EIGHT
“Have you ever wanted to take a vacation from your own life?” I asked Gregory as we walked up the hill to the upper bailey.
“I can’t say that I have.”
“Count yourself lucky.” I couldn’t help but sigh as another orange-coated tour guide herded a group of what looked like Catholic schoolgirls, complete with matching uniforms and attendant nuns in full traditional garb, past us. Faint echoes of “The brewery is renowned for its popular From Hell Ale, made with honey gleaned from Anwyn’s happy little bees. We’ll have a sampling right after we visit the armory, where the blood-encrusted weapons of Anwyn’s brutal past are on display” followed us.
The schoolgirls cheered. The nuns murmured happily about the ale.
I wanted to alternately sit down and weep and run screaming away from the c
