Mayor Ashman welcomed Jerry into his house, heart pounding wildly.

Just what was the matter with those two?! Okay, necromancers were heavily distasteful, but they weren’t illegal! This one was even nice. Why did Murdock have to go and pick the hornet’s nest?

The truth is, he knew exactly why. Murdock, for all his power, could be a petty man at times. He enjoyed the authority his strength gave him, and Jerry’s presence threatened to take that away. After all, if Murdock wasn’t excellent at protecting the village and another alternative was available, why would the villagers choose to depend on him?

But still. One had to be either a hero or an idiot to provoke a necromancer. Murdock was certainly not the first kind.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” said Ashman, guiding Jerry to his home’s softest chair. The necromancer had repeatedly expressed his preference for such sittings, and the Mayor wasn’t willing to spoil the mood any further. “Can I treat you to something? Some milk, perhaps?”

“That would be excellent, thank you.” Jerry smiled, but Ashman could see the tense lines on his face. This was the first time he saw Jerry this thoughtful. Why? What had he come here for?

Ashman’s heart was clenched as he headed for the kitchen, pouring two cups of milk. Melissa raised a brow at him from where she stood hunched over a pot, preparing who knows what.

“He’s a guest,” whispered Ashman. “Be civil.”

She rolled her eyes. Ashman sighed.

First Murdock, now Melissa. Why did everyone have to go and provoke a harbinger of calamity? He loved his wife, but she could be stubbornly stupid at times.

“Here,” he said, returning to the living room.

“Thank you.” Jerry grabbed the cup, taking a whiff. “Smells nice.”

“Always does. Our little Sia is quite plump right now; we fatten her in the autumn to last the winter.”

“Fortune in misfortune,” replied the necromancer, nodding.

The mayor looked him over; this man had just walked an hour through the cold and wasn’t even bothered. Necromancy certainly had its perks. Absent-mindedly, the Mayor wondered whether all necromancers were this laid-back, before quickly discarding the notion. Not that he’d ever seen another, but they were known as evil for a reason. Probably.

“So,” Ashman got to the point, “what brings you all the way out here?”

Jerry’s face was serious.

“Ashman,” he said, “I have a question for you.”

His heart clenched again. The necromancer, the lord of the dead, seemed to have something dark in his mind. It couldn’t be good.

“I’m all ears,” he replied, trusting that his inner thoughts were well hidden.

“My question is simple. If,” began Jerry, and already he seemed to be hesitating, “if there was a… secret, let’s say. A dark secret that, if you knew, would make your life very difficult. Would you like to know? Or would you rather sit in blissful ignorance, unaware of the truth around you but happy in a world of lies?”

Ashman’s heart was pounding so heavily he thought it might jump out of his chest. Dark secret? The necromancer had a dark secret?

“A secret?” he asked.

“Yes.” Jerry nodded seriously. “A harsh one.”

This was bad. This was really, really bad. Ashman’s mind immediately jumped to the worst. Was Jerry raiding other villages at night, sparing Pilpen only to use them as a front and for supplies? Was he torturing people in his basement, only maintaining a peaceful facade for fun and convenience?

Ashman had visited the man’s tower. Hell, he had slept over. Just how close to a fate worse than death had he come?!

Oh, he knew that necromancers weren’t to be trusted. Murdock had warned him; why did he not listen? And now Jerry was asking this. Had he decided to come clean? Had his dreadful operations grown too large to remain hidden? Would he threaten Ashman to ensure his cooperation? Would he, the mayor, become a hostage?

Would everyone die? And even if not, then what? When the evil deeds were revealed and the Milarisian Guard came in force, when they killed the necromancer, what would happen to Ashman? What would happen to the village? They would be treated as accomplices, that’s what would happen, and be culled for good measure.

Ashman gulped.

From the kitchen, the sounds of stirring and heat bubbles popping had stopped; Melissa was listening, she always was. Had Jerry’s revelation shaken her too? It was only natural.

But no, he had to maintain his cool. Right now, Jerry was giving him an opportunity. If he played his cards right, he might be able to save himself. He might be able to save the village.

He looked up, meeting the necromancer’s eye. The man’s dark intentions were clear there; the savagery, the mercilessness, the insanity, all hidden behind a thin layer of fake concern and joviality. How had Ashman trusted him in the first place?

I was a fool... but not any longer.

“I—” he said, coughing in his hand to stop his voice from trembling. “I… would certainly not want to know.”

Jerry’s eyes flickered but Ashman could not see through them. What was the necromancer thinking? Was he pleased? Or was he angry at things getting complicated?

Regardless, there was only one path for Ashman to take, only one path that could lead to salvation. He had to play along with the necromancer, letting him act as he pleased while pretending to know nothing—and actually knowing nothing. That way, when the Guard knocked on his door, he could claim ignorance, and even their mind-reading inquisitors would be none the wiser.

Knowledge was dangerous.

“I would most certainly not want to know,” he reaffirmed his previous words. “In fact, I would even go so far as to ignore any… subtle hints at what is going on.”

Was Jerry understanding his words? Were they playing the same game? Ashman was offering free reign in exchange for ignorance.

“If knowledge is harsh,” he continued, “then I would rather remain ignorant, unaware of what brews beneath the surface. I would like my life, and the life of everyone in this village, to remain undisturbed… if possible, I mean.”

Jerry’s eyes were narrowed. Was he not following? Ashman decided to be a bit blunter. “In exchange for peace, for ignorance, I would even turn a blind eye to anything I could possibly turn a blind eye to. That is all I can ask.”

Jerry frowned, letting the silence stew. Was he thinking it over? Was he debating what to do? Or was he waiting for Ashman to say something more? But what could he say? He wrinkled his mind but nothing came up. If he spoke any further, he would be rumbling, and that might annoy Jerry.

Suddenly, Ashman was all too aware that the necromancer could kill him in a heartbeat if he wanted to.

“Are you sure?” Jerry finally spoke, seemingly coming to a decision.

“Absolutely.” Ashman nodded readily. He could not show hesitation. “My words came from my heart. They are true beyond the shadow of a doubt.”

Jerry’s frown deepened. He looked at the mayor for a moment, and the latter held his gaze, lips tightened. Then, the necromancer closed his eyes and let out a long, tired sigh. He shook his head, his thoughts known only to himself.

“Are you really, really sure?” he asked again, and Ashman responded decisively.

“Absolutely.”

“Then so be it.” Jerry leaned back in his chair, the tension leaving him, only to be replaced by seeming weariness—another facade, no doubt. “I will remain silent. Your decision is your own.”

“Thank you,” Ashman replied honestly, not letting his relief be shown. He had succeeded! He would live!

They remained in silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.

“Well then, I will be going now.” The necromancer finished his milk and stood up. “Sorry for the abrupt departure, my friend—I just have a lot of things to do back home. Time waits for no one, and especially not for me. The opposite usually happens, actually.”

“That is no problem, no problem at all.” Ashman also stood up. “Let me walk you to the door.”

Jerry smiled. He picked his coat off a wooden hanger and reached for the doorknob, only to stop at the last moment.

“Oh,” he said, “one last thing.” A pause. “Do you know of any way to contact the Milarisian Guard?”

Ashman froze.

This is it, he thought. He's afraid I'll turn him in. I’m going to die.

“No,” he blurted out. It was a lie, of course it was, but what could he do? He panicked.

“Well, that’s a shame.” Jerry sighed, turning the yellow doorknob. “Then, I guess I’ll see you around, Ashman. Pop in for a drink anytime. My tower is always open to you and your lovely wife.”

Something felt off about these last words, something about the way Jerry had said them, but Ashman had no mind for that. With the door open, a cutting breeze met his face, as if framing the necromancer’s grim silhouette.

“Absolutely,” he replied politely. “We would love to come!”

Jerry smiled and nodded. “See you, Ashman. May the Wall hold.”

“May it hold forever.”

Jerry turned around. Ashman closed the door, perhaps a bit too quickly, and slumped against it.

Melissa showed up the very next moment. “Ashman?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

He was not. He was pale, and shivering, and wanted to empty his stomach right there on the floor. He reached for Melissa, closing his eyes and hugging her tightly, finding solace in his lover’s embrace. For the first time in a while, she hugged back—but behind his shoulder, her face was taut.

“Oh, my love,” he whispered, voice shaking, “what is going to happen to us?”

He gently caressed her hair, letting himself relax in her embrace. He was a man who loved.

***

Standing in the cold, which never had bothered him much, Jerry gazed at the overcast sky.

Ashman had made his decision, and as irrational as it seemed to Jerry, he was resolute. So be it, then. With a deep, sad sigh, Jerry’s heart lightened. This was no longer his burden to carry.

The sadness would take some time to go away, but eventually, it would melt into all that was Jerry. It always had and it always would. If Ashman wanted to live such a life, then Jerry would oblige, and he would no longer think of this.

He looked back; through a corner of the window, he could see Ashman and Melissa hugging each other. He shook his head. Everyone had the right to be wrong.

I will respect your will, poor Ashman, but secrets rarely survive. Fate will strike soon enough, and when it does, it will not consider your feelings… But fine. For now, let secrets remain secrets—and when the time comes, I pray that you end up well, because you really aren't a bad person.

Jerry took a deep breath. Letting go is, as his father would say, a virtue.

With a final sigh, Jerry took off towards his tower again. He could have visited Derek too, but he was in no such mood. Besides, the man would visit again soon, as they had agreed last time. Ashman would also come, hopefully. Even though Jerry’s opinion of him had been damaged, he didn’t choose his friends based on the strength of their souls, though his father often advised the opposite.

And until then, he had work to do. Ashman could not contact the Guard, so Jerry had no way of contacting them either.

Ah! His eyes brightened. Couldn’t I just send Birb over?

With that bright idea, his steps regained their spring. He would contact the Guard, practice necromancy, and make shoes—not necessarily in that order.

He would also spend time with his lovely undead and drink with Derek, hopefully Ashman too. In the coming months, his hearth would be lit, and his heart would be warm. It would be a happy winter.

And so his mind was at ease. As for Ashman’s and Melissa’s story, in the grand scheme of things, it wouldn’t matter much.

Right?