Within the Twisted Tower, Josia was horribly aware of the crisis in Elcho Falling, but he was so stunned by its sheer suddenness, as by the strange appearance of the cat, that momentarily he was incapable of rational thought, let alone action. He gaped at the open door of the tower, then he gaped at the red tabby cat, now investigating a table on the far side of the ground floor chamber, then he looked at the stairs rising upward.

He had to see what was happening. He needed to get to the window in the top chamber.

Josia closed the door, then tried to grab the cat. He had no idea what the cat represented, nor if it boded good or ill, but he didn’t want to leave it on its own. He lunged once, then a second time, and a third, but the cat scampered out of his reach each time.

“Damn it,” Josia muttered. He looked again at the stairwell, increasingly distraught at what he felt emanating from Elcho Falling, then made a decision.

The cat could wait.

Josia turned for the stairs.

“Stay,” said a voice behind him.

Josia turned about, feeling as if his heart had literally thudded out of his chest into his throat.

A tall naked man stood behind one of the tables. He was an older man, having a strong beak-nosed face under greying dark hair with intense deep-blue eyes that stared unwaveringly at Josia. He radiated assured power, and Josia felt his knees weaken with despair.

“I am the One’s companion,” the man said. “I have been sent to murder you — yet once more — and to destroy this fabrication of memory.” He waved a hand at the crowded interior of the Tower.

“Neither my death nor the Twisted Tower’s destruction will harm Maximilian,” Josia managed to say.

“Ah, but they will eat away at his confidence,” said the man. “The One leaves no stone unturned. He is determined to destroy Maximilian and Elcho Falling completely this day.”

“Who are you?” said Josia. His heart thudded less violently now, and he stared at the man, who was moving across to another table. There was something about him. . .

“You do not know?” the man said, lifting a bundle of folded linen from the table, shaking it out and winding it around his hips to cover his nakedness. “Ah, do not worry, Josia. I am sure that Maximilian has long retrieved the memory from this piece of linen. He shall not notice the cloth’s absence.”

The man gave a slight, secretive smile. “The memory involves the construction of the strange columns on the ground floor of Elcho Falling, if I am correct.”

“Gods,” Josia whispered, grasping at the edge of the nearest table for support as the realisation of what this man was flooded him. “You are a Persimius, come to betray Elcho Falling and its lord.”

The man grinned. “Come to betray, yes, but not Elcho Falling, to which I owe my complete loyalty. And, yes, I am Persimius. You do not recognise me, Josia?”

He stepped forward, his handsome face still smiling widely, holding out his hand, and Josia forced himself not to shrink back. He still couldn’t think — on the one hand he could sense the desperation inside Elcho Falling, could sense the One inside Elcho Falling, yet on the other he had this apparition advancing on him. Josia did not know what to think, nor know what action to take next.

The man stopped in front of Josia. “Oh for the gods’ sakes, man! Come to your senses! You must know me! I am Avaldamon Persimius, father of Boaz, ancestor of Ishbel, former companion and now betrayer of the One, come to do what I can for Maximilian and Elcho Falling. Now, will you stop cringing against that table and give me your hand, to stand with me to save what we can of the situation?”