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go back on my word. If, that is, I do get out, which is another issue altogether.
    My thoughts trail to Puck, wondering whether he’s managed to steal the keys yet. Or if he even understood a single word I told him which, as time trickles by, seems less and less likely. I feel fear’s cold fingers clamp around my stomach once again—I might as well pray for a miracle.
    I take a long, deep breath. Now’s not the time to panic. What I need is to gain the judge’s clemency. And the only way to get that is to give him what he wants…
    I stop in the middle of pacing the room, my hand resting on the cold wall. “I have a question,” I say.
    “Jameson’s,” Nibs says automatically.
    “What?”
    “Unless you mean rum,” he continues, “in which case I must admit I like Captain Morgan.”
    “I don’t care what alcohol you want,” I say.
    “Then I don’t see why we should be conversing,” Nibs says with a note of finality.
    “What do you know about the Sangraal?” I ask. “It can heal anyone, right?”
    “Only when activated,” Nibs says, after a moment’s pause. “But only a few Fey can manage that.”
    “I know you said it can’t give you a new ogham,” I say, “but what if I got your ogham back? Could it fix you then?”
    Nibs’s breath comes out in a whistle. “It could help me reintegrate it into my system,” he says cautiously.
    “Seriously?” I ask.
    “The Sangraal augments one’s powers tremendously,” he explains, “so that the one using it can accomplish just about anything. Including merging its oghams into one, or breaking them into more parts, healing, changing forms…it can even increase your link with your weapon so you’re practically invincible.” He spits loudly. “Michael used that trick during the Great War. Nobody stood a chance against him and his sword of flames after that, not even Lucifer whose predilection was fire!”
    “A sword!” I exclaim, the word jarring my memory. “That’s what it was!”
    “What
what
was?” Nibs asks, annoyed at having his recollection interrupted.
    “At my trial today they kept asking me about Excalibur, but I couldn’t remember what it was.”
    “They did, did they?” Nibs asks, suddenly all ears.
    “Yeah. Though I don’t know why they care so much about one sword. They’ve got thousands of others.”
    “There’s no other sword like Excalibur,” Nibs says. “It is one of the Nine Worthies. And I’m not talking about your ridiculous knighthood ideals either, but about
the
ultimate Fey weapons.Any one of the Nine Worthies can destroy absolutely anything, even the Sangraal itself if the wielder so chooses.”
    “Why would anyone want to do that?” I ask in surprise.
    “So its power can’t go into enemy hands.” Nibs’s voice grows distant, “That’s what our leader had intended. It was the only way to defeat Michael and win the war, you see. Without it, Michael’s flaming sword wouldn’t have been any greater than Lugh’s Goirias, Manannan’s Fragarach, or Lucifer’s Excalibur.”
    “Wait, wait, wait,” I say, my head reeling from the info dump. “Excalibur was Satan’s sword?”
    “Lucifer, please,” Nibs says. “Or Lucifel, if you want to stick to the angelic declension. Satan wouldn’t have dared raise a finger if it weren’t for Lucifer, doesn’t have enough balls.”
    “Excalibur was Lucifer’s?” I ask again, trying not to think about the devil’s privates.
    “Yes,” Nibs says. “At least until it got stolen.” His voice lowers to a harsh whisper that makes me shiver, “And if I ever get my hands on Caim, I’ll make sure he suffers for the rest of eternity.” He hawks loudly and spits, the clump of mucus hitting the floor with a wet squelch. “So, what did your people want to know about Excalibur?” he asks jovially.
    “If I knew where it was,” I answer automatically.
    “And do you?”
    “Why does everyone think I do?” I ask, exasperated.
    “Well, your father was the last one