"Who's there?" The voice preceded the night-capped head of an older man with a close-cropped gray beard, who fumbled to put spectacles on his long nose.
"Parlek, it's me!" Renaer said. "Let us in, please!"
The older man leaned out, squinted down at Renaer, and gaped at them and at the prone Vajra in Meloon's arms.
"You're wanted for murder, boy," Parlek replied. "Give me one reason to trust you and your friends there."
"I'll give you three-The Annals ofKyhral. You'll finally complete the set! The volumes are yours in exchange for safe haven."
The old man's face brightened. "Finally! I knew I'd gain those volumes from you one day, boy!" The old man practically cackled with glee, then caught himself and said, "Er, well, that proves you are who you say, as you're the only one in the city with those volumes. And for you to part with them means you're either desperate or innocent-or both. Come in, all of you."
The man waved, a light bout of sparkles drifting off his hand, and the door below unlocked. As Renaer opened the door, the older man above closed the window.
"We'll be safe here, temporarily," Renaer said, escorting them all into the row house.
They entered a snug antechamber, then walked through a slim passageway to the front of the house and an equally slim stairwell leading upstairs. Down those stairs came a bowlegged old man wrapping his robes more tightly about himself.
Renaer gestured up and said, "Everyone, Parlek Lateriff-sage, sorcerer, and smith of the highest order."
"Stop basting my ego, boy." The old man stopped in midstep, grabbing the railing in surprise. "I wasn't sure… but it is! You've got her! That is Vajra Safahr, isn't it?"
Renaer nodded. "What exactly are we accused of doing now?"
"The usual, when they want someone caught without having to explain much-murder, dissent against the Lords, and more. Surprisingly, there are specific charges that tell more, if you know how to listen." He motioned them all up the stairs and continued. "The fact that you're protecting someone you're accused of murdering should help your case-or harm it, if they claim you used your connections with many temples to resurrect her so you could kill her again."
Renaer sputtered, "But… why-who?"
Vharem smacked him between the shoulders and said, "He's stuck. Lemme help."
"Who's accusing us of all this?" Laraelra said.
"And who might you be, lass?" Parlek asked.
"Laraelra Harsard, daughter of-"
Parlek's eyes widened and he interrupted her, "Malaerigo
Harsard, who claims his daughter has been bewitched into helping a murderer and offers a reward for her rescue. Interesting. Interesting."
Laraelra groaned. "On a brighter day, Father'd not be such a fool."
"Yes, but your own reputation for cool-headedness serves you well. More folk than your loud-mouthed sire believe your involvement is both voluntary and honorable."
Laraelra got a small smile out of that.
"What did you mean when you said the charges tell more?" Vharem asked.
"You disappeared yesterday morning from Neverember Manor. Too many people saw you go in, and none saw you come out. Without someone telling your side of the stoty, your accusers filled the streets with gossip to support their claims. What'd you do to get on the wrong side of Khondar Naomal, Renaer?"
"How did you know he was behind it?"
"Those slinging the most accusatory statements all had ties to the Watchful Order, and to him specifically. I have some guilded friends who want to know what's going on, since most of them aren't buying the story. The Watch-or at least those few you've shamed in your nightly pranks-believes the rumors and search hard, as do some Order apprentices. Otherwise, most of us use our heads as other than hatracks and wait for the truth to come out at Lords' Court."
"Thank the gods for that," Renaer said.
Parlek led them through a small room toward a doorway in the far wall. "Don't touch anything-especially you, Osco Salibuck!"
There were two work tables, on which were fine smiths' tools, vises, and some works in progress-a bracer, a headdress, and an amulet. Above the tables and set on slim support rods were two long planks, on which were gems small and large of various colors. Across from the tables were shelves overflowing with books and scrolls.
Everyone passed through the room quickly. Renaer held onto Osco's cloak, and Vharem held onto the hin's tunic. However, while Renaer and Vharem were broad-shouldered, they were not as large as Meloon. In order to avoid dislodging things from the shelves on his right, Meloon bumped into the table on the left as he passed it, and he knocked its shelf over, spilling its contents on the table and floor.
"Parharding stlaern it!" Parlek swore. "It's going to take forever to sort all that out again! You've ruined my work for the next tenday!"
Meloon blushed and muttered, "Sorry," but whispered back at Renaer, "What's he got all that for?"
"Parlek makes a living by creating replicas of jewelry pieces for nobles," Renaer said. "It allows him to afford better books and time to study on all things ecclesiastical."
While Parlek groaned and shot glares at Meloon, the others gathered up everything that fell off the shelf onto the table.
"You big ox!" Parlek snapped. "I'll never finish that tiara in time!" He pointed at a half-finished headdress of filigreed silver webworks, half its fake gems in place. The parchment on the table illustrated the finished piece, but that was half-covered in loose gems.
Osco hopped up on the stool, produced a lens out of his back belt pouch, squinted to hold it close to his right eye, and began picking small gems up to examine them. "It'll be less than forever and certainly not a tenday, but it'll still take some time. Settle back, gentles, and let me show you glass from class. Ooo, nice work there! Almost didn't see the seam."
Laraelra swept all the loose gems together, gestured at the jumbled pile of fake and real gems, and uttered a few syllables.
"Hey!" Osco yelled, as all but the single gem in his hand spun away from him, glowing. The gems glistened and spiraled into eight separate piles-two blue, two red, two clear, and two green gems, one each of fake and real gems. The fake gems easily outnumbered the real gems by ten to one, as there were only two or three real gems of any color.
Parlek gasped, looked at Laraelra, and back at the piles, and both of them smiled.
"It's a minor magic of mine," Laraelra said. "Separates out components and puts like with like."
"I might pay you to teach it to me, lass, but another time," Parlek said. He motioned them forward toward the door behind him. "Let's get out of my workroom and into my parlor. Phase" The last word he pleaded, looking directly at Meloon, who gingerly side-stepped his way through with Vajra.
They entered a moderate-sized room flooded with morning light. Two couches and four chairs hugged the walls of the room. Parlek motioned them all to sit, himself taking a seat by the window and the light. They all sat and Renaer said, "Sorry for the disruption of sleep and home, but we need to know everything you've heard."'
"Too much," Parlek said. "Tell me what you know and I'll try and fill in the rest."
Meloon chimed in with, "All we know is Khondar and somebody posing as the Blackstaff want us dead because we kept them from killing her. They stuck a knife in her gut!"
"Those two hated each other for decades," Renaer said. "I suspect Khondar killed Samark or had him killed, and then had a trusted lieutenant wear an illusory shape to divert attention or sow confusion."
"We don't know who the illusion-weaver is," Laraelra added, "but they must have enough information to steal the Blackstaffs power. When Vajra's cogent, she talks about getting to Blackstaff Tower before someone takes its power."
Parlek listened to all of them, nodded, and said, "You're right in that you need to get her to the tower-her place of power. I suspect that'll help her just by being there. As for the illusion-wearer, that's probably Khondar's son, Centiv. He's good with illusions, and one of the few that ring-wearer would trust-at least as much as he trusts anyone." He whistled. "You sure pick enemies, Renaer, that's for certain." His gaze happened upon Osco, whose hands shot up into the air to show he didn't have anything in hand despite having passed by a silver serving set on the sideboard.