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They appeared exactly where he wanted them to, on the ash-lavender shores of Ocean Camlann. Glassy black waves rolled in to shore, capped with light foam in the weak light of the sun. Pinprick-sized at this great distance, it barely gave enough light to be worthy of the word, but it was enough for the work.

Megiddo wouldn't wake for a while yet, thought Camlann. He rose to his feet and left her.

Within the dolmen, there was light. Pale violet flame glimmered from each taper--white, from Michael's, for the candles that belonged in the sanctum had been locked away behind the door he could not open. He descended the long stairs behind the throne, one hand on the wall to mark his place. The stairs were long, but the descent was short, and he found himself passing through the cavernous great hall before long, into the small hallway that belong to the long-ago Order. Last time he'd come--had it only been two weeks?--he'd had a vision. Melany again. Melany, and Gethin, and here, in the cloisters. She'd bent the heirarch of her Order over a bowl and slit his throat.

Megiddo was no heirarch, no friend of his. Perhaps that was why this was so easy. He gathered the bowl and the knife from their resting places and held them for a moment, remembering--

Too long, old friend, he said, and he pressed a knee to the backs of Gethin's. So long, and he pressed the blade to the man's jugular and pulled. It was a mercy, he thought, a hand tangled in black curls. To kill them before anything worse happened, it was a mercy, and he wouldn't require it of any of the others. He'd do it himself. All of them.

Later, he could open the door. With blood. He was sure someone could be convinced to donate a pint or two... someday.

--and now, two weeks later, he'd get that door open. He'd see the Knight's chambers and the catacombs, and if Megiddo died then she died. No one would miss her.

In the sunlight, or what pale fire passed for sunlight billions of lightyears from the Sun, he crossed to the water and collected it in the bowl. This he dumped on Megiddo's head, and as she flailed he pressed his boot gently to the side of her neck to keep her in place. "It would be very easy for me to kill you now, like this," he said. "You have suffocated once. Would you like to repeat the experience?"

"I have considered your offer, and unfortunately I am not interested!" He dropped the bowl next to her head. It hit the ground with a paff sound, displacing the pale sand. "You see, I require your assistance in a matter of some personal importance."

A history lesson, he supposed, while he had her captive. "You see, once upon a time, a long long time ago, I was a lord of the court of Saturn. Mostly because of my other job. I was their executioner." He leaned on her throat until she gagged. "I need to assume that position once more," he said. "I want that back. But, executioner? I needed someone who committed crimes."

Megiddo couldn't possibly miss his point, he thought. He removed his foot, tangled his hand into her hair and pulled her up. Crouching beside her, he held the knife up before them. "You will have to forgive the brevity of the ceremony," he said. "I am not sure of your titles."

He didn't close his eyes. He kept them on hers, shifted to hold her still for the knife, a knee on her stomach. The easy wash of memory glided over him, the words he'd said to himself as he worked, as he painted. He said, "Let it be known that on this day, the fifth of April, I have been sworn to perform the execution of the Knight Megiddo of Saturn. Let it be known that this order has passed from mine own hand in the absence of Her Royal Highness of Saturn."

He arched an eyebrow. "Would you like a blindfold, Knight Megiddo?"

The Princess of Saturn would've been very interested to hear that, he thought, pressing his knee into her side a little harder to emphasize just how powerless she was here. "Megiddo Knight of Saturn," he said, and just to piss her off in her last moments he repeated the titles as recited to him: "Empress of asskicking, dame of destruction, royal c**t-licker and khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, you stand guilty of the capital crime of blasphemous murder. You have caused harm to your fellow Knights, refused them your aid, and betrayed your inclade." He could remember his voice, Melany's voice, and it smoothly superimposed itself over his as he spoke. The words brought him a kind of ritual calm. "This is treason to all the inclade of Saturn stands for. For this offense, you are to be bled dry and given to the Ocean Camlann, sea of the Dead."

He paused, relishing the words. They tasted like salt and sage in his mouth. Could he smell burnt offerings? Yes, he could. His smile had faded, and now the expression on his face was dead, dead, dead. Trance-like. He stared at her face, not really seeing her, seeing instead the veining of the stone bowl beneath her head. "For your crimes, your final words will not be recorded. May your starseed never see the Cauldron."

Then he slit her throat.