Days of the Dead Book 1: The Thief's End

Chapter 9: Epic Showdown

Kit
I am back in the hospital room. In worse shape than before. Somebody screams. I have half a mind to stay and get medical attention. Quarter of a mind. Okay, well, it crosses my mind briefly.
Then I throw myself out the window.
I do feel better out of the cave. Okay. I'm not doing great. But I can breath. I can breath. I can do this. All right. Moving on, walking. I've not got shoes but hell, I'm at least clothed. And though I shiver with fever I'm doing all right. I can stand.
I make my way to the road. They won't call the police. Not just yet. And the hospital's three miles from home. I can just walk. Play it off as a big mistake. Sleep for about a year. And then make up something plausible I haven't thought of yet. And then I'll go back and help the idiots in the cave. Again. With more strength we can fight our way out.
So I walk along the side of the road. It's night. Humid, and miserable, with mosquitoes buzzing. Blood drips from my face down to the pavement, getting all clotted gooey down my neck. I wipe it away with my sleeve. I'll keep. I'm not bleeding as badly. Ocenon was right. I need to go heal. If I act like I don't know what happened, then maybe my mother will make me chicken soup. She makes good soup, and I'm ill. That would be nice. I don't know why we had to empty our pockets. No matter. I'll go back. I'll get more gold. And my master will have to give me my voice back. And all will be well.
I can see a shadowy figure ahead of me on the road. Just standing there. A cop? Some predator prowling looking for someone to kill? I don't die easy. I raise a hand to throw the figure to the ground, with magic. I'm past caring if anyone knows and whoever it is shouldn't be standing there like a creep.
I send a bolt of magic out, holding up a hand.
The stranger raises his hand, catching the magic easily. It crackles and absorbs painlessly into his skin.
"You're a hard man to find, Kit Wren."
No.
The man tosses off his hood, to reveal a smooth bronze face, lined with lightning bolt like scars. One eye is clear white, the eye of Odin, the poets say. The other is black. He stands taller than I, stocky, with thick arms and a careless easy stance. Terrifying if I have to sum him up in a word. He's terrifying.
There's a lot of names for this wizard. Some call him Merlin reborn. But he pops up in any number of legends almost anywhere I travel to. A dangerous immortal, capable of harnessing the power of lightening. Odin, Zeus, Jupiter, all names given to try to capture this man's power.
Naturally the one other time I saw him, I tried to antagonize him and lure him to fight me, so I can kill him, and show my master his body. I think that would be a great trade for my voice.
"You once asked me to find you. I have now, why? What did you need?"  He asks, cocking his head, both hands at his side drumming his thighs idly, like there's so much power in his body his hands simply must keep vibrating.
I smile, letting my voice echo through our minds So I can kill you
I fly at him, with all the strength left in me. I didn't want to do this now but what the hell? I might as well die trying. I hover in the air, blue magic flowing freely from me as I build my power, eyes glowing with magic leaking from them.
He raises into the air as well, his trademark white magic surrounding him as his one eye glows white, the other a deep dark blue. I raise my magic to meet his.
And then he smacks to the pavement as easily as if I were a fly.
"Now, let's try this again. Hi! I'm Gideon Saint, nice to meet you, you're clearly cursed," he says, a foot on my chest as he easily pins me down, "What do you say you come with me, I help get that off your mouth, and if you want we duel like civilized people when you're not laboring under a couple of curses? I'd really rather adopt you into my found family than fight, but that is completely up to you! What do you say?"
I flip him off.
"Okay, cool, well you asked for my help once so I'm gonna go with that, and I want to get that off your mouth looks painful. Can't do that here though, and I'm sure I shouldn't be in 1986. Come on," He says, then he binds my hands with a quick spell, and tosses me easily over his shoulder.
And then we're surrounded by magic. He's transporting us somewhere—where?
A castle. Great. A general haunted, castle looking place. Gideon Saint (if that's really who he is) sets me down. I immediately try to kill him and run, so he binds me with another spell to keep me still.
"Sorry! You do have to stop doing that. This is Windsor Palace! The year is 1438, I'm a guest here, so so are you as long as you like. Don't worry, I'm gonna get that stuff off your mouth and then we can talk and I really personally think we should be friends," he says, completely cheerfully, sticking one fist in his mouth and holding my shoulder with the other hand. On one hand he's easily the most terrifying person I've ever met, on another he's eating his fist and wants to be friends so like I don't know if that second thing makes him more terrifying or not.
"Come on, let's go find someplace quiet to work on this," he says, checking my bound mouth.
I try to bite him and run.
"Really, you're making rescuing you very complicated," he says, swinging me back over his shoulder with surprising ease. The man is built like a tank and has the personality of a yellow lab. It's just weird.
A boy approaches down the hall, well, teenager. Looks my age, but like one of those kids who got a rain check on puberty so just kinda tall? Just generally like the sort of person that gets murdered every single passing period. He's not bad looking, in fact he's quite handsome. He just might as well be a victim in an anti-bullying video that's about the kid's career goals. Yes, I'm upside down over Goliath's shoulder but like, I can tell, okay?
"I'm so glad to see you, my dearest Gideon," the boy says, kindly, clasping his hands together, "I'm quite miserable and would like your company if you've got the time." I don't know if it was already obvious in the narrative but Gideon (if that's really his name) has blood soaked clearly dying me slung over one shoulder.
"And I you, your highness. Would you like to talk about what's going on or be distracted?" Gideon asks, nicely.
"My father is home. My mother is also home. They're rowing which is actually worse than them getting along, somehow. Thomas and Ned are at it like cats and dogs. I am begging you to distract me from my woes," the boy says, putting a hand through his soft hair and sighing sadly.
"Can do, I just found this rogue wizard who's been cursed. I'm trying to save him, but he wants to kill me, want to watch me do that?" Gideon asks, moving me off his shoulder and holding me up like a kitten to demonstrate.
"What was option one again?" the boy asks.
"We talk about what your mother and father are doing to your development."
"Yep, let's do your thing, come on let's get him in my office, father's is across the hall so we'll just be quiet— where did you find him?" The boy asks, looking at me cautiously. I snarl at him, silently of course.
"Longish story, but not in this dimension," Gideon says, hauling me in a little library, and pushing me down into a chair.
"I'll get him some wine, he looks ill," the boy says, nicely. I glare at him.
"He's sick, very sick—-sorry, his name is Kit Wren, Kit, this Prince Henry, crown prince, heir to the throne of what are we at, England, Scotland, Wales, France, and Castile now?" Gideon asks, slyly. I think they made up a couple of those countries, I guess?
"Oh, don't let my father hear you counting Castile in there yet, it's his favorite stomping ground of late and quite amusing him," the prince says, bringing me a cup of wine. I am about to knock it over, but the kid looks like he might cry if I do that. Seriously, this boy looks like he's had three nervous break downs already this week. Would you kick an eight week old basset hound puppy? No? Then you wouldn't be mean to this kid. It's probably against inter-dimensional law.
"Fair enough," Gideon smiles a bit.
"How did you find him? He looks ill, I should send for a doctor," the prince says, frowning at me. I smile at him sarcastically.
"D'you remember a couple of years ago now Courtenay and I were doing things which are illegal but involved me doing adventures?" Gideon asks.
"Vividly, that's when Courtenay scarred you," the boy says, pouring them each a glass of wine.
"Yeah, well, in that I met this fellow, and he told me to find him, he had a necklace belonging to Ethan Wren. Some research later Ethan Wren isn't a wizard, but it turns out his little brother Kit, is, so after much ado I succeed in fulfilling my promise and tracking Kit down, but now apparently he wants to kill me," Gideon, not all concerned.
"Oh, that's awful!"
"It's completely fine."
"Why is he here and you're casually chatting with him if he wants to kill you?" The prince asks, knotting his fist in his shirt.
"I casually chat with your father all the time," Gideon says, rapping his hands on his thighs like he does.
"He doesn't still want you dead."
"He does; it's fine; I'm honored to be on the great Henry Rex's hit list," Gideon says, lightly, and I fully believe it's true, "Now, Kit here has his mouth sewn closed, so I am trying to see what I can do about that."
I glare. Only my master can remove it.
"It is? What do you mean?" The prince asks.
"Oh, you can't see it? Looks like threads. I'm guessing it's magic," Gideon says, putting cool fingers on mouth.
"Oh, that's awful!"
"Yes, I think that's why he can't speak, here—stop trying to bite me, I'm trying to help you," Gideon says, working his soft padded fingers into my mouth.
"Can you get it off?" The boy asks, knotting his hands in his shirt nervously.
"I'll try," Gideon says, "Liberare omnia vincula dimittere omnia debita." As he whispers the words cold white magic seeps through his fingers and onto my lips. He claps his hand over my mouth, keeping the magic in, flowing down my throat. As he does the painful binds on my lips wear thin, and seeps down my throat, stinging fiercely yet filling me with a holy fire of magic.
Finally he lets go, but the job is the done magic dissolved into me.
"There," Gideon rocks back on his heels, staring at me with concern.
I breath, slowly, unable to believe how clear my lips feel.
"Fuck," I whisper, and I hear my own voice again. For the first time in five long years, rough and painful from lack of use. But it is there.
"Better?" Gideon smiles.
I try to bolt.
He stops me naturally, and as easily as before pins me to the chair. I try to stab him with a letter opener. He mutters a spell and binds me to the chair for that.
"Let me go," I rasp, tugging at the chair.
"Not just yet, you don't know where you are first off, second of all the palace guards aren't going to be thrilled to find you running about," Gideon says.
I try to raise my hands to my amulets.
"Yeah, not just yet," he says, taking the necklace from my neck, "I'm a little concerned you have tried to kill me."
"Those are mine, that's stealing," I snarl.
"You will not be robbed, we wish to help you. I'm a prince of England, not a thief," the boy says. He's almost taller than Gideon, but clearly his junior, he can't be more than fifteen. Gideon looks young there's youth to his face, but I don't dare guess with a creature like him.
"Let me go," I whisper, my voice aching from lack of use, and so raspy. An octave or two deeper than I remember. When did I become a man? Not long before I became a thief I imagine.
"Why do you want to kill me?" Gideon asks, frowning.
"For my master. You're a legend. I thought if I killed you, I'd get my voice back," I say, quietly, still struggling though he's got me well bound up.
"Your master? Who is that?" The prince asks.
"I don't know, some devil who caught me, I was to serve him," I say.
"So you were going to kill me as a prize? Why? I'm not anyone?" Gideon asks, really hurt.
"Don't be cute," I glare at him. He might be pretending for this prince's sake that he's no one but he's clearly someone. He knows damn well what he is.
"You're dying. I want to help you. You're sick with magic, and—some sort of curse," Gideon presses his hand to my head.
"None of your business," I say, glaring. I know it came from the Beggar's Tomb.
"These are all amulets, where did you get them?" Gideon asks.
"Stole them," I say, softly.
"I see nothing," the prince says.
"Yeah, they're amulets, even sorcerers can't see them, just wizards," Gideon says.
"And they're mine," I say.
"They allow him to travel to different time periods," Gideon says, "Like I explained mine," he holds up a hand with an iron ring on it, "Got me here. To 1432 originally, now we're at 1438. Every one of these amulets, goes to a different year. He's got like ten of them."
"Right," the boy goes and gets paper preemptively, "Where does he come from?"
"1986, yeah, long time ahead," Gideon smiles when the boy looks mildly surprised.
"Right, I'm drawing this out," the prince says.
"Why? What's it to you?" I ask.
"I don't know. You're currently cursed. I got one off and am working on the other, could possibly be because you're sock sliding through space time. Like that is definitely, not a good idea, time is linear for a reason," Gideon says, very sarcastically, before stuffing a fist in his mouth like that proves his point. 
"Okay," I say because he probably has a point, but I don't want to admit it, "I did get cursed at one point."
"Right, so let's map it out and maybe we can solve it, I love a good puzzle," the boy says, nicely.
"Right, so where does this one go?" Gideon asks, holding up an amulet.
"To like, some city? I don't know. I hang out with some brothers, one's my age some are younger," I say.
"What year is it?" The boy prompts.
"I don't know," I say.
"You didn't—ask?" Gideon asks, like disappointed.
"No," I say, "I couldn't talk. Genius."
"What about this one?" He holds up another.
"Like, Vikings were involved, I know that," I say, "I didn't stay they kept trying to kill me. I just robbed them."
"Okay then, we'll put that, here, at the end, we'll say pre-Norman conquest," the boy says, putting it down on the end of the paper.
"And this one?" Gideon asks.
"I don't know. Like some village someplace? I robbed their church that was about it," I say, shrugging.
"What were they wearing? Do you know what was going on politically at the time?" Gideon asks.
"What language were they speaking?" The prince asks, "In the church?"
I shrug.
"You've been to—fantastic different time periods and learned—nothing?" Gideon asks.
"It's okay. I've got this, what version of the Bible were they using? Was it in Latin? The style of crosses, or the priest's dress could tell us when it was," the boy says, happily.
"I don't know, why do you know that?" I ask.
"I'm a student of religion," the boy says.
"You get picked on a lot, don't you?" I ask.
"Yes, actually," the boy says, "Not too much as I'm the prince, but yes. Why?"
"Observation," I say, dryly.
"Did you have any observations in this time period?" Gideon holds up another amulet.
"Oh, that's the idiots in a cave, I need that one we're in a problem—oh that's also probably where I got cursed," I say.
"What?" They say, in unison.
"Yeah we found this like, cave with treasure, but a curse was written on a tomb so we think that poisoned me," I say.
"Okay," Gideon looks pained, "Do you— know anything significant about these people you're with? Names? Dates? Religions? How you wound up in cave?"
"I don't know. We run around like country side getting into battles and stealing stuff. It's like an army. Leader is tall and has red hair and doesn't talk a lot. Everyone is obviously gay?" I shrug.
"That means nothing, you have no helpful observations?" The prince asks.
"You're crusading with Richard the Lionheart?" Gideon chokes, at the exact same time.
"You got that from that?" The prince asks.
"Unfortunately yeah—that's—describe the leader?" Gideon says.
"That sounds familiar is he like a king or something?" I ask.
"Yeah, he's like a king or something, describe the person you met," Gideon is visibly vibrating.
"Um, tall, red hair, likes leading a DnD party as his life pastime? Probably gay, but we haven't had the talk yet? Hates somebody called Philip? His people call him Ocenon but not to his face?"
"That's Richard the fucking Lionheart," Gideon is grinning, "Okay, your highness, for personal reasons I'm gonna want to—,"
"No, we agreed, traveling back and forth messes up time that's why you're not doing it. That's probably why he's cursed, we're not meant to use time like that, it changes things that's why the Templars are wrong," the prince says.
"I love this guy though. Definitely a war criminal, super bad, many murders, so cool," Gideon pleads.
"Wait, who are you saying he is?" I ask, "Like that's a king, right? Why are we running around in the countryside having adventures?"
"Oh, because he wants to have fun and be homosexual, that's it, that's why. He's called Oce-e-non, a poet called him that Richard 'yes and no' for his terseness. He was a poet himself though and was decently kind to the women in his life, trusted his mother to run his country," Gideon says.
"I'm technically his great-great-great-great great something grandnephew, his brother's son would be Henry III, who would father Edward I, who was the father of Edward III, who was the father of my great grandfather John, King of Castile," the prince says.
"Wow. Okay, that's nice for you. I'm very interested," I say, not at all interested.
"This is such a big deal," Gideon sighs, so happy now.
"Give me that back, we're like, stuck in a cave, I'm working on that situation," I sigh.
"Cool, we will, what's this one go to?" he holds up an amulet.
"Like a city? I don't know I just pick pockets there," I say.
"How about this one?" Gideon asks, "Meet any major historical figures I idolized when I was nine?"
"How should I know? It's like a palace, but like we hunt and have fun. They don't mind me there but I stole some of their stuff so I'm waiting to go back," I say.
"So we have—two of these matched up," the prince sighs, looking at his paper, "Richard the Lionheart, there—and then maybe Viking era."
"How old was Richard?" Gideon asks.
"I don't know? Twenty? Like forty tops," I say.
Both of them sigh.
"What? We're kicking ass stealing stuff and getting rich," I say, "I'm not paying attention."
"That's really obvious," Gideon says, "How'd you find your first amulet?"
"Like, in a swamp? I ran away from home, found it buried in mud. Put it on. I'm in a field someplace and so I start killing people and my master is capturing me after I try to kill him, and then I told him I'd steal him stuff if he wanted," I say, "Then he gave me another and I started amassing more. While I steal stuff for him to try to earn my voice back."
"So—let me get this straight. You find a magical amulet. It takes you to a new world where you get enslaved because you were attacking everyone you met. You deal with that by immediately becoming a thief and stealing anything you can put your hands on?" Gideon asks.
"Yeah," I say, nodding.
"Okay, let me say first off: I am a big fan of how poorly you've handled this situation," Gideon says, nicely.
"Do you know who your master is?" The prince asks.
"Yeah, some dick who enslaves me," I hold up the bracelet, "See? This is what he uses to torture me."
"Can you get it off?" The prince asks Gideon.
"Yeah, probably, but it's on fast," Gideon says.
"Can you describe who did this to you?" The prince asks.
"I don't know, like an adult man with a bad haircut? Ugly or disfigured I can't tell which I'm usually crying and trying to get free?" I shrug.
"Okay, that helps not at all. Don't suppose you know what time period this is?" Gideon asks.
"Nope, didn't know it was different time periods," I say.
"This is a mess," the prince sighs.
"Look, Kit, we need to figure out who did this, that'll help me break the spell and get you free," Gideon says, "Right now you're still bound to him."
"Oh, he had a demon do that. Like an actual demon," I say.
"Great," Gideon sighs, chewing on his fist for fun I guess.
"That's completely despicable, I'm so sorry this happened to you," the prince says, like genuinely sorry, "If you'd permit I'll say a prayer for you."
"Okay?" I have never had someone offer to pray for me before, but he is quite handsome.
"So—let's get this straight, your master has you time hop to steal precious jewels and artifacts for him?" Gideon says, "We can figure this out, between us we know enough historical figures with that kind of power. It has to be someone powerful and with the ability to sell such items."
"And with no actual conscience to enslave a boy," the prince says.
"Oh, this started when I was ten, five years ago," I put in.
"Okay, what kind of egomaniac would enslave a child as a professional thief to steal shiny things? You'd have to be completely soulless, with zero regard for human life," Gideon says.
"Or moral order, someone focused completely on self gain," the prince says.
They both look up slowly and stare at each other for a long moment.
The boy looks murderous.
Gideon sighs, rubbing his face, "It couldn't be."
"Oh, it is," the boy snarls, with a fierceness I have not seen in him and shouldn't be in someone with as little upper body strength as him.  He crosses the room, opens the door and leans out, "FATHER! Is there something you want to tell me?"
The boy leans in the door waiting expectantly. And my master strolls in, as powerful and despicable as ever, drinking from a glass of wine and reading out of a ledger, followed closely by his demon, who very nearly starts at the sight of me.
"Yes, in fact, I'm so glad you brought it up I was thinking about Ireland—what's he doing here?" My master finally looks up and points at Gideon.
"You were thinking about Ireland were you?" Gideon, so disgusted, arms crossed.
I wither, what are they going to do to me? The demon is staring at me like contemplating how to murder me.
"Father," the prince, looks like he's having a medical event, just so tired not even angry anymore just tired,"Did you—by any chance—kidnap and enslave a person? After I specifically asked you not to?"
"Of course not, Harry," my master says, coolly, closing the ledger he was working on, "Why is Saint here? We discussed this?"
"So you're saying you didn't—kidnap that boy to bring you stolen artificers to fund your various pet wars?" The prince points at me.
"No, of course not," my master says, kindly, to I guess the kid is his son. They look nothing alike. My master looks at me like he's never seen me before in his life, "I've never even seen that boy before in my life. It's likely a trick of Saint's. Archbishop, would you escort them both out?"
"They're not going anywhere with him," the prince says, frowning, "They're my guests. You promise me that you did not do it?"
"Of course not," my master says, "I don't know what you're talking about, or who that is. To be safe, I should probably keep him, however."
"That's the truth?" The prince asks. He's very gullible I've noticed that about him.
"Before you perjure yourself Majesty, if that's true why, on earth, isn't he saying something like 'yes that's not the person and his perpetual shadow who enslaved me', and why is he sitting there like a beaten dog?" Gideon asks, pointing at me "Because to be clear, if that we're true he'd have said that by now."
"Well, the boy is clearly mad. He's never seen me before in his life," my master says, glaring daggers at me.
"I've never seen him before in my life," I say, quickly, withering in his gaze, "Or his demon."
"Wow, I can't believe you," the prince says, hands on hips.
"He just said it," my master says, confused why that didn't work.
"Because you glared at him!" Gideon sighs, "Every time I consider other suspects, every time it's you!"
"I don't know who he is, that's true," I say, quickly.
"Kit, let me introduce you to your master. Henry Rex, Hammer of the Gauls, Supreme King of England, France, Scotland, Wales, Lord of Ireland and Mann, and almost Castile, England's golden boy, favorite son, the Scourge upon Sinners, Hand of Ares, once and future king," Gideon says, sweeping his hand toward Henry.
"Why did you do that that well?" The Prince asks, rubbing his face, "You didn't need to do that. Don't do that. He pays people to do that worse than you just did that. That was disgusting. You really had no reason to say that like that."
"Oh, I do that in my head every time he walks in a room, it's a problem, you guys don't even know," Gideon says, eating his fist.
"Okay, so you're a king of somewhere. I've never met you. I should get to go," I say.
"Don't move," the demon growls.
"That's Archbishop Courtenay, he's also here, always, unknown to history why, youngest ordained priest or one of, Flower of Devon, yes his hair always looks this good," Gideon says.
"I mean, yeah it really does, do you know why? I thought it was 'cause he's a demon," I say.
"He's not, I think," Gideon says.
"Which you know because you've met him before? With him? Because they're always together—father, you promised you wouldn't take any more slaves, you did promise," the prince sighs.
"I promised that after catching him, if I did. And so it didn't break the promise also that might not be a person as it's here it does belong to me though, and anything it brought with it—," my master shrugs.
"You're getting rich off his plunder? Seriously? That's how you funded the war with Castile?" The boy sighs, with the weariness of a middle aged divorcee.
"No, I used taxes to fund the war the accounts I showed you were actually quite complicated, because things that the scrap may or may not have brought me funded siege machines, as well as a cannon, which is tricky because the Archbishop has to find a way to sell them then work it into the accounts where we got the money, but what's more important? A paper trail nobody will bother to check or my siege machines? Siege machines, obviously, now I have them," my master says, like this is a good way to do business.
"You knew the spirit of the promise, how is that god's will?" The boy is nearly crying.
"It's god's will for me to conquer as much of Europe as I can, in my life, to unite under one sovereign nation with me, and eventually you and your brothers, as God's servants watching over our people in one holy empire," my master says, "I'll not debate religion with you here, Harry, you're tired it's late. And we have two prisoners now."
"Oh you want me to break out of your Tower? Again? Because we all know I can," Gideon says , "The boy is poisoned he stays with me."
"The boy is bound to me," my master says, sharply.
"No, that is cruel and it's wrong, we cannot let a child of god suffer," the prince says.
"He's fine," my master says, "He's doing the lord's work by serving me."
"I need you to know he genuinely thought you were a demon," Gideon says, "Like, that is how you're appearing to people."
"Oh, wow," the demon nods, unrepentant.
"Father, I urge you to consider charity, to this suffering boy he did us no ills and he's served you well, release him now, think on charity," the prince pleads.
My master nods very briefly pausing and clearly not thinking at all before saying: "Unfortunately, I do need another siege machine, they just fixed Harlech. So that's a no. I will consider your council at another date."
"Wow, we're your allies," Gideon says.
"Yet you're in my son's office when you were restricted from this area, remove your fist from your mouth, Saint, you knew damn well that enchantments meant I didn't want you in here," my master snarls.
"Enchantments? Felt like loose bits of string," Gideon says, cheekily, hand still mostly in mouth.
"They took six hours," the demon sputters.
"Not even as bad as last time, like, seriously," Gideon says.
"Are you sure? They were supposed to be worse."
"They weren't. I wouldn't lie to you, they really weren't," Gideon says, "Last time was better you should stick with like, a variation of that."
"This is a variation of that!"
Father and son are ignoring their professional spat, instead looking equally disappointed in who the other is as a human being.
"You lied to me,  again," the prince says, like he's surprised, near tears.
"You don't need to be privy to all my dealings," my master says, nicely.
"Like kidnapping people?"
"I do a great deal of work to secure our nation it's natural I don't tell you about every little thing."
"Like kidnapping people?!"
"We don't even really know if that's a person. You have your tutors still and much to learn, there are some more complicated matters I'm not going to inform you of every detail of."
"Why? So you can kidnap people?"
"Look, it's not kidnapping if he's my slave. Also, he's perfectly fine does he not look happy?" My master says, reasonably.
To remind you, I'm clearly dying, dripping in blood, in too big borrowed clothes, sweating profusely,  no shoes, hoarse from losing my voice for five years, glaring at all of them.
"I'm begging you father, please, release him—and—and I should not have to say this—anyone else you may have kidnapped to steal things for you!" The prince says, sobbing now. "Jesus taught us to be kind to others."
"Yes and is that not how Jesus was killed? The mob turned turned against him, despite his charity," my master says. I've been to church twice, but I don't think that was like, the moral of that story. I don't have proof of that, but I don't think that is the moral. 
"Jesus rose from the dead," his son says, so disappointed.
"Yes, and he spared me from death in the same manner so that I might rule," my master says, touching his craggy face.
"And kidnap people?"
"It's not really your father's fault, your highness, it was my idea. I was the one who said I thought I could enslave the boy, then we let him go and he came back with treasure. Stealing his voice was a precaution so we would not be cursed, or found out as his captors, if you're going to blame someone blame me," the demon says, nicely.
"I do. You should be ashamed of yourself. Do you not have any mercy?" the boy says, actively sobbing, "But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law."
"Has this ever worked?" I gesturing to the sobbing boy spouting what I assume is scripture.
"No, it has not," Gideon says, drumming his fingers on his thighs.
"Yes, to our people, and our people love you, that's why we agreed you're best here, in London, even though I would love for you to join me on campaign, your talents and your calling is here caring for our people with your kind heart. We agreed I was going to protect our people through conquest, it is only by uniting the nations that I can bring the peace you speak of," my master says.
"By kidnapping people????"
"I personally did the kidnapping," the demon says, nearly stepping between father and son who look like they're trying to understand each other and failing for the fiftieth time this week.
"I believe it. I'm deeply disappointed in you, Archbishop," the boy sniffles, wiping his face with one hand, tears flowing readily from his rich brown eyes. He's cute all right? In a nerdy, bible camp, sort of way. He's not not handsome. I know that's irrelevant right now, but it's important to me you know that.
"Thus says the Lord: Do justice and righteousness, and deliver from the hand of the oppressor him who has been robbed, from the book of Jeremiah, Harry, that is our purpose, we deliver our people from the oppressors, in the book of Romans we are charged not to bear the sword in vain," my master says.
"Thus says the Lord: Do justice and righteousness, and deliver from the hand of the oppressor him who has been robbed. And do no wrong or violence to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow, nor shed innocent blood in this place, is the full quote, father," the boy points at me, steadfastly, "He's a stranger, and innocent blood is—dripping onto our carpet."
"How do you know he's innocent? We don't know that," the demon says, but they ignore him.
"Harry, this is not a debate. We kill in war as well. To keep our people safe, this is no different," my master says.
"Yes, I wish you did not as well, I do hate it," the boy is fully sobbing now.
"He is my asset, and I am keeping him," my master says.
"Okay, look, I was going to wait to do this properly, but do you like care if it hurts a little bit?" Gideon asks me, nodding to my wrist where the bracelet throbs.
"Not at all," I say.
Gidoen snaps his fingers. White magic snakes around my wrist. Sure enough, the shackle snaps in two, it burns my skin, but sweet freedom is well worth the momentary pain.
"Really? That took three days," the demon isn't even mad; he's just disappointed.
"Really? Don't kidnap people," Gideon says, very sassily, levitating the pieces of broken metal onto the table.
"Gid, next time you do that, could you not break it? Three days, dozens of spells, really," the demon is disappointed.
"Next time you kidnap someone?" Gideon asks.
"Yes, exactly, stop barging you way through my spells it's very wearing," the demon says.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Gideon, with zero remorse.
"Thank you, apology accepted," missing the sarcasm and picking up the pieces of the shackle.
"Please father? Please don't harm the innocent? The greatest of all things is love, charity to our fellow man," the prince is sobbing. His father is patting the back of his neck with the palm of his hand in the most uncomforting way possible while still trying to comfort him.
"I will do what I must. Do not weep, you're kind hearted, that's all," my master says, "It's not a flaw, Harry. But let me protect you."
"It is not protection to persecute our people."
"He's not our people. We don't know who he is even."
"Everyone is a child of god."
"Okay, while they do this, I'm gonna go burgle your office," Gideon says, tapping the demon's shoulder. The demon jumps about a foot and a half. "Okay? Come if you want."
"Oh right then, thanks very much," the demon says, incredibly sarcastically.
"Stay, we're gonna make you feel better," Gideon says to me, like I'm a dog.
"Fuck you," I hiss, as he and the demon casually leave.
The prince yelps and puts his hands over his ears.
"See? It curses you hate cursing, Proverbs, 'When justice is done, it is a joy to the righteous but terror to evildoers', the people we terrorize are evil doers, Harry," my master says, gently, hand on the back of the boy's neck as he weeps bitterly.
" 'Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you', from the book of Matthew," the boy says, eyes red and bruised from crying.
" 'For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God. Therefore whoever resists the authorities resists what God has appointed, and those who resist will incur judgment', Romans," my master says.
" 'Finally, all of you, have unity of mind, sympathy, brotherly love, a tender heart, and a humble mind. Do not repay evil for evil or reviling for reviling, but on the contrary, bless, for to this you were called, that you may obtain a blessing', from the book of Peter," the boy says, hands on hips, "I can do this all night."
They stare at each other for a moment, clearly about to come up with another bible verse to contradict the other which is, to be clear, the weirdest way to argue I have ever seen in my life.
"How much of scripture have you memorized?" The father asks, just confused now.
"All of it! 'Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God', Colossians, yes it is Colossians. How much have you memorized?" The boy asks.
"Enough. Why did you do this?"
"Literally, God told me to," the boy says.
"When—?" Incredibly concerned.
"Deuteronomy, 'You shall therefore lay up these words of mine in your heart and in your soul, and you shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be as frontlets between your eyes', I can do this. All night," the boy says, like, very proud of himself, "Is that not why you did?"
"I did because when I was resurrected I naturally correlated myself as a Christ figure and needed to do the appropriate research, while I recovered I had time," his father shrugs.
"Ah," the boy says, laying his hand on his face delicately, while looking at his father's face. Maybe it's a scar and he's not just ugly. If I sound biased or something it's because this person kidnapped and tortured me.
"Well, that was a pleasant talk. I'm glad you were up, but you should get off to bed," my master says.
"Did you think I'd forget you enslaved someone? After I specifically asked you not to?" The boy asks.
" 'Slaves, obey your earthly masters with fear and trembling, with a sincere heart, as you would Christ'," his father says, clearly pleased. I'm assuming that's a bible verse, "There's nothing against slavery in scripture. I know. I checked."
" 'Woe to him who builds his house by unrighteousness, and his upper rooms by injustice, who makes his neighbor serve him for nothing and does not give him his wages,' slavery, Jeremiah I know I could not compete with you, father, at most any pursuit but this is my arena," the boy, fiercely and completely proud now. I think they forgot I'm here.
"That's about not paying someone."
"Do you pay him?"
"Well, he gets food."
"You've personally fed him?"
"No, but if he weren't eating he'd not be alive," my master says, gesturing to me, obviously ill, "He looks fine."
"No! He doesn't! Father you must let him go. I beg you, I'll forsake anything, but free him and—I dearly wish I didn't think I had to say this—anyone else you may have kidnapped and enslaved, please?" The boy clasps his hands together.
"Look, we let you keep the Saint boy," very tiredly.
"I do not, he's Welsh he's our Welsh ally."
"I have no idea where that boy came from, but I assure you Harry he is not Welsh."
"He is now! You're not French that didn't stop you from taking France."
"No, nothing stopped me from taking France I've got someone composing a song about it. Your mother's French and France will be yours."
"None of us are Spanish that's not stopping you either."
"No, but I'm going to have Thomas marry a Spanish girl I was going to show you that actually—why are we doing this?"
"I don't remember I'm quite tired," the boy sighs, putting his hands through his hair,  glaring at his father pointedly,"I didn't sleep at all. Someone woke me up to tell me never to get married."
"That's not my fault, I spoke with your mother at length before retiring—why are you looking at me like that? I barely spoke to you yesterday; you should prioritize your rest," my master says.
"I do. Just below freeing people you've enslaved and cursed," the boy says, hands on hips, very sassy for a weedy thing who apparently crammed the whole bible in his pretty head and little else.
"Honestly, Harry, it's a minor causality," my master says, as the door opens. Gideon and the demon re-enter, talking pleasantly and carrying arm loads of stuff along with glasses of wine. They're clearly completely cordial. So I can't trust Gideon either? I mean I didn't plan on it, but he's fine with these people. Whoever they really are. I realize it was explained. I'm sick of listening to them argue.
"Hey, who did you people say he was? I'd like to know who I was kidnapped by before I die? I get he's King of somewhere?" I ask, gesturing to my master.
"King Henry—," Gideon begins happily, clearly about to list accolades.
"Do, not," the prince growls.
"Let the boy speak," my master says, staying his son with a hand.
"HenryRexSupremeKingofEnglandScotlandWalesandFranceLordofIrelandHammeroftheGaulsFifthofhisname," Gideon says, really quickly then stuffs a fist in his mouth and looking apologetically at the prince, "I admit I have a problem."
"He's entirely fine —Harry, stop crying. It's a means to an end we've long since agreed there are aspects of our wars you do not wish to touch, I did not mean for you to see this," the King I guess, gestures to me like I'm a pile of stolen goods.
"It is not fair, he had no voice, and he's ill," Harry sobs.
"Why do you care so much for him?" My master asks.
"I care for everyone! All of God's children I do love equally," the boy starts crying again.
"Harry, you're acting pathetic."
"This is not an act. It's how I am," the boy sobs bitterly.
In the background the numbskulls are trying to poison me or something. Gideon is making some sort of potion and they keep whispering spells. He's putting something disgusting in a stone bowl.
"No! Don't do that, what is wrong with you? Why do you do every single thing the most complicated dramatic way with no regard for your own health or safety? Someone should have christened you Henry," the demon says, smacking Gideon's hand.
"I heard that, Archbishop," the King says, patting his boy's neck so tiredly, while sipping his glass of wine.
"You were meant to, Your Majesty," the demon, who apparently is an Archbishop, says, lightly, without looking up.
Now is as good a time as any to say that I sincerely think every person in this room is a gay virgin. That's just something I decided while two people are completing each other's sentences and arguing without actually finishing a sentence, and one is patting the other's neck with three fingers, while the last one sobs bitterly and has his neck patted delicately.
"What are you doing anyway?" The King asks, looking over at the other two.
"Breaking the curse that's on your thief, my lord," Gideon says, quickly.
"And you're helping him do that —because—?" The King asks the Archbishop, who is clearly helping.
"I checked the curse as well the boy is dying and he doesn't do us any good dead," the Archbishop shrugs.
"He doesn't do us any good at all anymore anyway, Harry doesn't look like he's going to recover, and if he doesn't quit crying in an hour he'll be red eyed at breakfast and his mother will ask why and he never lies properly," the King says.
"I'm going to weep all night, as I pray for the souls of everyone who's met you," the boy sobs.
"Yes, say a prayer for our Spanish dead next month when I return," his father, lightly, not even offended.
"He can still do us good. Harry, stop crying, we'll start paying the boy then he isn't a slave, there you see? Charity," the Archibishop says.
"For one, it is not charity to pay someone in your employ that's like a founding part of employ versus slavery. For another you're using him to steal things as I understand that's an issue as well," the prince says, very verbal for someone who's been sobbing his eyes out. I'm just saying.
"I didn't know he was stealing it," the King says.
"You definitely knew that," I say.
"Speak again and I'll have you executed," the King says.
"Look, we talked them down from slavery, stealing isn't hurting people the same—don't look at me like that," Gideon sighs.
"We do not compromise morals," the prince says.
"Okay. Anyway, he's been enslaved what makes you think he'll agree to that? Considering you just threatened to have him executed and you've been torturing him, why would he agree to help you?" Gideon asks.
"How much are you talking about paying me?" I ask.
"Hm, got my answer. He's a danger to himself and others, Kit, you're no longer making decisions for yourself okay? I'm your legal counsel and you are never to make a deal with them," Gideon says, coming over with the bowl.
"One crown for every item you bring," the Archbishop says.
"What would I do with a crown? Like a big one?" I ask, "Made of gold?"
"It's a currency, you're not gonna get involved in this till we talk, because I love what you've done with your life, but you're seriously about to die," Gideon says, taking a spoonful of some disgusting poultice from the bowl, "You need to eat this."
"Why is he dying?" The King asks.
"He's cursed with—something terribly strong, this isn't even going to break it, but it'll delay some of the symptoms," the Archbishop shrugs.
"Excellent, in return for saving your life  you'll serve me for the next twenty years," the king says.
"To be clear, I'm saving you for free," Gideon says.
"With my inventory!" The Archbishop says.
"To be totally honest I was going to probably burgle that anyway," Gideon says, pausing to argue with them.
"Why?" The Archbishop asks.
"Oh I don't know—80% of it is mine originally because you didn't feel like actually collecting it  after the fire last Christmas, which you started, so you just requisitioned my entire stores last time you were at Harlech?" Gideon asks, sassily.
"I actually forgot we did that."
"I did as well," the King says, struggling to maintain a straight face, then they both laugh, trying to cover their faces. 
The prince glares at them, "Wow, you both said you did NOT do that when I asked if you stole anything while you were in Wales. Because they are poor and we need them to love us. And you said no. Both of you. Individually."
"It's my country ergo it's all my property" the King shrugs.
"For your mental health I recommend you spend large portions of your day pretending they don't exist," Gideon says, to me, "Here, eat this."
"Why should I believe you? You could be trying to kill me?" I ask, leaning away.
"Why weren't you this distrustful when you did whatever got you cursed?" Gideon asks.
"Good point," I accept the liquid, which tastes like tar mixed with three day old cooking oil. I choke, it burns all the way down and fills my nostrils.
"That'll delay his symptoms for a few days, it doesn't do any good much longer. We need to know how you were cursed," the Archbishop has stopped laughing mostly because the prince is glaring at him.
"Yes, you're not cured yet. We'll find the cure for you and you in turn pledge service to the crown," the King says.
"One more time, I will do that for free," Gideon says.
"Ignore him, he's my subject," the King says.
"Fine! I don't care I'm probably gonna continue being a thief anyway," I sigh. If I'm really dying then that's—admittedly not great.  And this guy does have the power to get me the cure.
"Do you know how you were cursed?" The Archbishop asks.
"Not exactly. We think it was this place we went in—called the Beggar's Tomb," I say, shaking my head, "I don't know I didn't read the full inscription. The clever person reading it said it was a curse."
"Okay, we need the full wording of the curse if we're to do anything," the Archbishop says.
"Where is this? That this happened? You don't know? No idea?" Gideon asks.
"No. Wise ass. I do not.  It's just a tomb," I say.
"Please don't swear," the prince says.
I stare at him.
"Very well, swear fealty to me, and we'll try to help you," the King says.
"No, he's not swearing fealty to anyone. He's ill right now he can't make a decision, maybe never could, but right now no, he's not joining us under duress. I —admit, I am your subject technically. So help me help him break the cruse, and I'll repay his debt," Gideon says, sighing a little.
"What makes you think you have something to offer me?" The King asks.
"Castile. I join you on campaign when you return, like you want me to based off the three battle lines you have including my dragon and the entire notebook of blackmail schemes to get me to go. We can end the resistance by Christmas if I'm there with you," Gideon says.
"Stop going in my office," the King says.
"I'll do the enchantments again," the Archbishop sighs.
"No, Gideon don't," the prince says, chewing his lip.
"I was probably gonna wind up doing this anyway it's fine—let's face it, you'd love to scare them with a dragon that's become legend by now. We both know I'm more than happy to go on campaign anyway, and it's not actually costing you anything for the Archbishop to do a little research with me," Gideon says.
"I'll need a binding pact, Saint," the King says.
"Done," Gideon says, nodding.
"Very well, Archbishop, the boy is under your care," the King says, "And Saint is under mine."
"Look forward to waging war with you," Gideon says.
"I'm so happy for you both— as a show of faith can someone untie me?" I ask.
"Oh, yes, sorry, you just kept trying to kill me," Gideon says,  really nicely given the context of that sentence. The King grabs his son by the back of the neck and the balled up back of his shirt and bodily throws him behind a sofa.
Gideon undoes the enchantment with a flick of his hand. I stand up and shake my wrists out a little. Then I dive for the table, snatching up a couple of amulets. I slide the familiar ring on my finger, and back in the cave. Home sweet home?