The silence was undone by an uproar of whispers and shifting tables. From the back of the room, Digimon stood up on their chairs and strained to see what had happened. Those closest leapt to their feet and crowded around the throne, pushing and shoving at their comrades for a better look.

At the center of it all was Gatomon, crouched beside her fallen master. Fangs bared, she turned and hissed at the swarm of onlookers as they pressed in closer and closer.

"Everyone back off!" she yowled, fur bristling, "Give him room!"

Gatomon raised her claws and prepared to swipe at anyone who dared take another step, but no one did. Even the largest of them knew better than to disobey her. As eager as they'd come, the crowd began to shrink away.

Not far from her was Wizardmon. He'd had no time to withdraw before the mad scramble of onlookers trapped him amid the eye of the chaos. Gatomon jabbed one of her claws toward him.

"You, help me!"

Wizardmon hastened toward her, but tripped when his cloak was snagged underfoot. Not a moment later he was being pried off of the floor and dragged the rest of the way with Gatomon hissing—"Hurry!"—into his hear.

Gatomon tucked herself under Myotismon's right arm; Wizardmon followed suit with the left. Together they carried him—or dragged rather—away from the foot of the dias where he'd fallen and toward the doors at the far end of the room. Phantomon was already clearing a path for them, sweeping aside onlookers with the blunt end of his scythe. Pumpkinmon thrust himself forward, eager to be of service.

Gatomon hissed at him. "Get out of the way!"

"But—"

"Move! We don't need you!" She shoved at him with one paw and he stumbled backward, speechless.

DemiDevimon took the lead, darting ahead of Phantomon to shriek at those who'd yet to step aside. Digimon tripped and trampled over one another in their haste to clear the way.

Myotismon was far heavier than he looked, densely packed with code. Gatomon bore the brunt of his weight as Wizardmon strained to carry his own share of the burden. In a hall full of bigger and stronger Digimon, he could not fathom why she'd called for him.

As they crossed over the threshold and into the corridor, Gatomon paused and turned her face to DemiDevimon. "Not so fast, Bat Boy, You're staying here." It was not a suggestion.

DemiDevimon had already pulled ahead. He stopped short mid-flutter and gaped at the feline. "What?! No way!"

"Someone needs to stay behind and keep those fools from running amok, and that someone is going to be you."

"If you're so concerned then why don't you stay behind!"

"Because Lord Myotismon needs me. And besides, I outrank you. So shut up get your little feathered butt in there! I don't have the time argue with you!"

DemiDevimon let out a strangled growl, fangs clenched tightly together. He looked as if he had half a mind to swap blows with the feline, but after a drawn out pause, he relented. ''Fine,'' he spat, ''But you better keep me in the loop! I'm important, too, ya' know!''

''Just get in there!'' Gatomon did not wait around to see that he obeyed. She was on the move at once, hustling down the corridor.

Phantomon led them round several corners before stopping at what appeared to be a dead end. He approached the wall that blocked their path and tapped it with the pointed finial at the head of his scythe. He then gave five more taps, each time touching a different stone. There was a crackling sound, like static, as a part of the wall fizzled away into tiny particles of data; through the gap was a stairway.

The ascent was a steep and twisted one. It seemed impossibly long, and at times Wizardmon felt the the path had taken taken them in circles, though Gatomon and Phantomon seemed wholly unperturbed . At last, the stairway took them to a door. Phantomon produced a black key from his robe, undid the padlock, and the door creaked open with a horrendous squeal of its ancient hinges.

Beyond the door was a vaulted chamber with all the trappings of a proper gentleman's bedroom, save for an actual bed. There was an armchair and fireplace, bookshelves and candelabras, a tea table, armoire, vanity, and sofa. In one corner was an elegantly carved bureau neatly arrayed with pens, parchment and inkwells.

The left hand wall had six windows; slender lancets fitted with tinted glass. With the curtains drawn back, they each cast a sliver of blood red moonlight onto the floor. Just beyond their reach, nestled in the shadows was a bulky black object perched on an inclined platform. Almost kite shaped, it was steepled at the top and tapered towards the bottom. Wizardmon felt a little shiver go down his spine when he recognized it for what it was—an enormous coffin.

Phantomon removed its lid and, to his dismay, Wizardmon was asked to help place Myotismon inside it.

''But he's still alive!''

''We know that,'' snapped Gatomon. ''This is where he sleeps!''

His objections were myriad, but Wizardmon kept them all to himself.

Laying in his coffin, Myotismon looked like a freshly unearthed corpse. He was paler than before, white as bones, and impossibly still. It even seemed for a time that he might have stopped breathing, but Gatomon was certain she could hear the faintest little wheeze if she listened for it.

''Phantomon,'' she said, ''I need you to get back to the mess hall and check up on things—see to it that idiot, DemiDevimon, hasn't started a riot down there. I don't trust him to keep the peace on his own.''

Phantomon seemed hesitant to comply; his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. ''What of Lord Myotismon?'' he asked.

''I'll look after him until you've returned.''

Again the spectre hesitated. His gaze shifted to Wizardmon and lingered there for a few moments before he returned to Gatomon and bowed his head, ''Very well.''

When Phantomon had left them, Gatomon turned her attention to the mage. ''Before we came to this place, you told me you had the power to heal,'' she sounded sombre, ''is that still true?''

''Yes.''

''Can you help him?''

Wizardmon glanced at the prone figure of Myotismon and pursed his lips. ''I'll do what I can.'' He had hoped to say something more reassuring, but he could not bring himself to lie.

Pulling himself onto the platform, Wizardmon peered into the coffin to get a closer look at his patient. There was not much he could tell at first glance, spare the obvious. Myotismon had been afflicted by something, and whatever this affliction was, it was working fast. He held his hands over the Ultimate and muttered an incantation. A light appeared, glowed for several moments, and then died away again.

Nothing happened.

''Is it done?'' Gatomon joined him on the platform and stared at the unconscious form of her master, ''Why isn't he waking up?''

Wizardmon looked down at his hands and grimaced. The magic had failed. ''This does not bode well…''

''Whats wrong?''

''This is no ordinary affliction.'' Wizardmon peered into the coffin once more. Very gently, he took Myotismon's hand, removing the glove, and examined it. At once he noted a stark discoloration of the finger tips. The skin had blackened, and when he looked closely Wizardmon could see the darkness spreading like ink on paper. ''I take it this isn't normal?''

Gatomon bent inward for a closer look and her eyes widened. ''What is that!''

''I'm not sure yet,'' Wizardmon lowered the hand back into the coffin, ''but I might have an idea. I've seen symptoms like these before—pallor, shallow breathing, discoloration of the skin—my guess is he's been poisoned.''

''That's not possible.'' Gatomon was still staring at those blackened fingers.

''I'm afraid it is,'' Wizardmon took the mask from Myotismon's face and found the same discoloration forming around his eyes.

''But how—'' Gatomon stopped. She already knew the answer ''—the wine!''

The mess hall was already empty by the time they returned. Phantomon had ordered everyone back to their barracks, spare the beleaguered kitchen staff who were now slaving to put the room back together. The banners had been taken down, and the carpet carted away. A team of DemiMeramon were busy scouring the floor with scrubs, sponges, and dust pans.

DemiDevimon was not present, but as for the specter, he was hovering at the far end of the hall, quietly observing as two Arbormon lifted Myotismon's throne from its platform and heaved it off somewhere.

Gatomon called out to him, "Phantomon!"

The specter turned, acknowledged her, and then hovered near.

"How fares Lord Myotismon?"

"He's getting worse," said Gatomon, "but if we act quickly, we may be able to save him." She looked back and nodded to Wizardmon, who stood behind her, "You, tell him what you told me."

Wizardmon stepped forward, "I believe Lord Myotismon has been poisoned. It's likely someone tampered with his wine, but we can't be certain of that unless we can examine the vessel. Is it still here?"

"I'm not certain," Phantomon looked over his shoulder at the empty platform where the throne had been, "it may have been taken away already. We shall have to ask one of them", he gestured to the miscellaneous kitchen staff scattered around the room.

Gatomon acted immediately. Nearby was a Vegiemon bussing tables; she shouted at him, "You, there! Come!"

Startled, the Vegiemon dropped his bussing tray and its contents clattered onto the stones. He ignored it and hurried over. "You called for me, Ma'am?"

"Lord Myotismon was served wine in a chalice this evening. Where is it?"

The Vegimon blinked a few times, then looked frantically around the room. ''I, uh…''

''I asked you a question!'' Gatomon seized one of the colorful fronds on Vegimon's head and yanked him closer, baring her fangs at him.

The Vegiemon squirmed, his voice climbing a few octaves as squealed for mercy. ''Ow! Ow! I don't know I swear''—Gatomon twisted the frond even harder—''Owowooowo!''

''Where might we look for it then?'' Asked Phantomon.

''They probably took it back to the kitchens to be washed! That's all I—Ooh! Ow ow!—all I know! Aaagh!'

''Very well,'' said Phantomon, ''Gatomon, you may release him now. I think he's had quite enough.''

Gatomon did so reluctantly, her claws still tensing as she rested them at her sides. The Vegimon thanked them hastily, then scurried away and got back to work.

The kitchens were a cluttered mess of cookware and food spills. The DemiMeramon bustled to and fro, bussing trays rattling. Towers of dirty dishes were stacked precariously by the huge utility sink in the back corner where a disgruntled (Blankmon) was elbow deep in a vat of soapy water. Every few seconds he would clatter another few plates onto the pile of clean dishware to his left, then heave another batch of soiled wares into the water.

Gatomon approached and called for (Blankmon's) attention. He ignored her. Gatomon bristled from head to toe and shouted at him again. This time Blankmon paused to look over his shoulder, grumbled, then got back to work.

Gatomon had never look so scandalized. She raised her paws and prepared to strike. Wizardmon lifted a hand to stop her.

"Excuse me," he stepped out in front of her and approached the lumbering Blackmon, "I apologize for disturbing your work, but this is very important. Please, Lord Myotismon's life depends on it."

Blankmon looked over his shoulder again and asked, "Yeh? An' whaddya need me fer?"

"Lord Myotismon had been served wine in an iron chalice just before he fell ill. We would like to examine it for signs of tampering. Have you seen it? Is it here?"

There was a long rumbling hum as Blankmon thought it over. He scratched his chin with a massive claw, grimacing. "No. Don't s'pose I 'ave."

"I see", Wizardmon shared an uneasy glance with Gatomon, who was only growing tender by the moment. "Thank you for your cooperation."

The wizard tipped his hat in appreciation. Blankmon only grumbled and got back to work.

Back at the tower, Myotismon's health had worsened. The discoloration had begun to reach his forearms; his breaths were ragged and uneasy. He even seemed smaller now.

Wizardmon had taken a damp cloth to the vampire's forehead to clear the sweat from his brow. Doing so achieved absolutely nothing, Wizardmon knew this, but he hoped it might comfort Gatomon to see her master tended to.

"Is he going to die?" She asked, quietly.

The feline had stationed herself at Myotismon's side and would not budge, leaving Phantomon to take the mantle of leader in their master's absence. He had left them some time ago to attend to his duties.

''I can't say for sure, but we might take it for a good sign that he has lasted this long." Wizardmon wet the cloth again, wrung it, then laid it across the Myorismon's brow and left it. "I'll do what I can for him, but without knowing the cause of his illness, I'm afraid my powers are limited."

Gatomon nodded and gave a somber little hum, her eyes never once left Myotismon. For a while, there was silence again, and Wizardmon resumed the futile business of tending to the dying creature in his care. Now and then his eyes would flicker to Gatomon, still holding her silent vigil.