Casimir handled the cooking, not as skilfully as Barthim did, but better than either Carala or Denisius, neither of whom had much experience in the way of preparing their own meals. (Denisius, at least, could dress a deer, and he secretly hoped he would have a chance to put his hunting skills to use when they finally got out of this hole.) Vos had volunteered, but warned them he had never learned to cook for flavor. ("Then you are not knowing how to cook, Vos the Tasteless.") Again it was a simple affair: bacon and waybread, along with the last of the fresh fruit pressed into the waybread for sweetness.

As they ate, Ammas brewing a fresh kettle, Casimir stared at the sealed door across the path, chewing thoughtfully. "Ammas?" he asked around a mouthful of bread.

"Swallow, Casimir."

Casimir did. "What was the Yellow Death like? None of the girls at the Lioness are old enough to remember it. Some of them say it never happened. Madame Laurette said they were wrong, but she never talks about it."

Ammas didn't answer for a long while, looking not at Casimir but at the old token hanging from the door handles across the way. Casimir knew better than to press him -- in his months as Ammas's apprentice he had learned when the cursewright was hesitant to discuss something -- but he watched him avidly as he sipped at his tea. Finally Ammas turned his attention to Casimir, only to find the entire group staring at him with open curiosity, even Vos.

"Do none of you know the stories?" A peculiar mix of exasperation and surprise washed over him. The Yellow Death had been one of the most formative experiences of his life, and it shocked him that no one here was familiar with the details.

"I heard stories when I was serving in Nythel," Vos answered. "I didn't believe half of them."

"And all I ever learned was that it was a plague, which Munazyri superstition made out to be much worse than it was," Carala added. Denisius nodded in agreement.

"What about you?" Ammas said to Barthim. It occurred to him that he really had no idea where Barthim might have been at the time, or even if he had been born yet.

"I was but a boy in Siranesh. We were hearing stories of many plagues, many battles, many terrible things which did not touch us. I am living in Munazyr for over ten years, but a wise man is not asking the locals about the thing which lays at the root of their worst nightmares. But like good Vos the Tasteless, I have never believed all the tales." Vos sighed audibly.

Ammas looked at them incredulously. "Well," he said, peering into the dregs of his tea. "I will say many of the tales are indeed just tales. But it was more than a plague, much more, much worse." Tossing the dregs of the tea onto the little cookfire, he shook his head, staring at the yellow-eyed skull across the road. "But I won't speak of it now. Not while there are fragments of it still lurking down here in the dark. It struck the lower reaches of Munazyr worse than anywhere else. Once, the roads and ruins we've been walking through were as wild as the city above. But no longer. No one dares come down too far anymore, unless they have no choice." Ammas began packing up his things, smiling at Casimir. "I will tell you all about the Yellow Death. It's certainly part of what you should know if you're my apprentice. Just wait until we can feel the sun on our faces again. But I think we should have a story before we set off on the last leg of our trip through these tunnels. And you're going to tell it."

"Me?" Casimir looked startled. "I don't know any good stories, Ammas."

"No one who worked at the Lioness for his whole life is not knowing good stories, Cass," Barthim laughed. "They are just not stories fit for a princess to be hearing."

Carala laughed at that, looking fondly at Casimir, who blushed and muttered at his feet.

Ammas cleared his throat and threw a warning glance at Barthim, who to his credit seemed to cotton on quickly enough. "Nothing like that, Casimir. Something a little more relevant to our situation. You'll remember that yesterday I sent you to the Othillic Libraries to write an essay for me."

Casimir looked up, an excited light in his face. "I remember."

"Good. So tell us all: what Academy Arcane did you miss in your first essay on the matter?"

"Autumnsgrove."

"Excellent. With which city was Autumnsgrove aligned?"

"Vilais, but it wasn't in the city, it was a few miles outside, on a mountain."

"A mesa, but close enough. Why was that?"

"Because they were focused on astrology and needed to be able to study the skies."

"Who was its first leader?"

"Doyenne Ilseth Blackspur, better known as the Lady Terazla. She was a cursewright, they said she had haunted eyes. She studied right here in Munazyr, in Titansgrave."

"And who was its leader when the Emperor dissolved the Academies?"

"Doyenne Othma Sulivar, who was both a Cursewright Matriarch and a Master Astrologer."

"Very good, Casimir. Sometime we'll go into it a little more deeply, but that will do for now." Ammas grinned, almost at broadly as Casimir. "Now for a bonus question. Do you have any idea why it was so hard for you to find information on Autumnsgrove in the Libraries?"

Casimir's eyes were gleaming with mischief. "Is it because you were stealing books from the library that mentioned it?"

Ammas laughed and tossed Casimir a chunk of his favorite cinnamon cake. "Full marks, lad."

Denisius surprised them all by bursting into applause. When they all turned to stare at him, he ceased, blushing. "Sorry -- it's what my tutors encouraged us to do in a classroom."

Carala turned to Ammas with a peculiar half-smile. "Stole from the Othillic deacons, did you?"

Ammas answered that half-smile perfectly. "If you ever met them all, you might not object."

"I do not necessarily object. I am just curious why you would do that."

"Why do you think?"

"You must be hiding something. From my father's eyes, I suppose."

Ammas nodded. "Just so." He turned his attention to all of them now. "Autumnsgrove is where we're bound. Othma Sulivar still lives. Old though she is, she's a force to reckoned with, and I think the Malachite Throne knows it, if they even suspect she survived the dissolution." Ammas pointed toward the low passage ahead. "That is the endpoint of an old siege tunnel dug by the Sultan's janissaries during his first conquest of the city. Above it is Kyrantine's Wall, the outermost border of Munazyr, well beyond the Odeon. It's a long hike, but should be an uneventful one. Eventually it links up with an old crypt in the Chalk Hills."

"Grave-leeches," Casimir muttered, and sighed, hoisting his pack further up his shoulders as if bracing himself for the worst.

"Possibly," Ammas smiled. "But I doubt it. I don't think we'll see more than old bones, and as far as I know it's much smaller than the catacombs under our old temple. We should be under the open sky before -- " He broke off, then looked around at the rest of them. "Goodness, does anyone have a timepiece? I've entirely lost track of the hours."

Denisius flushed and pulled from his tunic a beautiful pocketwatch, its coppery surface engraved with the Gallis family crest: a tower amid a stand of pine trees. "It's just past seven in the morning. though I'm not sure how many days we've been down here."

"Two," Vos said quietly. "And I think your timepiece might be about forty minutes off. It feels earlier. I think the sun is only rising now."

Denisius frowned and inspected the fob, winding it taut. Barthim watched, utterly absorbed, having always admired the grand castle-like timepieces that adorned the ends of Clocktower Street.

"We have a long march ahead of us, but I believe we'll be out in time to catch the late afternoon sun, if we don't take too long a rest along the way." Ammas took up his walking stick, the airy spirit bursting into a gleeful ball of light, and began leading them toward the wide, low passage ahead. Casimir trotted to keep up with him, and Denisius kept his own torch high.