" 'Twould be in cold blood, Wizard. 'Tis not needful; you would not slay him to save your own life, or another's."
"Maybe not at the moment—but a fool could see I'm doing it to save our lives in the future."
"Then we will deal with him in the future," Sir Guy said calmly. "But to slay him now, when he is unconscious and not a present threat, would be murder, Sir Matthew. 'Twould be a mortal sin—and such a burden on your soul would make you vulnerable to the king. It would put you in his, and Satan's, power."
"It's not murder, it's an execution! Not revenge, justice! Can you honestly doubt he deserves it? How many people has he already killed—in cold blood?"
" 'Tis not for us to judge," the Black Knight reminded him. "That prerogative is God's alone. Nay, an you will have him tried by a jury of his peers, when all this war is over and done, well enough—but you may not set yourself up as his judge. That would be the sin of pride, added to the sin of murder."
"You would imperil us all, Wizard," Fadecourt rumbled, "and give up Ibile's one chance of salvation, through you and us."
Matt dropped the dagger with a noise of disgust. Satisfied, Fadecourt released his wrist. Then Matt caught up the dagger again, and the cyclops leaped for him with a cry of alarm.
But Matt rose to his feet and turned away to Sir Guy. Yverne was there before him, though, slipping her dagger between the knight's wrists and severing the bonds, then turning to cut through the thongs binding his ankles. Sir Guy sat up, rubbing his wrists and swearing softly at the pain of moving his shoulders, the stabs of blood being released to recirculate. "By Our Lady! By the blue of her gown! Ah, but I thank you, damsel! An I had lain there any longer, I would have frozen in that posture forever! And I thank you, Matthew and Fadecourt, for timely rescue."
"Without you, we'd be lost," Matt assured him—"But I wonder to what we all owe the guards' sudden exit?"
"Whatever it was, it was on our side, whether it knew us or not."
Matt stepped over to help his friend off the table, then gathered up Sir Guy's gambeson and armor and shoved it at him. "Hold that in one arm, and Yverne in the other."
"And this for you." Fadecourt handed Yverne the remnants of her dress. She quickly draped them to cover most of her torso and hips.
"How shall we come out from here, Wizard?" the cyclops demanded.
Just then, a diminutive figure popped in through the door and gave a cry of triumph. "I have found thee, then!"
"Puck!" Yverne cried, amazed.
"Sober, too," Matt noted. "When did you become clear-headed, sprite?"
"Phaugh! Minutes ago, only! The dragon and I threw off our attackers, but found you gone. We wandered in that damnable fog for hours, till it finally cleared. Then we circled aloft and saw the duke's castle! Instantly I betook myself to the dungeons and heard your chatter! Well, I did discover a bolt hole, first."
"A hidden tunnel?" Sir Guy's eyes lit. "Nay, take us there, good Robin! Have you found any other mischiefs we might work?"
"I have given the matter some thought," Puck said, turning and leading them out of the torture chamber—without ever having seen the unconscious duke, which Matt thought was a great pity. He might be troubled by a conscience, but Puck was not.
Unfortunately, the chance was past, and he couldn't very well call Puck's attention to the duke without virtually committing murder himself—so he followed the chattering elf, the lady, the knight, and the cyclops down the dimly lit hallway and through the section of wall that swung outward. It swung shut behind them, too, but Puck muttered a spell, and a will-o'-the-wisp appeared to light them up the damp stone steps, through a clammy tunnel with mitered walls, up to a dead-end sealed by rough and convex stone.
"There is the small matter of a boulder blocking the entrance," the elf pointed out
"What problem is that?" Fadecourt stepped up to the boulder, set his shoulder against it, and heaved—then stepped back, a look of surprise showing faintly by the light of the fox fire. "It will not move!"
"Considering your strength, it must be enchanted. Let me see." Matt shouldered past and set a hand on the stone.
Immediately, he felt a web of magical force enclosing his arm with the stone and the mouth of the tunnel—an unseen seal that bonded the boulder to the rocky cavity with all the force of a high-voltage electromagnet.
" 'Tis dur?" Puck asked, low-voiced.
"Very durable indeed." Matt took his hand away, suppressing a shudder. "But as the safecracker said, no locksmith can design a lock that another man can't figure out how to open. Let me see what I can do.
The rock began to vibrate, then to shake, and finally exploded out and away from them. Matt jumped into the doorway and crashed through the screen of brush that hid it, suddenly worried about innocent passersby.
He needn't have worried. He found himself looking down into a shallow, grassy bowl. The rock came to a stop about halfway up the other side, paused, and started rolling back down. Matt looked around quickly, saw the castle off to his left, and no soldiers nearby. He turned back to his companions, satisfied. "All clear, and no damage done. Let's hike."
They came out of the tunnel mouth, Yverne still holding the rags of her gown about her. Matt stopped her with a touch on her arm. "Hold on, milady. Let's do something about that."
"About what?" she asked, startled.
But Matt was droning,
Yverne's dress shimmered, turning cloudy, then stilled, having turned into a dress exactly like the one Matt had described. "Oh!" she breathed, eyes wide with delight.
"I thought you had said magic should not be used for inconsequentialities, Wizard." Puck's lip twisted in a half sneer.
"Believe me, this was something that could have bogged down our whole party." Matt noted that Sir Guy had taken advantage of the pause to pull on his gambeson. He stepped over to help with the armor. Fadecourt took the other side, and the knight was steel-plated again in no time, managing to stifle his groans as the pressure rubbed on his new welts. Matt frowned; what was a spell or two more, with so much magic in the air?
"Say, "Seventy Simmery Axe,' Sir Guy."
"Seventy Simmery Axe," the knight said, almost automatically. "What is its meaning, Wizard?"
"It's an address—house number seventy, on a street called Saint Mary's Axe."
"But Saint Mary would never have borne an axe!" Yverne protested.
" 'Tis enough that she is mentioned." Puck winced.
Matt hoped so—that invoking the Blessed Mother would counteract the spell's having been written for a fictitious sorcerer.
Apparently it did; Sir Guy looked up, eyes wide. "The pain is gone—and the wounds that caused it healed, I doubt not. Sir Matthew, you never cease to amaze me."
"Well, now that I know what it's like to wear armor, I can sympathize." Matt turned his back on the tunnel. "It's going to be a longer haul, with no obliging monsters to carry us—but I'd still like to get away from here as soon as possible."