Still pale, still a bit weary after a bite that had seen him waking up that morning in a damp pool of his own blood, it took Maxwell a moment to clear his head enough to reason out just what Bayard was suggesting when the boy turned up at his elbow. Frowning, he turned to stare at the castle in the distance, looming large on the horizon, towers piercing at the darkening sky like spears.

"...Are the bells the cause, or the signal?" he murmured thoughtfully, by way of reply. If it was the former -- bells that could be run, could also be silenced. He touched the fresh wound, now dry and caked at the base of his head, idly. "Can't be any worse to find out than just waiting here."

Gingerly, he started to get up.