“You are late,” Bastile said when I entered his chambers.

“Had to make a delivery to a fat fucking pig.” I kicked off my slippers and reclined on the sofa, stretching my legs. I knew that Bastile was both looking at me and trying not to look, at the same time.

“Language my dear,” Bastile said, but I sensed he rather enjoyed my rough tongue.

I liked Bastile. I would never seduce him – he was old enough to be my father, after all – but I had to use every asset at my disposal. I had sensed his glances at me, and more often, the times he avoided looking at me.

“Well?” Bastile asked. “Did you happen to obtain any items of interest while you were making your delivery to the fat fucking pig?”

“As a matter of fact…” I got to my feet and walked on the icy stone floor to Bastile, handing him a leather bound book.

“11/22/63,” Bastile read aloud. “By Stephen King. What is this?”

“It is a book from the outlander world. Leonis says it is about an outlander who travels backwards in time through a portal and tries to avert the assassination of his country’s leader. I do not know if it is true or a story meant to entertain, but either way it can offer tremendous insights into their world. I have another book here, written by the same man. Or woman – one can’t always be certain with outlander names. The Stand. It is about a plague that killed nearly all the outlanders, many years ago.”

“This is tremendous,” Bastile said. “How on earth did Leonis get his hands on these treasures? And he simply gave them to you?”

“You have no idea what I have to endure for this project of yours, simply being nice to the fat pig. Anyway, he gave the impression he has many books like these. How he obtained them, he will probably never reveal. He is very proud of his secrets.”

“Well, this is extraordinary. So much for the day’s work I had planned – we have quite a bit of reading to do.”

The books remained in Bastile’s chambers – I did not wish to have them in my cell, with all the prying eyes about.

Bastile had finished reading his book when I returned the next day. He looked shaken but eager for more. He insisted on trading books, though I had read less than a quarter of mine.

“How is it?” he asked me.

“Fascinating,” I said. “The outlanders King writes about are for the most part quite ordinary. Their world, of course, is almost beyond comprehension. They have “cars” and “motorcycles” instead of horses. Very fast and can take them vast distances. Machines that fly – Trang told me about those. And devices allowing instant communication over any distance.”

“Yes. The other book describes the very same things.”

“There is one person King writes about that caught my interest. Randall Flagg.”

“Why is he interesting?”

“He is some sort of wizard. Wizards appear to be rare in their world. He reminds me of Moroso.”

Bastile chuckled. “What do you know of Moroso?”

“Very little. I am quite curious about him.”

“Well, try not to be.”

“He does exist, does he not?”

Bastile looked up from his book. “He exists.”

“Have you learned anything about him, in your years of studies?” I was reclined on the couch again, my legs dangling over one end.

“I have. That is a subject we could perhaps discuss another day.”

I let the matter drop, concealing my frustration, willing myself to exercise patience.

More days passed with more fascinating reading. I had to return the books to Leonis, but he always had more. The Prince. Julius Caesar. The Holy Bible – a religious text. Atlases. Travel guides. Their entire world was explored and meticulously mapped.

It was Bastile who mentioned Moroso’s name again. He was reading a book about outlander wizards. It was a children’s tale. We had become more adept at determining which books were true and which were stories made up for entertainment.

“Here is your Moroso, right here in these pages,” Bastile said. The sun was going down and the chambers darkening. We were nearly done for the day.

“Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone,” I read.

“Read it,” he said. “It will take you half a day to finish. It might satisfy your curiosity about evil wizards.”

“You believe Moroso is like a character in a child’s tale?”

He sighed. “I believe the stories about him are highly exaggerated.”

“What if they are not?”

“Then we are all doomed. And I do not believe we are.”

“That logic sounds ironclad,” I said.

“Fair point. How about this – if he is as powerful as some believe, he could easily take over the world. He has not done so. Does that mean he is not powerful? No. He could be every bit as powerful as the legends say, but perhaps he is not interested in taking the control that he could so easily attain.”

“Or perhaps he has already attained it,” I argued.

“Be serious now.”

“I am serious. You believe the world is not a fucked up place? Perhaps Moroso has more influence than you realize. Or admit.”

“Hmm. I believe we are done for the day. The bells for supper should be ringing any moment now.”

The next afternoon, Bastille had a different book for me to read.

“Another tome about children’s pretend wizards?” I teased.

“No. It is my first book. Or my first attempt at a book.”

“You did not finish.”

“No. I began the project when I was twenty. I was still an Apprentice. A generous scholar took me under his wing. Allowed me to assist him with research. Sound familiar?”

“I am sure the scholar was fortunate to have your assistance.”

“And I fortunate to have his guidance. He may have saved my life. That book is about Moroso. It is based on meticulous research that I gathered over the course of a year. When my mentor found out about it, he urged me to stop, to burn every page that I had written.”

“You did not,” I observed.

“No. I almost did. I could not bring myself to burn all that work – not that it appears to be much. Two hundred pages, or so, mostly filled with conjecture. Very few concrete facts. Moroso exists, I do believe that. That book fails to prove it, but I uncovered enough in my research to believe. But I also believe that he very much does not want to be found.”

“Is he evil?”

“Evil. Have you ever met anyone who is truly evil? What is evil?”

“The opposite of good. Complete disregard for harm to others if it helps achieve an objective.”

“You just described most of the rulers that have ever lived.”

“My definition needs work. But I know evil exists.”

We read for the entire afternoon. I finished Bastile’s book just as the bells rang for supper.

“Well, what do you think?”

“It is illuminating.” I pulled on my slippers. “I wish you had shed some light on where Moroso might live.”

“That book is twenty-five years old. If it had offered any information regarding the wizard’s whereabouts, would it really be of use now?”

“It would be a start.”

“I was trying to find that out,” Bastile said. “Then I realized it might be a lot better for me not to know. I did not need my mentor to tell me that. And now I am going to tell you what he told me, when I was close to your age and had also been bitten by the bug of curiosity. There are things in this world, Ruby, that it’s best not to be curious about. If Moroso still lives, he clearly does not wish to be found. And if a man like Moroso does not wish to be found, you do not want to find him. That book took me a year to write. I just saved you a year of your time. If you wish to explore the subject any further, you will have no further aid from me, nor do I wish to discuss it ever again.”

Our routine resumed. I did not mention Moroso to Bastile again.

A few days later, it was once again Bastile who mentioned him.

It was near dark again. He had been irritable and untalkative all afternoon.

He closed his book with a loud thud that startled me and made me look up.

Bastile spoke without looking at me, his tone less pleasant than usual. “Ruby. Some books in the library have been disturbed. Books about a certain subject I expressly told you not to pursue.”

“You never told me that. You told me you would not provide any aid to me.”

“Then let me be more clear, damn it!” He took a breath. “I do not know when you are finding the time to even visit the library, but you are not to do so without a Scholar’s authorization. I did not authorize these recent visits!”

“You are right. I am sorry.”

“You are to cease this foolish endeavor immediately. If you do not, I will no longer require your services on the outlander project.”

I considered this. I should have remained silent, but silence is not always my greatest strength. “You are afraid,” I breathed.

“Of course I am afraid. Any intelligent person would be. And I thought you were an intelligent person.”

“I am afraid.”

“Then stop with this insane quest, Ruby. Why do you continue to pursue it?”

I should not have given a truthful answer, but though I did not tell Bastile everything, I did not like lying to him.

“Moroso killed my father,” I said.

“Who told you that?”

“It matters not.”

“Who?”

“Trang told me.”

“And you believe an outlander? Are you out of your mind?”

“I believe it.”

“Why should an outlander even care about Moroso?”

“Moroso invented the Permakill spell.”

“Is that such a bad thing, that outlanders are not entirely immortal in our world?”

“Do you know where Moroso is, Bastile?”

“What? You dare question me, girl? You think your pretty eyes and shapely legs give you liberty to forget that you are an Apprentice and I a Scholar?”

“No. Of course not.”

“I am going to ask you now, not as a friend, not as a mentor, but as Scholar to Apprentice. Why do you want to know where Moroso is?”

“I am going to help Trang kill him.”

We sat in silence for a long moment. The bells tolled for supper. Neither of us moved.

“Get out,” Bastile told me. “And never come back. Your work here is finished. You will never set foot in my chambers again. We will never speak again. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

He said no more. I put my slippers on. It seemed to take a long time. I went to pick up the book I had been reading, to hand back to him.

“Leave that book right there!”

I got to my feet. I walked to the door. I may have been sniffing a bit. At the door, I swallowed and blinked away tears. I turned and asked, “Your mentor – what happened to him?”

“He died. Recently. From old age. He was the Bishop of Sanctuary and I am forever in debt to him. Go."