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there now . Each minute we delay is another minute spent here .”
    Nahel shrugged. “He probably needs his rest.”
    “He got sunstroke from mucking about in the desert,” Damus said. “We’re stuck in a town that compares unfavorably to hell.”
    “I’m telling the queen you said that.”
    “You’re an awful liar, Nahel. If these fine folk saw you binding a messenger, they’d stone you for necromancy.”
    “If they can’t tell a Mystery from a Malefaction,” said Nahel, “I might take your offer and leave you here.”
    Damus gave the malakh a sour look. “No one enters Avalon without the queen’s consent. And you rightly observed that a guard who forsakes his charge is unlikely to get it.”
    “I still don’t see how one Nesshin can help us.”
    Damus flung an arm around his companion’s furry shoulders. “As I said before, our aim is to book passage with a caravan. We’ll approach this Nesshin, and he’ll conduct us to his clan.”
    Damus crossed to the shrine, preempting further protest. Nahel followed. They filed into the narrow alcove but halted before the acolyte’s raised hand.
    “Good day,” said Damus. “I was given to understand that a Nesshin is lodging here.”
    “He’s not to be disturbed,” the acolyte said flatly. “Pontiff’s orders.”
    Damus felt his temples throbbing. “If your pontifex had expected such an august embassy, he’d have made an exception.”
    Clearly unmoved, the acolyte said, “Declare your business.”
    “My business is quite beyond your understanding,” Damus snapped.
    Nahel’s voice conveyed his frown. “Damus, go easy.”
    “Who’s your friend?” asked the acolyte. “He must be a short one, to hide behind you. Stand aside so I can see him.”
    With a sigh, Damus pressed himself against one side of the alcove, giving the acolyte an unobstructed view of Nahel. The man’s youthful face drained of color.
    “What is he?” the acolyte asked in a near-whisper.
    “Nahel is a malakh,” said Damus.
    The fear in the acolyte’s eyes turned to wonder. “Hail, divine messenger!”
    “Hi,” Nahel said in his gravelly voice. “What’s going on?”
    Damus was about to interject when a deeply tanned fellow approached from the street. He carried a spear and wore a surcoat bearing the Shrine Guard’s crest of interwoven blue loops. “Alert every guardsman,” he called to the acolyte between heavy breaths. “There are murderers abroad.”
    “Every guard from the barracks is out searching for Altor Sykes’ caravan.” The acolyte’s face brightened. “But Providence has sent us a malakh!”
    Shielding his eyes with a gauntleted hand, the guard studied Nahel. His mouth bent in a wary frown. “Have you really come from God’s throne?”
    “Well, I used to work for Midras,” said Nahel, “but I had to change jobs.”
    The guard bowed to the malakh. “Can I ask your assistance?”
    “Sure. What’s up?”
    “It’s a matter for the Shrine Guard, but your…special standing warrants an exception.”
    Seeing an opening, Damus imposed himself between Nahel and the guard. “I am Damus Greystone, envoy from Her Majesty, the queen of Avalon and all the Light Gen. This one is my loyal bodyguard. I’ll happily lend you his services in return for a meeting with the Nesshin.”
    “I’ll ask his permission when he wakes,” the acolyte said sternly.
    The guard’s leathery brow furrowed. “What’s Avalon?”
    “A country in hell that the Gen sold their souls for,” the acolyte said.
    Damus raised a cautionary finger. “That’s a gross oversimplification…”
    The guard gestured for silence. His brown eyes darted between Damus and Nahel before settling on the malakh. “Perhaps we should speak in private,” the guard said in a low voice. “I don’t think it wise to discuss shrine business in front of an infidel.”
    Nahel thrust his thumb at Damus. “Yeah, but he’s with me.”
    “What do you mean, with you ?” Damus shouted. “You're with