The walk back to the cathedral was uneventful, which was a pleasant change of pace. Vasil led the way while I followed behind, occasionally glancing down at my new dress. It was still clean. I’d probably have to somehow stitch that piece of fabric back after I found a place to store that lady’s hand. Maybe one of those jars in the basement.

  When we arrived back at the cathedral, Phisto was lounging on the steps, calmly grooming himself.

  "That was fast," he said without looking up. "Did you already run out of innocent people to kill?"

  "I’ve never killed anyone innocent," I said, scandalized. "I don’t understand why you keep saying that. If you’re trying to be funny, try harder."

  He looked me up and down. "Then whose dress are you wearing?"

  I looked down at my very clean, very pretty, totally un-poopy dress. “Look, Phisto, allow me to educate you. A terrible evil spirit tried to lure me into dancing myself to death. I—being clever, beautiful, and resistant to peer pressure—outsmarted her, defeated her, and claimed her dress as a well-earned reward. So no, I did not ‘kill an innocent.’ I killed a murderous supernatural temptress. It was actually quite impressive.”

  Phisto stared at me. "That's the dumbest lie you've ever told."

  "Excuse me? I don't lie! Name one time I've lied. One time! I don't need to lie because I'm actually impressive and things actually happen to me! You're just jealous because you're a dumb, useless cat who can't do anything but lick his own butt and complain. You don't even have thumbs, Phisto. You know what you could do with thumbs? Literally anything other than what you do now, which is nothing!"

  "It's true," Vasil said tiredly. "The spirit part, at least."

  Phisto narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re just jealous that you can’t lick your own butt.”

  I shook my head. "Despite having an objectively great butt, I've never felt the desire to lick it. Because I’m not a degenerate, unlike you."

  Phisto rolled his eyes. “Jealous.”

  I gave him a double-handed moutza for good measure, and walked into the cathedral, where Skelly was proudly standing at attention, apparently waiting for me.

  “Hecate!” he said. “I have something to show you! In the dormitory! Come, come!”

  I stepped inside, and immediately noticed something different. Skelly had constructed what could only generously be described as a bed. It was a mess of moss, and what looked like dried reeds, all piled onto one of the stone bed frames.

  He stood beside it, wringing his hands in excitement. "I made you something soft to sleep on! Like you asked. I’ve been working on it all day!"

  "Skelly," I said, walking over to inspect his work. The bedding was lumpy and uneven, and smelled faintly of mildew, but it was soft. Softer than stone, at least. I sat down on it and immediately sank a few inches. "This is perfect. You’re amazing."

  His entire face seemed to light up. "Really?"

  "Really." I laid back, stretching out. It didn’t hurt. "You did good."

  "Oh! Oh, thank you! I'm so glad you like it! I wasn't sure if—"

  "Skelly," I said, closing my eyes. "You're great. Now please stop talking so I can enjoy this."

  "Right! Yes! Of course!"

  I heard him shuffle away, still muttering happily to himself. Then I heard Vasil hop up onto the windowsill, and I could feel him watching me.

  "What?" I asked without opening my eyes.

  "Nothing," he said. "Just surprised you actually thanked him."

  "I'm not an asshole, Vasil. I appreciate good work."

  "Uh-huh."

  I cracked one eye open. "What's that supposed to mean?"

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  "Nothing at all."

  I closed my eye again. The bedding was far from luxurious, but after sleeping on dirt and stone, it felt like a gift from the gods. Well, maybe not the gods. They hadn't done anything for me lately. This was Skelly's doing. Skelly deserved the credit.

  After a few minutes of blissful rest, I sat up and reached into my satchel, pulling out the fish I'd caught on the way back. I'd shot them while Vasil was busy complaining about still being covered in bear guts. My aim had been perfect as always, but the extra damage on my revolver hadn’t been kind to them.

  I held the fish up and yelled. "Look what I got."

  Skelly came shuffling back into the dormitory. "Oh! Fish! That's wonderful! I'll prepare them for you."

  "I appreciate it, Skelly, you’re a gem.”

  Phisto padded over, sniffing the air. He stopped and stared at the fish. "What the fuck is that?"

  I frowned. "Fish."

  "I know what fish looks like. That's not fish."

  "Yes, it is."

  "Hecate, that looks like you jumped on a potato."

  I looked down at the fish. They were… admittedly slightly more mangled than usual. The heads were completely gone and the bodies were also kind of exploded. Like someone had taken a hammer to them. Maybe more like a cannon. I should probably remove the bear totem next time I’m shooting fish. Being all exploded did not make them look more appetizing.

  "It's fish," I insisted. "They just look a little rough. Don’t hold it against them."

  "A little rough?" Phisto leaned closer, squinting. "I can't even tell which end is which."

  "They're fine," I said, trying to sound confident. "They'll taste the same, and they’ll look the same coming out the other end. Probably taste the same out the other end, too, but you know more about that than I do."

  He sniffed again, then wrinkled his nose “They already look like they came out the other end.”

  "Phisto, if you don't want any, just say so."

  "I want some. I just don’t understand why you made them look like that."

  I threw my hands up. "It’s not my fault that I’m too powerful! Maybe I’ll start catching fish with my bare hands like a savage. Would that make you happy?"

  “If it meant that they’d still look like fish, then yes.”

  “You know what,” I said handing the fish over to Skelly. “This conversation is over.“

  ***

  The next meal.

  No.

  "NO!" I threw the fish on the floor. "No more! I can't spend another day eating this! Phisto aren’t you sick of only eating swamp fish every day?"

  He turned to look at me. “I don’t ‘only’ eat swamp fish every day. I caught a fat juicy rat just this morning.”

  Skelly put his hand to his mouth and gasped.

  "It tastes like mud! I did not brave”—I made a large dramatic gesture—“the horrors of evil soul-sucking spirits, house-sized bears, and the cruel machinations of the fates just to come home and eat mud-flavored fish every day. I deserve seasoning. I deserve civilization.”

  I got up from the table. "I'm going to town. Right now. I'm going to find a proper meal. Something that doesn't taste like SHIT. Something with seasoning."

  "Why don't we go tomorrow?" Vasil asked.

  "Tomorrow? Why not right now?"

  "The nearest town is Lipova. It's at least a day's walk, so we’d need to prepare."

  He had a point. A day’s long trek through the swamp without preparation was less than ideal. No reason to invite extra misery.

  "Fine," I said, crossing my arms. "Tomorrow. First thing."

  "First thing," he agreed.

  "You gonna finish that?" Phisto asked, nodding at the fish.

  I stood there for a moment, staring at the fish on the floor. My stomach grumbled. I looked back at Phisto. Then at the fish again.

  I sighed, walked over, and picked it up. A bit of dust and sand clung to it. I blew on it half-heartedly, none of the dirt came off.

  "Yeah," I muttered. "I'm finishing it." I took a bite, felt the crunch of gritty sand, and silently cursed the gods.

  "Tomorrow," I said with my mouth full of fish and dirt. "Tomorrow I'm getting a real meal."

  Vasil nodded. "Tomorrow."

  I took another bite, chewing slowly. "Tell me about Lipova," I said, desperate for any distraction from the taste. "What's it like?"

  "It’s relatively small. Maybe a few hundred people. Farming village, mostly. There's an inn, a church, but not much else of interest."

  "An inn," I repeated, my spirits lifting slightly. "With food?"

  "With food," he confirmed. "Hot food. Bread. Stew. Meat that isn't fish."

  I closed my eyes and imagined all the food I was going to eat. Roasted pork dripping with fat. Sausages. Maybe a whole chicken. Bread so fresh it was still warm.

  "What else?" I asked. "Is there anything near Lipova?"

  "Well, the nearest large city is Opole. It's between Vrotsav and Katovitse. Vrotsav is in the west—that’s where the King resides. The Archbishop operates out of Katovitse which is in the far east of Silesia."

  I raised an eyebrow. "They're in different cities?"

  "Yes. The Church set it up that way on purpose. Having their main seat on the opposite side of Silesia makes them look independent."

  "But they're not actually independent."

  "Not even close," Vasil said. "The Church has its hands all over the King. They just like to pretend they don't. Keeps up appearances."

  "That’s pretty clever."

  "It is. The King gets to look like he's in charge, the Church gets to pull the strings."

  I took another bite of sandy fish, and winced. "And Opole?"

  "It’s one of the bigger cities in the country. You can find whatever you need there, no doubt about it, and it’s location is favorable—nowhere near Vrotsav or Katovitse."

  "Noted."

  We sat in silence for a moment. I finished the fish and wiped my hands on my dress. The grease fell straight off. Nice.

  "Tomorrow," I said again, standing up. "First thing. We go to Lipova, I get a real meal, and I never eat swamp fish again."

  "Until you come back to the swamp,” Phisto said from the corner.

  I shot him a look, but he just yawned and went back to grooming. He was wrong. I was going to find a way to get some real food back to the cathedral, and I’d never have to eat fish again. Maybe I’d be able to buy a sheep. Maybe a whole herd!

  My mouth watered at the thought of some slow-cooked kefalaki.

  Tomorrow.