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Come dawn you are each gathered from your chambers by a servant and bid to attend Don Giovanni in one of the guest rooms of the castle.

Inside you find Ferran lying asleep in the bed, with color returned to his face and his chest rising and falling gently with the soft breath of slumber. He has been cleaned up and his clothes removed.

Giovanni stands in the corner of the room, still wearing the same clothes as from the night before. "Truly, a miracle if I ever saw one."

Marco is standing in the middle of the room. He's got rid of his journey gambeson, currently wearing his usual doublet and a clean shirt, his ornate rapier hanging from the hip.

"What do you mean, master Giovanni?" he asks, not fully realizing what's going on, excitement taking place of the recent sorrow.

Giorgio is quicker on the uptake.

"Sorcery!" he shouts, interposing himself between Marco and Don Giovanni with one hand on the hilt of his Katzbalger. "What have you done Don Giovanni?! What deviltry has been committed here?" His frantic gaze shifts back and forth between their host and the living dead man on the bed. The unfamiliar sensation of fear fills his being.

Ferran stirs and speaks in his sleep.
"Com dalt... ...és a baix.... Com dalt és a baix... Ala." [*]

Still sleeping, he half-turns on the bed, putting the bed sheets aside. The involuntary action reveals his neck. The ghastly wound is still there, stitched by the doctor's expert hand, now clean. A wound fitting to a corpse. Still it's undeniable -- Ferran somehow survived. The color of his face, the breathing, the movement, and finally his voice -- all these testify that the man still lives.

[*] As above, so below (in Catalan)

Santa Madonna! - utters Marco, seeing Ferran alive...
and that's too much for him: suddenly he feels dizzy and passes out.

Gasparo stands next to the master, seemingly unfazed by this turn of events. He is wearing the same clothing he had the day before, bags under his eyes as though he had a very long night. He likely would have said nothing at all, simply studying their reactions -- but once again the mercenary seemed to be losing his temper.

He took a step forward, interposing himself between Giorgio and Maester Giovanni in a slightly more subtle mirror to Giorgio's own positioning. Unlike the mercenary, he did not immediately reach for a weapon. His arms remained in the same idle position behind his back. Given how he wore his cinquedea, this was a convenient position in any case.

"Sir." His voice has a tired quality to it, as though he were already worn a bit thin. He glances in a very pointed fashion towards the mercenary's hand on the weapon. "If you mean to draw that, then do so and be done with it. This marks your second aggression as a guest in my master's home. There won't be a third." It was not a statement marked with bluster or aggression of his own. The tone was very dry and matter-of-fact. A statement of inevitability: The sun will rise tomorrow, the birds will sing, I may have to kill you.

"Oh my apologies good sirs! Please forgive this humble swineherd and base cutthroat, for I appear to be unfamiliar with the eldritch and not at all vile arts of necromancy!"

Seeing that his charge has fallen, Giorgio stoops and sees to Marco. Given that he is no physician this action mainly consists of gently patting the lads cheek with one grizzled hand. "Wake up lad" he whispers.

"Enough!" Giovanni commands. "Last night I suffered and overlooked your insolence as I know grief will addle the mind. This morning however, with all you could have asked for and more returned to you, I will not tolerate your baseless accusations! You saw as well as I that the good doctor finished his task. Ferran must have simply lapsed into unconsciousness for a time. With the amount of blood he has lost, no doubt his pulse was simply too weak for the doctor to detect. Now, mind your tongue lest I lose my patience and call for my guards to come and pluck it from your mouth!"

Outside the room you can already here a servant running down the hall away from the room in response to Giovanni's raised voice.

Moments later, Gregor appears in the doorframe: "What..." he stops when his eyes meet the sleeping Spaniard, turning pale immediately. "How...". He takes a deep breath to compose himself, then he turns serious and stern again. "I heard your calling, Meister."

Ferran stirs once again, roused by the commotion and verbal exchange, and wakes up. He pops his eyes wide open in a most uncanny way, as if he was never at sleep, scouting the room and its inhabitants.

He sees Giorgio holding the now unconscious Marco in his arms and breaks a weak apologetic smile.
"I am sorry for everything my friend. Marco was right. It was too dangerous."

Giorgo is perplexed by the reality of it all. Before he starts to respond Ferran cuts him off.
"Please take care of our friend mate. He's been through a lot."

He continues to scout the room. His eyes pass from Gregor -- with a sign of recognition the German can't miss -- then on Gasparo, and finally his gaze rests on Giovanni himself.
"You must be Don Giovanni. I must thank you for taking care of me and mine. I'm in your debt Maestro. Even when I have so little to offer you." and respectfully bows his head.

The Catalan pauses searching for the right words. Then he starts speaking in Arabic, directly addressing Giovanni, a fierce glint in his eye.
"'Walikun naerif hdha Hakim**. Laqad 'adanani alllah!" [*]

[*] But know this Wise One. God has condemned me!
[**]Hakim has many meanings and Ferran purposely uses this word.
Meanings: Wise, Judicious, Prudent, Sage, Canny, Discreet, Provident, Sapient, Well-advised, Doctor, Philosopher.

Giovanni's attention is immediately draw to Ferran when he stirs, seemingly forgetting the quarrel with Giorgio. He either ignores or doesn't understand what Ferran says in Arabic. "You may have more to offer than you know. But there will be time for that later. For now, tell me everything you remember of your slumber. Before it leaves your mind." He picks up a quill and notebook he had left ready on the bedside table.

Ferran nods in agreement.
"I will tell you everything I know."

He casts a guilty glance over his friends.
"But one request Maestro. This interview must be a private one."

Marco wakes up from his slumber, hearing the raised voices of the debate, and then the voice he thought he'll never hear again: Ferran's!
"It was dangerous indeed, and I regret I didn't stop you... but that's the past, now the most important thing is you're alive!"

Then Marco leaves the room, to let his friend speak with don Giovanni privately.
"Come on, Giorgio! We're gonna have a drink or two... nah, it's too early to drink" he laughs, wholeheartedly again.

Gregor makes way for Marco and Giorgio, eyeing the giant carefully. Only when the two have left the room, Gregor relaxes, takes a last look at Ferran, then leaves as well.

After everyone has left the room Ferran closely studies Gasparo. It seems odd to him that this man appears as Giovanni's shadow. On what appears a whim to the Catalan, he speaks directly to him.

"We are strangers. Yet I think you should stay mate."

Giovanni nods to Gasparo, who takes a seat and readies the quill and ink. Ferran starts to speak.

"I remember fighting against some Arab slavers on the Po. The fight was in our favor, still I overestimated my opponents. I felt a sharp explosive pain on my neck and all was blackness. I dreamt of dear Ambrogio, my late mentor and master, urging me to reach you Don Giovanni. Everything was a hazy sensation. An odd noise here, a voice spoken there, but only that.

I remember a stern man -- the one who just left the room -- calling me dead meat. The sorrow in his voice lifted my slumber. Then he and someone who appeared like a doctor restraining me on a table. A stern order from the surgeon to hold me still, and Marco assisting the two men keeping me down. I remember myself having seizures. The strange thing is that I saw all this happen, as if it was happening to someone else. Then the doctor declared me dead, and Marco wept for my passing.

I woke up in a dark place. There was some kind of light, but not like the light we mortals know since birth. It was more like an infinite gloom. There was rocking and movement like at sea, but not at sea at the same time. Out of the gloom came mountains of faces. Faces from my past. Faces belonging to people who are dead. They accused me for their passing. Their accusations were false and I dismissed them.

Then a great voice, both from within and without, asked me to repent for my sins. I remember I told him I did nothing wrong. His answer was that I am condemned. I know -- don't ask me how -- 'twas god himself.

Then I remember an even greater darkness and an untold chill. From there came a voice -- a woman's voice -- and told me she would help me.

Of this encounter I remember clearly only two things. Her name -- Ala. And a single phrase "As above, so below".

After that I remember angry voices. Giorgio's voice. And yours Maestro.

Then I woke up here in your company."