The Girl in the Cloak: Cloaks, #3

By F. A. Fisher

The long-awaited third book in the CLOAKS series!
Hundreds of years ago, the Settlers created the quistrils to kill for them, then die for them--ultimately leaving the planet empty for them. Their plans didn't work as expected, and now the Settlers are gone; but the quistrils remain, keeping the world stagnant under their authoritarian rule.

Heldrick has been fighting a lone battle against quistril domination for years, but with the recent coup, he's suddenly become the Ascendant of Kallikot Citadel. It's a great opportunity to institute change--except that in order to secure his position, he seems forced into taking the very actions he's been fighting against. As if that weren't enough, Estrienn, one of his closest associates, is actually a spy for Norvenmot.

But Estrienn has her own difficulties. Over the past six months her respect for Heldrick has grown, and she's fallen in love with Grayvle, Heldrick's prime lieutenant. Everything was fine while Heldrick and Grayvle were fighting against the Citadel, but now that Heldrick is in charge of it, her Norvenmot masters are pushing harder for information that she's no longer anxious to provide. No matter which course she takes, she'll feel like a traitor.

Meanwhile, Norvenmot itself is hatching plans that not even Estrienn is aware of. And a small village near the Norvenmot-Kallikot border may just be getting ready to take actions that could spell disaster--for everyone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: EQP Books
• Release date: Oct 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386258414

Book preview

Part I

Chapter 1

---

MONTHS WOULD PASS before Estrienn’s hair grew back to a reasonable length, and the morning was cool. She fetched a shawl from her room and wrapped it over her head and shoulders before going downstairs. Arrick and Kale were working in the fields, and Wellen had gone to help at Lise’s—the boy spent almost as much time over there, recently, as Lise spent over here with him.

She grabbed a basket and headed for the front door.

And where do you think you’re going, missy?

Estrienn stopped with a silent curse, turned, and faced the scowling Needa. To fetch some mushrooms.

Needa put her hands on her hips. Don’t be a fool. In the woods, alone? You can never tell what’ll happen.

Estrienn laughed. "Nothing will happen. Besides, now that Heldrick’s in

charge—"

That don’t mean nothing! He hasn’t stopped the Citadel collecting women for their Nest, has he?

Not yet. But give him time. Truthfully, she didn’t know if he’d ever manage that. She’d overheard him discuss some of his ideas with Grayvle, and they sounded crazy. But then, so many of his ideas did. It hadn’t seemed to keep them from working. Not yet.

"I’m giving him time, Needa snapped. You’re the one pushing things, heading out to the woods alone, like the man was magic. He only got in charge three days past!"

Estrienn smiled. In the six months since her rescue by Heldrick and Grayvle, she’d learned that Needa scolded like a mother hen but was all heart. Don’t worry, I’ll take care. She turned to go.

You step out that door and I’ll send Arrick after you!

Slowly, Estrienn turned back. Needa. If some quistril came by and tried to do something—which won’t happen—and Arrick tried to stop him, it would end in disaster. You know that. And if nothing happens, then Arrick has no reason to be there other than to trample the mushrooms. You know that, too. So just leave it. I can take care of myself.

She went out the door and walked all the way to the edge of the woods before turning to make sure that Needa had listened to reason. Neither Arrick nor anyone else followed, though she didn’t doubt that Needa watched her from behind the lace curtains, to mark where she entered the woods in case they needed to send someone after her later. She smiled, waved cheerily, and continued on her way.

Too bad she’d been seen at all; now Needa would worry till she got back. But at least Grayvle and Heldrick were still at the Citadel. One of them would certainly have insisted on accompanying her and, unlike Arrick, they could have protected her. No excuse would have kept them from coming along.

She wondered how much time would pass before they came back. They wouldn’t, really, except for short visits. When they were outlaws, this doubled as their base; now the Citadel itself served that function. They would spend most of their time there, and she missed them. She liked them both. Oh, Grayvle had managed an excuse to come by yesterday—probably really to see her. She smiled. But she had managed to learn something about what had gone on since the coup.

So maybe it was better if he didn’t come. She couldn’t report on what she didn’t know.

Except . . . if she didn’t think of some way, either to get them to come here fairly often, or to get herself to the Citadel more often, she might receive orders that would take her away from here altogether, and she didn’t want that, either. She’d grown comfortable here. More than comfortable—attached. She wouldn’t mind, at this point, if Norvenmot simply forgot about her. She half regretted checking in with them last week while rescuing Grayvle—the one time she’d gone back to Norvenmot since winter.

Several minutes later she reached the large boulder with the small tree growing on top. She saw no one and hoped her contact wouldn’t take long to find the place; his only instructions were those she’d left at Norvenmot last week.

While she waited, she started collecting mushrooms. Needa would certainly question Estrienn if she returned with an empty basket.

A twig snapped immediately behind her. She didn’t even have time to turn before a pair of strong arms wrapped around her, trapping her arms just above the elbows and sending the basket flying, scattering the mushrooms.

knife knife

The Norvenmot Ascendant’s assistant directed Ostrield to the conference room. To his surprise, Murven wasn’t there. Ascendant Nosforöl had met often, lately, with just the two of them. It sounded more and more as if retirement was imminent, and Nosforöl thought to declare one of them his successor.

Lately, it looked as if he leaned toward Ostrield.

Even as he thought it, though, Murven came in, gave him a sour look, and sat a few seats away. Yet this was the first time Murven hadn’t arrived first. Perhaps that meant that Murven, too, noticed the burgeoning preference for Ostrield, and thought it not worth the effort to try so hard. On the other hand, Nosforöl might have asked him to accomplish some task before coming—and that would indicate Murven possessed more favor than it appeared.

Or, more likely still, it meant nothing at all. Ostrield tried to shut down the tendency of his mind to spew theories endlessly in the absence of data. Fortunately, the Ascendant himself came in. Ostrield shot to his feet, as did Murven.

Nosforöl took his seat and waved the others to sit as well. Hollarck has brought me news.

He’s back already? Ostrield asked.

Murven raised an eyebrow at him.

I’m sorry, he said to Nosforöl. I didn’t mean to interrupt.

It’s a good question, and I’ll get back to it. But to start: it’s possible we may soon start sending guests to Kallikot again.

Hmm, Murven said. "I thought the gift of the women would incline Pandir in our favor, but I never thought it would be that effective, especially after what Markellin said."

Ostrield nodded, though he hated to agree with Murven. Markellin’s report stated that Pandir clearly suspected Norvenmot of engineering the mass escape of women from the Kallikot Nest. If the man really thought that, the loan of fifty women wouldn’t do much to unruffle his feathers.

Quite so, Nosforöl said. "Hollarck reports, though, that Heldrick moved faster than we expected. By the time Hollarck arrived, Heldrick had not only accomplished his coup, but already had things entirely under control. Hollarck didn’t see anything amiss—didn’t know anything had happened—until he was taken to the Ascendant’s office and found Heldrick rather than Pandir."

Ostrield was stunned. From the way Murven’s jaw dangled, he felt the same. They’d learned only a week ago that Heldrick had changed goals from some nebulous plan spanning generations to a coup a few months hence. And now he’d already gone and done it!

He sounds impulsive, Murven finally remarked.

Nosforöl cocked an eyebrow. "He sounds successful."

"

But—"

Ostrield still felt off-balance. Hollarck says he saw no infighting? No disorganization, even?

Correct. Oh, except for one thing. The corridor wall outside of the Ascendant’s office was . . . missing. Heldrick made some remark about replacing the wiring.

Murven snorted, and again Ostrield agreed. It was a lame excuse if ever he’d heard one. You wouldn’t knock out the wall to replace the wiring. On the other hand, now that he thought about it, it made as much sense as anything else he could think of: if it had resulted from some battle, for example, why wasn’t there more damage? And such fighting should have caused a major upheaval at Kallikot.

Nosforöl interrupted his thoughts. Now that the two of you are over your astonishment, I’d like to get back to Ostrield’s question. Hollarck clearly disobeyed Markellin’s instructions to slow down. I first thought to give him a severe reprimand, possibly even a demotion.

I’m not sure I see why, Murven said. Markellin’s a menodral, like Hollarck. He has no authority to give Hollarck orders.

He didn’t simply order him, Ostrield said. "Markellin explained that we don’t want the Kallikotters figuring out that we’ve got female quistrils,

and—"

Murven waved that away. They don’t even know female quistrils exist. They have no basis to draw any such conclusion. They’re far more likely to adopt Pandir’s suspicion that the women were some of those who escaped. Those would have traveled a shorter distance, so the time it took to get there wouldn’t raise any flags.

But we don’t want them to adopt that suspicion, either.

Enough. Nosforöl sighed. "We don’t want them suspicious of anything. And, regardless of the unlikelihood of deducing the existence of quistril women from this, it’s a chance we don’t want to take. However, the chance has been taken and apparently without ill effect. Heldrick accepted the women graciously and gratefully. It’s possible he didn’t even know the date on which the women escaped. He rubbed his face. In addition, Hollarck got us the information about Heldrick earlier than we might have received it otherwise. All in all, I’m inclined to overlook his transgressions this time. Opinions?"

Sounds good to me, Murven said.

Ostrield hesitated. With both Murven and Nosforöl leaning the same way, any disagreement he expressed would be of little account. So why express it? And yet it didn’t sit right.

Ostrield?

"Ah . . . you don’t plan on rewarding Hollarck for the successful mission and early report, do you?"

Only by not reprimanding him.

I suppose I can go along with it, then.

Nosforöl cracked a smile. Your objections are noted.

Chapter 2

---

"WELL, LOOK WHAT WE have here, the voice rumbled in Estrienn’s ear. The arms wrapped around her were too strong for her to escape. I

think—"

She pushed into him and then tried to lever her hips into his counter push to flip him over her back. She didn’t expect it to work; even if she managed the proper leverage he would simply let go of her. Then she

could—

But he didn’t let go, and over he went. Of course, since he hadn’t let go, she went with him, landing on top. And she still couldn’t move her arms.

He rolled to his right, trying to get on top; but that loosened his hold on her slightly.

She twisted and bit him, hard, on the upper arm.

He yowled, rolled back, let go with one arm, and reached for his knife.

But she’d already broken from his one-armed grip and gotten to his knife first. A moment later she sat astride him, holding his knife to his throat. Give it up, asshole! she said in Vardic.

The man’s eyes widened. "How do you

know—?

Who

taught—?"

His breath went out of him. Oh.

Right—if she knew Vardic, she was a quistril, from which it followed that, rather than some helpless cadril female, she was the person he planned to meet. Took you long enough to figure it out. She stood up.

Actually, Heldrick and Grayvle had taught all of Needa’s family Vardic. Estrienn pretended to learn it with the others. Teaching Vardic to cadrils was a strongly forbidden action, and one which still might get Heldrick in trouble if people found out about it.

Not that Heldrick ever taught any of them the word asshole.

The man rubbed his arm where she’d bitten him. Why didn’t you speak Vardic first thing and tell me who you were?

Right. Is that how they trained you to respond to an attack? By talking? Amazingly, her shawl remained on her head, but now she felt warmed by the struggle. She pulled it off.

He gaped at her manly haircut then frowned and shook his head. At least give me my knife back.

She tucked it into the belt of her skirt. I’ll return it when you leave.

"Now,

listen—"

"You listen. You attacked me, without

provocation—"

I didn’t know who you were. Why did you dress like some cadril bitch?

She snatched the knife from her belt in sudden anger and pointed it at him.

The man’s eyes widened and he stepped back.

She drew a deep, calming breath. She didn’t need to answer his question—he knew as well as she that everyone here thought she was a cadril. She needed to maintain the deception. In fact, he should have expected that.

Which didn’t explain why she’d felt so angry.

Besides, his reply didn’t address her comment. "Dressing like a cadril most certainly does not count as provocation."

He rubbed his arm again and winced. No doubt she’d left a spectacular bruise. He said, You’re crazy, you know that?

Maybe. Now, while I tell you the news from the past week, you can pick up those mushrooms you made me spill.

Like hell!

If you want your knife back. And take care with the mushrooms. If you bruise any, you’ll need to pick more to replace them.

He looked at the knife still in her hand and moved slowly to pick up the basket. He picked up one of the mushrooms and looked at it. Do these really bruise?

Idiot. Of course. So don’t squeeze them.

While he picked up the spilled mushrooms she gave her report. She included everything she knew about the coup and the events following. She even mentioned what little she knew of the upcoming event. Heldrick is preparing for some public affair tomorrow concerning the disposition of a known attempted murderer.

Her contact frowned. An execution? Why public?

She shook her head. I don’t think he plans an execution. Not for tomorrow, anyway. I’ll bring more information next time.

The fellow grunted.

He’d finished picking up the mushrooms. With nothing more to report, she held out her hand for the basket. I need to get back.

Then give me my knife.

Mushrooms first.

He handed the basket to her.

And one more thing. Swear to me you won’t accost any helpless cadril women on the way back.

What? Why should you care?

Swear, or I keep the knife. Though it was a good question. Why should she care?

All right, all right.

She handed him the knife. And I want you to tell them one more thing. Next time . . . tell them to send someone else.

The man’s face lost all expression. He thrust his knife into its sheath, spun, and stalked off to where he’d left his horse.

Estrienn watched until she couldn’t hear him. Then she turned and headed home, pondering. Why should she care? It certainly wasn’t how she’d been raised.

She was still thinking about it when she finally snuffed the lamp in her room that night—wishing, as she so often had since coming here, that the Citadel wasn’t the only place around with electric lighting.

knife knife

The next morning Estrienn put on her youngling’s outfit. With her height, her hair already cut quistril-short, and the cloak hiding her form, she could pass for a youngling—which shouldn’t surprise anyone. After all, she was a quistril.

Except no one here knew that.

She didn’t plan to make anyone think she was a quistril today, though. She would be arriving at the Citadel as Grayvle’s guest—legal by some pronouncement of Heldrick’s. Grayvle would arrive soon to pick her up, and she wore the cloak simply to avoid attention on the way. She no longer needed to hide her femininity at Kallikot Citadel—at least when properly escorted. What needed to be hid was her identity as a quistril, because that discovery would pin her as coming from Norvenmot—the only Citadel known to have female quistrils.

And Grayvle and Heldrick were the ones from whom she most needed to keep that a secret.

knife knife

Heldrick walked through the corridors of the Nest, pondering the mess he’d gotten himself into.

Two years ago, he’d been a dark-souled anarchist, doing his best to sow discord and destruction among the other quistrils, and hiding out between raids in another universe, across an accidentally discovered margin conjunction. Then Bess, a girl from the other side, had discovered the conjunction and stumbled through into this world. He’d chased after to take her home, and over the following week, before he got her safely back, she transformed him and his aims.

And now he was the Ascendant of Kallikot Citadel, tasked with fixing the things he’d fought so long against—and some that he might have had a hand in causing, as well, like the emptiness of the Nest.

Of course, the Nest always seemed empty this time of day. The women, with a few exceptions, worked at their assigned daytime tasks one flight down. The exceptions were those declared ill enough to take the day off, including those with the most common illness—labor pains.

But if he went down the stairs he’d find the work areas underpopulated as well.

And what’s wrong with that, Heldrick?

He smiled at the tricks his mind played. He’d always had arguments with himself, but over the past two years, since Bess had gone back and the conjunction had closed, the side of his mind arguing for the honorable course over the effective one had morphed into expressing itself in Bess’s voice.

And really, nothing was wrong with an underpopulated Nest. The main source of enmity between cadrils and quistrils lay in the quistrils stealing young women—older teenagers, really—from their families and bringing them here. He’d pledged himself to alleviate that enmity, and the biggest step toward achieving that goal lay in closing the Nest altogether.

Yet if he merely shut it down and released the women, the men would throw him out and replace him with someone less foolish within weeks—perhaps days. Those stolen women provided the only way for quistrils to reproduce, since quistril children were always—with rare and infertile exceptions—male.

Of course, he doubted loss of reproduction would be what the men complained of.

No one’s asking you to close it right away.

He knew that,

but—

The Citadel had never suffered a coup, before his. He still enjoyed wild popularity for throwing out Pandir, but that could change in an eyeblink, and would, when the men realized he didn’t intend to repopulate the Nest. The loss of those women who’d escaped at the end of Pandir’s reign, amounting to nearly half the Nest, made things instantly difficult for him. If he couldn’t solve the problem, he’d lose his position, and all hope of improving life for the cadrils along with it.

So far, everything he’d come up with—aside from allowing the men to haul in cartloads of new

women—

Don’t you dare!

—offered zero likelihood of success. Much of his energy had therefore gone into generalized activities to start the men thinking of cadrils as people, rather than nuisances who were good for nothing but the women one could steal from them.

Activities such as this event with Casternack coming up soon. With a sigh, he decided he’d better get ready for that to start.

knife knife

Casternack paced the narrow confines of his dungeon cell in impenetrable darkness, the sodden straw muffling his footsteps. How had everything gone so wrong? After four days here, he still didn’t understand it.

He’d come within a hair’s breadth of killing Heldrick, at a time when doing so would no longer keep Heldrick’s men from killing Pandir. He was that close to seeing both of his hated enemies dead. But then Ilvaran recognized him, grabbed his hand, and crushed the hypodermic he held, so a good bit of the nerve blocker entered Casternack’s own bloodstream, nearly killing him. Well, that part, though unexpected, he understood well enough.

But he couldn’t figure out why Pandir still lived. Heldrick’s men hadn’t killed him. No one brought Casternack any news down here, but he knew about Pandir, because the man occupied the next cell.

Heldrick had also kept Pandir’s mastrons down here for a night, but the morning after the coup he sent someone to take them away. They never returned—probably all dead by now. Or maybe Heldrick was executing them one at a time, saving Pandir for last.

So what was he saving Casternack for?

He’d been better off in the mines—at least there he didn’t have to put up with Pandir. How long could he stand being locked up in total darkness before he lost his mind?

He suspected he was about to find out. He’d tried and failed to kill Heldrick twice now. Heldrick wouldn’t risk a third attempt. Execution was the best alternative Casternack could hope for—and, for now, he was still willing to take his chances on going crazy.

The light came on, and footsteps started down the stairs. More than a single pair, so this wasn’t lunch.

At last!

The words from Pandir’s cell were in Vardic, but Casternack had picked up bits of the language during his years at the Citadel. I wouldn’t be in such a hurry, he answered in English—the quistrils possessed a slight preference for Vardic, but once you started them in English they tended to stay there a while. If you think they’ll fetch you for anything besides saving the expense of the food bricks you eat, you’re crazy.

Nonsense! My mastrons were released three days ago. They’re finally getting me out.

Casternack rolled his eyes. Pandir must think himself still in charge, but Casternack figured they’d finished executing the mastrons and now came for Pandir himself. The grand finale.

But the footsteps stopped at Casternack’s cell.

Chapter 3

---

GRAYVLE STOOD AT THE ONE unblocked door of the largest of the vasiks’ mess halls and checked his sheet—all but one of Heldrick’s new mastrons had arrived, and he didn’t see any more senorals waiting to enter. All right, menodrals next!

He wore a menodral’s cloak, himself, which felt rather odd. He couldn’t tell if he’d even been promoted—Heldrick simply handed him the cloak and said, Here. Wear this. Of course, he never received an official promotion to vasik, either. But all signs had indicated he would bypass novice and be promoted directly to vasik upon graduation, if he’d stuck around for those two weeks. Instead, he murdered the Ascendant and joined up with Heldrick. Still, the vasik’s cloak never felt odd, though he and Heldrick were labeled traitors and he’d never had a technical right to wear it until the coup.

Ascendant coming through! Vencoran called out and pushed through the crowd, making way for Heldrick to follow.

Mastrons all here? Heldrick asked.

Except for Dostrien. I’m making sure to keep a place for him.

Heldrick nodded, glancing around the room. His eyes widened. "Great gods. What is she doing here?"

Estrienn? Grayvle had half hoped Heldrick wouldn’t notice. And half hoped he would.

Vencoran followed Heldrick’s gaze. His eyebrows shot up.

Grayvle had given her a tan collaborator’s cloak to wear in the Citadel, to replace the youngling’s cloak she wore when he picked her up from Arrick’s, and that made her stand out. But even if he hadn’t—she was smiling impishly and waving at Heldrick. She wanted to come. And, um, you made that policy about the men taking a woman from the Nest when not on duty, so long as they didn’t keep her out overnight. I thought I should set an example.

"But Estrienn wasn’t in the Nest to start with. And you are on duty."

True. He managed to keep his expression neutral. Would you like me to send her out, then?

Heldrick glared at him. "You know we can’t allow a woman to wander around on her own. She would end up in the Nest soon enough if we did."

Yes, he knew that.

Heldrick sighed. Fine. But ask me next time.

Grayvle grinned. All right. He caught Estrienn’s eye, nodded, and winked.

knife knife

Estrienn smiled back at Grayvle. He hadn’t wanted to bring her, when he’d first told her of the event, but she’d convinced him by appealing to his submerged sense of mischief. Setting up a situation where Heldrick was bound to give in seemed to tickle Grayvle’s fancy.

Instead of satisfaction with a successful tactic, though, she felt vague discomfort. Until the coup, Heldrick and Grayvle fought against Kallikot. In aiding them, she supported her home citadel—though she only reported their activities to Norvenmot, never the other way around.

But then Heldrick abruptly decided to stage a coup, because Pandir, over the previous six months, had made himself so hated that any attempt to unseat him would meet with general acclaim. So now, rather abruptly, Heldrick and Grayvle and Kallikot were all the same. Not the enemy—at least, not yet—but no longer on the same side either.

It changed everything.

She knew she had to keep reporting on them to Norvenmot, but she no longer felt any satisfaction from doing so. Maybe it would be best if she simply returned home.

Except that she didn’t want to.

knife knife

You’re at the wrong cell! Pandir called out. I’m in this one.

Or at least that’s what Casternack thought he’d said. Pandir had spoken in Vardic again.

The response, more or less, was that they hadn’t come for Pandir.

Casternack’s cell door opened. A hooded figure peered into Casternack’s cell and said, All right, let’s go. English again.

He stepped out of the cell, blinking. The dungeon corridor light, too dim for him to make out many details, still bothered his eyes after so long in total darkness. Three other quistrils stood waiting, which seemed like overkill for escorting a cadril like himself.

One said something in Vardic that Casternack didn’t catch, and two of the others started searching him.

What, do you think maybe I found an old knife in my cell?

After our last encounter, the man said, I resolved, henceforward, to take extreme care when near you.

He peered more closely. Ilvaran? The man who’d stopped him from killing Heldrick. The man he’d nearly killed with the hypodermic instead.

How nice. You remember me.

The two finished searching him and stepped back. Nothing, said one.

Ilvaran nodded at that and introduced his companions by name, which still struck Casternack as bizarre for a quistril, though Ilvaran had introduced himself the first time they met, too.

With the last name, Pandir interrupted. Enfarad? That’s the youngling who let Heldrick escape three years ago!

Really? He’d thought Grayvle the only quistril Heldrick had suborned, back then. Now, of course, he had them all on his side. Pandir had seen to that.

Enfarad walked to the next cell and peered in the grate. "Actually,

I—"

Pandir’s hand shot out through the grating and grabbed Enfarad’s cloak. I should have killed you at the time.

Enfarad sighed. So much for explanations. Let go before I break your fingers.

You wouldn’t dare.

Try me.

After a moment the hand released Enfarad and withdrew through the grating. You’ll pay for your insolence when I’m released.

Hmm. One of us will, I’m sure.

The whole situation struck Casternack as bizarre. Until escaping from the mines a week ago, he hadn’t even known Pandir was the Ascendant. He still had trouble grasping how hated the man had made himself.

The four quistrils formed the usual box formation around him before setting off toward the spiral stairs. He asked Ilvaran what was happening.

Heldrick’s giving you a trial, Ilvaran answered cheerfully.

A trial? By what, combat?—him against some quistril? What a laugh. By fire? The mere thought made him break into a sweat. Whatever was meant, he didn’t like the sound of it. Ilvaran’s cheerfulness didn’t help.

Ilvaran went on: It’s some notion of Heldrick’s. Well, I suppose I contributed. He paused while they wound their way up the stairs and continued when they reached the corridor. I suggested that, whatever he did to you, he should do publicly. This thing he’s planned is the result.

It sounded as though they planned to burn him at the stake or some equivalent, with the rest of the Citadel watching.

Ilvaran added, Heldrick has some distinctly unusual notions of how to treat cadrils.

Great. Just great.

knife knife

Ilvaran suspected Casternack of distrusting him. Not that he’d expected anything else: he distrusted Casternack, too, though he didn’t blame the man for trying to kill him on the day of the coup; that was a natural response to the situation. If he had anything against Casternack, it was for trying to murder Heldrick who, as near as he could tell, was the best thing to happen to the Citadel in years—possibly decades. Maybe ever.

They stopped off at the room Senoral Durnstaff had assigned Casternack while the two of them planned how Durnstaff could undercut Heldrick and steal the coup for himself. Casternack’s things were still there.

Clean up and change your clothes, he told Casternack. "We’ll give you fifteen minutes. The cadril clothing you wore when I brought you in