The trip from the interrogation cells in the fortress's upper levels down to the second subcellar where the morgue could be found was a lengthy and confusing one. Despite the building's history, Ammas had spent little time here and only knew a few of its secrets -- just enough to effect an escape if Thalia wasn't too concerned with keeping him a captive. They did not pass the noisome crevasse that comprised the Titan's Grave itself, but while marching down a narrow stairway that opened onto the subcellar Ammas could feel it lurking nearby like a living presence. "Titansgrave" was more than just a name; according to legend, one of the Dread Titans themselves lay eternally decomposing at the bottom of that fissure. If anyone had ever plumbed its depths to find out the truth, Ammas had never heard of it.

The fortress's narrow corridors and oppressive architecture inspired dread rather than awe, and Ammas often supposed the fellowships that had studied and trained here must have been very strange by modern standards. Supposedly, the fellowship of cursewrights had begun here, with the Lady Terazla herself as one of the earliest arcane alumni to bear that title. But Titansgrave's history was even murkier than that of its more recently destroyed fellow academies. Myth and rumor had filled in a great many empty pages in that book.

The Argent Brand had appropriated for its morgue a vast, low-ceilinged series of vaults that were always chilly. Whether the temperature was due to natural forces or enchantment, no one seemed to know, nor did they know what the rooms' original purpose was. Once Ammas had spun a gruesome tale of it clearly being a prison for tainted elemental creatures and ever-ravenous undead beings, greatly relishing the looks of terror on the guardsmen who had been listening to him. Mielle Thalia had been there, and even she had seemed unnerved. Later he would tell Irgrin he was quite certain this was where the old fellowships had stored their beer.

Phylo Irgrin was the undisputed master of this domain. Irgrin was a former seer-magistrate who had served Munazyr for twenty years before the dissolution at the Doge's Hall of Judgments. Despite severe injuries sustained during the Emperor's purge, he continued to serve the Argent Council in a less visible capacity. "My own damned fault," he had told Ammas over drinks and Whistling Jack one night in the morgue a few years before. "I'd heard there were some refugees from Autumnsgrove and I took out a schooner to see if I could rescue them. It was a trap, of course. Argent Brandsmen found the wreck, told the Emperor's troops I was dead. I'm pretty sure the fat fuck knows I'm alive and has for maybe a decade, but I'm not worth breaking the peace."

Irgrin greeted them now, rolling over to his Captain and his arcane colleague in the custom-built wheelchair he used to traverse his realm. He wasn't fully paralyzed, and could "gimp along at a nice pace" if necessary, but it became excruciatingly painful for him to do so after only a few minutes. Ammas guessed he was perhaps five years older than his own father would have been, placing him on the latter side of his seventies. Dark brown eyes gleamed with intelligence and no small amount of spirits from a weathered face that was brown as a nut and generally unshaven, scraggly salt-and-pepper hair tumbling to the nape of his neck in waves that had been quite lush in his youth.

After a quick (and, Ammas thought, ironic) salute to Mielle Thalia, he grinned and offered Ammas his hand. Ammas took it with a smile. He and Irgrin didn't see each other often. Even in Munazyr, it was unwise for fellow alumni to spend too much time together. Rumors of collusion reaching the Malachite Throne would make it go ill for the entire city.

"I knew you'd be showing up at this mess. Shocked when I heard they actually went for you. A little surprised it didn't happen sooner if it was going to happen, though. But then I figured the wolfies knew better."

Ammas shook Irgrin's hand gently, mindful of the old joints, though the man was hale for his age, apart from his paralysis. "Apparently, they didn't. Perhaps they do now."

Irgrin cackled. "Oh, no doubt of that. This is a smart bunch. Frighteningly smart, really. You want to tell him, Mielle?"

Mielle nodded, though she looked uncomfortable. Ammas began to suspect that whatever she was keeping from him, it hadn't been her decision to do so. In this he turned out to be exactly right. "Two weeks ago we received reports from Brightmoon Bay that suggested werewolf presence. A beggar torn apart and strewn across one of the shipyards. A few sightings from sailors -- "

"Drunks," Irgrin spat.

"They sobered up when they saw a pack of wolves running upright. I led a raid on a flophouse down at the water's edge. We nearly caught them, I think. Only one was still there. Either left behind as a sacrifice or else he thought he could take us."

As the three of them talked they moved deeper into the morgue. They passed now-Patrolman Cayle, whose face looked colorful enough to hang in the Doge's Gallery. "Told you to put ice on that and go home, Cayle," Irgrin growled. Cayle glared at his Captain-Commander, but returned to his assigned task of scrubbing down the stone examination tables. At the far end of the low hall lay a number of sheeted forms: two bodies and one whose contours were more difficult to discern.

Ammas was dumbfounded. The Captain-Commander had brought him in to consult on far lesser incidents than this, seeming to appreciate what a resource she had in a competent cursewright. "Why am I only hearing about this now? Brightmoon Bay isn't far from me. I could have helped with this before it turned out the way it did." With a nasty jolt, his own words made him wonder if Lena was somewhere in this morgue as well.

"I was specifically ordered by the Doge not to involve you in this. By the time we confirmed the presence of the creatures, rumors had started to reach the city of some incident in Talinara with a werewolf and the Emperor's daughter. The first ones said she was dead." Mielle scowled. "The Doge isn't the braves soul. You know that. The thought of the Emperor hearing that the werewolves who had killed or abducted his daughter were being dealt with by a cursewright made him queasy. He feared reprisal, demands you be turned over."

"And if the gods-damned things hadn't come after me, would we be having this conversation at all?" Ammas knew perfectly well he had no reason to expect Mielle to trust him with official business, but the fact of Lena's death weighed heavily on him, and the notion it might have been prevented if he had been aware of the danger was almost unbearable.

"I don't know, Ammas. Does it matter? I knew leaving you out of the loop was a mistake, and if there had been another attack I would have defied his orders. But maybe you can help us now." They had stopped at the furthest of the three sheeted forms. Thalia regarded him with a pleading expression Ammas found worrying. "For one thing, we're not entirely sure this one was a werewolf."

"It reverted shape that quickly?"

"How long does it take? Irgrin couldn't remember."

"Apologies, Ammas. It's been a very long time since I had to deal with werewolves. I mostly handle cultists and dreampowder smugglers these days."

"About a week, generally, and it's accompanied by putrefaction. Storing them in a cold place like this would arrest it by as much as six months."

"And if a werewolf is slain while in human shape? How might one determine what it was?"

Ammas stared at Mielle. The Captain flushed but didn't look away. "Tell me what happened. The idea you would kill someone for being a werewolf without confirming it goes against everything I know about you, Mielle."

"I appreciate that, Ammas." Her flush receded. "The one they left behind. We conducted the raid in early morning hours, when Irgrin thought it unlikely the moons would be right for their change."

"Irgrin, do you even own a lunar manifest anymore?"

Irgrin sighed and shook his head. Ammas managed to restrain his temper and waved for Thalia to continue.

"Anyway, they were all in human shape, or at least no wolves were seen fleeing the building. This one charged me with a pair of knives. Ambushed me from a pantry." Thalia tugged down the high collar of her uniform tunic, showing an ugly stitched wound. Ammas hissed. "He missed my lifelines by less than an inch. I dealt with him."

"Nothing else to be done then. I am sorry I thought otherwise."

Mielle shrugged. "I wish it had gone otherwise myself. The Doge examined the body personally, but said without proof it had been a werewolf he couldn't justify bringing you in to consult."

Ammas liked Irgrin, but the more he heard of this incident the more enraged he became. Lena had paid the price for these political games. "And is there some reason you couldn't prove what this man was? Did you finally drink your seer's gifts to death, Irgrin? Maybe it's time you stepped aside."

"Ammas," Mielle warned.

But Irgrin looked more weary than ashamed. "I don't want to fight with you, Ammas. I haven't enough friends from the old days left."

Now it was Ammas who was ashamed. "You're right. Forgive me."

Irgrin waved a hand dismissively. "You've had a wretched time tonight. Never mind it. I could read what lingered of his thoughts to determine his nature." Irgrin grinned without much humor. "But I need material to work with."