Shiro snorted and said, "Sit, boy." He headed for the door, catching up to Michael, and said, "Call your wife. I will do the rest." The two left together, their voices lowering to bare murmurs as they entered the hall.

Sanya glowered at the door for a moment and then settled down on one of the bunks. He looked around at the room for a moment, and then said, "You use the forces of magic, I take it."

I folded my arms and leaned against the wall. "What gave it away?"

He bared his teeth, white against his dark skin. "How long have you been a Wiccan?"

"A what?"

"A pagan. A witch."

"I'm not a witch," I said, glancing out the door. "I'm a wizard."

Sanya frowned. "What is the difference?"

"Wizard has a Z."

He looked at me blankly.

"No one appreciates me," I muttered. "Wicca is a religion. It's a little more fluid than most, but it's still a religion."

"And?"

"And I'm not really big on religion. I do magic, sure, but it's like … being a mechanic. Or an engineer. There are forces that behave a certain way. If you know what you're doing, you can get them to work for you, and you don't really need a god or a goddess or a whatever to get involved."

Sanya's expression became surprised. "You are not a religious man, then."

"I wouldn't burden any decent system of faith by participating in it."

The tall Russian regarded me for a moment and then nodded slowly. "I feel the same way."

I felt my eyebrow arch, Spock-like. "That's a joke, right?"

He shook his head. "It is not. I have been an atheist since childhood."

"You've got to be kidding me. You're a Knight of the Cross."

"Da," he said.

"So if you're not religious, you risk your life to help other people because … ?"

"Because it must be done," he answered without hesitation. "For the good of the people, some must place themselves in harm's way. Some must pledge their courage and their lives to protect the community."

"Just a minute," I said. "You became a Knight of the Cross because you were a communist?"

Sanya's face twisted with revulsion. "Certainly not. Trotsky. Very different."

I stopped myself from bursting out in laughter. But it was a near thing. "How did you get your sword?"

He moved his good hand to rest on the hilt of the blade, where it lay beside him on the cot. "Esperacchius. Michael gave it to me."

"Since when has Michael gone running off to Russia ?"

"Not that Michael," Sanya said. He pointed a finger up. "That Michael."

I stared at him for a minute and then said, "So. You get handed a holy sword by an archangel, told to go fight the forces of evil, and you somehow remain an atheist. Is that what you're saying?"

Sanya's scowl returned.

"Doesn't that strike you as monumentally stupid?"