The silence was horrifying. A young paladin was sitting behind a welcome desk in a district mission on the outskirts of Crossroads. She stared at Cayd, her face etched deep with confusion and revulsion.

  “I’m sorry sir,” she slowly said. “What?”

  “I understand that there is a serial killer here being investigated by the church. I would like to help.” Cayd spoke slowly for her. He felt eyes on him, and he looked over to see Zora on the edge of the lobby, her lips pursed to prevent her laughing.

  “But you don’t have a tip,” the paladin clarified.

  “No. I want to offer my service.”

  The paladin eyed Cayd’s ratty, dirty, and oversized brown cloak. “What services?”

  “I would like to speak to someone on the investigation.”

  “I’m sorry sir, but I do not think I can just get you in touch with someone like that,” the paladin said with a chuckle. “Let me get the head of the Mission. Maybe he can help you.”

  “Sure, fine,” Cayd groaned. He walked away from the desk to where Zora was trying hard to keep from laughing.

  “What, are you some sort of detective?” Zora asked breathlessly.

  “I got you arrested,” Cayd fired back.

  Zora frowned. “Sure, whatever. But you can’t just walk into a place and ask about their serial killers. Your little triste with Boldbounty was a one-off I think.”

  “Impossible. The High Sergeant said he would send word ahead of us.”

  “Oh, okay,” Zora said with an exaggerated nod. “I’m sure he wants nothing more than to help us. Those clergy folk? That’s all they really want to do. Help strangers and their god-cursed captives!”

  “I really wish you would take this more seriously. The man I am looking for is more dangerous than you are giving him credit for.”

  “How about I only take it as seriously as the Church of the Will, the most powerful organization on the March, does? How does that sound?”

  Cayd seethed in silence as a door at the end of the lobby opened. A paladin and priest emerged, neither in uniform or armor, but instead in the clothes you would expect to see in a market. It was only the close cut hair that gave away the paladin’s station and the shepherd's crook that the priest carried in his hand showing his. “Excuse me,” the paladin called in Cayd and Zora’s direction. “You wanted to meet with me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Cayd said, moving to meet him. “Are you familiar with High Sergeant Boldbounty?”

  The paladin’s eyes narrowed at the name drop. “Well, yes, I am. He is the new Officer in Charge at Dawn Break. Why?”

  “Well, I helped him with the capture of the pirate queen. Now I am here to help you capture your serial killer.”

  The priest chimed in. “I understand that the execution of the pirate queen was a profound failure, though.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Well yes,” Cayd said. “In the sense that we did not execute her. But there was a bit of a change of plans.”

  “Divine intervention,” the paladin remarked. Cayd noticed the paladin looking over his shoulder at Zora, her back to them as she chewed on her fingernail. “Excuse me, ma’am.”

  Zora had not been paying attention. When she was called, she turned quickly with a grin, revealing the mark of Solanna on her wrist.

  “It’s her.” The priest was lowering his crook, pointing it to her.

  “I’m reformed!” Zora snapped. “Found faith.”

  “Cayd Zahid,” the Paladin said, looking to Cayd. “You are not welcome here. Any help you could offer us is not necessary. Obviously we could not trust your judgement.”

  “But Boldbounty,” Cayd retorted.

  “Does not work here,” the paladin finished. “His jurisdiction is south of here. This is mine. You are not welcome in my Mission. I understand you are blessed by Solanna which is why I will not arrest you and your pirate bride right now. But leave us, and do not get involved in our affairs.”

  Cayd was quiet in confusion. “Did you not receive a letter?”

  “We did,” the priest answered. “Which is why we must ask you to leave.”

  “Great work, Cayd,” Zora said as they strolled the massive main drag of Crossroads just out in front of the Mission. People were walking around them, not paying them any mind as they pushed to shops and stalls strewn about the cobblestone road. The white marble cathedral where the Justicar reigned was looming over them, making the strike to the pride that was the mission sting that much worse. They had not even reached the true person in charge.

  “Not now.”

  “What do you mean ‘not now?’ What are we supposed to do? Your newest little boyfriend stabbed you in the back.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “Me neither,” Zora said chuckling. “Can’t trust those paladins any more than you can wake their god. Man, you looked like an idiot in there. ‘Hey, you don’t know me! But I’m here to do your job.’” Zora’s mocking was in a bravado as close to Cayd’s voice as she could muster.

  “Zora,” Cayd warned. “I am thinking about what to do next.”

  “Easy,” she shrugged. “Call Solanna. Get this shit off my arm. Let me go home.”

  Cayd looked at her, confused. “We need to find the man I am looking for. Then Solanna will remove her curse. That is the deal.”

  Zora groaned. “So what, we’re just going to be private investigators? Vigilantes? Sneaking around to find a serial killer and keep me from getting murdered by the Church at the same time?”

  “If that is what we have to do?”

  “Why, though?” Zora asked, stopping in the street. Cayd took a few more paces away before stopping.

  “I have to answer for what he is capable of, Zora.” Cayd looked back over his shoulder. “Part of what he is now is my fault. And I need to stop him.”

  For the first time in a few days, Zora studied Cayd. He was more than just annoyed. Just slightly, she reached out to him with her empathy. So much of it was obvious. He was too old to be without regret or sorrow. The laugh lines at the corners of his mouth were validated by a dense sense of humor. But within him, in addition to the obvious items, was something Zora knew well. An ocean of fear.

  Fear that everything was Cayd’s fault. Fear that he could never atone.

  Fear that Cayd had failed every single individual who had trusted him.

  Fear that one day, the sins he committed and the people he had failed would all come calling.

  Zora frowned, feeling the strength of his fear in the form of goose bumps and tingling follicles. Her clothing clung to her as static charges moved through her nerves. “Who, exactly, are we looking for?”

  “A former student. His name is Zarraz.”

  “Well,” Zora forced a smile. “I want to get back to sea. So I guess we’re going to be vigilantes hunting a Zarraz.”

  Cayd smiled back at her, just as forced. “We should probably find somewhere to live, then.”

  “And probably new clothes,” Zora said, strolling to Cayd. She grabbed his linen cloak, rubbing the scratchy material between her fingers. “You look like a corn sack, Cayd. We need to get you styled.”