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Bern was in trouble. The heist had not gone well.

The overnight servant they’d paid off had found a better offer, or perhaps a conscience, and sounded the alarm when they were barely a quarter hour into plundering their minor noble target while she and her household were otherwise occupied several days’ journey away from the city. They’d scattered before the guards arrived, but they were keeping a close lookout for anyone with so much as a whiff of suspicion about them.

Bern had managed to swipe a locket and some rings he’d barely had a chance to glance at. They were shiny and they looked valuable when he grabbed them in a panic. And they were likely worthless now. No one would take them.

He’d hurried from shadow to shadow toward one of the designated muster points, knowing his loot decreed his guilt. If he could make it through the night bazaar, he’d be home clear.

Then he heard the whisper.

“Psst. Over here.”

He looked toward the voice. A rodent’s hand beckoned him. It must be Haydn. Perhaps Norm. Their voices were too alike and the scent couldn’t reach him from here. He had been too focused on his own safety to worry about theirs. He hoped they’d all managed to avoid the guards tonight. Usually, at least one was caught. Perhaps tonight went better.

He checked his surroundings and joined the hand, and the creature attached to it.

“Change of plans,” the rat said. It was Norm, the one who had coordinated everything. The one with a silver tooth, which glinted in the lamplight of the street.

The one who had got them in trouble.

“Lot of nerve you have getting my attention.” Bern growled. “You just about got us killed.”

Norm splayed his hands. “There were complications, I admit. Unforeseen hurdles. I trust you came away with something?”

Bern thought it best to play it safe. “Nothing but my skin.”

“A pity. You’ll have to scrounge up something if you want to stay in Her good graces.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Why not? What kind of rapscallion can’t manage even the smallest of heists? Setback or no.” He reached for Bern’s waist. The rat had a look in his eyes that Bern did not like.

Norm was very well-connected. There wasn’t a lead he did not know. That was why She took such an interest in him and trusted him with so many of the jobs. Bern didn’t remember one that had failed, before. He wondered if Norm was in bigger trouble than he was. How would he explain his failure to vet the servant properly?

He swatted the rat away with a heavy paw.

The rat’s nose twitched. “Oh? Now I want to see.”

Norm reached out again.

Another heavy paw swipe and the rat was out cold.

And Bern had made his life much worse for himself. He swore. He couldn’t leave Norm alive. Not after he’d tried and failed to examine Bern. The rat would spread all sorts of rumours within hours, and he would certainly find himself expelled. Norm had Her ear, and he did not.

Killing Norm also ended his relationship with that network, and put a mark on his head.

But he could explain his death to the guards. He’d stopped an attempted robbery. How he would explain having a weapon he wasn’t allowed to possess, and what was he doing in a part of the city someone of his class clearly didn’t belong in…

His odds were better with the rat dead.

Norm stirred.

Bern ended him with his claws.

He’d rather explain blood on his paws to the guards than explain the disaster to Her. The guards would throw him in jail for the night as they would any vagrants, give him a talking-to about not taking the law into his paws, beat him bloody, and let him go.

Her? She didn’t take betrayals lightly. The guild would be on him before sunrise, and he wouldn’t live to see it.

There was still the chance they’d trace Norm’s death back to him, but…

He had time to find an excuse. He wiped his paws clean as good as he could and made his way toward the bazaar.

Once through the bazaar, he had only five streets to go until he was safe. Problem was the hundreds of people he’d have to pass through, unnoticed, with blood on his paws and wanting nothing for sale. He’d attract the attention of the guards, for sure. There was one now, a rat with a notched ear slouching against a wall, yawning at customers as they left.

Behind him was the lights and the crowds and the noise. Someone was playing a mandolin tonight. The night bazaar boasted performers quite frequently, but he’d never spent much time listening or watching them. It was an excellent way to find your purse mysteriously lighter. More than the bazaar as a whole, which was specially designed to extract as much coin as possible from all who entered, whether through mostly-legal means or mostly-illegal ones.

Everyone knew the guards had their paws in the coin, too.

“Excuse me, wolf!” Someone called behind him. “You! Wolf!”

Bern hustled past the bobcat guard, nodding in what he hoped was a friendly way, and melted into the crowd. After all, he was far from the only wolf in this city. Indeed, it was nearly a fifth wolf. They could be calling for anyone.

He weaved his way through the alleys separating various booths. At some point in the bazaar’s history, there had been an order to the vendors. Food in one section. Clothing and fabric in another. Home wares yet another place. Jewellery in the centre. But for the last couple decades at least, there was only chaos. Vendors set up in the first available prime location, and everyone sorted themselves out from there. Occasionally merchants fought about who would be where that night, and occasionally there was bloodshed.

It made things harder for the guards to keep track of, but easier for someone to get lost. The trick was to keep from getting so lost that you couldn’t find the exit.

He heard commotion from the street where he’d entered, so he pushed his way through the crowd and began a slow circuit of the shops, pretending to be interested so as not to attract too much attention. They’d lose him if he only played his cool.

Bern stumbled into an ocean of black. Faceless, voiceless, featureless forms turned his way. The Order was here tonight. Bern apologized and stepped away. It was not uncommon to see one or two coming from the monastery to purchase necessary goods. But to see a posse of them was unusual. Bern wondered what day it was. Perhaps it was some holy day for them, and he’d forgotten. It had been some time since he had been to a service, and the days ran together for the most part.

They were good people, but strange. And they never spoke, and they never uncovered themselves. Rumours of their true shape abounded. Children told stories of the abbot being a green-scaled slimy creature, and the monks were his children. From what mother, no one knew.

All nonsense. He’d seen glimpses of fur underneath. They were normal mammals, like anyone else. But they never shared anything about their way of life with another. Their numbers were stable and had been for centuries, so novices did come to them somehow. No one had ever seen anyone enter the monastery except for a member of the Order, though. He certainly would never see it. He was nowhere near holy.

He wondered what the gods thought of him now. Stealing professionally, and add murder to his list of talents. He’d never killed anyone before tonight.

It had come surprisingly easily, in the moment. His paws ached.

But what to do about the Order? They were in his way. He could find another route, but that would expose him to the wrong streets. Nothing for it, though. He had no choice but to go around.

“Have you seen this wolf?” Called a voice in the crowd. “I need to speak with him. Oh. You there!”

The fur on Bern’s neck rose and his pulse quickened. Forget propriety. He bowled through the Order and through the rest of the bazaar, and sprinted past the guard stationed at that end (he didn’t stop to pay attention to their species) and into the street before the guard could stop him.

“Get him!”

Bern ran.

Across two streets, cut through the alley, lead his pursuer away from the safe location. He wasn’t going to surrender them along with himself. He owed them that. Nothing else, but that. So far, he had no complaint against them.

He was not alone on the street.

A lone figure walked slowly toward him. Their details were obscure in the darkness. Bern glanced left and right. There were no good detours through here.

He could run past this person. That was the easiest. But then they might assist the guards. But it was a choice. Or he could engage.

The figure was upon him.

He chose to engage. For the second time in less than an hour, he committed violence.

If he had thought through more, he would have realized that harming another person would make things more challenging for him later on. But he was not one for thinking tonight. That was why he found himself a few moments later with a dead member of the Order at his feet, and the guards a mere street or two away. If he left the Order member here, they’d know where he went, and he’d have a murder charge on his paws for sure. No one touched the Order.

Bern picked up the body and carried it down the street, hoping no one saw him, and ducked into the first dark corner he came across. There was nothing here but garbage. Thankfully not the overly-smelly kind. Old objects wrapped in burlap, nothing more.

He dropped his victim’s corpse against the wall. What was he supposed to do with this? If he left it here, someone would find it. Probably before dawn. And there would be a hunt for the murderer. The whole city would be looking for who would dare such a sacrilegious act.

The gods would surely aid them.

But what if he…

Bern committed the greatest of insults he could to the gods, and took off the Order member’s hood. It had come so easily too, once the thought came to mind.

He was a villain, he thought as he squeezed the hood in his paw. A voice sought to correct him. No, you’re desperate.

That was too kind. He was a villain.

He took a deep breath and stepped back. His victim was a wolf, similar in colour to him. Smaller, though. The robes fit him poorly. They’d been designed for someone much larger.

They’d fit him perfectly.

“Forgive me.” But why would they forgive him? He had abandoned them. And now he had done this. Why would he receive mercy?

Perhaps the gods did pay attention, and now they wanted to punish him for his unfaithfulness.

So he was on his own.

He stripped the monk of his robes. Then he stripped himself, and clothed the monk in his garb, then wrapped himself in the monk’s robe.

Footsteps neared. Bern crouched down and pulled as much of himself as possible into the shadows. He sat on top of the monk’s corpse and gathered as much as he could under the robe with him. He hoped the dark fabric would render him invisible. And the burlap around him provide decent camouflage.

He could still see through the hood, but not well. He watched three guards hurry past him. One stopped and quickly glanced Bern’s way, nose wrinkled. He held his breath. But the guard moved on without a second glance.

He exhaled.

He listened for the footsteps to recede, and waited a few more minutes to be sure they were gone.

Then he stepped into the street and walked toward the market.

His breathing became heavy as he approached the guard he’d run from only minutes before. It didn’t matter that he was covered head to toe in what amounted to a sack, nor that he wore a hood which obscured his face. Something, somehow would give him away.

What was his plan, anyway? He was not a member of the Order, nor was he eager to become one. He would be found out as soon as he disrobed inside the monastery, and the abbot would summon the guards to claim him, and he would languish in prison until his certain execution. He also could not walk around town this way. He’d have to put up the charade a little while longer, and find some place to ditch the robe, and somehow make his way to the undercurrents of a city which was hostile to him from this point forward. Or, he could escape and flee to the countryside, and die a slow, starving death.

How lucky he was, that he could choose the manner of his death. Not everyone had that privilege.

But the guard did not recognize him, except as a member of the Order. He bowed his head as Bern passed, and Bern heard a soft prayer uttered.

Guilt upon guilt. Sacrilege upon sacrilege.

An eternity of suffering heaped upon his head.

He approached the Order members far more easily than he had fled from them. The crowd parted for him, and whispered hymns and prayers rose around him. Two of the Order spun toward him, considered him with blank, eyeless hoods, and a signal passed from them to the rest, which Bern did not understand but was forced to respond to as the group assembled behind those two, and began marching out.

How was this supposed to work now? A plan settled in Bern’s mind. He would accompany them for a little while, linger in the back, and somewhere outside the gates of the city, he would ditch them and figure out his death from there.

The problem was, he did not settle into the back, but somewhere just ahead of middle, as six of the Order assembled behind him. And then they walked, nearly as one, from the market, past the gate, into the night.

None of them carried a lamp or a torch, but one was not needed. Two members of the guard, a hare and a fox, met them just past the gate and marched alongside them.

Weariness and despair flooded through Bern as it became more and more clear that he was not getting out of this. He was trapped. He prayed for some sort of distraction. It didn’t matter what. Anything that would let him break free.

But the gods would not heed one such as he.

No chance to escape presented itself. Their escorts took them all the way through the darkness, to the silent doors of the monastery. And when the door closed with a shudder behind him, Bern felt his life come to an end.

He couldn’t overpower this many.

And there was no sense adding to his murder count.

Bern’s knees trembled. He was on forbidden ground. And he would be found out soon. The moment these robes were lost, or the first word he’d utter, the deception would end. He had no comprehension of the hallways they travelled, the turns they took as they proceeded from courtyard to structure. He knew it was not terribly large, but tonight it seemed larger than the entire world.

After what seemed several minutes of hallway, but was doubtless much shorter, they came to a small room, empty except for twelve wooden chairs and one door on the opposite wall. It reeked of incense, though he saw no censer and sensed no flame or smoke. A few breaths and he was lightheaded. He leaned toward a chair, but watched to see what the others would do.

The first two gestured, then sat, and so did the rest. Bern collapsed heavily into his.

Was this where they would speak? Bern fought the urge to cry out and confess then and there. That he was a thief, a liar, a murderer, a blasphemer. That he, one wayward from the ways of the gods despite what She claimed—he’d always known back in his mind that the gods did not agree with Her—was being justly punished and would they please mete out his punishment.

But only silence passed between them.

After some time, one of the Order stood, bowed toward the door, and passed through it. It latched behind him.

No one else moved.

Bern closed his eyes and took slow, deliberate breaths. It did nothing to calm his nerves.

The door opened. Bern looked up. The Order member marched past them and disappeared out the room.

Then the next one entered the room.

Bern counted. He would be sixth.

He watched as the third, fourth, and fifth all entered the room, all left.

And then it was his turn.

He passed through the door to his doom.

The room was small, lit by a fire which was dying down in the fireplace, and it was warm. Incense hung heavy in the smoky haze filling the room.

A weasel wearing the same robe, but with his face uncovered, stood before the fire, his back to Bern. Was this the abbot? “Were you successful in your assignment?” he asked.

It was the first words he had heard in at least three hours, and they seemed to echo in the small space. He bowed his head, saying nothing. As soon as he spoke, he’d give himself away.

“I asked you a question, Brother Zachary. And why do you not remove your hood in my presence?” Bern raised his head. The weasel wore a frown, and a look of concern, accented by shadow. “Are you unwell? Do you need a healer?”

Bern remained still, and did not move to take off the hood or utter a word.

“Brother Zachary, I need to know if you completed your task. Or do I need to send you again?” The weasel stepped nearly onto his paws and looked intently at his shrouded face. “Remove your hood. Now.”

Bern closed his eyes. This was it.

He complied.

“I see you have changed your form, Brother Zachary,” the weasel said, as if this was something that happened from time to time. His expression was neutral. “Tell me. What is the meaning of this? Speak.”

“I killed him, Father.”

The weasel took a step back. “Pardon?”

“The member of the Order whose robes I am wearing. I killed him after killing another man, after I stole from a noble.” He still had the jewellery he had swiped. It weighed heavy against his thigh with the reminder of its presence. “I am not Brother Zachary.”

The weasel showed no fear. He didn’t show much of anything. Bern smelled his own fear above the incense. “What did you do with your victim’s body?” he asked softly.

“I left it in a trash heap.”

There was no sense in lying to this holy man. There was no sense in hiding his actions, now that his identity was known and he was certain to be handed over any moment now.

The weasel’s next words were almost a whisper. “Put your hood back on. Wait for me in the antechamber. I will take you to your cell.”

“You trust me enough to do that?”

“I do not trust you at all,” the weasel said. “Now do I as I say, Brother Zachary. Leave me.”

He turned back to face the fire. Bern regarded him for a moment, then covered his head again, and stepped out. Unlike the previous ones, he returned to his chair.

Why had the weasel been so calm? He had said to his face that he’d murdered a member of the Order and committed sacrilege, and in response… nothing? Not even a slap? Only dismissal.

And why was he obeying? He could leave now. He still had the chance to escape into the wilderness. Maybe it wouldn’t be fatal after all. He could find a cave to live in, steal from farmers from time to time, catch and kill game.

Unlike here. Here he was a dead man.

Dead out there, too. He would not last a week in the wild.

And so, he waited.

About ten minutes after the last one left, the weasel came from the room. His head was covered, but his hood was deep red, and his robe had gold trim. “Come with me,” he said. “I will take you to your cell. Do not speak.”

His cell. His prison.

The thought came to him then. Why not kill the abbot now? He wasn’t very strong. What was one more murder tonight?

There was nothing to lose.

And yet.

The two of them retraced his steps down the hallway. A fox attendant waited with paws clasped at his waist. He was dressed simply, in a drab tunic and breeches. Clearly a resident in the town or nearby, and not part of this Order. “The captain of the guard wants to see you, Father,” he said.

Here it was. The moment he would be turned over.

“I do not wish to see him,” replied the abbot. “Tell him to leave.”

“He says there is a high likelihood a murderer is in this monastery.” The fox rubbed his paws and rocked slightly back and forth. “And that you are in danger.”

“I do not have time for his fantasies. We are in no danger here. Tell him I have personally seen and will attest to the identity of all the brothers.”

“Father, I believe he wants to check.”

“Damn him to hell for his wicked thoughts! He will not lay a paw on these brothers. If my word is worth nothing, his is worth even less. Send him away.”

The fox looked uncomfortable at the thought of relaying such a message. He bowed slightly. “Yes, Father.”

Bern watched him go, in shock at what transpired. He followed the abbot in a daze.

The abbot led him to a small room with a washbasin, a cot, and two books. “You are a dead man, Brother Zachary,” he said when the door closed behind them.

“Why?”

“Because all who take up the mantle have died.”

“But I am not a member of the Order.”

“You most certainly are. You died the moment you passed through those doors. Rather, the instant you put on these burial shrouds.” He sighed. “They will find the bodies and they will want a culprit. You will not be able to run from justice. Rest assured, you will be executed swiftly.”

“How does a holy man subvert justice?”

The abbot snorted. “I do no such thing. I have handed you over to the gods. Let them do with you what they will.”

“They have rejected me.”

“Did they? They brought you here. They know who you are and what you have done.”

“But I am not holy.”

“Indeed you are not. They will make you so.”

Bern looked down at the books. “What do I do?”

“Those books will teach you to pray. You may speak in this cell, and you may speak before the fire. Do not speak anywhere else again, unless I give you permission. Likewise, you may remove your hood here, and you may remove it before me. Nowhere else. Or what the gods will do to you is greater than what mere beasts ever could.”

“And what if I decide I don’t want to do this?”

“Do not speak foolishness in my presence, Brother Zachary. I will send for you in the morning after you break your fast. Now I must be going. I suspect the captain will require additional persuading.”

He left.

Bern was alone.

He sat down on the cot.

And he picked up a book.