Greg softly cursed himself for agreeing to do the tour of the dungeons with David and Nathan the next morning. There was plenty to do in the office, yet he followed David across the parade-ground, to a narrow little door most people probably never noticed. David had a key.

He went first, too, stepping onto the dingy hallway. A cool gust of wind blew into Greg’s face, carrying the acrid smoke of cheap torches.

“Home sweet home,” Nathan commented.

Greg could only guess that they had taken some kind of back entry. The hallway was rather narrow, and he couldn’t see any guards. The torches guttered in the breeze as they passed. Still, even given the poor ventilation, there was a lot of smoke in the air. Greg's eyes watered already.

When they reached an intersection, David pointed through the portal and confirmed Greg’s suspicion: “Down that hall and up the stairs you get to the prison proper.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out three kerchiefs. “Here, better cover your faces. It’ll get worse down there.”

The fabric only helped a little. Greg tried to breathe flatly and felt his head swim. He knew fire could hurt a werewolf. Could smoke? It certainly didn’t seem like it would net them healthier werewolves.

“Did the university ever get around to testing if the environment is a factor in how a newly bitten werewolf turns out?” Greg asked as they reached a staircase. “Would it be worth trying to get them some place nicer? Perhaps some place with fresh air?”

David laughed softly. “You’re welcome to go to town on the palace bureaucracy, Greg. I’m glad if I can get the kitchens to turn out enough food to feed everyone over the three days of full moon.”

Right.

Now that they were getting closer to the cells, he could smell blood, too, not to speak of the other bodily discharges, even over the smoke that came rising up the stairwell.

Desmarais might be able to help with this, too. But he’d have to find a way to deal with George Louis.

“These people are convicts,” David reminded him. “If you want to make it a scientific experiment, be my guest. Just keep in mind that they’re getting off lightly here, and they are used to worse. Asides, the air is going to get better.”

“Only if they don’t turn mad,” Greg muttered.

He wasn’t sure if David heard him. His brother had reached a landing. A couple of guards stopped in struggling to get bales of straw through the doors to let him and Nathan pass. Greg let the guards finish their work before following. He could feel the silver on the wooden door from a half dozen yards away.

Behind the gate were the cells where the werewolves were kept. A dense haze filled the air, making Greg cough despite the kerchief. At least now he could see where all the acrid smoke came from: About a dozen of the cells were empty, and in different stages of cleaning. The guards were burning out the ones in the very back. Nathan and David were already inspecting their work.

The next empty one right behind the entrance was done and getting a fresh bale of straw.

“Don’t bother adding a second one,” one guard grunted as Greg passed them. “That cell is cursed. Never seen a werewolf make it out of there alive.”

“Same amount of straw in all the cells,” David promptly called.

He was introducing Nathan around. There currently were twenty-two werewolves on this corridor. Chalk marks on the walls above their cells showed how many full moons since they had been bitten. From one to four months, all stages were present. Apparently David replaced the ones he had to execute with new convicts right away.

The thought made Greg’s skin crawl.

He tried not to look at them too closely, didn’t try to remember the names David told Nathan. He’d rather not know them as people. He’d rather not know them at all.

How did David deal with that? With killing not strangers, but people he was familiar with, even discussed the daily crossword with?

He killed them, and then he just started over with new werewolves? Like one started over with new chickens when they stopped laying eggs.

Like today.

As soon as the smoke had cleared a little, and all the cells had straw and fresh buckets inside them, a shout came from the entrance. “Lord Feleke? Delivery for you!”

Greg was sure he saw David roll his eyes at that. His brother did turn around, striding towards the entrance. “I’m here, Mr. Lagall. Did you bring their files this time?”

A portly man in a black uniform stood in the entrance. Behind him, there was a line of shackled people wearily eyeing the cells. When he craned his neck, Greg saw more guards.

“Yes, of course, Your Lordship,” the leader said. “I still got no idea why you want to know so much about the sorry bastards, but I’ve got them all today. I just need your signature right here, and then they’re your problem.”

“We’ll see about that,” David said, taking the documents the man handed him.

It was a surprisingly lengthy process. David asked each of the prisoners for their names, checked them against the files, checked their crimes, too, before he signed for each one separately. Only then were they taken off the chain that connected them and le to a chell, where the manacles were removed as well.

Most of them were convicted for theft, then there were a couple of smugglers and also two embezzlement cases. One man had been sentenced for fraudulently impersonating a priest—which earned a bawdy cheer from the werewolves already in the cells.

The only woman in the group was stick thin. She kept her head down and her eyes closed throughout the whole procedure. When he got to her file, David for once didn’t read the charge out loud. Greg only saw it when he passed the papers onto Nathan: Prostitution and endangering public health.

Greg couldn’t help but wonder which important official she had created an expensive and embarrassing healer’s visit for.

Finally, there were two men left, one charged with piracy and one with highway robbery.

These last two, David questioned about the details of their crimes. He didn’t look happy when both men swore they had never killed anyone, but in the end, he did sign for them, too.

“I’m going to have to talk to the professor again,” he muttered, as the last prisoners were dumped in their cells and their shackles taken off.

“Who bit them?” Nathan asked.

“Nobody yet,” David replied. “I did consider having it done in the regular prison, but seeing how they are apparently unable to send me only non-violent criminals, I reserve the right to send them back. Can’t do that if they have already been bitten.”

“Really. You sometimes—what, just go nope, not taking them?”

“Since I keep getting killers, yes.”

“You’re not making Greg do it, are you?” Nathan asked, looking over his shoulder at him.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” David grumbled. He glanced at a pocket watch. “Lafayette and Porter should be here in a moment.”

The woman charged with prostitution had ended up in the “cursed” cell, right behind Greg. It still had slightly less straw, but if she had noticed, she gave no sign.

“Does it hurt?” she asked softly. “The first full moon?”

Greg considered pretending that he hadn’t heard her, or that Nathan had talked about somebody else. But when she kept staring at him, he replied: “It does hurt. Not just the first time. But it gets better as you learn to go through the transformation faster.”

“If we live long enough,” the man in the next cell muttered.

As if on cue, a hunter walked in, followed by a giant wolf and a very tall, very slender young man with a small suitcase. Greg knew two of them—Lafayette had helped out with the Lackland Company, and Porter was of course the same one he had met in Sheaf. The last one he couldn’t place.

Porter promptly trotted over to the “cursed” cell. His tail wagged lazily, bumping into Greg’s shoulder in greeting. When David moved to open the first cell, Greg hurried out of the way.

Not that he could walk far. He balled his fists nervously, but then couldn’t look away as Porter quite gently bit the woman in the arm. The strange young man with the suitcase ducked in afterwards, to bandage the wound.

Greg still stared at the strange woman as she collapsed into her straw, arms folded around her head, and tried not to flip the coin in his mind. Too late now, it was already flying high. All they could do was wait for it to land. Heads or tails, which would it be for her? For the next guy? For any of them? It was out of their hands now.

He glanced over at David, at Nathan, whose faces were set. Not even without pity, just unwavering.

Relentless.

They both had done worse. Greg had known that, intellectually, but it was weird to witness it now. Suddenly, he understood much better the fear just naming the two of them caused amongst older werewolves.

Luckily, they didn’t linger in the cells after the procedure.

“I’m not killing any of them,” Greg said, as soon as they were back outside. “I don’t care how they’re turning out. I’m not doing that again.”

He expected a rebuttal, expected either of his brothers to point out that that was the whole point of the job. That to protect the people they had to kill the monsters.

“That’s fine,” David said instead. “I can deal with that part myself.”

Which was worse than a reprimand, in a way. Inadequate, that was what it made him feel. A very familiar feeling in David’s presence. His brother would never shirk his duties so, would never refuse to do what was necessary.

Greg still didn’t take back his words. He was done with the killing.

He was glad that he had stated it so clearly, too. He didn't think he'd have been asked, in any case. But still: In the office, Grooch hovered around the door, looking unhappy. “Urgent telegram from a Captain Fletcher, currently of Deeshire, Your Lordship. He's requesting a hunter.”

“Does the telegram say why?”

“Only if the word ‘spreader’ means anything to you.”

“Ah. Yes.”

“This Fletcher, he knows what he's talking about?” Nathan asked.

“He should. He was at Oldstone Castle, I explained some things, and he talked to Andrew, too. Has been responsible for the army's dealings with werewolves in the north-east ever since.”

“Well then. Just that one spreader?” Nathan asked. “I don't suppose he mentioned how long it has been active?”

“Unfortunately not, milord.”

David held a hand out for the slip of paper, but looked at Nathan. “Can't risk you going alone,” he said.

“Really. Want me to take Lane?”

“No. I'll check where Ronon is at right now. Worst case, you'll have to take the circus act.”

Nathan groaned. “Oh, come on! You sure I can't take Lane? I mean, Big Bart is fine, but damn Little Roy? Don’t we have anyone better?”

“You,” David shrugged. “And Ronon. But if I'm not mistaken, he's down at Southshire. Andrew, if you can convince him to come.”

“Damn. We need more hunters.”

“Do you know anyone decent?”

Nathan groaned again. “Fine. Whatever. If Roy starts with his self-made gadgets again, I'm punching him.”

“Well, I won’t be there to stop you,” David said. “Just be careful.”

“Me? I’m always careful.”

Greg listened to the banter, stepping from one foot to the other. He hadn’t gotten around to requesting a room and a desk for himself and Nathan yet. But then, it looked like Nathan was about to leave.

“I’ll be next door?” he asked David.

“You’ll be working on the half moon thing?” David asked back. “Let me know if you need anything from me.”

“I will.”

Mr. Howell helped him clear off the second desk. Just as he was done setting it up, Nathan walked in. “I wanted to say good-bye,” he said. “I’ll be on my way to Deeshire by the time you finish here. Via Northwold, to pick up the clowns.”

“Have fun at the circus,” Greg said, leaning back in his chair.

“Screw you,” Nathan replied cheerfully, but patted him on the shoulder. “I’m glad someone’s staying here to help David. And I’m double glad it’s not me.”

Greg squeezed his hand. “Take care?”

“Oh, I will. You too, though.”

With that, Nathan hefted his walking spear, striding out of the room. It was weird, looking after him. For the first time, Greg was glad that he hadn’t even been asked to go on a hunt. He had work to do.

Howell had a copy of all the officially scheduled events in the palace. The garden was taken for a game of hide and seek, but only in the afternoon. So Greg wrote a request to book it for dinner and the rest of the night, and added a formal apology for the short notice.

Grooch offered to pass the papers on to David to sign, and didn’t quite manage to hide the fact that he just wanted to read them first.

The secretary handed the pages over without comment, so he apparently approved of both the text and Greg’s penmanship. David barely even glanced at them before he signed them both.

Greg bit his lips, and briefly wondered what else he could make his brother sign.

Not that they had time to fool around. Still, given David’s current authority, it was a little tempting.