All heads turned at Sir Hamnet's outburst, and a susurrus of murmured speculation slithered through the room. Uther bristled at the undesired attention, but kept his thoughts hidden behind a mask of unearthly calm. "I refilled your glass with the same Tethyrian vintage you've been drinking all afternoon, milord," the butler replied truthfully. "If you wish something else-"

"Dolt," snarled the nobleman. "I know good Tethyrian port from chamber pot lees like this." He spat a blob of crimson spittle onto the Shou carpet at his feet. "You've switched the good port with the servants' dregs, haven't you?"

Uther scowled, the tip of one fang protruding over his lower lip. "That is a grave accusation, milord. I assure you I would never do such a thing. I value my position here too highly to even consider it."

Sir Hamnet leapt from his chair and came face-to-chest with the monstrous butler. "If I say you did it, you did! How dare you challenge my word!" He grabbed for the rapier that hung at his hip during expeditions, but his fingers closed on empty air. "You're fortunate I've left my blade at my quarters, you impertinent behemoth, or I'd have flayed a layer or two of leather from you – just as a reminder."

"I'll need no reminder, Sir Hamnet," Uther said, voice as dead as the stuffed yeti in the corner. "You've impressed your point quite forcefully on me. In fact, if you look around, I think you'll find that you've made it clear to everyone that I've overstepped my position."

Sir Hamnet Hawklin surveyed the now-silent library. He was not surprised to find more than one head nodding in support of him.

With a swiftness not unlike that of the treacherous animals he so despised, the nobleman turned and triumphantly shattered his port glass in the fireplace. For an instant the fragments flashed, starlike, against the sooty backdrop of the chimney. Then the wine-wet shards rained down on the blazing logs. The fire hissed angrily with a sound like a sword tip sliding across stone.

"I'll see to it you're out of this club and begging along the Promenade by morning," Sir Hamnet announced. He met the butler's unblinking gaze and paused, silently daring Uther to reply.

A tense, unpleasant hush settled over the library, broken only by the hissing fire. It was Gareth Truesilver who finally ended the confrontation. Some little part of him pitied Uther, but mostly he feared that prolonging the menial's degradation might cast Sir Hamnet as cruel.

The captain took the nobleman by the arm and guided him back to his chair. "You've made your case against Uther so well that even the gods agree," Truesilver noted loudly. "When a fire hisses like that, it's supposed to be an echo of Lliira's laughter. Our Lady of Joy finds great mirth in a fool being exposed-and you've certainly revealed Uther as a fool. You'll find no debate about that here."

The clubmen took their cue from the captain and voiced soft support for Sir Hamnet before going back to their drinks or their books or their chessboards. But the nobleman would not be placated so easily. He pulled away from Truesilver and said contentiously, "That story's wrong. It's faint-hearted nonsense meant to help peasants sleep easier at night. The world's a much nastier place than that.

"Each time a fire cracks," Hamnet began as he settled into the comfortable confines of his armchair, "it's the sound of a man's spirit breaking. The hiss is Cyric's amused and satisfied sigh as he drags a condemned soul down to Bone Castle in Hades."

"That's not in your journals," Captain Truesilver noted as he perched casually on the arm of his chair. "You should set it down on paper-perhaps as an addendum to your essay on known magical gates to the Realm of the Dead."

"I never pen what I cannot prove," Sir Hamnet said grandly. "Though I have every reason to believe the tale's veracity, I would have to speak with Cyric himself to confirm it." Eyeing Truesilver frostily, the nobleman added, 'That would be a suitable quest for you to undertake, Gareth. The Battle of the Golden Way was a long time ago. You can't live on past triumphs forever."

From where he knelt, working the port stains out of the Shou carpet, Uther cleared his throat. "If I might have your permission to speak, milord?"

Sir Hamnet looked down upon the butler, on hands and knees before him. The utter lack of defiance in his inhuman eyes gladdened the Stalwart's heart. "Yes, go on."

"Should you decide to undertake that journey to Cyric's realm, I… I might be able to provide details of a safe route, one unrecorded in the society's journals."

Astonishment blew across Truesilver's handsome features like a cloud scudding across the sun. "If this is a jest, Uther, it's a rather sorry one. After the little exchange earlier, I would think-"

"Oh, I'm not having you on, milords." The butler glanced from left to right, making certain no one else was listening. "You see, from time to time denizens from Hades travel in the mortal realms disguised as men. A few have mistaken me for one of their own, a fellow minion of Cyric trapped here by some wizard's power."

He indicated his nightmarish visage. "The mistake is a natural one, and it prompts the denizens to offer me friendship and solace. Even now I shudder at the things they've revealed in their awful sociability…"

Sir Hamnet shifted uncomfortably in his chair, but Uther's words brought Captain Truesilver to his feet. "And you can help us reach Hades safely?" the soldier gasped.

"I offer this knowledge hesitantly, milords. The way leads directly to Cyric himself."

"Someone's gulled you, Uther," Sir Hamnet interrupted. "I've catalogued all the known paths by which mortals may travel to the City of Strife. They are too well-guarded by denizens for any but the most foolhardy to travel."

"The denizens told me this path is traveled not by heroes, but by common folk," Uther replied. "So it is no surprise its presence remains unknown to great men like yourself."

Sir Hamnet dismissed the notion with a wave of one hand. "Were the story true, I would walk this hidden road to Hades myself. But it has no ring of truth about it. When he ascended to godhood, Cyric promised that any living soul who braved the trek to Hades would be granted an audience and safe passage back to the daylight world when that audience was done.

"It's been a deadly temptation, that promise, drawing many a foolish adventure-seeker to his doom." The nobleman snorted derisively. "Cyric posted denizens a dozen thick along the known roads to his kingdom, and no one has been able to bypass them. It hardly seems likely he would leave a way unguarded, especially one open to 'common folk.'"

"But what if Uther is correct?" Truesilver said breathlessly. "We wouldn't have to face the denizens and the traps and the endless slog across the Fugue Plain. And by his own pact, Cyric would have to grant us an audience! No Bookwart's scribbling would ever challenge the account you'd write of that meeting."

"It's a waste of time," Sir Hamnet snapped.

"If you think my story false, then I apologize for wasting your valuable time." Uther hurriedly gathered up his rags and cleaning brushes. "I mentioned this path only as an apology for my earlier impertinence. I merely hoped the information would help you secure the respect you deserve from your peers and soften your desire to have me fired."

The monstrous butler rose, towering over both the nobleman and the soldier. "However, if you hesitate solely because you think me insincere, I will make this offer: if you search out this path and find it a false trail, then you may have me beaten in just measure to the effort you expend searching. If the road proves true, but guarded by any of Cyric's unearthly minions, you may have me beaten in just measure to your peril."

"An easy promise if we never return," Sir Hamnet noted.