Covenant With Hell

Chapter One

He stood in the shadows, watching men enter and leave the inn. It was a respectable place, one he knew well, and close by the holy shrines of Walsingham, but the promising warmth of the hearth fire and boisterous voices of men did not gladden his heart. Leaning back against the rough wall of some merchant’s house, he squeezed his eyes shut against the light from the inn that assailed him with rude persistence.

How often had he sworn that he would cease this work and return fully to the vocation he claimed? But he knew he would not and mocked himself for holding on to such a delusion so long.

The rewards were high, and he took them willingly enough, but the extra coin meant little to him. He put most of it into a damaged pot and buried it in the garden near the privy. This choice of hiding place was deliberate. Every time he added to the hoard, he dug within the stench of his own excrement. That was a small penance, very small, for what he did.

So he did not accept these undertakings for coin, a jewel, or even praise. His masters were grateful when he succeeded, as they prayed he would, but his efforts would never be praised by all men. Some would laud him and others denounce. He chose to set aside such debates. On the day of his death, he would care about the fine definitions of good and evil because eternity mattered. Until that hour, he believed these grave questions were best left to saints and popes.

In truth, his reasons were out of the ordinary. He took on these tasks because he could live in the shadows for awhile. Others longed for the sun, reaching out for the warmth and praising the bright hours as belonging to God. For him, day was a time of falsehood when his speech became the model of trickery, his body the temple of deception, and everything he did a practiced lie. Only in obscurity could he be honest, even if that truth was an evil thing. Only in the velvet embrace of darkness could he find comfort and peace.

A man walked past, then hesitated and turned to look at him.

He shook his head.

The man went on his way.

He watched until the figure disappeared into the black maw of narrow streets.

It was not yet time to allow himself that indulgence, a sin he would confess when God reached out for his soul but not before, a transgression most would say was worse than the one he committed for coin.

A priest always forgave him for all crimes required to satisfy his masters’ will, but that priest was chosen to do it. Thus his penance was light, and absolution granted with a smile. God might not be so kind when he faced final judgment on crimes regretted only out of fear.

With effort, he willed himself to step away from the wall.

The moment had come to face the light.

Clenching his teeth, he strode toward the inn.