text: [Themes: mystery / thriller, historical, mystery]
  
  It took Wulf some time to find the guards' chambers, and he didn't have much of a plan for what to do when he got there. A sentry stood in the corridor outside, but when Wulf said, "I'm on the king's business," he nodded and stepped aside. Inside he found half a dozen guards, two dozing, one sharpening a sword, and the others clustered around a table. No one paid him much attention, and he saw why- the guards at the table were gambling.
  
  He pulled up a chair without invitation. "I've silver to spare and haven't had a good game in ages," he said warmly, and the man next to him laughed and slapped him on the back. They played for a while, but while the others' eyes were on the dice, Wulf's roamed from man to man. Had one of them been standing guard when Leofwine was killed? Did any of them know more than they had let on?
  
  Wulf was strategic, and he played poorly enough to give away some silver while still making it a good game. After about twenty minutes, someone produced a leather pouch, and they took turns gulping mead. "Don't none of you tell the chief, now!" one shouted as he spilled mead into his beard. Wulf had a little, savoring the sweetness.
  
  He judged it was time. "Bad business about the priest."
  
  The bearded man whistled. "You don't know the half of it. Leofwine got off lucky compared to us. That bastard Ecgbald came down here yesterday shouting bloody murder..."
  
  Someone sniggered. "Bloody murder."
  
  "Shut up, Odda. As I said, Ecgbald was damn near ready to kill Wighere and Cutheard himself. Gross incompetence, he called it, to let a man get his throat slit when you're supposed to be keeping guard. He had a point, but they never were the cleverest fellows. Anyway, the chief didn't like that and told Ecgbald so, so the bastard went off on him, too. Said he'd have him strung up. Well, the chief wasn't going to take that, but he couldn't do much until Ecgbald left."
  
  "What did he want?" Wulf asked.
  
  "Oh, he just kept saying he would throw them in the dungeon till they talked, but the chief wouldn't let him, not without orders from the king. Our chief's a smart bastard, though. He sent them away, right when Ecgbald left, to join the scouts watching for the Danes. He can't get his hands on them now."
  
  Ill-luck again. "So they're far from Winchester?"
  
  The bearded man laughed. "They'd better be, but as I said, neither Wighere nor Cutheard was ever much of a thinker. I wouldn't be surprised if they got lost riding to the city gate. Mind you, even an imbecile should be able to guard a door, but maybe I'm overestimating their abilities. Now come on, throw the dice, and let me take more of your silver."
  
  > keep gambling and talking
  Taking another swig of mead, Wulf tossed the dice again. There was little hope of finding the two men- they might be anywhere in Wessex by now, and he didn't even know what they looked like.
  
  They played a few more rounds, and Wulf won back a little of his silver. One of the guards, a thin, ugly man with only three fingers on one hand, had a streak of bad throws, and his eyes grew angrier and angrier with each lost coin. The bearded man either didn't notice or didn't care, slapping the thin man on the back and laughing each time he took his silver. Wulf could sense the fight coming.
  
  "Your wife won't be happy about this," the bearded man said jovially after one throw. "I'll have to stop by to put her in a good mood, and...mruph!" His words were cut short when the thin man caught him with a quick punch and then stormed from the table. The others paid it no mind, but the bearded man bellowed "Get back here, you runt!"
  
  He dove for the thin man's legs but missed, nearly hitting the one sharpening his sword, who leapt up and scampered to the corner of the room. The bearded man rose again, tottering a little from the blow and the mead, but by the time he spotted the thin man, he had his own sword. "Piss off," he muttered, and, though the bearded man muttered some insults, he did not attack again.
  
  At that moment the door flew open and another guard ran in. He glanced at the bearded man, whose eye was already swelling up, but then turned to the others. "There's been another murder! Grimbold is dead, and we must secure and search the castle and then the rest of Winchester." They jumped from their seats and grabbed their weapons while he described the one they were hunting, and Wulf realized it was the same cook he had spoken to last night. They'd better not catch the man before he had a chance to speak with him again.
  
  "Who the hell are you, anyway?" the new arrival barked, pointing his blade at Wulf. The question was bound to come up eventually.
  
  "I'm on the king's business," he said softly, which just made the man's eyes narrow.
  
  "You aren't on anybody's business; you're just drinking and gambling with the rest of these layabouts. This isn't a tavern. Who said you could be in here?"
  
  "He's a good man," the bearded man interjected.
  
  The newcomer shot him a withering look. "Sharing a drink with you hardly makes him a good man, and neither does putting some silver in your pocket. An ealdorman was just murdered in this castle, so I ask again, who are you?"
  
  Wulf answered, keeping his eyes on the man's sword. "I work for Cynehelm, the king's steward, and I came here for a bit of a break. I didn't kill anyone, as your own guards can say. I'll leave you to your search."
  
  The man scowled. "You're not leaving so easily. Cynehelm seems a good man, but he was with Grimbold when he was murdered. I won't take any chances. You'll stay with us and help look for the cook, and, once we find him, I'll speak to Cynehelm about you. I will not allow this headquarters to become a den of iniquity, so even if he confirms that you work for him, you are not permitted to return here. Do you understand?"
  
  > Agree
  Wulf looked at the man. He was strong, and his sword seemed well-forged, and there were six other guards besides who would surely jump to his aid if he tried to fight his way out. "Fine," he said at last.
  
  The newcomer nodded and turned back to the others. He divided them into pairs, and Wulf was put with the thin, ugly man. "Go into the city," he ordered them. "Tell any guards or men-at-arms you pass to join in the hunt. And catch the man alive."
  
  They departed, the thin man leading Wulf through the castle and out the gate. The corridors were full of people, everyone looking panicked and afraid, and the guards at the gate would not let anyone else leave. Winchester sprawled out below them, countless houses, shops, and churches, and between them all the little alleys and lanes. Surrounding it all were the walls, but even if they had managed to close the gates, that still left quite a lot to search. He pictured the fat cook with his red face and his promise of terrible secrets. It seemed that Bishop Osfrid's hidden crimes were worse than he had imagined, and Wulf wondered if the bishop had already been put in the dungeon.
  
  They ran into a few soldiers, and the thin man gave them a simple description of the cook. "We'll go to the slums," he told Wulf, and they headed down the hill and towards the ramshackle buildings that made up the poorer section of town. These were the hovels of peasants, or the shacks of those whose homes had been burned by Danes, and they eyed Wulf and the guards' swords nervously as they strode through the streets.
  
  "We are looking for a murderer!" the thin man announced. "Fat and red-faced, a cook. There will be a reward if he is found and no mercy if he is concealed." No one answered, but he repeated the cry every few minutes.
  
  They passed a cheap inn, and outside it stood a young, dark-haired boy and a goat. He listened to the thin man's words and then ran towards them. "I seen him!" he yelled excitedly, smiling broadly. "I seen him run right by and go down that alley!" He pointed around the corner, and Wulf nodded.
  
  They turned, and Wulf saw that the alley was full of barrels and sacks, heaps of rotting wood, and a couple scrawny chickens, their feathers splattered with mud. "Keep your wits," the thin man said, and they crept forward. The walls sagged together, blocking out the sunlight, and it was quite hard to make out everything in the cluttered space. The thin man sifted through a pile of sacks, but they were just full of apples.
  
  Wulf went to a pile of wood. It was probably for the inn, but they couldn't even afford anything to cover it from the rain and snow, and it was full of rot and beetles. He poked at it with his sword. "Check the rest," said the thin man. "I'll see if the boy saw anything else."
  
  Wulf moved on to the next woodpile. It was a little fresher than the last, but still mostly kindling, and from the smell of it, it also served as a bed for the boy's goat. He turned and decided to check behind a little, half broken-down shed, but then something cracked across his skull and he crumpled to the ground. He felt the wound, a great split in his head, and wondered dimly why it didn't hurt as much as it should. He tried to stand but felt terribly sick, and a moment later he vomited, all over himself and the cobbles. He felt the woodpile shift, and something emerge, but he couldn't focus on anything but how strange and weak he felt.
  
  The cook, his red face full of fear, looked down at him. "Oh," he whispered. "I'm sorry." Then he brought down the stone again, and Wulf saw nothing more.