Obviously, nobody is going to be overthrowing anybody. If he can get me out of here and back to the City, then he's going straight to Rakan's laboratory in exchange for a pardon and a sack full of coin. I'd much rather rely on Earth-as-in-heaven's generosity than on his mercy.

  But there's no harm in playing along for now. I certainly don't have any better ideas.

  At Gray's direction, I follow the corridor through a maze of tunnels and down another staircase that spirals around for several turns. The size of the ruin startles me; I never imagined something this big could survive buried in the sand. The trappist's lair must be the solarium on top of a massive structure. Finally curiosity overcomes my lingering irritation and I ask, "What this place?"

  a temple.

  That sends a chill down my spine. Messing around in temples can be hazardous to your health. "To which god?"

  the thirteenth.

  I chuckle. "There is no Thirteenth."

  not anymore.

  That gives me something to chew on as we descend. The Thirteenth in fact is proverbial for not existing; "chasing the Thirteenth" means haring off after shadows, and "selling the Thirteenth" means to lie or cheat someone. I'd had no idea people had actually built to this nonexistent god back in the day.

  After all, you only have to look at the sky, right? Twelve suns for twelve divines. Twenty-nine stars in six constellations for the six true gods. If there's a Thirteenth, he hasn't exactly put a signboard out.

  Maybe there were more stars, back in the day. I've heard stranger stories, though admittedly not from a talking skull.

  "So what are we looking for?" I ask as we reach the bottom.

  a weapon.

  I frown. Salle champion or no, none of my parries and ripostes seem like they'd have much effect on a bug the size of a trappist. You'd need a very big sword, or even better a squad of riflemen.

  you're thinking that you won't be able to swordfight the insect.

  "I thought you couldn't read my mind."

  i can't. you're just very predictable.

  "Well, for your information, I was thinking about something completely different." I pause. "Although, now that you mention it …"

  it's not that kind of weapon. in here.

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  I turn right. There might once have been a door here, but all that's left is a smear of rust stain where the hinges would have been. Inside is a small room, furnishings reduced to scraps and dust like everything else. Like the room where I'd found Gray, this one has a stone block in the center, a long narrow one like a carved bed. Lying on it is a statue of a naked woman, hands clasped at her waist, skull bare. Centuries of dust cover her in a thick carpet, hiding her features.

  "Is this a tomb? Are we grave-robbing?"

  the whole building is a tomb.

  "I thought you said it was a temple?"

  as well. but there is no corpse here, if that is what you mean.

  "Then who is this woman?"

  our weapon. her name is mercy.

  Silence for a moment.

  "So do I hold her by the feet and try to bludgeon the trappist to death, or …"

  Another timeworn sigh from the skull.

  she is an epigolem. pick up the knife.

  I have no idea what this means. But to my surprise there

  a knife on the slab, covered in a layer of dust. I touch it gingerly, expecting it to fall to pieces, but it remains solid -- it's made of a dark, faceted material that looks like something between rock and glass. When I pick it up, the edge glitters wickedly in Gray's faint light.

  i feel compelled to point out that, if you do this, there will be no going back.

  "I heard you the first time."

  the dying-of-thirst option is still on the table.

  "Still not interested."

  i could hum to distract you from your imminent demise, if you like.

  "Kickball."

  very well. cut your palm and place it to her lips.

  "My ?" I look at my off hand. "Why?"

  blood is required to activate the binding.

  "Sure" -- I mean, if he says so -- "but my ? What if I need my hand for something?"

  it is traditional.

  "It's stupid, is what it is. There's a lot of fiddly ligaments in a hand. If I cut too deep my fingers might never work right again. And I need those for music and foreplay! How much blood are we talking about?"

  Another deep sigh.

  a few drops will suffice.

  Gingerly, I wipe the knife clean on my prison-issue shirt and roll up my sleeve. A quick slash across the meaty part of my forearm produces a thin trickle of blood, and I bend awkwardly over the statue and press the wound against her dusty face. It looks kind of stupid, I'll admit, but I'd rather look stupid and have two functional hands.

  The dust and the blood instantly form a red-brown paste smeared across the statue's mouth like a messy eater after a saucy meal. When nothing immediately happens, I straighten up and glance at Gray.

  give it a moment. she has been dormant for many lifetimes.

  A shiver runs through the stone, raising a billowing cloud of dust that engulfs statue and dais. I back up hurriedly and put a hand across my face.

  At this point I'm not sure what I'm expecting. Statues don't normally come to life, right? But after everything that's happened that seems like the least weird outcome. I picture stone grinding on stone as Mercy sits up, carved joints groaning …

  "You're sure you can control this weapon, right?" I ask Gray. "She's not just going to murder us?"

  Before he can answer, a woman's voice comes faintly from inside the cloud of dust.

  "…mur…der…"

  Twin red stars appear, brilliant and terrifying, a piercing gaze that cuts through the gloom. The voice is high-pitched, chipper, and obviously insane.

  ""