a purpose to make use of my skills with respect to the castle itself. If Zestial should be troubled by fancies of assassins lurking behind doors, deadly trip-wires, poisonous pillow powders or venomous snakes in the garderobe, then I must devise such countermeasures as to give even the cleverest minion of Puck pause.

Zestial himself came into the great hall to greet me, and to show me to the chambers where I would reside as his guest in the castle. I imagined I spied, only for a bare instant, a sublime and subtle fondness flit across those severe features; but as we were not alone, and the business of the castle flowed hither and yon around us, the sweetness vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Once we reached my chambers, spacious, plush, grand, and well-warmed as any in the castle, Zestial left with a promise to send for me later, that we might dine together in the hall.

Here I began my work in earnest. While I set up a working-space, unloaded my tools, set out the supplies and materials furnished for me, and concocted the beginnings of my strategy, I confess I thought more of the brilliant task at hand, and less of my overarching goal.

Heaven-redeemed or no, I am not without flaw, far from it, and while I dwelled in that rarified realm, precious little opportunity for creation of any kind was availed to me; so when the chance of a proper challenge presented itself, I flung myself upon it with the zeal of a man breaking the Lenten fast. Less prominent in my mind was the good these feats might accomplish in a more spiritual sense; but I have ever been adept at adaptation, with ample confidence, and I knew that by my efforts, my desire would come to fruition.

Zestial, while not overtly fearful, had concerns that some among his people might wish him harm. Although he remained well-guarded, and surrounded by long-serving and trusted men-at-arms, he could not know or vet everyone who had business in and around the castle. He was therefore desirous of additional assurance.

I focused my efforts on devices and implements to stymie any who might approach Zestial or his intimate environs without leave. Zestial, for his part, encouraged me to take as much time and whatever resources I might require; and so I bent to my task, sparing no effort.

In the interest of professional discretion, I shall not reveal the specifics of what I built for Zestial over those several weeks. Suffice it to say that intruders to Zestial’s chambers, once the measures I had installed were engaged for the night, would be met with several unpleasant surprises; other means of deterrence and inconvenience could be found in strategic locations throughout the castle. My inventions served my purposes to my satisfaction, and even more to Zestial’s, who spent much time with me daily, inviting me to dine at his table, and showing me every approval and favor.

During one such evening, while I sat at the lord’s right hand as his honoured guest, with young Alfred at his left, the conversation turned to plans for the following spring, when Alfred would accompany his father on a survey of their fiefdom.

“You must learn to govern, Alfred. You’re nearly grown, and I mean to have you installed in your own estate before midwinter next,” Zestial was saying. Alfred stared at his venison and peas, refusing to meet his father’s eyes.

“Alfred,” said Zestial sharply.

Alfred tensed and gave Zestial the barest of glances. “Yes, Father.” 

The sullenness in his tone was unmistakable. I shuddered to think of how Zestial, utterly unused to the faintest disobedience, might brook such impertinence; but he only frowned a little, and turned to other matters.

With Zestial’s attention occupied in conversation with the captain of his guard, I chanced another look at Alfred. I recoiled; for the look of pure hatred on the lad’s face, so young and virtuous previously, gave me a frightful shock. Nevertheless, I, having also once been a lad of seventeen and chafing at any reproval real or imagined, let it pass; and Alfred himself soon resumed regular and congenial conversation with all present. Indeed, I soon fancied that my eyes had deceived me, and that it had been a trick of flickering firelight and the excellent wine of the lord’s table.

If I thought this interlude alarming, for Alfred had previously given me the impression only of a dutiful and obedient son, I did not mention it to Zestial; would that I had, for perhaps it might have eased the tribulations that grim Fate had in store for all of us.

When, nearing the end of my labours, I judged Zestial’s abode and domain to be well-secured and impervious to all manner of malfeasance, only one task remained.

In my lord’s chambers, which had for centuries been occupied by a procession of his fellows, Zestial revealed to me a fascinating secret.

“Here,” he said, drawing back a rich tapestry which covered more than half of one wall. “The castle itself bears double-edged swords.” He pressed on a certain stone, and to my amazement, the section of wall swung inwards—a hidden door.

“This passage runs deep, through a cellar, beneath the moat and onward, to emerge outside the castle walls,” he explained, lifting his torch so that I could see the rough-hewn steps leading down into darkness. 

“It is meant to allow escape in case of invasion or persecution, for the lord and his family who would surely perish otherwise. And indeed it has been the salvation of more than one master of this castle. However,” he retreated into the room, allowing the heavy door to swing shut behind, “its usefulness depends on the utmost secrecy. I learned of it only from the barest whispers, given under significant duress; and should any with ill intentions learn of it, he would have ample opportunity, for it is of necessity unbarred and unguarded, and leads directly here, to my own chamber.”

A chill ran through me, no less acute than it would were I truly mortal. How great must I be in Zestial’s regard, to be trusted with such matters? Or was I to be as the vaunted architects of those ancient marvels in the golden and captivating lands of Egypt, where the secrets of the Pharaoh’s tomb could be preserved only in the graves of those who devised them?

Seeing my face, and no doubt perceiving the gist of my thoughts, he gave a hearty and amiable laugh. 

“Come, my friend. I trust you implicitly; and if I am to make the best use of your talents, it behooves me to give you every advantage. Such cannot be accomplished with secrecy and half-truths. Behold my final burden: though few know of it, nonetheless it is a chink in my armor; and as my sworn knight—”, here his eyes met mine fully, and I was quite unable to look away. He repeated with no little passion, which stirred my blood in turn. “As my sworn knight, the ‘sword’ of your genius will be my protection, and shall be my last salvation and defence.” He held my glance a lingering moment longer, before ushering me away.

Thus I had saved this most delicate, intimate and crucial task for the last.

I had brought with me numerous torches, which I arranged about the passage in order to illuminate my work. I intended to equip this area with a set of switches along the floor which, if tripped, would flood the space with a noxious gas. Zestial would be well aware of their location, and the gas reservoirs would need to be replenished regularly, so that the danger of accidental harm would be minimal.

As I set to work, digging shallow indentations in the floor and creating the framework for the system of wires and pipes which would effect my design, something came to my notice.

None, as far as Zestial could tell me, had used this passage for long ages, as far back as before the reigns of the two previous lords. The floor this far down consisted of bare, packed dirt, with no stones or any other form of paving. A thick layer of gritty dust mixed with soil blown in over the years from outside covered it evenly. Yet, as I set about measuring and digging, with my torches to guide me, I could see clearly that in places the concealing layer had been disturbed.

This did not concern me perhaps as much as it ought. I considered that perhaps Zestial himself had ventured here, as a prelude to my arrival, or perhaps merely to assure himself of its security. I thought to ask him when next I had the chance.

If I had, perhaps things would have gone differently; but alas, consumed with my work, I soon set the matter aside.

My work proceeded apace. Only my final activation of the passage traps remained; they must of necessity wait, for the work was delicate and would span several days, and now the time for celebrations had come. Golden autumn faded to winter; the feast of Saint Michael came and went, the harvest was celebrated with wassailing and merriment, and before long the year had nearly turned. The forty days of St. Martin arrived, duly followed by the grand revelries of Christmastide.

The twelve days brought endless joy, not only to the lord’s own household, but to the entire town. Zestial was as generous as he was stern; he decreed a great feast, to be shared by all, and for days the castle bustled with the comings and goings of cheerful revelers. 

Throughout it all my spirits were buoyed, for no mishap great or small had befallen anyone. My diverse traps, warning systems, and wards remained untouched. None sent even a moment’s evil glance towards Zestial, and he too was in fine spirits, moving about his people with supreme confidence, assured of his rightful place.

By the twelfth day, the celebrations took a more intimate and personal bent, each house and family gathering with their nearest and dearest. The lord’s household was no exception, and Zestial invited me to dine with him, Alfred, and his closest advisors and retainers.

Afterwards Zestial and I adjourned to his chambers, there to sit awhile in company, sipping hot wine richly mulled with precious spices and honey, and to drowse pleasantly by the fire.

The hour drew late. We had enjoyed ourselves in conversation and fellowship, and now sat together at our ease, replete with good food and drink. My limbs, still strange to me after all these months, lay pleasurably leaden. Zestial, equally relaxed, gazed upon me with wine-softened eyes that held no small amount of genuine affection. 

In truth, the regard was mutual, for I had grown unreasonably fond of my elegant and severe lord; it was only the uncertainty of the future, and the certain shadow of my eventual return to Heaven, which kept my heart guarded, or I must surely have done something foolish, in due time.

For perhaps this was my true purpose here: by means of my loyal, true and genuine affection, would I in time win over the glacial heart of this most fearsome man. Over the months of our acquaintance, and dare I say, friendship, I had learned much about Zestial’s character; and though his authority would brook no disobedience, and was no stranger to penalties most harsh, I sensed in him no malice, nor joy in the suffering of others.

This, I had reason to think, may form the crux of my mission: what happened to Zestial, at this stage of his life, to make of him the terrifying, even cruel, presence known in Hell? Surely this must be what I was meant to avert! And what better way to guard him, to shield his soul from falling into that endless abyss of penury, than to remain ever at his side, and to protect him from threats mortal and sublime.

But I must wait; all things would come in time. I was content, and Zestial too seemed at ease and happy to enjoy the slow, pleasurable dance of gradual deepening of sentiment. For now, it was enough to simply enjoy one another’s company, and permit myself to dream of a time when we might meet again under less trying circumstances.

Alas, it was not to last.

The almost imperceptible sound of a tapestry sliding aside was all the warning I received. In one moment, Zestial was all loose limbs and heavy-lidded eyes; in the next, a flashing blade came fast out of the darkness, aiming for his throat.

I had no time to think; I lunged, reaching Zestial just as he threw himself to his feet.

My heart leapt to my throat. Here and now, Zestial was entirely mortal; and I was convinced that, all my efforts aside, my true mission had yet to see fruition. Should Zestial perish here, what would become of his soul? True, he had thus far revealed no deadly sin; but surely his past must conceal some wretched cruelty, some dire disorder that would see him damned as certainly as if he were to become something even more blackened. Too soon! My cause must be not only prevention, but also redemption; and thus I could not allow harm to befall him before my task was fulfilled. 

Rendered clumsy by drink and somnolence, I fear I did more harm than good; I quite blundered into Zestial like a brutish lout. Zestial, though, was a man trained to the sword and not unaccustomed entirely to violence; as always he carried a small knife in his belt, and, righting himself, threw his attacker from him as he drew the blade.

The man staggered back, and Zestial was upon him at once, pinning him face first to the ground with the knife to his back.

The fight was over quickly, for Zestial’s strength was superior, even drowsy and caught unaware as he was. I snatched the knife from the struggling man’s hand. I saw a line of blood on Zestial’s neck and was at once horrified; my relief was immense and my knees weak when, on pressing my hand desperately to the wound, I found it a mere scratch and Zestial unharmed.

Zestial yanked his assailant to his feet and into the light of the fire, shoving the disarmed man away. The man cursed and, darting in, struck a vicious blow to his ribs. Zestial grunted and flinched. 

I sprang forward, my earlier slowness erased, and laid the man low with a swift strike to the gut. He stayed down, gasping.

Our eyes met in dismay in horror as the man raised his head, snarling. It was Alfred.  

We could not count him out, for he was intent on blood. 

“Monster!” Alfred cried, striking out at his father once more. Zestial, though stunned, caught the blow harmlessly in his hand, for the lad, beside himself in his mad fury, had no true skill with his fists.

“That is enough, Alfred,” he said, quite calmly; and though his evenness served to further enrage Alfred, his red face and glaring eyes promising more violence, the boy seemed willing to delay such in favor of venomous words.

“Enough!” Alfred laughed wildly. “Enough, aye, you have done enough indeed! My father, brave and foolish as he was, was not enough for you, was he? No. No, Zestial, you hateful swine, you foul Hellspawn, crueler than the vilest snake—one man alone would not slake your avarice! No—no—” 

Here the boy broke down into great heaving sobs, the sort that a man may hold back for years, decades, until one day the dam breaks and the torrent of pain and anguish bursts forth uncontained. 

I quailed to see it; for such a display, far from unmanly or in poor form, can be nothing but an expression of profound distress, and my heart went out to the lad.

“My lord,” I said quietly as Alfred wept and trembled, “what afflicts young Alfred so? Is it madness?”

Zestial turned to me, and so grim was his countenance that I was obliged to take a step back; for in that imperious visage there was no mercy, no grace, no emotion whatever; only the inexorable will to compel obedience. I shuddered at the sight.

Then his expression softened, taking on a subdued, almost mournful cast; and he turned to Alfred, saying, “Come, my son; the excitement of the fete has made you overwrought. Let us sit together and speak on this as men; for you are no longer a child, and you are right to bring forth your grievance.” 

I was taken aback by this; how could a man, nearly dead by his own son’s hand on the last day of Christmastide, appear so even-tempered and reasonable?

Alfred was not so easily mollified. He snarled and made as though to lunge at his father once more, anger driving him beyond the bounds of reason. 

Before he could, however, the chamber’s doors burst open. The noise of the fight had alerted the guards posted outside. Zestial went to speak with them, while I restrained, with some difficulty, a loudly shouting and cursing Alfred.

Zestial dealt with the guards. By a combination of his utter confidence, unquestioned authority, and perfect composure, he was able to convince them that all was well, and it was but a spot of boyish roughhousing gone too far with drink. The guards, somewhat reluctant but obedient, withdrew. They did not venture to question how Alfred had come to enter the room.

Alfred, meanwhile, had subsided into a sullen mass of tension and simmering rage in my arms. 

“Come,” said Zestial, returning, as serenely as though he were presiding over the earlier feast. “Go and sit by the fire, and presently we will join you, and share some wine, so that we may rest easy.”

To my astonishment, Alfred, seeing that he was thwarted, and casting me off with a vicious curse, did as he was bidden. Radiating rage and resentment with every step, he sat stiff with contained violence, grinding his teeth and shooting his father lethal daggers from his eyes.

Zestial and I followed. We made a bizarre tableau, to all appearances: Zestial calm and poised as always, replenishing our cups from the steaming cauldron; Alfred, tear-streaked, tight-lipped and furious, huddled into himself as far from us as he could manage; and myself, shaken by what I had witnessed and feeling lost as a man in a labyrinth.

When the wine was served, and we (Zestial and I; Alfred dashed his into the fire without a word) had imbibed a little, Zestial sighed and said to me, “Now, my friend, I think I must offer you some explanation for what you have seen; for otherwise you may think my son quite mad, while I can assure you, there is nothing of unreason in his actions tonight.”

At this, Alfred gave a bark of harsh laughter. “Yes, dear father! Tell your cats-paw all, draw him even further into your confidence! You will need to replace me, now, since there are no more babes who you may so freely accost, to snatch from their mothers’ arms!”

My wide eyes surely revealed my thoughts; for I will make no reservations about the curiosity I felt, nor the foreboding and creeping terror. Zestial met my eyes, and there I thought I saw no remorse but resignation, weariness, and beneath, half-hidden, the awful human cry for understanding; they were the eyes of a man who approaches the gallows of his own volition, denying nothing, neither desiring nor expecting mercy.

“You have learned,” he began, “something of Alfred’s time here. Our arrival here many years ago is a matter of common knowledge. This will be his eighteenth winter in this castle. Yes,” he saw the bewilderment on my face. “Not sixteen but eighteen winters, for he was born and weaned here, in these same walls. His father ruled here before me. 

“In those days I was lord only of Chepdin, and sundry lesser holdings throughout the Greater Venford. Alfred’s father, a proud lord, coveted my lands, for in our fathers’ day there fell between us great strife, battles fought not by the sword but the coin and the pen; and, my family having proved victorious, this lord bore me and mine a grudge, which in the end only blood could answer.”

Alfred had begun to sob; I longed to offer him comfort, but alas, I felt him beyond my reach. Zestial continued. 

“Finally after years of hostility both veiled and overt, he sent men to my home in Chepdin to kill me. They were unsuccessful, though my aged and dear mother, a venerated lady still vibrant and hale, came to harm in the attempt. I escaped unscathed; but I knew that all the realm was watching, even unto our sovereign the king, to see what answer would be given.

“So I did what I must. I summoned my men, and my banner-men, and I called upon the justice of the king; and I was given leave to do with this man as I saw fit, his lands given unto me, as I had a legitimate claim to them though the maternal line.

“The lord I had executed; I shall not relay the manner of his death here.” Alfred, who had been staring into the flames and weeping, gave a sharp cry of despair. 

“Suffice it to say that it set an example to all,” was Zestial’s soft utterance over the boy’s sobs.

“You were not to stop there!” Alfred burst out, his voice trembling. “Finish it, coward, as you finished my family! Leave not a word unsaid, as you left not the smallest babe at the breast untouched!”

At this, I flinched; Zestial merely closed his eyes, as though this were a path well-trodden in his mind, and the wound lay if not healed, then at least calloused. He met my questioning glance directly with weary eyes.

“Yes. Alfred speaks the truth,” he said quietly. “I laid waste to them. The lord’s wife I had imprisoned, lawfully and with all due process, in a manner fit for a noble lady and with dignity; even so, she lost her freedom. She dwells there still, under charges of conspiracy, for she surely was involved in her husband’s schemes; her culpability is assured.”

“Liar!” cried Alfred. “You lie, as you ever have! But go on—tell the rest with your serpent’s mouth, your forked tongue!”

I could scarcely hear Zestial’s moderated tones over the sound of Alfred’s weeping. Still, he continued.

“The lord and his lady had five children. Their two daughters, fair young maids who soon would have made good and prosperous marriages, went to a nunnery, for their dowry and title was forfeit. The two elder sons followed their father.”

At this I shuddered; for these children must have been barely of the age young Alfred was now. If Zestial noticed, he gave no sign. 

He took a breath, and continued, “The youngest—”

“Was me!” Alfred cried. “You took me from my weeping mother’s arms, too dishonorable and craven to take a proper wife and produce your own heirs! Instead you stole the child of the man you murdered, and called him your son! Heaped insult upon injury, and bathed in the very blood of the one you claimed as your own! Filthy, perfidious scoundrel! Vile knave! I spit upon your unclean legacy, and to the very depths of Hell I consign your black soul! Fie!” And with this he collapsed once more into furious, trembling silence.

Through all this I sat stunned. Zestial’s harsh nature was no surprise to me, for I had not been blind to the abject fear of his subjects, far exceeding the respect and deference due to a ruling lord. Still I quailed, wounded in the softness of my breast, to think of the slaughter and ruin of innocents; for how much, as Zestial claimed, of the king’s justice had been administered with care and measure, and how much was merely Zestial’s iron fist and his own swift reprisal?

Presently the silence lingered, even Alfred having wept himself out, and Zestial seemed reluctant to elaborate further. Indeed, I perceived in him no guilt nor repentance; only the recounting of concrete fact and simple cause and effect, given honestly as a man reporting the day’s accounts.

The momentousness of these events was not lost on me. Here I had foiled Aflred’s attempt to murder his father, surely the fruit of long years of preparation, for Zestial was no fool, and the callow youth Alfred must be influenced by others with debts to call. But these interlopers should be no concern of mine; only the immediate conflict must hold my attention.

My mind spun in rapid calculation. Now was certainly the moment of truth; for all fates rested now in Zestial’s hands. How he should proceed in this most intimate and terrible matter—the betrayal of, if not his own blood, his own claimed and cultivated heir—would prove the fulcrum on which the fate of his soul must surely rest.

Here was my purpose! Here lay the culmination of months of confusion, half-purposed work, uncertain fumbling! Gathering up my courage and best abilities of persuasion, I proposed to turn Zestial’s mind towards merciful forbearance.

“My lord,” I began, keeping my voice and tone reverent. “My lord, young Alfred is sorely aggrieved; and for a certainty, the events you have described would be the destruction of any lesser man, so strong is your noble resolve and so great your mercy in taking in the son of the man who meant to obliterate you and yours. Will that mercy continue, now, when Alfred will surely—” and here I shot the boy a piercing glance, though he refused to meet my eyes, ”—prove repentant, and renounce this bout of madness; his grievance thus uttered and lanced, as a doctor lances a plague-boil that it not fester and destroy the body, may you now be reconciled, and go on together as a loving father and his devoted child ought.”

Alfred sprang from his seat and rounded on me, his pale eyes bright and passion-mad. 

“Reconciled! Aye! Know this, you craven, simpering sycophant.” He spat at my feet; I merely sat and listened as he ranted. “I shall not rest, nay, nor falter; for I refuse, on the grave of my father, to dwell another day within this vile castle of foulness and murder. Justice for my family I demand, and for myself! No amends can be made but that this wretch purchases them with his tainted blood! None would mourn for him; he is detested and reviled throughout any lands that have the misfortune to hear his name. No; I must have my revenge, take what is rightfully mine, and right the wrong, or I shall die in the attempt!”

Zestial, for his part, remained calm and implacable as the very castle walls. Sighing, he said, “Oh, Alfred. I ought to have foreseen this; indeed, my mind whispered the truth to me in subtle portents, which I blithely turned away, unwilling as I was to face such dreadful and torturous truths; and there is no flaw in you or your actions today. Indeed you are justified; for what seeds are planted will surely come to harvest, may it be in a season or in a lifetime.

“I can bear you no ill will, my son,” he said in a steady voice, heedless of Alfred’s snarling. “I think it best, then, that we separate for a time. It is well past due that you had your own fief, to govern and manage as you see fit, for I am no longer young, and soon enough you shall have your wish, and all of my lands shall be yours and yours alone.”

He stood, and suddenly in his mien I saw the first shadings of age, the tired and world-weary bent of an old man ready to take his rest by the fire, while more vigorous and hungry youth stepped in to keep the eternal wheels turning. Such is the way of life.

So this was to end the matter? Simple resignation to duty and easy forgiveness, the threat neutralized, and Alfred quietly sent away to rule a far corner of the domain until such time as Zestial should pass away, to leave him as the rightful lord? Would this right the wrong, set the scales of Justice in balance, and soothe the agony of poor Alfred’s devastated spirit?

Fine. I had no further appetite for conflict. Alfred was still young; perhaps this lesson would sober him, purge the fires of affronted justice from his veins, and let him remain content with his lot. He had made himself heard; Zestial, for all his aplomb, was not untouched in body nor spirit. Indeed, as he spoke, a fine trickle of blood lay drying above the collar of his fine tunic.

Zestial discreetly called for his guards, and Alfred, spitting curses, was courteously conducted to his own chambers to be secured there for the interim. While they remained thus occupied, I thought on the matter.

Would the stain on Zestial’s soul—for surely this must be the chief source of his damnation, if far from the only black mark—thus be purified, and tip the scales? Was this the moment of decision, so simply and cleanly made?

As soon as the door closed behind Alfred, and we were alone, Zestial spoke.

“My friend,” he said, taking his seat as though he were merely returning from the privy. “I seem to have made an error most grievous. I owe to you above all my utmost gratitude, for you have saved me tonight from certain perdition.” He glanced at the knife, still lying where I had kicked it away. “Yet for all that you have done for me, there remains one more boon I must ask of you.”

I did not hesitate, such was my confidence and elation at my seeming success. “I am your humble servant always; ask, and you shall have whatever you may require.”

“Very well, my dear one; always I know I may rely upon you.” The smile on Zestial’s face spoke of immense depth; the mingled sadness, affection, and something else—something much darker—that I saw there gave me immediate pause. But it was too late.

“I shall require a poison most subtle and natural. Alfred is young and vigorous; his death must appear as an illness which no physician nor wise woman could predict nor assuage.”

At the sight of my face, for I have no doubt that my horror, dismay, and shock showed plainly, his smile softened; that was even more terrible, and I trembled to the very core of my soul.

“Nay, my dear, do not be so alarmed; for though I bear Alfred no true malice, and have no wish to make of him an example, I must do as I must. Think not so poorly of me!” he cried when my eyes filled with tears, and I was obliged to look away. “I do this not out of base desire for vengeance, or bloodthirst! No! Never!”

Here he burst from his seat, flew across the room, and falling to his knees before me, seized me by the shoulders. “I have no care for vengeance! I have had my fill, yes, as much as a man could desire, and then some! Nay, for it grieves me sorely, and I shall bear the pain all the rest of my days! My true friend, Pentious, my greatest defender and my dearest heart, hear me now: it is not for myself and petty vindictiveness that I take on this bloody misery. 

“No; it is for the sake of the realm. For one so brash as to make such a foolish, trifling attempt, with such poor preparation and lack of forethought, must never be a lord, nevermind of such a grand and important estate as ours. Woe is me!—for the son I have raised and brought up these past many years, who I taught to follow in my own footsteps, has proven an abject failure; and now I shall die without an heir, and woe to my lands, for they shall have no trueborn lord to rule them. Would that he succeeded tonight, and his knife pierce my breast true! Then would I know I had my rightful heir, verily; but alas!”

Aghast, I barely managed to withhold myself until he finished. I would not hear another word of his nonsense—what utter malarkey! What insensate madness! I knew at once what I must do. 

Leaping from my seat, startling him, I threw my own hands to his shoulders. Though we were not of a height, such was my grip, honed by my craft, that I at once impressed him; and with my piercing serpentine gaze I captured his eyes, as one venomous, deadly creature to another.

“My lord,” I said calmly and firmly. “My dear—for so I do consider you, Zestial, as few in my life have been—I tell you this with all the love and regard in my heart, which fair spills from my breast for you.

“You are wrong. I cannot say but much more than this simple fact: you are wrong. You have indeed raised your son as a reflection of yourself, for good or ill; and remember too that his own father lost his life under similar circumstances. Zestial, young Alfred is not to blame for his foolish headstrong half-formed plotting; rather he is to be commended. Such hasty fumbling and erroneous strategy makes him not unworthy! Nay, it makes him most worthy and commendable, for he is indeed your son! He is brave and principled; and so he shall be as fine a ruler and successor as this realm could have known.”

Here I lost my composure, seeing the doubting narrowness in that inexorable face; I seized him anew, and raised my voice to an imperious cry.

“No! I shall never help you kill him, Zestial. I shall impress upon you not only the need for mercy—for it is not yet too late to repair a small portion of the harm done—” Here I ignored the furious spark I saw ignite in his eyes. I knew I spoke the truth; let it burn in him with cleansing flame, and leave him all the better for it.

“Zestial. I am more than what I appear; nay!--for more than that I cannot reveal, my dear one, only believe that I speak true!--and I say to you now: stay your hand. He is your son in law and in truth; for good or ill, he is what you have made of him. You may not escape the fruit of your own actions, my dear one. For the good of all, but above all your own self, you must change your ways!”

All the atmosphere seemed to have fled the room. The air felt suddenly close and over-warm; so little space remained between us that our commingled heat seemed to burn hotter than the fires of any crucible.

Neither of us seemed willing to break the stalemate. At long, long length, during which time we stared into each other’s eyes, and plumbed there the hidden depths and eddies of the soul, inasmuch as any mortal can, he finally broke away.

We each drew a breath, but it was he who spoke first.

“My friend, friend of my soul. You speak true. I know not what madness has seized me; in my foolish wrath, I have willingly condemned not only myself, not only my son, not only my people, but even you, who I would ask cravenly to take on the foul stain of slaughter. No—!” he cried, and embraced me fully, nearly knocking me over; I flung my arms about him in kind. 

“No. I shall send Alfred away, as I promised, for it serves no purpose for me to die; but I shall keep my word, and he shall never have to look upon me again save that he chooses to. If he should send men against me, should some sneaking cutthroat evade all your clever traps and careful protections—nay! Not that I would lay a sliver of blame upon you, my friend!---then shall I accept his judgement, and gladly, for it is well-earned. 

“Also I shall send for his lady mother, and his innocent sisters. Should they wish, after these many painful years, to be reunited with their son and brother, and to live in peace and plenty with him in his own household, they shall want for nothing.

“This I swear on my immortal soul; for blackened as it may be, and though I am far from a pious and godly man, I am a man still, with a soul of mine and mine alone. So be it; and if I lie, let all the demons of Hell arise and take me!”

Having thus exclaimed, breathless and fever-bright, he pressed his lips to mine.

It was sublime. I softened and drew him to me. In that space, suspended with only the crackling of the fire, the warm press of his body, and the sweet yielding firmness of his mouth on mine, such burning ecstasy as I had never experienced consumed me. In that single, simple and lingering kiss, which conveyed such yearning, such unspoken passion, and hidden depths yet to be plumbed, a door opened; and when we at last broke apart, straining for breath in the close air, I felt the world around me shift.

Reader, this is no mere exaggeration of overwrought romance, for the world did in fact change. I recognized at once what was happening. Instantly I was overcome by an onslaught of emotion: elation at my presumed success; dread at what might lie before me; worry and alarm for Zestial, for how this would surely break his newly tender heart; and at the foremost, a deep, unrelenting sadness on parting, for we had only just touched the very surface of what wonders may have laid in store for us.

Alas, it was not to be in this turn of the wheel; for no sooner had I taken a startled breath, but I could feel my body fast fading, hear the first faint echo of a bell, and knew the wondrous transmission which had brought me here swiftly reversed its course.

With my last chance at corporeal presence, I embraced Zestial close for a final time, and whispered in his ear, “Adieu, my heart’s-friend; we shall meet again, and may I find you again in a better place than this. Farewell; and forget me not!”

Then, with the final dear sight of his astonished and open face, verdant eyes flowing with tears, I was falling, spinning through mists and veils of the mysterious and wondrous firmament; there was the sense of a great Opening, and a mighty and rushing wind; and after that I knew not.

Here I reach the end of my tale. What occurred afterwards in Heaven, with an excited and bewildered council of Angels who seemed in equal parts elated and unbelieving of my success, is to my mind of faint significance. Suffice it to say that I was deemed to have completed my mysterious Task to the satisfaction of all involved; and I was afterwards released to my own devices, as a free citizen of Heaven, as had been decided privately even before I embarked.

To answer your burning question, Reader: I have seen no evidence of Zestial’s presence here in Heaven; and, though my opportunities to contact any of my old compatriots are few and far between, to the best of my knowledge, there has been no change in the number of Overlords currently in power.

Though I remain greatly disheartened by this, I will confess to no surprise; for surely Zestial’s sins had been great, and there is only so much redemption a soul may earn from repentance after the fact. 

I did, however, as I wandered aimlessly about one of Heaven’s many gleaming promenades, spy in the distance a familiar face and profile; and though he did not see nor recognize me, I willed towards him every blessing of fondness and gratitude that my poor battered heart could muster.

I thus content myself with a strange and heavy sort of peacefulness; that my efforts, for all their bizarre and incomprehensible nature, were not entirely in vain; and that there is perhaps one soul now resident in Heaven who heretofore resided elsewhere.

I must mention a strange epiphany that I have since experienced. I chanced in passing, shortly after the last of the meetings, to overhear one of the Angels; she said, in the quick fragments of conversation one may perceive in secret, “….it is altered. The cycle is changed subtly, but it is changed. The hypothesis was correct….”

That was all I gained before the Angels passed out of my hearing; but the effect it had upon me! I nearly swooned; and indeed I took to my bed for nearly a fortnight. I had heard enough, and my mind is sharp and of the correct bent both scientific and mystical, to glean the kernel of the Truth she so casually confirmed.

I was not the first. I shall almost certainly not be the last. Perhaps this ‘I’, that even now writes to you, is yet not the first. For a brief moment, my mind’s eye glimpsed the meaning, beautiful and awful.

And there, spiraling back, and back, and on, and on, as Time made of itself a serpent, and so coiled, turning round and round and biting its own tail—

O, mystery of mysteries! For what a fool I have been, to think that any soul, mortal or otherwise, could ever hope to comprehend such wonders!

So, dear Reader, is my tale concluded. But it is yet only the beginning for me; for I have learned such lessons, and witnessed such true miracles, as to forge ever on-wards, and work ever more diligently towards my goals; for in truth this was but a stepping-stone in the grand river of Time, and where one journey ends, another is soon to begin.

Now, for the time being, I am quite at loose ends. I feel I shall not remain as such for long; I will soon recover my aplomb, and when that day comes, I intend to bring the full force of my considerable intellect, my crafty and adaptable nature, and most of all, the part of me that loves, wholehearted and fierce, to bear upon all of Heaven.

For love is a rare and precious thing, even in Heaven; and given the whole of Eternity’s whirling eddies to exploit, I swear on my own soul that I will find a way to complete my original and true Mission.

(Publisher’s note: the following epilogue is written in some obscure code. To date, no one in Heaven has been able to decipher it, and the author staunchly refuses to elucidate, saying that it is for a certain pair of eyes only. It has been included here in the interests of complete documentation.)

To Zestial, my dearest Lord:

I believe in my heart that one day, you shall read this account, and it is my heart’s truest hope that it finds you well and hale. Know this: no matter what the vicissitudes of Time, no matter the machinations of Heaven or Hell, no matter what perilous changes may be wrought upon us, you and I: we shall meet again. And when that day comes, know that I will greet you with the full potential of our two brilliant and dreaming hearts, and that we will then begin anew, and embark hand in hand, heart to heart, wherever that wonderful path may lead us.

Until then, I remain, as always, in sacred Mysteries,

Eternally yours, your faithful friend, 

Pentious.