With Pickles in tow, Hadrian didn’t bother returning all the way to the Blue Parrot. He had too many questions, but decided to wait until the two were safe behind walls before pausing to talk. After getting the book, the Gingerdead man had just walked away. No fight, no threat, no comment at all. The whole transaction went as sanely as one could expect between two ghosts in a lumberyard. Falkirk wandered off deeper into the tier. He didn’t appear to be headed anywhere. His eyes remained locked on the book that he caressed like a lost love, and his feet, left to their own discretion, meandered. No dogs barked, no rats chased, and not a single bird attacked. The night lost much of its tension, but Hadrian didn’t care. He wanted his weapons. Paradise had taken a sharp turn away from tranquil.

The lamps of the Turtle burned bright as they came up Pebble Way. The light spilled out the front windows revealing a slice of the mango tree’s trunk and one of the courtyard chairs. Because it had been that sort of night, Hadrian pondered the odds that thieves had returned. He concluded burglars wouldn’t light the lamps, but it wasn’t until they got closer, and he heard Albert’s voice, that he relaxed.

Hadrian opened the door just as Royce was on the way out. Hood up, determination in his eyes, the two nearly collided. Shocked, the thief stopped and stared. Then Royce frowned as if Hadrian had taken the last sausage from the pan.

“Where you going?” Hadrian asked. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“I was going to search for you.”

Looking past Royce, Hadrian saw that everyone was still awake and gathered in the main room around the big oil lamp. Gwen and Arcadius shared the soft cushioned bench that had become the professor’s favorite perch, while Albert stood mid-stride as if he’d been pacing. Heads turned toward the door, each telling the same tale of surprise abolished by relief.

“There he is!” Arcadius announced with a smile and clapped his hands applauding Hadrian’s arrival as if walking through a door was some great feat.

Gwen jumped up, rushed forward, and hugged him. “Thank Maribor you’re safe.”

“You were all waiting for me?” Hadrian asked. “Why?”

“You were out past curfew,” Royce grumbled as he closed the door.

“There’s a curfew?”

Gwen slapped his shoulder. “You said you’d be right back! What were you thinking? Didn’t you know we’d be worried?”

Hadrian looked at each of them, and saw the truth of it as Albert’s shoulders relaxed, Arcadius took a deep breath, and Gwen continued to hold him as if terrified to let go.

“Sorry.” He showed a guilty grimace. “Kinda nice though. It’s like I have a family again.”

“You do have a family!” Gwen declared, slapping him a second time, then hugged him once more. “And you scared us to death.”

Looking over her head Hadrian noticed that his family had grown by one. A white-haired, well-dressed, gent with arms folded, leaned against the wall. Standing with one leg up and that cape drooping off his shoulders, he looked a bit like a Great Blue Heron one-legging it in a stream.

“Who are you?” Hadrian asked.

“Ignore him,” Royce replied on the newcomer’s behalf. He sounded oddly irritated. “He’s a ghost.”

“Really? Another one?” Hadrian stared hard at the man noting the expensive white doublet, matching shirt, and how the casually slung cape was edged in gold thread. “At least this one dresses better.”

“Dresses better?” Royce asked. “Better than who? What are you talking about?”

“Well, tonight we—“ Hadrian turned expecting to see Pickles standing behind him, only he wasn’t. Hadrian took a step back, opened the door, and scanned the courtyard. None of the outdoor lamps were lit and everything was darkness except for that slice of mango tree trunk caught in the moonlight. Royce watched him puzzled, then concern filled the thief’s eyes. He moved to the doorway and peered out.

“Is he still out there?” Hadrian asked.

“If you mean the sinister figure in the hooded cloak loitering in the shadows near the lemon tree, yes,” Royce replied. “Was he following you?”

“More me dragging than him following. Apparently the kid’s suffering a bout of shyness.” Hadrian raised his voice. “Come on in, Pickles.”

“Pickles?” Royce muttered.

The lad came slowly forward. He shuffled rather than stepped through the doorway. Once inside the rolkin, Pickles pulled back his hood and stood before them with shoulders high and head low. His mouth was tight, teeth clenched, and his eyes squinted as if the kid expected to be beaten.

“Everyone…this is an old friend who we thought was dead, his name is—believe it or not—Pickles.”

Albert and Gwen, who hadn’t a clue, politely introduced themselves. The ghost said nothing. Pickles ignored all of them as he stared at Arcadius. The young man appeared frightened of the professor to the point of being sick. Seeing anyone fearful of Arcadius was about as odd as Royce dancing. For his part, Arcadius remained his same old self except that he looked a bit disappointed.

The professor sighed, took a slow breath, then nodded and said, “It’s good to see you’re safe, although you do look a bit like something Royce might have dragged in.”

“It’s been a bad week, sir,” Pickles replied.

“Safe? He’s supposed to be dead.” Royce said. “Weren’t you—” Royce turned to Hadrian. “You said he was executed—killed in response for my saving your life.”

“You mean in response for your knifing an innocent child,” Hadrian replied.

“Angdon was neither a child nor innocent.”

“Perhaps, but you didn’t save my life. Still, you’re right. I was told Pickles was charged with conspiracy to kill a noble and executed on some anonymous hill and that his body was carted off.” He turned to Arcadius. “You told me that.”

The professor smiled. “Yes, I believe I did.”

“And you don’t seem at all surprised to see Pickles alive.”

“He’s not even surprised to find him here,” Royce added. “Sort of like he knew all along. He just didn’t want us to know.”

Hadrian stared at the professor. “You lied to me?”

The old man rocked his head side to side. “For the most part…yes.”

Hadrian glared. “I nearly killed Royce because of you!”

“That’s right, Hadrian nearly died because of you,” Royce said.

The professor sighed.

“I am sorry, sir,” Pickles told Arcadius. “I did my best to stay hidden, but—“

“It’s fine,” the professor said in a resigned voice, then leaned back into the cushions. “I’m just glad you’re alive. I was starting to have my doubts.”

Pickles nodded. “We kept missing each other, I think. I’d go to the Parrot, you’d come here. I’d come here, you’d be gone. I couldn’t—”

“It might be best if you let me explain things to the rest of them first,” the professor said smiling at the lad. “We don’t want Royce and Hadrian getting the wrong impression.”

“There’s a right one?” Royce closed the door once more, but more deliberately this time. If it had been Hadrian he might have slammed the thing to demonstrate his growing anger. Royce made the same point by the slow care he took.

Then both scowled at the old man.

“To begin with…” Arcadius began then caught himself. He looked at the ghost. “I’m not entirely certain he ought to hear this.”

“Can’t ask him to leave,” Royce replied. “It’s part of the deal.”

“Who is he?” Hadrian asked.

“We’ll get to that. Right now I want to see if the old wizard can perform a magic trick and save his own life.”

Despite not wearing his glasses, which rested on the table beside him, Arcadius tilted his head down to peer at the thief. “I can see you’re not pleased with me, Royce.”

“He’s not alone,” Hadrian said.

“Then I have no choice. The truth is I did lie to the both of you, but it was for a good and noble purpose.”

“You admit to lying,” Royce said. “Then expect me to trust your word that it was for a good cause? How’s that work?”

Arcadius frowned. “Give me a second, Royce. Some explanations take more than a dozen words. And some words are important. For example, this young man’s name isn’t Pickles, it’s Rehn Purim.” The professor waited as if for a response. It took a second but it finally came…from Albert.

“Purim?” Albert said. “You don’t mean—he’s not one of those Purims, is he?”

Arcadius nodded.

“But…there aren’t anymore Purims. They were all killed.”

Arcadius nodded again. “Lord Raster Purim of Hornwall was indeed arrested by the Seret Knights and tried by the Church of Nyphron. He was found guilty of heresy at Blycourt in the winter of 2983. Then Lord Raster and his entire family were executed outside Blythin Castle—all save one. Rehn Purim was away at the time. The twelve year old son of Lord Raster and Estee Purim was attending Sheridan University.”

“Estee?” Gwen said. “That’s a Vintu name.”

“It is indeed.” Arcadius nodded. “The Galeannon noble had taken a Vintu wife, which is what started the whole issue. You see, the Church believed Estee, by virtue of being Vintu, worshiped Uberlin and had poisoned Raster’s soul. And for that, they murdered him, her, and all their off-spring, as a way of ridding the world of evil.”

“You hid him?” Hadrian asked.

“He was innocent of any wrong doing…and he was my student,” Arcadius said simply. “I smuggled the boy out of Ghent. Moved him south to live with a friend in Ratibor, who imperiled her own life keeping him safe. Then when Rehn was fifteen, he was no longer content to hide. It’s hard to blame him. Who among us would be satisfied spending such formative years languishing in obscurity.” The old man fixed Hadrian with a keen eye. “Rehn wanted to pay me back and asked what he could do. It just so happened I was expecting an important visitor from the far east who was arriving in Vernes by ship. I thought this fellow might need assistance reaching the university. Being three years later, the church was no longer searching for Rehn Purim. He wasn’t that big of a fish to begin with, and the trail they followed had gone cold. Given that a boy with Vintu heritage is nearly invisible in Vernes, I felt it was safe to send Rehn to bring Hadrian to Sheridan. I expected it would be an easy assignment.”

“You sent Rehn and me?” Royce asked.

“Believe it or not Royce, I didn’t exactly trust you. For you, that trip was more of a test. As such, I needed a reliable set of eyes and ears to tell me how it all went. Of course, none of it went according to any known plan. Rehn was detained in Vernes and when he eventually reached Sheridan, it didn’t really matter anymore. The job was done. So, I told Rehn to stay out of sight until I could determine what next to do with him, and he did. Then came the Angdon Incident.” Arcadius peered at Royce. “Seret were bound to come after that catastrophe, and so once more Rehn had to leave.”

Arcadius, found his glasses on the little table and began cleaning the lenses with his sleeve. He never did put them on.

“I had a problem with this—two in fact. I needed Hadrian to do the Crown Tower job, but he had grown fond of Pickles. This meant the boy couldn’t just leave. If Hadrian thought Pickles was in danger, Hadrian would refuse to leave the boy’s side. The second concern was that the Seret would be looking for a boy by the name of Pickles, and the Knights of Nyphron are nothing if not tenacious. There was only one solution. Pickles had to die. So, shortly after the two of you left—the first time. Pickles disappeared. And when you came back I told you the tale of how Pickles was killed by the Church for the assault on Angdon. If I had told you Pickles had been adopted by a wealthy landowner, or his long lost parents had reunited with their son, or he’d fallen in love and run off in a state of blissful happiness, neither of you would have believed me. But the equally outrageous story of the Church blaming a boy for a crime he didn’t commit and instantly executing him then hiding the body, was just the sort of thing Royce would never think to question. I’ll admit that Hadrian was the surprise. It seems his years in Calis have left him with more callouses and scars than I anticipated.”

“And what did you tell the Church?” Royce asked, his tone carried a rise and fall as if he already knew the answer, and sought not information but confirmation.

Arcadius developed a guilty look. “I told them a equally interesting story. The tale of a mysterious man in a dark cloak who had been seen on campus recently and had left earlier that day in great haste in the company of a young man who was not a student, but who appeared to come from Vernes. Angdon and his allies unwittingly supported this misleading account about a mysterious hooded assassin, and made the assumption that he left with Pickles. I wasn’t privy to the interrogations so it’s also possible Angdon and company believed the hooded attacker was in fact Pickles and that he left with Hadrian. The boys had been traumatized by the assault in the stables and their stories were a bit of a jumbled mess, which is why the Seret placed more credence on my account.”

“And you told them we were riding north, didn’t you?”

“I did. Better that they chased the two of you than Rehn.”

Royce looked at Hadrian. “That’s how the Seret found us in Iberton. If I had known—”

“You would have been very unhappy with me, I understand that, Royce,” the professor said. “Which is why I didn’t tell you.”

“What about Pickles—ah—Rehn?” Hadrian asked.

“He went back to Ratibor at first, but as I said the Seret are nothing if not tenacious. Too many questions were asked. So, I relocated him to a safer place.”

“You sent him here,” Royce said. “There’s no Church in Delgos.”

“There is not.” Arcadius smiled. Then he looked at Pickles and frowned. “Of course, a young man is even harder to contain than a boy. And how could anyone expect Rehn to content himself hiding in a hovel in such a place as this?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Pickles said, but now without the accent. What came out of his mouth were the words of a southern noble. Refined, but with a faint tang of eastern tonality. “When I heard about the Church digging at Neith. When I learned they were using books. I suspected it was something you’d be interested in. And since I was here, I saw it as a way to help repay you.”

Hadrian stared dumbfounded, as much by what was said as by how he said it. “You really aren’t Pickles, are you? You never were.”

Rehn shook his head.

“All these years I…” Hadrian continued to stare. His skin felt hot, his throat tight. Anger, disillusionment, and a terrible feeling of betrayal welled up in him. He didn’t see the point of talking or listening anymore. Giving up, he turned and walked out.

In the courtyard, Hadrian sat in the chair that wasn’t touched by the light. Low-slung with a seat that was higher in front than in back, the chairs were especially odd because unlike most things in Tur Del Fur, they were built of wood. Wood didn’t survive long against salty air. It appeared that few things did.

Hadrian sat in the deep seat, his arms on the wide rests staring into the dark. He didn’t look at the stars or the white wall that managed to catch enough starlight to appear a ghostly veil. He focused on a patch of blackness across from him that no light reached. He saw nothing but emptiness, a void where something ought to be but wasn’t—not anymore. As he peered into the dark he imagined the dark staring back. While it had no face, Hadrian pictured a sinister grin. There was laughter, too.

How could I have been so blind?

First Millificent LeDeye, now Arcadius and Pickles. I travel with a professional thief, assassin, and liar, who in this particular trio—by comparison—is a paragon of virtue.

Arcadius wasn’t an issue. The professor was like a grandfather of sorts. Old relatives did that sort of thing out of well-intentioned kindness, and for that reason, Hadrian could forgive him for a little deception. He only wished the old man had lied about a homely girl with a good-personality instead of killing Pickles.

Millie, on the other hand, bothered him. She was beautiful, and her voice was the sort of gift that gods only bestowed on the righteous. He wanted so much to like her, but she wasn’t what she appeared. At least, she wasn’t what he thought she ought to be—a virtuous and perfect being of divine light. Falling so far below that mark, was like seeing a falcon hit the ground. It was more than disappointing, it was tragic.

Pickles, however, was a whole different situation. Hadrian already liked him—loved him, even. In such a short time, the kid had become something of a younger brother or perhaps even a son. Over the years, Hadrian had cried at his loss, and in his memory Pickles had lost all faults and gained only merits until he was less a person and more a sacrosanct ideal. The boy was no longer a cute, but often irritating, street urchin. Through Hadrian’s tortured mental tributes Pickles had become the grand sum of all things innocent and pure—and Hadrian had let him die. But the boy had existed, and the mere memory of Pickles remained and formed a single pinprick of light that illuminated Hadrian’s darkening world declaring hope was not gone, not in a world where Pickles had once walked. Only now…

Now Hadrian stared into the all-consuming dark, and the dark laughed at him.

“Perhaps we should start over?” The kid had crept out of the house and stood arms slung at his sides head bowed. “Hello, my name is Rehn Purim, my family were all murdered because my father loved my mother. I grew up mostly alone and isolated. Then I made a wonderful friend and was forced to lie to him to stay alive. Now, he hates me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Hadrian said shifting in the chair so that it creaked. “How could I? I don’t even know you.”

“Rehn isn’t all that different from Pickles. Not really.”

“See, the Pickles I knew would know that’s not true. That Pickles would never lie to me—that Pickles would never lie to anyone. He wasn’t well educated, but he knew right from wrong. And he had an accent that was endearing, and honest.”

“I still have an accent. My mother talked just like Pickles. I did too, when I was a child. I’ve worked very hard to suppress it. I wanted to be more like my father. I failed. In truth, I’ve failed at everything I’ve ever tried, including being a friend to the one truly good person who gave me the chance.”

Rehn stood half in shadow and half in the light. His chest rose and fell in labored breath. “I came back to Sheridan about a week after you left. Arcadius hadn’t learned much about your trip to the tower except that it hadn’t gone according to plan. What we knew was that all of Ghent was out searching for two thieves. There were all sorts of rumors. I was worried. I was scared for my friend. I wanted to search for you. That’s when Arcadius told me I couldn’t—I couldn’t because I was dead—executed by the Church, just like the rest of my family.”

Hadrian looked up. “You didn’t know?”

“I was just told to leave. And I knew why, so I didn’t argue, but I didn’t know what the professor was going to tell you. I wish he had found another way.”

Silence fell between them.

The ocean breeze blew through the mango and lemon tree leaves that rustled overhead.

Salt air destroys everything.

“You know,” Rhen said quietly. “It is strange but ever since then, whenever I was in a crowd I couldn’t help looking for you. Especially when I came here. I would go down to the docks. Big ships would come in filled with turist from the north. I’d stand on the pier and watch and…” he sighed shaking his head. “I would look for you just as I had that night in Vernes. When I did, I wondered: If I saw you what would I say?”

“And what did you decide?”

Rehn shrugged, then he looked at his feet and a frown filled a face that had once eternally beamed. “That I was sorry for not doing a better job with the watching and the warning, and that I was no longer brave because I had lost my great friend who was better than all others combined.”

Rehn lowered his head and walked away.

Hadrian let him go.

Watching Rehn step back inside the Turtle looking worn and weary, Hadrian felt sorry for the kid. It wasn’t all his fault. He was doing a job. And to do it he played a role, because he couldn’t be himself anymore. But Hadrian couldn’t forgive him for lying because he had no proof he wasn’t still lying. That was the problem with shattering trust: breaking it is easy, reassembling isn’t. It takes a lot of time and work and there’s always going to be missing pieces that can never be replaced.

“What did you mean by another one?” Royce asked, causing Hadrian to start.

The thief stood barely visible, leaning against the trunk of the lemon tree, arms folded, eyes on the door to the rolkin as Rehn entered and closed it.

“I need to tie a bell around your neck,” Hadrian said, relaxing again.

“Not my fault you suffer night blindness and your ears are only ornamental.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to witness the kid’s attempt to revive his acting career.”

“You think that was all fake?”

Royce tilted his head. “I’m still trying to work out the real reason you didn’t leave me on the Crown Tower. Stupidity continues to pop up, but it’s just so obvious; I feel there has to be more.” Royce pushed off the tree and swung around to the empty chair where the light slashed him across the chest. “You didn’t buy it either. If you did, I would have been forced to suffer an embarrassing display that would certainly have included hugs and possibly even tears.” He grimaced.

Hadrian shrugged. “Their story does makes sense.”

“Are you joking now, or do you honestly believe in the myth of sense. In all the world, nothing makes sense, be it common or rare?” He raised his hands to the fruit trees. “Why do trees appear to die each autumn, just to come back in spring? Not these of course, but the ones we know. Does that make sense? And why do people have to sleep? For that matter why do we eat and drink? And when we do, why don’t we consume everything? You drink a mouthful of water and most of that comes right back out. So, why bother consuming it in the first place? The world is nonsensical. Given this, do you really expect our companions, the Father of Falsehoods, and the Heretic’s Son, to provide a truthful explanation for the kid’s death and resurrection?”

Hadrian frowned. Royce wasn’t helping. Just as with Millie, Hadrian wanted to believe.

“And while we're speaking on the topic of impossibilities, what did you mean about there being another ghost?”

“Another…oh, that.” Hadrian shook his head. “Hard to believe I actually forgot about it. It’s just this thing with Pickles—I mean Rehn, it—”

“Forgot about what?”

“I ran into your Ginderdead man.”

Royce slid forward in his chair, which for some reason didn’t creak. “He’s here, you saw him?”

Hadrian nodded. “Pickles and—I mean, Rehn and I both did. Sorry for not believing you.”

“What happened?”

“Good news is that he won’t be bothering us anymore. He got the book he was after.”

“And the bad news?”

Hadrian frowned. “You cut his head off. I could see the mark, and yet I had a perfectly civil conversation with him.”

“Yeah, I get that, but how is that bad news?”

Hadrian shrugged. “Just more evidence that you’re right. Nothing makes sense.”