Judge Dench handed the Marshall a pulsating orange globe. “I believe I have…two thousand, three hundred sixty-eight memories in here?” the Marshall said. “Yes. Well-”

I launched myself at his hand, aiming for the orb. It seems my aim was off, though, because instead I found Judge Dench blocking my way. He held me down with one finger, held just under my jaw. Tingly.

“Can’t we get past these fits of temper, Dali? Your friend Fauxtes there seems to be unusually docile for a man of his physical stature.

Speaking of which, take Fauxtes there down to the Level 2 dungeons, and once you find the Dadaelee girl, do the same with her.”

Judge Dench nodded and set his men at it. Fauxtes was led out of the room. I looked at the Marshall.

“Oh, no, Dali. I won’t use the Forget quite yet. And as for you. . . .” He pondered. “Judge Dench, put him in the Roost.”

Dench smiled. I gulped. When Judge Dench smiled, things usually got hurt.