"Where is the baron, Zorah?"

"In his study, my lord. He doesn't know I've asked you to come."

"Not to worry, I am sure he won't mind." then took myself away to the baron's study. The servants made themselves scarce as I passed through the hall. She either had them very well trained or they were naturally cautious. Or both. I tapped twice against the study door and went in before Latos could answer.

"Zorah, I said I was busy and-" he began rather peevishly, then seemed to come very close to swallowing his tongue when he caught sight of me. He was a round-faced, round-bodied man, with a nervous manner about him, at least when he was with me. Very informally attired in a yellow and green dressing robe, all of his fingers were lightly bandaged, and from across the room I could scent the herbs of a healing salve on the air.

He and another man who worked as his chief scribe were at a long table that served as a desk, and scattered over it were the sooty remains of the burned books, pieces of them anyway. A pile of clean paper was on the left, several quills were at ready, and another stack of paper-written upon-was on the right. Both men quickly stood, Latos nearly toppling a pot of ink. His scribe made a hasty and fortunately accurate grab before it went over.

"Lord Strahd?" said Latos, quite flabbergasted. He made an awkward bow. "It-it is an honor, but how come you here? There is nothing amiss with the tax collection I hope; my records are-"

I raised a hand to calm and quiet him. "I came in regard to a recent incident that has come to my attention. Vandalism to your library, was it not?"

"Indeed it was, my lord, and it is most kind of you to even be concerned with what must be such a minor thing to you."

"Sometimes the minutiae of life are the most important." I gave a pointed look to the scribe and another to Latos, who quickly made a gesture of dismissal. The fellow all but bolted for the door, still holding the ink pot.

Latos was for plying me with food and drink, ever his own way of seeking comfort, but I politely dismissed any for myself. He was very fidgety and anxious to please, but had always been so from childhood. This occasionally made it difficult to discern if he was trying to hide something or just being himself.

I let my gaze fix on his bandages. He folded his injured hands close to his chest, a defensive movement, as though he was ashamed of them.

"Tell me what happened," I ordered.

He did so, weaving a dramatic tale of coming in for an after dinner nap as was his custom only to be awakened by his agitated wife and find to his dismay that his fine books were burned and so were his hands. He was of the opinion that someone had tossed the collection in the fire and he had tried to retrieve them, then fainted from the pain, which had addled his memory.

"The servants claim to know nothing, and they've been with us for years and years, but perhaps one of them suddenly went mad. It makes more sense than this tale of a stranger coming to the gate as they and my dear wife keep insisting. What think you, my lord?"

I made no immediate answer. He sounded truthful, though there were some problems with his story. One does not simply pass out from pain. The ordeal of it might send a body into a faint, but not pain itself, else the criminals in my dungeons would never be awake long enough to appreciate their punishments. I put it down to either the enchantment Zorah feared or his own penchant for the dramatic and nodded at the table. "What are you doing here?"

"I hope to salvage some of what was lost. A few volumes survived nearly intact. I was having the pages re-copied and it's very difficult. The language is strange, almost gibberish, but my scribe is being careful about it."

So he was no better than his ancestors when it came to literary mutilation. I thought it best not to tell him that what he was trying to preserve was gibberish now indeed.

"Why did you have a fire in the room to start with? It's summer."

"Sometimes I like a bit of toasted bread, butter, and honey, and if I wait on the servants to bring any from the kitchen it's all soggy and spoiled, so I make it here myself." He drew my attention to a little cabinet with glass doors that did duty as a pantry. Inside I could see a loaf of bread and other edibles. "I-I get a little hungry between meals, you understand."

Far better than he could dare imagine. "Come, Latos, sit down a moment." I waved him toward a comfortable chair. He eased into it, mightily puzzled and somewhat fearful, which did not last long once the force of my full influence was upon him. "Now, you will tell me everything that happened from the moment the stranger called Azalin appeared."

"Stranger?"

His eyes had a far away look to them and he began to sweat, so I knew he was under my control. However, he made no immediate reply, only shook his head, wincing as though in pain. I studied him with senses other than my sight and understood the problem: some sort of a minor constraining spell had been placed on him. I knew of several types but had never bothered to memorize any because of my own innate ability made it seem unnecessary. Fortunately, I knew how to negate the effect and did so, repeating my question about Azalin.

Latos promptly launched into a recitation similar to his wife's. The stranger called himself Azalin and said he was from a place called Oerth. He was new to Barovia and mentioned an incident he had stumbled into regarding the assault of a young servant girl by four men, one of whom was the scion of a noble house in Berez. The baron seemed to hesitate and stumble over this last statement, trying not to continue, but the force of my will forced it from him.

"Azalin interrupted their crime, allowing the girl to get away, then questioned the men before he sent them running off into the night after relieving them of all their clothes."

"Did he?" One man against four. Interesting. "That is all this Azalin did?"

"They were bruised and quite humiliated."

"A light enough punishment considering what they were about."

My views on obeying the law were well known to all of Barovia. I pushed that aside for the moment and told Latos to continue.

"It is from them that he found out about my books, for he was very interested in magic and everyone in the area knows about the collection. He wanted to know everything about Barovia. He acted as though he'd never before heard of it."

I let my control over him slip somewhat. Hypnosis is excellent for obtaining matter-of-fact information, but often important details are left out. The dam had been sufficiently breached so Latos was in a most verbose mood. One of the details he now included was the frequent mention of the inexplicable cold fear Azalin inspired in everyone. When the man asked about his magic books, timid Latos had not dared to turn him down.

"There was something very horrid about him, unnatural, as though it would be all the same to him to either walk past without noticing you or skin you alive. I showed him my books, and he looked at each, but his reaction was most insulting. He grew very angry and threw them around like they were nothing, then ordered me-me in my own house, under my own roof!-to be silent. I was in deadly fear for my life and those around me and tried to think of something, anything, that might appease him. He wanted magic books, and I had one other new addition to the house collection."

"Indeed?" I arched an eyebrow.

His cloth-wrapped hands shot up, palms outward with the fingers visibly trembling. "You must believe me, Lord Strahd, it was intended to be a gift to you as soon as I'd had it cleaned."

"Very kind of you to think of me," I said dryly. He was something of a fool, but so far as I knew he had always been a honest one, so I took it as a truthful statement. For now. "How did it come to you?"