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A dozen possibilities flashed through the Tower Master’s mind and vanished just as quickly when he heard Ketal’s request to be taken to Hell. He sorted through what was left and drew out the answer that seemed closest to the truth.
“Are you interested in Hell itself?” he asked Ketal, at last.
“I am,” Ketal replied. “I want to know what kind of place it is.”
He pictured a horizon beneath a red sky and could not stop. He imagined the shape of the land, the movements that stirred across it at night, and the way demons lived when they were not killing. He thought of the lesser beasts—what they consumed, where they slept. Curiosity pressed against his ribs until it became a kind of hunger. He needed to see it with his own eyes.
The Tower Master watched the want flicker in Ketal’s gaze and breathed out through his nose.
“So it is personal,” he murmured. “You want to travel.”
“That is right.”
Personal was not the worst reason. The Tower Master felt real relief and made sure not to show it. He rubbed at his chin and weighed the risks again.
“It is not impossible,” he said slowly. “Not easy, but not impossible.”
“Difficult?” Ketal asked him, watching his face.
“Not simple,” the Tower Master said, “but as you say, not impossible. You wish to go directly—and that, I admit, is no foolish idea. I also dislike being struck without striking back. The gods are already readying their...
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