“I’m sorry. My order is wrong in this. I know that now. I will have to…have to do something…or…or…” He looked at Caliban. “I don’t know if I have your strength, Sir Caliban. To leave my order.” He looked so young and so guilty that Slate felt ancient by comparison. “You’re curing werkblight,” she said gently, “and writing a book about gnoles. You need your order for that. It’s all right to change them from the inside.” “I will,” he promised her. “I will.”
