Hazel's forecast proved incorrect. At the onset of winter, disturbing ideas started to gain currency among the people, eerily reminiscent of the ramblings of Remus the Rancid (as Linzi had dubbed the old prophet). A new cult was emerging, by the name The Kingdom of the Cleansed.

  In response, the baroness set up a committee to get to the bottom of these subversive ideas, and appointed Jaethal to coordinate its work. As an inquisitor, she was particularly suited to the task of sniffing out and, ideally, eradicating unwanted religious thought. The baroness herself left the capital with Hazel and Ekundayo to meet Sable and the druids of Oakstand Grove, intending to look into any nature anomalies that could have given rise to the new trend.

  Jaethal didn't waste her time, despite the fact that, by default, she had more of it on her hands than anyone else. The first meeting of the committee took place in the conference room, right after Guelder's departure. The participants included Jhod Kavken as High Priest, Harrim as Nightvale's number one doomsday expert, Tristian as the government's contact to the people, and of course, Linzi as the keeper of protocols. Jaethal would have invited Arsinoe as well, but alas, the priestess of Abadar had left the Stolen Lands not long ago. The High Priest had been so afraid of her influence that he'd left no stone unturned to chase her away, before she would make Guelder upgrade Tuskdale from a threadbare backwater township into a veritable city with paved roads, public utilities and decorative parks—and in a moment of fear and weakness, Guelder had allowed him to do so. Apparently, two pipers couldn't perform in the same tavern, and Erastil's grip on this land left no place for Abadar and civilisation. Not that Jaethal missed Arsinoe, of course. Aasimar made her think of honey and pomegranate sauce all too often, awakening unwanted thoughts about what she'd lost. Still, she took the priestess's fate as a warning to continue proving her usefulness to Guelder on a daily basis, lest Urgathoa would be next in line.

  The task to summarise the outlandish teachings of the new cult fell to Tristian. Jaethal watched him from under her long eyelashes. Ten years ago, she would have been weaving plans to lure him into her bed and guide (or force) him to discover the true meaning of life. Now that the Path of Pleasure had been shut down for her forever... no, now that Urgathoa in her unfathomable wisdom had set her on a different but equally glorious path, she was scrutinising him from another angle.

  During the fruitless hunt for Enneo, Hazel had infected Jaethal with their suspicions about the cleric, and they brought him up in conversations ever since. The young ranger did their best to get closer to the cleric's secret, but alas, their methods were unsatisfactory, to say the least. They even stooped low enough to have Octavia steal Tristian's underwear and take it to the Storyteller for a reading. Of course, the stupid half-blood chick had given it all away by her uncontrollable giggles, making the old elf think he was being trolled and give a useless fake reading in a similarly lighthearted manner.

  Despite all that, Jaethal was convinced that Hazel was onto something. Her inquisitor senses told her there had to be something deeper behind the mask of almost feminine beauty paired with shy and awkward behaviour. The baroness had a way of making people open up about their past, so much so that Jaethal almost considered adding the skill of "listening with kindness" to her ever-expanding inquisitor toolkit. Harrim had no issue talking to Guelder about his shameful history with alcohol abuse, Jhod Kavken owned up to his role in lynching suspected lycanthropes back in Galt, and even Ekundayo got into gruesome details recalling the deaths of his wife and daughter. If Tristian had some normal trauma weighing on his delicate little soul, the baroness and her inner circle, including Hazel, would already know everything there was to know about it.

  All this led Jaethal to the assumption that he was not an average broken soul but a spy. But whom did he serve?

  Linzi's account about his recruitment left no doubt that Tristian had been a bit too eager to join Guelder's entourage, which probably meant that he'd been another power's agent from the very start. Back then, there had been precious few players of international politics who could be interested in observing a random adventurer trying to eliminate a bandit lord somewhere behind the gods' backs. The first and foremost suspect was, obviously, Pitax. However, Jaethal had seen enough of Tartuccio's buffoonery to doubt that Tristian served the same lord (or that he could even survive in Pitax for longer than two minutes, for that matter). The baronies of Varnhold and Glenebon hadn't yet existed. Which left her with Brevoy and the Stag Lord himself—and the latter being already obsolete, the most likely culprits were Brevan noble houses. For instance, House Surtova, obviously keen on keeping an eye on Lady Jamandi's moves to build up support for an eventual rebellion against the throne. Jaethal wondered if she could prove or refute her assumption based on Tristian's behaviour during the current crisis, or if she would arrive at an entirely different conclusion.

  "So, as to these preachers," began Tristian, clearing his throat, "they say the end is drawing near, because the baroness angered some sort of nature goddess. They say the evil in Her Grace's heart and a curse weighing on her is what brings disaster to the country. However, those willing to repent may undergo a ritual to cleanse themselves in death, by... erm... giving birth to a beast... in some way."

  "The end of what is drawing near?" butted in the Doomer Dwarf, twirling a strand of his beard around his finger. "Is it a full-scale apocalypse, or something of a more limited scope? A local apocalypse, maybe? It's just that I don't see how a no-name nature goddess could even imagine to interfere with Groetus's roadmap of annihilating the world."

  "Who can that goddess be, by the way?" Jhod Kavken scratched his balding head, deep in thought. "Is there any chance that Gozreh's female aspect went rogue and started to wreak havoc on her own?"

  Tristian fought hard to keep a straight face, but that only made his explosive chuckle worse. He blushed even darker than usual.

  "Also, what curse are they talking about?" continued Jhod. "Is it Her Grace's... um... personal condition we all know about, or a different curse?"

  "Lycanthropy doesn't make her evil!" snapped Linzi, slamming her quill down on the table in a drizzle of ink. "She is one of the least evil individuals I've ever met!"

  "Oh yes, it does," explained the High Priest, shaking his head at the bard's ignorance. "For the night of the full moon, every lycanthrope is considered to be of Chaotic Evil alignment. They can't help it, I guess."

  "Ah... That's stupid," noted the halfling. "But how does killing off people and swapping them out for beasts help avoid a disaster?"

  "Questions, questions," sneered Jaethal, looking over the priests coldly. "Great job, everyone. Now we have a nice and long list of potentially useless questions. A complete waste of time and ink. We are facing a cult founded by a certain individual striving to undermine the barony, and here we are, splitting hairs over how its teachings make no sense. Congratulations. Well, I have bad news for you. Setting up debates of doctrine will not help us eradicate this heresy. Finding the foreign agents spreading enemy propaganda will. I am certain that by arresting some of these doomsayers and interrogating them under... hm... sufficient pressure, we can get to the source of these hateful fallacies. I would not be surprised to find their origin in Pitax."

  It felt more than likely, and not only because Pitax was Nightvale's most unpleasant neighbour. A city-state of six trading houses (actually, glorified river pirate gangs), ruled by Castruccio Irovetti, a puffed-up clown of a king who had gained his power in a rigged game of cards, Pitax had been an archenemy of Nightvale almost from the very moment the idea of that state was conceived in Lady Jamandi's brain. The assassins attacking Jamandi's mansion at night after the recruitment event had been sent from Pitax. The pesky purple-haired gnome who had let the assassins into the mansion, and who had later on taken Jaethal and Valerie on a fool's errand searching for something he couldn't even describe himself, had been an agent of Irovetti. And there was Stefano Moskoni, that insufferable Pitaxian nobleman who'd come to Nightvale during the Troll Troubles, sniffing around for intel on the little startup barony, and then used the audience granted to him by the baroness to insult her and her state, hinting that a conquest by Irovetti would be exceedingly beneficial for the country. Then he'd fled the throne room with his trousers around his ankles, after the baroness had instructed Pangur to see him out. Weakening Nightvale with such underhanded pseudo-religious propaganda was definitely something Irovetti would do.

  According to an early part of Linzi's journal, telling about events the little bard had not been personally present at, Remus had once tried to push Guelder towards an untimely confrontation with Tartuccio and his mercenaries, who could have made a quick job of her and her two remaining companions. As Jaethal rummaged in her memories about her early days in the Stolen Lands, she faintly remembered a decrepit-looking old drifter secretly conversing with Tartuccio, not long before he'd decided to infiltrate a kobold tribe in hope of tracking down the mysterious Something. He'd even given the gnome his lantern, which had helped him find his way through the fog (until Valerie had smashed it to pieces on his head under the Old Sycamore, right before getting locked up). Had Remus warned Tartuccio about Guelder or set him in the right direction? Or had he even had a hand in resurrecting Tartuccio as Tartuk the kobold? Did that mean Remus was a mighty prophet of some deity?

  Jaethal blinked a few times, just out of muscle memory. This was getting confusing. Maybe she shouldn't have shut down the religious train of thought, after all.

  Luckily, Tristian rose to face her and challenge her opinion, nudging her back to the task ahead.

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  "I beg to disagree," he said. "We must approach this from the direction of the people. We must probe into what kind of people embrace these ideas, and why they do so. What need are they trying to fulfil? What underlying issue are they attempting to remedy? Torture is never the answer. Empathy is."

  If Tristian wanted a spectacular clash between good and evil, well, Jaethal was not going to pander to him. Not when his words actually made sense, for a change.

  "You have your work cut out for you, then," she said. "Take the stance of a compassionate Councillor, start conversations with simple believers, and find out about any underlying problem that might present itself in this shape. The baroness wants a comprehensive solution, and that is exactly what we shall deliver to her."

  Tristian acknowledged his task with a nod and sat back with a surprised face. Had he never seen professionals at work before?

  "Another way to find out more about this trend," continued Jaethal, "is infiltration into the cult. For this purpose, I need someone relatively unknown to the people, a person who can spiritually resonate with doomerism. Which leaves us with the dwarf."

  "He has a name," muttered Tristian, fiddling with his rosary. How much time did he spend every day disentangling it, just to mess it up again at the next available occasion?

  Jaethal cast a withering glance at him.

  "It is better for us if he has none." She turned to Harrim. "Luckily for us, you have quite an average dwarven face. You put a hat on your bald head, and you can pass for a simple worker interested in the new teachings. Collect all the tidbits you can. Doctrine is the least important part, mind you. I need to know about the organisation, the leaders' names, their rituals, their operation, their potential connections to foreign influence. Cut back a little on grumpiness, grab a pint if you must, but otherwise just be yourself."

  Harrim grunted in agreement.

  "As for myself, I might find a few informants who can be gently nudged to share their knowledge. In case Remus the Rancid returns in person, he will be the first on my list. Of course, I will not be making martyrs. Discretion is key. And gentleness, of course."

  Her lips drew into a slow, cruel smile, directed at Tristian, who was now glaring at her.

  "High Priest, your role will involve academic research. Dig up references of obscure female deities worshipped in this area. Anyone with a link to nature can be important. Besides the sorry excuse for a library available here in the middle of nothing, you can also use the Storyteller. If his nickname is anything to go by, he might have some interesting details for you."

  To banish the image of the unsettling old elf from her brain, Jaethal idly flipped through Linzi's notes on the sermon of Remus the Rancid in the throne room. Something hit her eyes, and she started at the sudden enlightenment. So this was why Guelder was so hung up on that sexually overcharged fey lord she'd mentioned at the legislation session!

  "Wait a minute. This says here that Remus talked not about a simple apocalypse, but specifically about another world swallowing this one. Is that true, High Priest?"

  Jhod Kavken rolled his eyes.

  "If he did, I couldn't really parse it from the flood of nonsense he was spewing."

  "Bones and ashes, Kavken!" exploded Jaethal. "Have you just glossed over a reference to extraplanar activity? I reckon you mayflies have never heard about the Worldwound, or have you?"

  Tristian frowned.

  "There are places where the veil between worlds is extremely thin, or downright broken," he recited in a dreamlike voice, as if narrating a vision. "Passageways between different planes of reality, which kill or distort life around them, and make it possible to... erm. Sorry."

  "Exactly. Supposing that the old man did not talk entirely off the top of his head, we had best narrow down the scope of our investigations to spiritual trends involving extraplanar entities."

  "Demonic activity, like up north in Mendev?" wondered the High Priest. "Could Remus's beautiful goddess be actually a demon? A succubus? That might explain the old man's lecherous ramblings about her. Or even a demon lord, like Lamashtu?"

  Jaethal snorted in disdain. That wretch must have been really starved for women if he'd called a three-eyed, winged, pregnant humanoid she-jackal beautiful.

  "We cannot tell at the moment. Apart from minor deities, look into nature-related demon lords, powerful fey, maybe even azata. Dredge up all the knowledge you can, but stay focused on the current situation. Any questions?"

  Tristian seemed to be torn between a wish to speak up and a contrary wish to pretend to be a grey rock, and when he noticed Jaethal's penetrating gaze aimed at him, he quickly shook his head. Jaethal held his eyes for a little longer, watching him squirm, until she got bored of it.

  "Expect the next meeting in two weeks. By that time, I want to see results we can build our further action plan on. Meeting dismissed."

  Before the first results began to trickle in, Baroness Guelder returned from her meeting with the druids and stormed into Jaethal's office with a flyer in her hand, like the excitable child she was.

  "Look at this, Jaethal! An invitation to a Kingdom of the Cleansed sacrament! What is a sacrament, by the way?"

  Jaethal took the flyer off her hands and skimmed over it.

  "Where did this come from?"

  "Tristian has apparently infiltrated the cult. No wonder. His current love interest is neck-deep in it."

  For a moment, Jaethal questioned her own mental abilities. She was fairly certain that the infiltration had been Harrim's task, not Tristian's.

  "And the invitation came from said girlfriend, I suppose."

  "Yes, from Amalia, personally for me. Date, time, venue, directions, you name it, everything is here."

  "Is she aware that you are evil incarnate, bringing destruction to this land?"

  "Well, yes and no. She seems to think I have an evil twin or something. Still, she very kindly invited me to their gathering. The nice me, not the evil me, if that makes sense... no, it does not. Anyway, this is my chance to find out what this is all about."

  In her mind, Jaethal finally identified the girlfriend Guelder was referring to. A dangerously stupid girl with freckles who sometimes appeared in The Beer Mug Inn for an alcohol-free cider.

  "Let me guess. You are supposed to show up alone."

  "Hell, no!" protested the baroness. "I have learnt my lesson at the Verdant Chambers, thank you very much."

  "Then with Tristian only, no weapons and no leopard."

  "If there was any such instruction, Amalia forgot to mention it. Still, it is as clear as the summer sky that it is a trap. I am bringing a full team of six and get well prepared with crowd control measures."

  "A sound plan," nodded Jaethal. "If you do not mind, I would rather stay in the background. Make sure to let me know how the story evolves."

  "There is one minor issue, though," said Guelder wryly. "That night will be the night of the full moon."

  Jaethal raised an eyebrow.

  "And that is a problem because?"

  "I might get out of control before I could talk some sense into them."

  "Then take someone with you who is strong enough to contain you and whom you can trust with your life. Hazel, for instance. Your unleashing your inner monster will match the theme of the sacrament just fine. If you accept an adult's advice: do not hold back. Make your transformation as dramatic as you possibly can, and then tap freely into the power coursing through your veins. Use it. Revel in it. Turn the dark curse into a darker blessing. Just make sure to prepare your companions accordingly."

  Guelder's eyes became distant. Had she never considered that her curse was something she should exploit for more power? If so, it was high time for that to change. And if it cost the lives of a few cultists, well, so be it.

  "Yes," mused the baroness. "Probably this is the way. If I cannot make them see sense before the moon rises, their blood shall be on their own heads."