The door opened with some effort, dragging along the stone floors with creaking leather hinges. The room looked wide and smelled somewhat rancid. The bit of oil light from the passageway leaked into the room. A figure stirred at a large desk illuminated by a small candle.

“Huwhuwhoozit?” the figure said, slowly turning in its seat. It was a young man, eyes barely open, wiping drool from his face and rubbed his eyes.

“Hi,” Bill said, stepping into the room. He noticed tall bookshelves to either side of him. The young man reached into his robe and pulled a short dagger from its folds, then leaned back and yawned.

“What do you want? Did you kill all my guards?”

“I didn’t touch them,” Bill said.

“What? Then how did…?” the young man said, trailing off, then leaned forward and squinted. He slowly leaned back and his eyes widened as his gaze began to travel up, stopping as it fell on a spot a couple of feet above Bill’s head. “Oh,” he said, “it’s one of you.”

Bill looked up but didn’t see anything other than a dark ceiling. “One of me?” he asked.

“They warned us,” the man said. He tossed his knife on the ground and slumped forward. “Beings that can’t be seen by undead eyes,” he said, shaking his head. “I thought the cat thing would work for sure.”

“It almost worked,” Bill said.

“Tell your master,” the robed figure said, looking above Bill again, “that we know what you mean to do. I’m alone and no threat to you, but the rest will be prepared.” He stood to his feet and began walking forward. Bill pointed his spear at the approaching figure and closed his eyes.