Neti pulled at the heavy gate. It was always a struggle to shut the damn thing; sometimes, the gatekeeper swore it had a mind of its own. Every day, Neti had to close it after the last of the day’s shades entered; every day, the gate fought him.

A flicker of movement caught Neti’s eye. He turned, surveying the grey road beyond the gate. Just as he thought; no one was there. With a shrug, Neti turned back to the gate, finally wrestling it shut.

“Neti,” rasped an unfamiliar voice.

The gray gatekeeper spun, brandishing his trusty gatekey before him.

Namtar laughed, in a broken voice not his own. Neti frowned, then squinted. Namtar seemed a little pale…

The Queen’s closest advisor dropped his hand from his throat, revealing a wide, ragged wound.

Neti was torn between moving toward his friend and away from this shade, so he stayed still. “Namtar?” he whispered, his throat dry.

“Someone slit my throat just beyond the gates. I don’t know who, but he moved past me, down here. I got the distinct sense that killing me was just a task he had to complete before getting on with his main task.”

Neti frowned. “You didn’t see your attacker?”

Namtar the new shade shook his head. “No.”

Neti’s frown deepened. “You suspect someone, though.” It wasn’t a question.

Namtar seemed to be struggling with himself. Finally, he whispered a name. “Nergal.”

Neti went almost as pale as Namtar. “He’s with the Queen…”