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thought was known only to the old Master and Abbot Caspar? Yet his face did not look suspicious. Summoning courage, I managed to answer in a normal tone, "Yes, like anyone who grew up in these mountains I have some knowledge of the Perfected Ones. But I—I hope no person has found any reason to voice doubt concerning my commitment to the True Faith."
    "No, not at all. It is merely that Peyrefixade was originally built by those who styled themselves the Perfected, as one of their castles. It was the seat of one of their own greatest Magians at the time of the great war against them. The possibility exists that it may still harbor certain—ah— manifestations even after so many years, things that a trustworthy son of the True Faith thoroughly trained in the arts of divination, particularly one with at least some knowledge of the so-called Perfected, might perhaps be able to uncover. I simply wished to make it clear that you should be alert for any hint of magical forces lingering anywhere about your new station, whether old or recent. It is a matter of some importance for the Order."
    I began to relax again, and realized that my hands, hidden within my sleeves, had clenched with his first mention of the Perfected into fists so tight that my nails had bitten into my palms.
    "Then I shall strive to be alert. But it would be easier if I could know a bit more."
    "I suppose so." He paused, looking as if he would rather not go on. Controlling and doling out information as well as money is the life of every provost, and like most of the rest, ours was always chary of parting with either. A sigh. "You will recall that Peyrefixade passed from the hands of our late beloved patron Count Bernhard to his granddaughter about a year ago, and fell vacant again just in November when the countess met with an— accident." As he said this, he reached over to the box where he kept his inks, took out a little spill, and scattered a dusting of soot over the piece of fine parchment spread on the desk before him. He closed his eyes in deepest concentration, then passed his hand across the parchment and began to speak in a low voice. I had never gone far in this magic art, and I forgot all my questions and concerns while I focused all my attention on the beautiful patterns of magic that were forming on the parchment. The soot sifted about like fine sand in a breeze until the face of a woman not much above my own age, adorned with a fine silk headdress and a necklace, formed itself upon the white surface. I had seen the late countess on one or two occasions among other great ladies, when the region's high nobility had gathered for some great occasion at the duke's court, and was stunned by the excellence of the likeness.
    "Of course. The tale of her having fallen while walking alone upon the ramparts was everywhere at the time."
    "But are you not also aware that her untimely death, though most regrettable, was not entirely a bad thing for our Order?"
    It was now my turn to think it might be better if Provost Balaam did not disclose too much information to me. "Well, of course I knew there had been some misunderstanding between our Order and the countess, my father. The novices, and even some of the more senior brothers, were always gossiping about it. There was even talk of a possible case at law. I tried to pay as little attention as possible to such idle gossip; I wanted no idle distractions from my studies and devotions." Which was perfectly true—in fact I had simply walked away from several discussions when they had turned to this subject. I only wished I could do so now, but having once made a beginning, Provost Balaam evidently meant to go on.
    "The matter begins even before you returned from our priory in the duke's city of Ferignan to join us here at the Mother House. Not long before his death, full of years and virtue, our esteemed patron the old count had been contemplating a final gift to us, one more munificent even than the one in which