A violent knock on the inn room door shattered Shlomo's sleep.

"Oy vey..." he groaned, rubbing his eyes. He glanced across the dark room at Sir Emeric, who rose from his bedroll, picked up his sword, and approached the door.

Sir Emeric ground his palm against his right eye. "Who could possibly be trying to speak to us at such an hour?"

Shlomo stood and picked up his sword, still in its scabbard. "Let me answer the door, Sir. If it's an enemy they're probably coming for you, not me."

Sir Emeric didn't ask Shlomo to explain his logic, it was far too late (or, perhaps, too early) to worry about such trivial things as reason.

Shlomo opened the door, and I barged in, holding in his arms something wrapped in a bundle of cloth. "We have to get out of this city immediately!" he said in a hushed tone. "Get to the nearest bishop, cardinal, priest, whomever we can find and tell them about this." I held up the bundle of cloth and unrolled it, revealing the pink, hair-less creature wrapped up inside. Its head looked like that of a rat, and it had a long tail, but where paws should have been were human hands and feet. The little creature squirmed in my arms and whined.

Shlomo covered his mouth and stumbled away from it. "Is that...?"

"A Vermin baby. Yes," said I, vigorously nodding my head. "Dr. Yves has been breeding them under his house."

"Saints alive..." Sir Emeric muttered, his eyes wide with horror. "How did you find out about this?"

"No time to explain that now," said I. "We have to get out of here! Fulk's on his way to murder Dr. Yves, and when he does the whole city will be in an uproar."

Simultaneously, Shlomo said, "Damn it, Fulk..." while Sir Emeric said, "Good man." The Jew and the Templar exchange glances, but promptly decided that it wasn't worth discussing for the time being.

Sir Emeric grasped Shlomo's shoulder, "You wake Caleb. I'll go get our horses. Cristoff, kill that thing, but keep its body. We'll need it to prove what Dr. Yves is doing."

"Yes, sir," I said.

Sir Emeric and Shlomo both left to tend to their own duties. I looked down at the baby Vermin and considered how best to end its short, miserable life. I couldn't crush it, for that risked making it unrecognizable. Also, I didn't relish the thought of carrying a mushed, messy corpse with me for however long it would take to prove that Dr. Yves was breeding Vermin. I considered stabbing it, but its body was so tiny compared to my sword, and when I'd stabbed its brothers and sisters (along with its mother) it had sliced the little babes in two.

Guess I'll have to smother it.

The thought was not a pleasant one, but it seemed the best course of action. I wrapped the Vermin infant tightly in the cloth in which I'd been carrying it and tied the end of the cloth in a knot to cut off the air flow.

The little monster started to struggle within the cloth, its little legs kicking and fingers pulling at the threads. Its cries pierced my ear-drums as well as my soul. At first, it sounded merely like an animal dying, but in time I could swear it was the wailing of a human babe begging for mercy the only way it knew how. My heart crumbled in my chest, and its remains churned a boiling sea within my guts. For a moment, I considered dashing the cloth-wrapped creature against the nearest wall, just to make it stop, but I remembered that I was suffocating it so we could keep the body intact.

Its cries grew louder, and I feared that someone might hear and think me a babe murderer. Then again, wasn't I? The creature was at least partially human, after all. Did it have an immortal soul, like a human did? Was I murdering an innocent person?

Its flailing within the cloth grew more frantic, its weak little limbs fighting against the death slowly setting in.

For the love of God, Sir Cristoff! Have a heart!

Giradin?

The voice was in my head, I was sure of it, but it was clearly Giradin's. I couldn't tell if it was imagined or if it was real, but maybe it didn't matter. Deep in my heart, I knew that what I was doing was wrong.

And yet I did it anyway.

I'd love to say that the guilt prevented me from killing the poor, helpless baby. I'd love to say I did the right thing. But I didn't. I let the child suffocate in the cloth, held it until its thrashing and its cries ceased.

This is my confession of my sin, and it is hardly the worst sin on my conscience. Truth be told, dear reader, I am most certainly damned for the horrible things I've done. Fulk has more hope of reaching Heaven than I ever will. I will be thrown into the pits of fire to burn for all eternity for the terrible things I've done. My only comfort is that someone somewhere might learn from my mistakes and thus avoid my fate.