“Thus, there are only two priests still at large,” the sergeant sitting in front of him stated. His name was Holder Mikaelsson. He was a capable man, all business. So much so he reminded Alfie of himself, when he was whole. “We’ve concentrated our efforts on them and sent our best trackers after them. We’re confident they’ll be in Crittich Keep very shortly.”

Alfie nodded.

Mikaelsson shifted in his seat in a manner so unlike him, Alfie went alert, along with Tor and Apollo, both of whom were sitting opposite him, across from Mikaelsson, their attention on the sergeant.

“Is there more?” Alfie prompted.

“There has been…a massacre.”

Alfie straightened in his chair, Apollo leaned forward, Tor sat back.

“A massacre?” Alfie asked quietly.

“Women, thirty-two of them to be exact,” Mikaelsson stated.

“Bloody hell,” Tor swore.

“They had been debased, and then stabbed and finally had their throats slit. This in a remote area at the base of the Lesser Thicket Forest. There was another, found farther away from the area. She was discovered not wearing any clothes, stakes tied to her wrists and ankles. She perished of exposure, we’re assuming, during an attempt at escape. We, um…”

When Mikaelsson hesitated, Alfie impatiently rolled his hand at him to continue.

“We have had a message from the local constabulary. An irate one,” Mikaelsson shared. “Apparently, they sent repeated notices to the king over the years that women had gone missing with regularity, never to be found, and asked for investigators from the Keep to be dispatched. These notices were either downplayed or ignored by the crown.”

“Corporal!” Alfie bellowed the instant the man ceased speaking.

One of the soldiers standing outside the door opened it and stuck his head in.

“Request King Wilmer grant me an audience at his earliest possible convenience,” Alfie ordered tersely. “This being, please impress upon him, now.”

“Right away, sir,” the man said, then disappeared behind the closed door.

Alfie cast his gaze through Tor and Apollo, both of whom appeared incensed, before he returned his attention to Mikaelsson.

“I wish to see this message from the constabulary in Lesser Thicket immediately,” he demanded.

“I will have it couriered to you the moment I get back to my desk,” Mikaelsson stated.

“And I wish every notice sent to the king found and delivered to me,” Alfie continued.

“It will be done,” Mikaelsson told him.

“Is aught more known about this situation?”