It’s turning into the last night.
“Alas, the Fane is spelled against earthquakes,” the Monsignor said with some humor. “Also fire, flood, lightning, and acid. The Sea of Iniquity had few friends. It is a shame: setting this place on fire ourselves would at least deny the Dragon-Bitch the pleasure of doing it herself. But, yes, we are almost there. At least I know what we seek has not been discovered.”
“Oh?” asked Nat — then blinked as Maddox laughed. Or came as close to it as one could, in such a miserable place.
“That one I know,” he rumbled. “If it was known, there would be a line.”
The Monsignor gave him a hooded look. “You presume to guess our object?”
“Not aloud, where ears can hear,” the swordsman told him. “Of whatever kind. But what it is, is something that cannot be moved, or you would have, already. From there, yes, I guessed, M… good sir.” He stared at the priest. “Not all who lack magic are fools.”
The Monsignor stared right back. “The greatest fool is the one who brags about his cleverness.” He looked ready to say more, but gathered himself. “No matter. You have guessed correctly, o clever one. ‘Tis hidden by being easily overlooked, and from the incuriosity of those who might stumble across it. And here it is — oh, redemption.”