text: [Themes: mystery / thriller, historical, mystery]
  
  No, the castle would be swarming with guards. Wulf had no false modesty about his abilities, but he knew he could not hope to pass by unnoticed when every man-at-arms in Winchester would be on the lookout. The tunnel was the only way, and he set off for the wealthy district of the city at once. There was a stable near the house, and he sold the mare to its master, an old man with wispy hair, for precisely fifteen pieces of silver. There would be little need for a horse as long as he stayed in Winchester.
  
  Even here, among the well-built shops and merchant houses, Wulf saw guards asking about the cook and sticking their heads inside doors. One came to the stables and questioned the old master. "If I see him, I'll send word," the man said, and the guard nodded and left. An idea came to Wulf, and he trotted over to the house with the passageway.
  
  He banged on the door, and a moment later a tall, clean-shaven man opened it. "Yes?" he said, his voice pleasant, but Wulf saw his eyes flicker to the sword at his side.
  
  Wulf gave a small bow. "There has been a murder at the castle, and the killer has fled. I must ask you in King Alfred's name to let me search this house."
  
  The man looked at him for a second and then stood aside. "Of course. We have nothing to hide." They came into the main room, full of books, scrolls, and tapestries as before, but now there was a woman, dark-haired and beautiful, reading from one of the books. "My wife, Saewara," the clean-shaven man said. "And I am Merwal."
  
  "Anything interesting on those pages?" Wulf said politely as he made a show of searching the room. Sæwara shut the book, and he was surprised to see her eyes were full of fear. She looked at him for a moment and then climbed the little staircase to the upper floor, the book tucked beneath her arm.
  
  Merwal shook his head. "You must forgive my wife. She is...easily flustered. In truth, she is still not used to the city, nor to the manners of some of its folk."
  
  "I prefer the open country myself," Wulf said, wishing the man would stop following him about the house. "Of course, with Father Leofwine dead and now Grimbold, soon there won't be many city folk left."
  
  "Leofwine was a good man, a holy man" Merwal said sadly. "Sinless before God if anyone was."
  
  Wulf walked to the ladder, but the merchant's comment made him pause. "Did you know him well?"
  
  "We were acquainted," he said, looking down. "He was a holy man, anyone who spoke with him knew it. Not that we spoke with him very often!" Merwal shuffled, his eyes now darting from Wulf to the staircase his wife had just climbed.
  
  Wulf put his hand on the ladder, and Merwal nearly jumped. "I'll just pop down for a quick look and then be off," he said gently, and when the merchant made to follow him, he added "No need for you to trouble yourself, is there?"
  
  Merwal stopped and hung back, his expression nervous until he forced his face into a smile. "No need at all, and take your time. Anything I can do to help catch Leofwine's murderer."
  
  "Grimbold's murderer," Wulf corrected as he climbed down, musing over the man's words. The basement was exactly the same, full of boxes and barrels, and he made straight for the one that concealed the tunnel entrance. He pulled it open and was about to crawl inside when he noticed one of the boxes had been moved, just slightly, from where it had been. It was heavy, but he managed to push it aside a little more, revealing a small hole dug into the floor.
  
  Wulf bent down, reaching blindly in the dim light, until his fingers found a grubby cloth and, underneath, something else. He pulled them out and discovered it was a book, barely bigger than his palm and in Latin. "Proslogion," he whispered, sounding out the unfamiliar letters, but the title meant nothing to him.
  
  He glanced back. Merwal was still upstairs, but whatever the book was, it was clearly important enough to require a hiding place. Was this what had made the merchant and his wife so nervous, or was it the tunnel? And what did either have to do with Leofwine's murder? They did not seem like killers, and yet he was almost sure that the murderer had snuck in through the passageway. It all made him think of the cook and his promise of Bishop Osfrid's secrets. Winchester was full of mysteries, it seemed, and they all called to a man like Wulf. But even he could not pursue every possibility.
  
  > enter the tunnel
  He glanced back. Merwal was still upstairs, but whatever the book was, he would probably check on it as soon as he could. Besides, Wulf doubted that a Latin tome would shed any light on who cut the old priest's throat. Better to let it lie, he decided, and carefully placed it back in its hiding place, pushing the box back exactly where it had been.
  
  Wulf crawled into the tunnel and shut the entrance behind him, leaving him in total darkness. He crept slowly along, feeling his way through the snaking passage and hitting his head once or twice on the cracked titles. Wulf knew that the tunnel led, eventually, back to the castle, but it felt like he was descending deeper and deeper in the earth, like he would never again emerge where there was light and fresh air. He soon lost track of the time and wished he had thought to steal a candle or torch from the merchant.
  
  With his mind focused on the lack of light, he dismissed the little flicker behind him at first. It was easy to go mad down in the darkness, Wulf reasoned, and it would not be the first time his eyes had played tricks on him. But the little flicker did not go away when he rubbed his eyes, and he realized it was getting a tiny bit bigger with each passing moment. Wulf stopped and listened hard, and he heard something moving. It had to be the merchant. Wulf doubled his pace, his fingers clawing against the dark tiles, trying to find the way forward. The candle was still too far away to shed any light on his path, and the passageway had narrowed considerably, twisting confusingly.
  
  Wulf had a sizeable lead on his pursuer, but the man was gaining quickly. Whether it was his candle or his greater familiarity with the tunnel, the flickering light came closer and closer, and soon Wulf could hear his knees on the tiles. He tried to draw his short sword, but the passage was too narrow, and it took far too long. He cursed, trying to turn to face the pursuer, but the walls pressed in close.
  
  Then, all at once, Merwal was on top of him. Wulf barely recognized the man's face before he struck, his knife small but sharp. It nicked his neck, but then Wulf managed to shove him away. "I mean you no harm!" he shouted, but the man would not stop. His strikes were frenzied and not particularly skillful, but Wulf had little ability to retaliate in the claustrophobic tunnel, and soon he had been cut a dozen times. He had hit Merwal a few times, too, but the man's eyes were wild in the candlelight and he did not seem very affected by the bruises.
  
  It was a lucky strike that finished him off. Merwal's only strategy seemed to be aiming for his Wulf's neck, and eventually he caught him right on the vein. "For God and the true faith!" the merchant cried, his voice ecstatic. But Wulf paid no attention to the words. He was busy dying, hot blood pouring from his neck and covering his body. Merwal stabbed him a few more times, but there was no need. The man in the black cloak collapsed, blood pooling around his body, and he died in the secret passageway. The merchant tried to drag his body back but soon gave up, leaving him to rot far below the earth.