GOODBYE
“I am not entirely certain what just happened,” Christopher said. The dragons had dispersed. Jenny and Lucien sat far away on the largest remaining building in the center of the city, having a private conversation. The others changed back into human form and made their farewells, awkward and tender at the same time. Oribus and Lethanial were at opposite ends of the dome, each sulking alone. They apparently had to wait on Jenny’s spells to renew before she could give them a shape small enough to creep out of one of the handful of tunnels to the surface.
The elves were also packing up, getting ready to leave. Alaine had come over to check on Christopher and his party. Since it might be the last time he saw her for a while, Christopher wanted some answers. In particular, the battle seemed anticlimactic for the culmination of his great quest. Things did not feel as resolved as he thought they would. He wanted to make sure that wasn’t just his ego complaining because he had not been at the center of the action this time.
“The future is always uncertain,” she answered. “The past is unclear. Why should the present be any different?”
Lalania was no more satisfied with ambiguity than he was. “What is a domain lord,” she demanded, “and why did we acquire one?”
“You always had one,” Alaine told her. “You just didn’t know. To be honest, it would behoove you to forget. He cannot intervene in your personal affairs without risking his greater mission: to keep this entire domain free of hjerne-spica. A task so important I would have assented to Oribus taking the role if necessary. Although you would not have appreciated his reign.”
“So there won’t be a Black Harvest,” Christopher asked.
Alaine looked around at the rubble and shrugged. “Other than this one? Not unless you cause it.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I was told I had a free hand. So I’m going to finish my task.”
“Apparently you understood some part of the proceedings after all. Yes, you may continue with your scheme. Yet do not forget my promise to you. It still holds, every word.”
“Okay, but what can they do now? I mean, what’s left to go wrong?”
She looked at him expressionlessly. “Anything and everything. You play for an entire plane as a prize. There are no rules to such a game.”
“Which of you rules us?” Cannan asked with a glare. “Field officer or overlord?”
“‘Rule’ is a poor term. We each have certain responsibilities, which usually do not impinge on your concerns. I have been patrolling this domain for . . .” She stopped herself. “For a very long time. I will, presumably, be here long after you are gone.”
“Longer than Lucien?” Lalania’s barb thrust home, wicked and clever.
Alaine stared at her. “Yes.” She turned back to Christopher, clearly finished with the topic. “You can stay here until your spells renew or even until your rank manifests if you wish. After that you should make your way home.”
“About that,” he said, but Alaine was already handing him a leather satchel. When he peeled back the cover, he almost fainted. The bag was full of bright, purple tael, flowing like oil but weighing nothing. It was worth many more times than the entirety of the kingdom he ruled. Indeed, he could buy dozens of kingdoms for the contents of that satchel.
It also represented the souls of millions of sentient beings. The gods only knew how they had lived and died over the centuries that the hjerne-spica had ruled this patch of the world. Dragon-kin and lizardvolk, humans and goblins, ulvenmen and trolls, and probably whole species he had never heard of. Loving and hating, fighting and making peace, raising children, writing poetry, carving a living out of a hostile world . . . and all to wind up in a sack.
“They divvied your share out by magic. You will find it is precisely the required amount,” Alaine warned him. “Including what Cannan has already sequestered in his sword.”
“So we two go home empty-handed?” Cannan said.
“That was the deal your lord made with the dragons. I would not lightly set it aside. He needs to learn to make better choices or you need to choose a smarter lord.”
“We are not displeased,” Lalania said loyally. “I at least have a song to sing.”
“No you don’t,” Alaine said. “Every word of description of this place is like an arrow to Lucien’s side. All it can do is give some future dragon-slayer clues. You are sworn to silence as much as Oribus and Lethanial. For the same reason, you should refrain from visiting, discussing, writing, or thinking about the demi-plane.”
“Sure,” Christopher agreed. Once he opened a gate to Earth, he wouldn’t need to visit his new overlord. Lucien would come visit him.
She turned her stare on him. “You are not the only one discomfited by today’s events.”
“Oh come now,” Lalania said. “Your boyfriend got a big promotion. Sure, he won’t have as much time for you, but think of how the other girls will swoon over your match.”
Alaine looked at the bard, and for a moment Christopher was genuinely worried. Getting into a cat fight with an immortal was not likely to end well.
“Something we share,” she said at last with bitter compassion. The elf nodded her head and walked away.
Lalania stood as still as a statue, cheeks burning red.
Cannan finally spoke. “It occurs to me that the elves are also going home with nothing. They gave their share to the dragon, if I understood the discussion. And they suffered losses. I regret my churlish words.”
“You are not alone,” Lalania murmured.
Christopher sympathized. He often felt the same after talking with Saint Krellyan.
“Hey,” he said. “Do you know what this means? I think I can bring Krellyan back. All I need now is a name.”
“That will change the shape of war,” Lalania said. “The worst kind of death will become an inconvenience.”
“Not entirely. It’s horrendously expensive,” he confessed. “But imagine what we could accomplish with two saints.”
Cannan’s eyes smoldered, an entire forest of hopes on fire.
“Assuming the books in the College are right,” Christopher qualified, trying to dampen the expectation he had just birthed.
“A legitimate concern. Our books are based on rumor and conjecture because there has never been a legendary figure in our realm,” Lalania said, and then her hands went to her face. “Oh gods Bright and Dark, and now I understand why. That is the trigger for the Black Harvest. That is what They wait for. When anyone reaches a rank actually capable of challenging Them, then They strike. When the harvest is worth the labor and yet before it becomes too difficult to grasp.”
“So if I had succeeded in my original plan of earning this rank,” Christopher said slowly, “I would have destroyed the kingdom. And everyone in it.”
He looked across the rubble-strewn field to where Alaine was shouldering a backpack. He had words to regret, too.
Cannan grinned, big and toothy, a wolf in lion’s clothing. “Yet we harvested them instead. Enough of regrets. Whatever price we paid, whatever mistakes we made, we are here now. We are victorious beyond all imagining, and all our dreams will come true.”
Christopher reflected that his future was not likely to be quite as neat and clean as Cannan’s. Yes, both of them would get their wives back, but Christopher would still have a kingdom to run. Unless he could pawn it off on Krellyan. Now that was an uplifting thought. He started to grin.
“I suppose it is only fair for both of you,” Lalania said. “My greatest dream was to win back the lyre of Varelous. I can see I should have dreamed larger.”
Cannan looked around, his eyes more acquisitive than Christopher had seen in a long time. The man was for once seeking something other than threat and danger.
“I don’t trust the food,” the big man said, “but alcohol is alcohol. Somewhere in this Light-forsaken city, there must be booze. A celebration is in order.”
Something was tapping on his forehead. Christopher groaned and brushed it away. The tapping came back. He tried to open his eyes, but nothing happened. In a panic, he sat bolt upright, which was a terrible mistake. The tapping was replaced with a brutal, dull pounding from inside his skull while his stomach sloshed back and forth like a wounded animal.
“Why can’t I see?” he moaned.
“Because it’s dark,” Jenny said, from somewhere close by. “And the potion wore off.”
A light gleamed, a pearly white torch flame hovering over her open palm. Christopher looked around, marveling at how much the motion hurt his head. Cannan was slumped on the ground like a dead thing, Lalania using his huge calf as a pillow. Broken clay jugs lay scattered around them, and everything smelled like cheap beer.
“You should pray,” the little girl said. “When you can cast again, summon sustenance for yourself and your companions.”
Off in the distance, he saw a flare of fire.
“Lucien is hunting trolls. Fortunately for you, none dared come close in the night. I will never understand this human need to distance yourself from your emotions at the moment of your greatest triumph. Your lives are so short and yet you still need escape from them.”
“Maybe we need escape because they are short,” Christopher grumbled. “Maybe it’s that deadline we are trying to forget.”
She tipped her head. “Perhaps. I cannot quite grasp it even so.”
Christopher remembered that she was under a deadline herself.
“I thought you were going with Argeous.”
“I can make my own way,” she said. “I needed the night to refresh my shaping. And Lucien and I had much to discuss.”
“There are things I would like to discuss.”
She smiled at him. “I am sure there are. And yet not with me. I retire from the board; I cannot set pieces in motion that others must catch. Nor will you find Lucien a willing conversationalist, for the opposite reason. He is too new to his position to make commitments. What to you might seem like simple pleasantries could rebound to his future misery.”
Christopher put a hand over his mouth and belched. “So far talking to me has been profitable for him.” The words were as sour as they tasted.
“Profit and misery are distinct quantities, as I think you already know.” She pushed at the empty satchel with her toe.
Christopher had drunk far too much last night, especially on an empty stomach. The release of tension was only part of it. Although tael induced a magical appetite, he had gagged at the feast. Fistful after fistful of souls, all filtered through the twisted tentacles of the foulest creatures the world could produce. The booze had brought on the courage necessary. But not self-discipline; he could smell the stench of vomit on his clothes. He had thrown up at least three times. Each time, Cannan had handed him another drink and driven him on.
It would take another four days for his new rank to manifest itself.
Then he would have new powers. Ironically, he wouldn’t need artillery anymore. He would be artillery.
“Orbius and Lethanial are already gone,” Jenny said. “You will never see them again. As for the elves, I cannot say. And Lucien will speak for himself from now on.”
“What about you?” Of all the immortals Christopher had dealt with, Jenny was the only one he actually felt comfortable with.
“One soon learns not to predict one’s own future. The results range from disappointing to tragic.”
Christopher steadied himself, putting his hands on the cool, wet ground. If he was going to say anything to her, now was the time. “I’m sorry about Jaime.”
She bowed her head. “As am I. He still had a life to live.”
“Can I . . . can I revive him?”
The little girl laughed so hard tears fell from her eyes. “I believe you would try. What a fine game it would be, if pawns could summon queens back to the board.”
“But they can. All they have to do is get to the last rank.”
She frowned. “Hmm. I thought I knew the rules.”
“They might have changed over the years. When did you learn to play chess?” He said it too casually, and she smirked at him.
“Never you mind about that. So it appears our allegory has run its course, and we should follow. Pray now, and I will take my farewell of Lucien.” She put the light down on a brick, where it continued to gleam.
Christopher tried and failed to make himself comfortable. In the end, he just ignored the aches and irritations and forced himself into the meditative trance.
When he rejoined the world, Lalania was sitting in front of a small fire, her hair hanging in a blonde, dirty mess. Cannan lumbered up, dropping broken bits of half-burnt timber.
“Don’t look at me,” she grumbled. “Or I’ll have to erase your memory.”
“Please do,” Christopher said, his head still swimming. “But first, let’s eat.” He cast the spell that summoned food out of nothing. The magical provisions were bland to the point of tastelessness, which at the moment was a blessing.
He was considerably higher rank than he had been the last time he had used this spell, and the quantity of supplied food was correspondingly greater. They made a good start on it anyway. Halfway through Lucien joined them in elven form and put away a healthy portion himself.
Afterward Christopher felt more stable, if still not fully human. He watched Lucien tempt a dragon-kin out the darkness with a loaf of brown bread. The creature crept forward, groveling and squeaking. Christopher realized he could not tell whether this was some helpless peasant or one of the arcanists who had almost slain Jenny.
“I dare not speak of debt,” Lucien said, watching the creature eat. “Yet objective fact marks how our paths have intertwined. Who is to say they will not do so again someday?”
“We can talk freely here, right? Jenny said something about the dome blocking divination.”
“Yes,” Lucien begrudged. “You, at least, can speak your mind. I do not know that I can answer, though.”
“I’m not going to open a gate to Earth right away. I need to put some safeguards in place. Also, there are a few other things I need to do first. Promises to keep.”
Christopher exhaled slowly. “But when I do, things are going to change. I don’t know how to explain it to you, so I’ll just tell you this. Whatever you think of me and my strange ideas, understand that there are seven billion humans with their own strange ideas. I won’t be able to contain them all. Not that I would even try. Things will . . . change.”
“Incredible. I cannot imagine how your plane sustains so many, especially since I infer your world is, like most human realms, a fractious and disunified place.”
That was a fair description. Charitable, even. Christopher nodded.
“And the focal point of this infection of chaos will be my newly acquired domain.” Lucien smiled wryly. “It is good we do not speak of debts.”
Cannan spoke up from across the fire. “Will you call on us if you are attacked?”
“If I think you can help. Yet the obverse does not obtain; you cannot call on me unless the enemy is from outside the domain. I apologize in advance for the imbalance.”
The big man shrugged. “Every peer makes the same bargain with a king. In any case, it will be others in the domain who cannot call on you for protection from us.”
“All these years you struggled for your private miracle,” Lalania said, “and now that the prize is within your grasp, you reach further. You would conquer every acre we can see; you would make Christopher an overlord in all but name.”
“And why not?” Cannan said. “We did not make the rules, yet we must play by them. Well enough, then. Play we shall.”
“Let’s focus on first things first,” Christopher said. He felt dizzy and not just from the hangover. He had put everything into this quest, and now it was almost over. What would he do afterward? Build an empire? Hand the kingdom to Krellyan and retire to a cottage?
Or . . . return to Earth. Would what the world make of him, a middle-aged atheist who carried a sword, served a god, and brought people back from the dead?
Jenny’s words echoed. There was no point in predicting his own future. It wouldn’t turn out like he expected, no matter what.
“We should go. Torme will be getting antsy.” The end of the year was only a week away. The anniversary would mark his fifth year here. He stood up.
Lalania joined him, stretching uncomfortably in her chainmail. “Now I remember why you shouldn’t sleep in armor.”
Cannan grunted, scratching at his own. “It’s better than any other. Lighter than Christopher’s steel mail, and yet it turned the halberds like plate.”
“It is definitely an upgrade,” Lucien commented. “Elves rarely do things by half-measure; you will find it already has the highest rank of enchantment.”
The three humans shared a look.
“Empty-handed, indeed,” Lalania said, exasperated beyond measure. “How is it possible to hate someone who is so generous? Yet I would scrub that woman’s mouth with a wire brush and lye if I thought I could get away with it.”
“Do not say that in her presence,” Lucien warned. “She might well let you. The price of a stray word is often high; imagine how much you would pay for an intemperate action.”
“I was hoping we had seen the last of her,” Lalania confessed.
“That is up to you. Should you require contact with me, Christopher,” Lucien said, turning to face him, “send to Alaine. She may not always be available, but more so than myself due to the dome. Please do not visit unannounced. It would be a security risk, and also my defenses might unintentionally cause you some discomfort.”
“You, too,” Christopher said. “Drop by anytime. Don’t be a stranger.”
Lucien smiled in appreciation of the irony. They declined a ride to the edge of the dome, preferring to walk. Lucien, back in dragon shape, circled overhead, and thus nothing harassed them on the journey.
Outside, staring up at the wintery noonday sky, happy to see the sun despite its cold shoulder, Christopher turned them all to mist and led them home.
They landed on the roof of the castle. Lalania had to employ her skills to open the stairway door because it was locked from the inside. Dirty, disheveled, and tired, they tried to sneak back to their quarters but were invariably discovered by a servant. Much hue and cry later, Christopher relaxed in a hot tub of water and washed the stink of vomit off, a plate of bread and cheese within easy reach. Squires were seeing to his armor. It was good to be king.
He deflected a succession of questioners with noncommittal grunts, but Cardinal Faren was too sharp for that. The old man sat on the edge of his tub and helped himself to a slice of cheese while interrogating him.
“Your companions came back better dressed than when they left. This implies your venture was successful. Sooner or later you must tell us how successful.”
That was precisely the topic he was trying to avoid. “Ask me again . . . In about four days.”
Faren choked on his bit of cheese. Coughing, he recovered himself. “Now I wish I had access to the Cathedral library. Much has faded from the memories I laid down as a naive and hopeful youth.”
“That goes for two of us,” Christopher said, wondering how to pick up a chunk of bread without dropping crumbs in the bath.
“I suppose we will find out in due time. Meanwhile, put a leash on your guard dog. He was once as stoic as a statue; his sudden reanimation is scaring the serving girls.”
“I’ll take care of it. In about four days.” Christopher decided to share his hot water with the bread and chewed on a flaky crust.
The old man picked up the plate of food. “Helga has prepared a special dinner in light of your return. Don’t spoil your appetite.”
“No danger of that,” Christopher said, nonetheless watching the plate travel away from him. The bath was more comfortable, so he stayed there a bit longer.
Later, dressed and clean, he went down to the stable to visit his horse. It seemed odd that he had been there less than two weeks ago, although admittedly the long ten-day weeks of this world. So much had changed.
Cannan stood behind him, radiating coiled energy.
The horse snuffled, shoving at Christopher with its big hairy head. “Patience,” he murmured, scratching its forehead. “We’ll go for a fine ride tomorrow, I promise.”
Lalania came into the stable wearing a professional demeanor and her silver chainmail. She looked fantastic in it, which probably explained why she was wearing armor inside the castle. Normally only soldiers and Cannan bothered.
“We have a surprise guest,” she said. From the carefully neutral way she spoke and stood, as if someone was just behind her even though there was no one there, he deduced it had to be an invisible wizard. Presumably the one from Carrhill; Lalania wouldn’t have called Fae a guest.
“Welcome,” Christopher said, facing the woman and her unseen companion.
“Really?” grated a voice behind him with the sound of chains sliding on chains. “You welcome your death? How droll.”
Not just a tone of voice; actual chains lashed out and wrapped his body, crushing and tearing at his flesh, binding him. Lalania’s face was a mask of horror, and Cannan was already moving to attack when the world exploded in fire.
The Wizard of Carrhill was revealed at the entrance to the stable, a dozen yards behind Lalania, wearing his black robes and expression of unhinged rage, already mouthing the words of another spell.
The barn was burning down around them. Cannan and Lalania had been knocked to the ground by the blast; the Wizard’s fireballs were far stronger than the wand of fire had been. Yet Christopher’s energy shield was better than it had been, too, and all three of them were still wearing it from the day before. The shields absorbed the blast, leaving only a few loose flames to leach at them after burning out.
Christopher was not on the ground because something was holding him up. The chains were trying to squeeze the life out of him. He invoked the special privilege due to a priest of a god of Travel and stepped out of their grasp, letting them slide off like loose clothes. It was important to have his hands free to cast because he needed to block the Wizard’s next fireball.
As the pea-sized ball of flame streaked toward him, he cast his dissolution spell. The flame winked out, and the Wizard behind it cursed dementedly. Only the words “null-stone” were comprehensible.
Cannan was up and at his side, striking behind him. Christopher risked a glance over his shoulder and wished he hadn’t. A thing stood there, eight feet tall and roughly man-shaped, wrapped in a profundity of black iron chains. Its eyes glowed red in its horned head while it struck at Cannan with long clawed hands. The chains moved around like tentacles, striking at both men. Cannan’s sword carved through them, its enchanted edge parting steel like twine. The creature shrieked in outrage and transferred all of its attention to the big knight. It stood in a pile of burning straw and timber without seeming to notice, so Christopher deduced it must be fire-proof.
He was stuck in a dilemma. If he drew his sword or cast a spell, the Wizard would throw another fireball. If he did nothing, Cannan would undoubtedly lose to the demon. The big knight already had chains wrapped around one leg, limiting his movement.
Lalania gave him an opening by stabbing the Wizard in the face, having snuck up beside him in the smoke. The man jerked his hand and sparkling bolts flew out, lancing her. She staggered, caught her footing, and stabbed him again. Christopher did the smart thing and cast the silence spell at the Wizard’s feet, robbing him of any spell that required speech to cast. While the Wizard dodged and weaved, trying to escape the zone of silence without getting skewered by Lalania’s blade, Christopher summoned help from Marcius. Before he even saw what creatures the god had sent, he turned around to help Cannan.
He had to waste valuable time enchanting his sword. There was no way plain steel would hurt this monster. Cannan lost the use of an arm to the engulfing chains, still hacking away with the big sword in one hand. Christopher sprung into action, striking at the binding chains. His enchanted sword was not as sharp as Cannan’s, but it was sharp enough for this. Chains parted under the magic-enhanced blade, spiting links. Cannan, freed, leaned in and struck at the monster.
Together they drove it through the burning building, leaving a trail of bits on the ground, not all of which were made of metal. Eventually, they forced it into a corner and butchered it. When it died, the fleshy substance turned to foul-smelling mud while the chains fell like puppet strings suddenly cut. Then they rushed back to save Lalania.
They found her standing over the body of the Wizard, stabbing it repeatedly with her rapier. A huge white lion crouched on the ground, its fangs sunk into the Wizard’s shoulder, holding the corpse in place.
Lalania was cursing violently but futilely in the silence. Cannan grasped her hand. She struggled for a moment, then turned into his chest and buried her face, shaking in fury and grief.
The lion dropped the mutilated body. Christopher could see it had bitten the shoulder half-off. It looked up at him with apologetic golden cat eyes and dissolved into white mist. He let the silence spell go with it, and the sounds of the building burning roared back in.
People were coming, bearing buckets of sand and water. Fire was a true danger to the castle and, by extension, to the city. Christopher and Cannan set aside their swords for buckets and went to help, leaving Lalania to deal with the body.
In the midst of the wreckage, Christopher’s heart wrenched. His horse, his beautiful horse, was a formless lump of charred barbecue. A dozen other animals had died in the blast, their stalls obliterated. Nothing made of wood or flesh remained intact; even the low stone wall at the foot of the barn was scattered about like broken toys.
Death was no refuge from Christopher’s wrath. Shoot first and ask questions later worked for a man who could invoke ghosts. Christopher waited several days for his wrath to subside, fearful that he would waste the spell simply hurling invective at the man who had betrayed him. Such petty vengeance would be futile; the ghost, as Faren had explained long ago, was not the man, nor would the man revived remember what the ghost endured. Not that this man was in any danger of revival. Even if Christopher offered, the Wizard would have to be a fool to accept.
“Why?” he demanded of the wavering mist in front of him. In death the Wizard’s self-image seemed even less formed than it had been in life.
“Had I let your rank manifest, I would have had no chance.” The voice was dry; it stabbed at Christopher with the memory of their intellectually engaging conversations.
“How did you even know?”
“The privacy spell was compromised. Your witch lacked the skill to detect it. Thus, I knew what treasure you had found. More to the point, I knew what deal you had made. So much wealth, and all you would take is a pittance. And nothing for your retinue! What ego, what selfishness, what a vast waste of resources. You could have transformed the kingdom; you could have made royals of your allies; you could have made legends of your friends. You could have made a legend of me.”
Christopher knew it was futile to argue with a ghost, but it was still more productive than cursing. “I am going to transform the kingdom.”
“Only in your childish dreams.” The ghost sneered, the effect somewhat diminished by its current transparency. “You seek to overturn the patterns of millennia with your outlandish ideas. And yet the world you are trying to change remains the same at its most fundamental level. Tael is what it is, and we have adapted our lives to the shape it makes of reality. You think time is on your side, but it is only the tide waiting to turn. Your idiocies will splash against the wall of ages and fade away like a bad stain.”
Ghostly hands spread, trying to summon the grandeur of its vision. “In its place, I would have raised a kingdom that could stand, according to a plan as old as Varelous himself. Your head alone would make me an Arch-Mage. I would take the throne and command your armies and rule as tradition demands. A national school to encourage wizardry to replace the knights you drove away. A pacifistic church of healers to fill the space of the militaristic churches you destroyed. The only fly in the ointment were those cursed druids, and I figured I could just ignore them.”
“What made you think this assassination would even work?”
“You did,” the ghost said. “You made it clear that the null-stone would defend you against my spell-craft. So I crafted a plan that would make it an anchor-stone around your neck. The field would have left you trapped in the demon’s chains, denied the privilege of your patron; Ser Cannan’s sword would have been mere steel, unable to sever them as they choked out your life. My fireballs and arcane missiles would have done for your pathetic retinue, if they dared to leave the field to attack me. If they did not, then the demon would have eaten them all. Without enchanted weapons it is nigh-indestructible.”
Christopher shook his head. “How many damn demons are there, anyway?”
The ghost considered. “If you mean by kinds, I know of seventeen, not counting animating spirits. If you mean by numbers, I assume infinite. That counts as two questions answered. Now ask the rest and let me return to dust.”
“It was a stupid plan.”
“It was not without flaws,” the ghost conceded, wobbling its misty head. “I did not anticipate that all of you would be shielded against fire, although that would not have mattered if the demon had dealt with you. I did not even consider that you would be without the null-stone. Yet I cannot regret it. It was clear that I would never gain another rank under your reign. I had no choice.”
Christopher felt his face curling in disgust. There were always choices. It was the lowest kind of cowardice to deny one’s own consequences. With nothing else to say, he said what he felt. “You killed my horse, you worthless bag of dirt.”
“Could you rephrase that in the form of a question?”
“Do you feel sorry that you killed my horse, you worthless bag of dirt?”
The ghostly figure shrugged. “No.” The mist faded, the spell spent, his questions asked and answered. He had learned essentially nothing. The only lesson here, that greed overcame all decency and common sense, he had already known.