Book Excerpt

With the dawn, the sky hung heavy, with gray clouds threatening 

another day of suffocating heat. The killer knew he was haunted, 

not just by dreams, but by the relentless spirit of Thomas. To whom 

could he turn? Whom could he trust? 

Dressing wearily, he abandoned any pretence of attending 

classes, his mind a whirlpool of fatigue and confusion. He 

wandered aimlessly across the college lawns until he found himself 

at the Balliol Postern and Old Cedric, the porter. 

“Out for a stroll, then?” Cedric inquired. 

“No. Troubled, Cedric. Troubled by nightmares I cannot seem 

to escape,” he confessed. 

“Ah, you need to see Wystan, the Sage. A former priest, he is. 

Wise in these matters, and very discreet, he will be.” 

“And where might I find this Wystan?” 

“Cross the river from the town gate, walk about a mile, and 

you'll find yourself at a crossroads. His abode is there—a large 

stone house, impossible to miss. There is nowt nearby.” 

Somewhat sceptical, the killer set off as Old Cedric directed 

him. The house at the crossroads loomed large and imposing, an 

ancient manor brooding with secrets. The crossroads disturbed the 

killer. Crossroads were a place of evil. Some said they were a place 

of devils and evil spirits. 

The killer hesitated, trying to decide whether he wanted to go 

up to the door of the house and, he mused, tempt fate. A nudge 

pushed him toward the ancient building, one incapable of resisting. 

As he approached the door, full of apprehension, it opened wide, 

revealing a wizened old man in a monk’s cowl and hood. 

“Are you Master Wystan?” 

“No. I am his servant. But, come. He is expecting you. I will 

take you to him.”