By the time he reached the slimy flagstones at the foot of the stairs, his eyes had adapted to the gloom. His feet squished as he moved along the mossy corridor.

The passageway opened up to reveal four rusty metal doors and Questor Xylox, perched on a tall stool. He wore a heavy, blue cape around his shoulders, presumably to ward off the dismal hallway's pervasive chill. As he caught sight of his Prelate, he bounded to his feet, almost losing his balance on the slick flagstones in the process.

"Greetings, Lord Prelate."

"Greetings, Questor Xylox. How goes the vigil?"

"Slowly, Prelate Thorn. The traitors are in separate cells, as you commanded, and I check on each of them every hour. If they appear asleep or drowsy, I rouse them. However, they remain defiant. This is hard work."

Thorn nodded. “Patience, good Questor. Their treachery is undeniable, but we must persuade the miscreants to acknowledge their wrongdoing before trying them. I trust you and Magemaster Faffel to convince them to admit their treason."

"Lord Prelate,” Xylox said. “I thank you for the trust you have placed in me."

Thorn started at a sudden banging from behind one of the doors. Xylox jumped into action, battering the door with his staff.

"Be still, traitor!” he shouted, and the noise stopped.

Xylox sighed. “It is like this all day, Lord Prelate."

Thorn patted the mage on his shoulder with what he hoped was a gesture of paternal comfort.

"You serve your House and your Guild well, Questor Xylox. It will be remembered, I promise you."

The Prelate stepped carefully to the end of the corridor and took a small key from his pocket. Looking round to check that Xylox remained focused on his duty, he opened the door and walked into a small room lined with shelves.