The crew dug into the scrolls with an almost desperate speed. They had a lot to get through. Rikchay and Q’wisqa each had an entire wall of literature devoted to them: histories, spy reports, and even urban legends, the product of centuries of meticulous documentation. If Calvin wanted to weaken the cults in time for Cambiador’s plans, he needed to make good use of this resource. He already knew that the Rikchay were much more skeptical than the Unichi, and a Q’wisqa prison would be much more of a challenge to escape than the Hark’akuy prison had been, so he’d need brand new plans to take them down. Calvin hoped that studying the literature here would help him come up with a plan that would work.

  “Whoa, look at this!” Marlon held up an illustration of a bizarre creature. It had the build of a bear and the mane and claws of a lion, and it was covered in purple and black scales. It was a Q’wisqa monstrosity: a type of creature created through obscene Q’wisqa rituals. Most were unique, but the one depicted in Marlon’s picture was a good representation of their formidability. “Do you think we could recruit one of these?”

  “That’d be insane,” Rupert said.

  “Insanely awesome,” Fred said. “Can you imagine having that thing on the team? We’d be unstoppable.”

  “Can you imagine recruiting it without dying first?” Damien asked. “Those things are untouchable.”

  “Alright, alright,” Calvin said. “I like how you’re all thinking, but let’s focus. Marlon, you go ahead and try to find any weaknesses the monstrosities have or something we could use to subdue one. The rest of you get back to your original assignments.”

  The week went on with Calvin’s crew spending nearly every waking hour studying and planning in the archives room, often punctuated by grunts of discomfort from the bloated rookies.

  On the sixth day, Calvin arrived early with a measure of confidence. He had a solid plan in the works for taking down Rikchay. He still didn’t have a lot to go on for Q’wisqa, but he was sure that Rikchay would be their next assignment. He pulled down a few scrolls from the Rikchay wall, intending to find and fill any holes in his plan. He settled down at a table, relaxed into the silence of the empty room, and got to studying.

  An hour later, he looked up as Bob and Pelias entered. He looked around, but no one else had arrived. “Where are the others?”

  Bob patted his belly, which was just as flat as it had been before the feast. “Cambiador summoned us for a bloating remedy, sir. He did me first. Then he said he had a special task for the others.”

  Calvin’s face grew cold. That report was strikingly similar to what he’d heard before Mike and Harold had both retired from fieldwork. “Did he say what type of assignment?”

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  “No, sir.”

  “Perhaps,” Pelias said, “He wants their help training his new recruits. I expect they can offer good insights on how to counter cultist fighting styles.”

  Calvin nodded, wishing without hope that Pelias was right. He had the terrible feeling that he’d never see those crewmates again. His gut twisted, telling him to get back on task, so he heaved a sigh and got back to work. But not all day this time, he thought. This time, I’ll leave early and go ask Cambiador for answers.

  That evening, he rapped on Cambiador’s door frame. “My lord? It’s Calvin. I need to talk to you.”

  Silence.

  “My lord?”

  No answer.

  Calvin poked his head through the curtain and found the room almost exactly as he’d left it the last time he’d been there. Soft candlelight illuminated the small entrance space, and the higher portion of the room was kept in darkness. There was one marked difference, though. As soon as his face entered the room, his nose was assaulted with the scent of blood. His own blood ran cold. Something terrible happened here. “My lord Cambiador? Are you here?”

  Not a word answered him, not a rustle, not a breath. His stomach twitched in warning, but he ignored it. He grabbed a candlestick and climbed into the higher section of the room. There, he found a large stone table. The surface was carved with a deep and intricate relief of Tikray runes. Each of the corners had a hole in the shape of a coiled snake. The snakes’ scales were so precise they may have been carved with a pin, but they disappeared on the inside of the hole as if the carving had been rubbed away. Nearly every crevice of the table was darkened with reddish-brown residue, and some of it still shimmered in the candlelight.

  The usual writhing in his stomach began, this time accompanied by a knot of a completely different sort: one of guttural, instinctive revulsion. This might be worse than what the Hark’akuy were doing. His insides pinched sharply at the thought. He grunted in pain and dropped to his knees. It wasn’t the worst he’d ever felt, but it was close.

  It was some time before he could gather the strength to stand. When he did, he resisted the urge to lean against the bloodied table as he surveyed the rest of the room. Two unlit braziers stood on either side of a large wooden door. Calvin pressed his ear against the crack and, hearing nothing, pushed his way inside.

  The room inside was a wide square. A circular map table stood in the center, with what seemed to be a makeshift bed beneath it. Calvin slumped, disappointed, and turned to leave. Then he spotted a familiar beard out of the corner of his eye, and he turned back to examine the wall. Danti’s beard hung from a shelf there. No, not just his beard. His face. Danti’s head sat on the shelf, his face frozen in an expression of pain. Fighting his own pain as his stomach twisted more tightly, Calvin shone his candlelight over the rest of the walls and found more familiar faces. Many more. Damien. Mike. Rupert. Harold. Marlon. Ruven. Fred. Borris. And more. Many of his former Tikray acquaintances. All of the crewmates he’d lost to “retirement.” They weren’t retired at all. They were dead, each of their heads displayed here in this secret room, each of their faces contorted in mortal anguish.

  Cambiador didn’t retire them, Calvin thought, blood racing, temples sweating, stomach clenching. He killed them. He killed all of them.