See to them? What is he supposed to do with a pit of reeking corpses—oh yes, he’s the priest, isn’t he. Where was that old sawbones Parykelsus when the village truly needed him; surely he would be salivating at the prospect of so many autopsies.

“Of course,” he tells Lance with appropriate solemnity, and removes a small, leather bound book of hours from its customary place on his belt. He pages through it in silence, searching for the appropriate recitation.