The shadows from the candle made my companion’s eye sockets enormous and so dark that his eyes were invisible. I shivered involuntarily, not liking what I was thinking. Four years ago, the king had married, and, according to Dominic, had still been strong and vigorous. Three years ago, probably after their old chaplain had died unexpectedly, the kingdom had had to send for a new one. Not long afterwards, the king began to grow weaker.

It was a small kingdom. When they wanted a wizard, the best they could do was me. When they wanted a chaplain, they got a young man, who perhaps had a dark stain they had already suspected at the seminary, and who took up his duties without all the fatherly guidance and assistance that was normally considered necessary. I liked to give the impression that wizards were familiar with the powers of darkness; priests had to deal with them every day.

Joachim seemed content to let the silence stretch out. “The other day I came back to my chambers,” I said suddenly, “and the magic lock on my door had been broken.”

He didn’t seem as shocked as I thought he should have, but then he wouldn’t know how hard they are to break. He didn’t look guilty either, but I found it hard to read his face. “It doesn’t sound as though a magic lock has any advantage over cold iron, then.”

This, I realized, was supposed to be another one of his jokes. “You don’t understand. Someone would have to know a tremendous amount of magic to break it. It can’t be done with brute force.”

He leaned forward, and his eyes reemerged from darkness. “But I didn’t think there was anyone else in the castle who knew magic.”