"Have you a permit for it?" he returned.

I stared. "A permit saying I can cure people? What is this, the AMA? ".

"The queen has ever banned the curing of a witch on her deathbed!

None who had her license to cure would ever dream of doing so!

Nay, and worse-you have encouraged them to repent, to break their bonds with Satan!"

"Breaking bondage is definitely what I had in mind."

His sword whipped out. "You had no right, nor license! You shall cast a spell this instant, revoking those cures you have worked-or you shall die!"

Chapter Twelve.

Gruesome rumbled, and the soldiers had to quiet their horses.

They started looking nervous.

I waved my group to be still and said to the reeve, "Can I see your license for breathing?"

He stared. "What license?"

"For breathing," I said, impatiently. "if you have to have a license to get well, you must have to have a license to breathe!

Hasn't the queen gotten around to informing you about it? Show me your license!

"There is no such thing!" he snapped.

"Ah-ha, you don't have it!" I waved an admonishing finger at him.

"Everybody who lives in this country lives at the queen's pleasure, right? " "Well ... aye "Any heart that's beating, is beating because the queen lets it beat, right? " "Well ... aye, but "Then anybody who's breathing is only breathing because the queen lets them!

Because the queen gives them license! So where's your license to breathe?"

"I... I have not any - - ."

"No license to breathe? And you trying to lay down the law!

Where do you get off telling me to stop curing people just because I don't have a license' If you really think that makes sense, then you stop breathing-because you don't have a license!"

That shut him up, and I thought he was just staring at me, until his face got red. Then I realized, all of a sudden, that his chest wasn't moving.

"Master!" the soldiers cried, and started forward.

Gilbert drew his sword with an entirely unnecessary clatter, and Gruesome growled loudly as he stepped up.

The reeve fell off his horse.

I leapt forward and caught him just as the soldiers shouted. They started forward again, but hesitated, seeing him in my hands.

"This is ridiculous!" I snapped. "Don't you know satire when you hear it? Now stop this silliness this instant, and start breathing again! "

He turned blue instead.

"You don't have to obey the queen!" I shouted. "Besides, she never said anybody had to have a license to breathe! I made it up!"

His face grew darker, and I realized with a shock that it wasn't just that he wouldn't breathe-he conldn't breathe. I had made the argument sound too sensible, and he had something like a posthypnotic command going that compelled him to obey the queen's will-or whatever he even thought of as her will!

But that was impossible-hypnotism couldn't make people do something they were dead set against, I knew that.

It followed that the reeve wasn't set against being dead.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. She had linked a posthypnotic command to his death wish! "Frisson! Praise life!"

The poet held up a scrap of paper in front of my eyes. I read it aloud, and quickly.

"You find yourself in love with Death, Yet be assured, she Is a damsel most distressing, And confers no blessing.

Turn from her, and gain some longer breath!"

I remembered a Drayton couplet, and added it in: "Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, From death to life, thou might'st him yet recover."

And, just so Tennyson wouldn't feel left out-but I made a few modifications: "Drink life To the lees; all times you shall enjoy Greatly, as you've suffered greatly, both with those You'll find to love you, and alone!"

The reeve's body convulsed with a huge, shuddering breath, and his complexion lightened. I went almost as limp as he did.

"You ... you have saved me!" He looked up at me, staring, wide eyed.

"Darn right I have! Another minute, and you would have been at Hell's door!" I suddenly realized an implication. "That's right-being a civil servant to a sorceress-queen, you must have sold your soul to the Devil, too, didn't you?"

"Aye! Yet I have gazed at the fiery portal! 'Tis no children's tale, but truth!" He looked shaken, but even so, his eyes were narrowing, and he was beginning to look at me as if estimating how much torture I could take before dying. I decided the view of Hell hadn't been enough for him. "Frisson, do you have a verse for empathy-feeling what other people feel?"

There was a quick riffle of papers behind me, and the reeve shook himself, glaring over my shoulder. "Is he your scribe?"

"With his handwriting? Not a chance!" I reached for the slip of parchment Frisson was handing me-but the reeve started to chant in that confounded ancient language, so I snapped out a Shakespeare verse that had been tugging at my memory: "My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain.

All several sins, all used in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, 'Guilty! Guilty!' Oh no! I rather hate myself, For hateful deeds committed by myself!"

The reeve froze in midsyllable, a stricken look on his face.

So far, so good. I held up Frisson's verse and read it.

"There is no creature but I should love, And all that I have wronged, should feel my pity.

For hateful deeds that I have done to others Should each and all be visited upon my heart, That I myself should feel the pain That I have done to others!"

The gathering malice in the reeve's face suddenly dissipated. His eyes widened, then turned into pools of misery. He bent over, as if there were a pain inside him. "Aiiee! What have you done! I remember every cruelty I've wrought; I feel the pain of those I've injured!

How have you done this thing to me!"

"By poetry," I answered. "That's one of the things it's supposed to do-make you aware of what someone else is feeling."

"I ache, I burn! Oh, how could I have done such vile things!

Curse you for having given me a conscience! Never again shall I be able to smite down an innocent!" A single large tear formed at the inside corner of his eye. "How can I ever make amends for those I have wronged?"

I.

'Well," I said gently, "You could start by repenting."

"I do, I do! I repent me of my sins! Alas the day that ever I swore allegiance to the Devil, and banished my conscience! Ah, I ken not who to hate the more-he for having taken it, or you for having given it back!" The reeve groaned. "Oh, where is there a priest? For I must confess my sins, I must be shriven!"

I stared at him a long minute; then I said, "I have a notion you know better than I do-if there are any priests hiding out in your shire, you've got a strong suspicion where they are. You just haven't gotten around to hanging them yet-too many other things to do, like whipping peasants into paying another tax."

" 'Tis even so." He managed to get his feet under him and stood, bracing himself against his saddle. "I shall find such a one, I shall confess! I must know that G ... that Go ... that I am forgiven by the Most High!" But his body convulsed like a whiplash as he said it, as if the mere attempt to speak of something sacred had resulted in intense pain. He set his teeth and pressed on in spite of it. "I forswear my pact with Satan! I shall turn to G ... to Go ... I1 "Keep trying," I urged, "You'll get it out eventually."

One of the soldiers screamed and charged his mount at the reeve, his sword swinging.

Gruesome took two steps and picked them up, both horse and rider, gave them a hard shake, and threw them away. The man struck his head against a stone and lay still. The horse scrambled to its feet and bolted.

The other soldiers backed away with a moan.

"I take it that was your second-in-command?" I asked.

The reeve nodded. "He would have become reeve in my place, if he had smitten me down for treachery to the Devil and the queen.

Another will do so soon enough, I doubt not, but I shall have made some amends for the harm I've done."

I looked at his glossy black hair and realized it was no longer glossy. In fact, I was definitely seeing a gray hair or two. "Uh ...

if you don't mind my asking, how old are you"' "Ninety-seven," he answered. "I have preserved life and youth by black magic-and ahhh!"

He almost screamed, back arching in pain.

,What I did to bring about that spell, the number of those I bled!

Nay, 'tis only justice if all my years come upon me now!"

They were doing just that-he was aging even as I watched. The black magic that had kept him alive and relatively youthful was gone, now that he had rejected his bargain with Satan, and his debt of years was pressing to be paid.

"Find that priest," I suggested, "and quickly, while you still can."

"I shall!" He scrambled back onto his horse and clutched at the pommel grimly. To his men, he said, "Get thee back to my castle, with word that I shall never return! Say also that even my witchcraft succumbed to that of this stranger! I bid thee repent, for the hegemony of evil is passing!"

Frisson, pale-faced, pressed another slip of parchment into my hand. Surprised, I gave it a quick once-over, then nodded emphatic approval and muttered, "He is a sinner, I know full well, And yet his death is not God's will.

But his return to live and dwell Until a priest has seen him, still Bitten by sin and doing ill.

One thing is certain, that life fliesYet can be slowed for he who tries To seek the solace of his faith, And find the peace repentance buys!"

That last one sounded like something out of The Rubaiyat, but I wasn't about to criticize.

The reeve looked up, startled. "What did you say"' "Nothing to worry you," I answered. "Better get on your way. Who knows? Suettay might appoint a new reeve before the day's out."

The erstwhile reeve shuddered at the thought and turned his horse away. "Aye, 'tis even as you've said! Farewell, stranger! I withdraw my curse on you; I bless you instead, for the agony of conscience you have wrought will save my soul. But beware the queen, for she never had a conscience, ever, so no spell can give her one!"

"Thanks for the warning." I exchanged a worried glance with Frisson. "Hope your trip is smooth."

"If it were rough as rapids, I could not complain of injustice.

Farewell!" He rode away into the woods-but I noticed that he went clockwise around the circle.

His men groaned and turned back the way they had come, riding fast.

I turned back to my friends. "Let's just cut across the circle-what do you say? And get under the trees fast. I don't think we want to linger.

The trees petered out in late afternoon, and we found ourselves on an open tableland with occasional straggling lines of undernourished scrub to show where there was a watercourse. We camped by one of them just as the sun was sinking, ate a meal of journey rations that tasted like cardboard and hot water, then turned in. At least, Gilbert and Frisson did, and Gruesome curled himself up into a very large ball.

But Angelique didn't sleep, of course, and I took first watch; I was too restless to doze.

So were Angelique and Frisson, to judge by all the whispering that went on for the next hour-but Gilbert corked right off like the seasoned campaigner he was, so I woke him up for the second watch, sometime in the wee hours.

I couldn't sleep, of course. Suettay's threats were too much on my mind.

Gilbert looked up in surprise to see me wrapped in my cloak against the night's chill, but still sitting by the camp fire, staring into the glowing coals. He came over to say, very softly so as not to wake Frisson, "Will you not sleep, Master Saul? You shall need your rest on the morrow. " "I don't doubt it-but I've got much on my mind.

I'm trying to meditate, Gilbert," He frowned. "Do you speak of prayer?"

"It's like praying," I hedged. "in fact, prayer can lead to meditation, and vice versa. Either way, it's a good way to relax and get the worries of the day off your mind."

"All." He nodded, satisfied, and stood. "Then I shall leave you to your holy thoughts, Master Saul. Good night."

"Good night," I answered, and went back to gazing at the coals, reciting a mantra.

At first I thought it was doing no good-the coals just reminded me of Hell, which reminded me of Suettay, which reminded me of danger. So I gazed down at my cupped palms instead, trying to imagine the sound of one hand clapping, and it was just beginning to work when there was the faintest of whispers beside me, and Angelique murmured almost in my ear, "Why are you so sad, Master Saul? Can I aid? " Now, that was exactly what she was not doing. Maybe she didn't have a body, but she certainly still looked as if she did, especially at night, when her form glowed its brightest, complete with all her curves, which certainly were not in the slightest conducive to a tranquil state of mind, and definitely not the holy one Gilbert was hoping I'd have.

"I'm not sad." My voice was more gruff than I intended it to be, and she drew back a little, hurt-so I amended my statement and tried to soften my tone. "I'm troubled, yes-worried about the queen's being after us. But I'm trying to calm down and put her out of my mind."

"Mayhap I can aid." She reached up to touch my forehead with her hand, and insubstantial though it was, a breath of coolness seemed to touch my skin. I shivered, but not with the chill, and reached up to push her hand away with what I hoped was gentleness. "Your touch would inspire anything but tranquility. Might distract me from thoughts of the queen, maybe, but it sure wouldn't put me to sleep."

She frowned. "I do not understand."