The Inquisitor closed the door to the cell behind him. A bald, disfigured man in travel-stained clothes stood leaning against the wall outside. The eyes of the two friends met.
"Well?" said the Witchhunter.
"He is a heresiarch," said the Inquisitor, "but I doubt he knows anything about this. He's a loner. I imagine the plague spared him simply because he hadn't been to town that day."
"What should we do with him, then?" asked the Witchhunter.
"We'll hold him," said the Inquisitor. "He's no witch, but his beliefs are dangerous. As soon as this investigation is over, I'll pass him off to the novices for re-education."
"We could burn him now," said the Witchhunter, grimly.
"We could," said the Inquisitor thoughtfully. "No doubt that's what the Grand Inquisitor would want. But I don't feel like humoring him today."
The Witchhunter smiled through the burn marks that covered his face.
"He mentioned the legend of the dark woman," said the Inquisitor. "Do you know of it?"
The Witchhunter nodded.
"It's a well-known tale in the west that a dark woman—a consort of the evil one—haunts the Black Forest that borders towns like Chaswick. The benandanti claim to do battle with her in their dreams. Towns without benandanti make offerings to her every autumn."
"Why?"
"They say she has power to spoil the earth and ruin the harvest," said the Witchhunter. "Or worse. I've heard of men claiming they've become infertile after being visited by a gaunt succubus in dreams. Or that she's replaced their children with imposters from the forest."
"What do you think of these tales?" asked the Inquisitor.
The Witchhunter looked darkly at his friend.
"There are cults that venerate a woman as consort to the Black Goat," he said. "A goddess of fertility. Some holdover from the old ways. Yes, I have heard of a dark woman spoken of among the witches and warlocks of that region."
The two stood in silence for a while.
"That friar is up in your study, by the way," said the Witchhunter. "He made such a noise about being put in the cell the novices took him up there in hopes he'd shut up."
"And has he?" asked the Inquisitor.
"Oh, no," said the Witchhunter, with a dry rasp that may have been a chuckle.