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confirmation of our doubts? Does knowledge bring you any more happiness than that brief intriguing moment of realization? Or does it make life sober and bitter? Ignorance is bliss, Adam. Certain things you must know, but some ought to be forgotten. All you will find is shame and fear, and once you know too much, your world collapses – your paradise – and there will be no way back.”
    I let the words sink in and considered them for a moment. “You speak truth, knowledge is bittersweet,” I said, “but in order to achieve true happiness one must suffer, for when one does not know the bad, how can one experience and recognize the good? Our lives are based on comparison, nothing more. However it may be, the knowledge of the dark ages is long lost, wherefore this hypothetical carries little relevance.”
    The Inquisitor nodded quietly, sipping from a mug. Putting it down he added, “That is why you should let the past rest. There is no honor in hunting a ghost. All, if anything, you will find is disappointment.”
    “Truth is often a disappointment, yet we seek it. An odd nature, but a virtuous one,” I remarked.
    I could sense his body tense. He wanted me to let the topic rest, but I kept trying to have the last word. His eyes glistened, “You can call foolery virtuous all you want. You should have learned from your history books that the ignorant man lives longer than those that see something where there is nothing. The men history declares heroes are merely heroes because they failed to survive their benevolent acts.”
    “The only question that remains then is, what do we live for? Do we just live to survive? We hide like animals inside city walls. If benevolent acts are not worth dying for, then what separates us from the cattle that make this stew?” I responded consumed by passion.
    “We live. The cattle don’t,” were the final words on the topic by the Inquisitor.
    The room had heated up by at least a few degrees. The servants had stayed away, scared to fall victim to the Inquisitor’s anger. All the while Cecilia had followed the back and forth carefully, observing me intensely, “You have an interesting mind. I like the way you think Adam,” she said. Biting on her finger, thinking, she turned to the Inquisitor, “Uncle, may Adam come to join my classes some time?”
    He shot her a bitter look, clearly disapproving of her request. After a moment he succumbed to her pleading face, “Only if your teachers agree.”
    Once again our conversation faded. The servants presented the last and final dish of the evening. It was called sorbet, a food I had never seen or tasted before. I took a spoonful of the fluffy substance into my mouth, and felt a sudden cold running across my teeth. Despite the short shock, a delicious taste began to unfold. Within a moment the milky substance turned liquid on my tongue and gave off a sweet taste of orange.
    “Well, well, well. It has been a pleasure, Adam,” the Inquisitor said solemnly as he got up from the table. “It is getting late and time for you to depart. I wish you the best of luck in your future with the Guard.”
    Putting all my animosity aside for a few more minutes, I bowed in front of the Inquisitor and thanked him for his generous hospitality. Turning over to Cecilia, I bowed down as well and kissed her hand as a formal farewell.
    “I shall send a servant to notify you of my classes, Adam,” she said loudly as I was guided out of the hall. Down the stairwell and through the corridor with the red carpet and paintings, I made it back to the door through which I had entered.
    “Now take good care of yourself,” the servant said with a sorrowful voice.
    “Are you alright… Anthony?” I asked trying to remember his name.
    “Yes, thank you for asking,” he said, opening the door. “It breaks my heart to see young fellows like you leave for the Guard. I made it out of the Guard alive just two years ago. But the things I saw, I don’t wish anyone else