“Master,” Timmins said, somewhat nervously, “I don’t understand.”

“Understand what, my boy?” Mordecai the Red asked, as they walked back to the old mage’s tower.

“Well, sir…” Timmins hesitated.

“Out with it, boy!” Mordecai’s normally calm demeanour slipping a little.

“Yes, master. Well, they had spells to detect any lies, did they not?”

“Of course they did,” he said, sounding almost bored again. “They always do, especially when an accused murderer is brought directly before the king.”

“Were they faulty in someway? Perhaps cast by an inexperienced wizard?” Timmins asked, curiously.

“Oh, no,” Moredecai answered proudly. “The spells were perfect.”

“But,” Timmins said, lowering his voice, “you told them you didn’t kill Father Bremen.”

“Quite right.”

“But, sir, you summoned the spirit that did.”

“Ah, I see,” Mordecai smiled. “They asked the wrong question. They asked if I killed him. While the spirit did my bidding, I never laid a hand on him. The truth, you see, is all a matter of perspective.”