"I am not concerned with how she feels about the situation," Anders said.
"Ah, but isn't it better to provide her with an opportunity to purchase our assistance in the event that Sarbreen's deadly traps and ancient defenses put her company in a bad way?" Jack sipped at his wine. "If the right circumstances develop, friend Anders, she might give us the lion's share of the loot and feel glad that she had the opportunity to do so. Now that is a plan."
The Northman furrowed his brow, thinking hard through his intoxication. Anders was one of the most lucid drunks Jack had ever known; no amount of ale or wine ever seemed to fog his wits. "And what if Zandria and her company recover the loot with little trouble? She'll have no need of us then."
"In that event," Jack said, "we'll consider more direct measures."
Despite his best efforts, Jack discovered once again that copious amounts of drink drown one's troubles in only the most transient and misleading manner. Hours of conniving, plotting, and planning with Anders and an imprudent amount of wine developed no certain plans for dealing with Zandria's expedition and did nothing at all to alleviate Jack's concerns about his meeting earlier in the evening or his enemies in the Game of Masks. But he did become quite drunk and had a roaring good time when he wasn't trying to think too hard.
The next morning eluded Jack entirely, as he was unable to dispel the miserable stupor smothering him after the night's festivities. He rose about two hours past noon and spent most of the next hour dressing slowly and painfully, one article at a time. Eventually he rallied enough to stagger out into the street and purchase bread, cheese, and a half-dozen boiled eggs for his breakfast, after which he felt much better.
"Illyth would undoubtedly say that I deserved my earlier misery," he mused while he ate, perched under a ramshackle porch in front of the grocer's shack. "She does not view overindulgence with the good-natured humor one looks for in that sort of situation." Then Jack sat bolt upright and smacked his hand to his forehead. "Illyth! The Yellow Lord's tournament is tonight!"
He looked up to the sky; the sun was only two hours short of setting, and the next Game event was only an hour off. In a panic, Jack dashed back to his apartment, dressed quickly in his best clothes, and then hired a coach to drive him out to Fleetwood Manor as fast as he could get there.
After a very anxious half hour for Jack, the carriage turned into the short, shady lane that led to Fleetwood Manor, passing another coach on its way out. He was only about a quarter hour late in picking up Illyth, which was better than he'd expected when he remembered their date. He was dressed rather casually for the evening, with tight black cannons and a pleated tunic of yellow and maroon. The coach stopped at the ivy-covered manor door; Jack hopped out before it had stopped rolling and took the short flight of steps two at a time.
"Lord Jaer Kell Wildhame for the Lady Illyth," he told the major domo.
The man didn't say a word in response. Jack turned on him in some annoyance-after all, he was running late-and found that the manservant was simply staring at him in amazement. The man's astonishment darkened visibly into suspicion.
"The Lady Illyth left with Lord Jaer Kell Wildhame just a moment ago," he said, motioning to a pair of house guards nearby. "Who, may I ask, are you?"
"I beg your pardon," replied Jack. "Did you say that Lady Illyth just left with me?"
The major domo nodded at the coach that had been departing just as Jack arrived. "There she goes. If you are not in that coach, sir, I do not know who is."
"Nor do I," said Jack. He dashed back to the coach he'd rented and climbed up beside the driver. "Quickly, man! After that coach!"
The driver, a stout old man with flowing white mutton-chops, hesitated just a moment before snapping the reins and shouting. The two-horse team snorted and started off, wheeling the carriage around the drive and out toward the road. Jack could hear sounds of consternation and pursuit behind him, but he ignored them. They thundered down to the end of the lane and turned onto the road, heeling dangerously before finishing the turn.
"Faster!" cried Jack.
"We're running all out!" the driver replied. "What are we going to do when we catch them?"
"I'm going to jump," said Jack.
The driver looked aside at him. "You're daft," he said.
Jack just motioned him to keep after the coach ahead. They were closing fast; the other coach was rolling along at a quick trot, while Jack's was bouncing and clattering at a full gallop. Jack stood up on the coachman's seat, balancing easily atop the jolting carriage. The road wasn't wide enough to allow two coaches abreast, so he'd have to jump from behind. Fortunately, he knew a jumping spell that would work-as long as he didn't misjudge his leap and sprawl in the road in front of his own coach.
"Be ready to rein in when I jump," he told the driver. "I'm going to stop the other coach if I can."
The horses in Jack's team raced up behind the other coach, slowing only as the animals realized that the rolling obstacle in front of them was not going to get out of their way. At that moment, Jack worked the spell and leaped forward, sailing clear over his own team and alighting with a thump on the roof of Illyth's carriage. He dropped into the coachman's seat and shoved the other driver off the bench without ceremony. The man grunted in surprise and tumbled off into the ditch at the side of the road, rolling over and over. Jack seized the reins and hauled back, slowing the team. Then he vaulted to the ground and yanked open the carriage door.
Illyth screamed. Jack stood dumbfounded, staring into his own face. A short, wiry man dressed in black and gold ceased an assault on Illyth to leap out of the coach, knocking Jack flat. Jack scrambled to his feet as Illyth hurriedly covered herself with her torn dress. He turned just in time to get the other Jack's boot in the center of his chest, hammering him back against the carriage. Jack responded with a spell of magical energy that knocked down his opponent and drew the sword at his side. The other Jack mirrored his movement, drawing his own sword. They circled, looking for an opening.
Jack had a long moment to study his opponent. The other Jack was his identical twin, except there seemed to be a dark cast to his features, a hint of dusky gray that didn't show in the shadows but became clear when the other Jack happened to step into the long, slanting rays of sunlight from the setting sun. Jack shook his head in disbelief.
"Sir, you seem to have borrowed my features and my date. Who are you, and what offense have I offered you?"
The shadow Jack grinned an idiot's grin and leaped forward, stabbing murderously here and there with his blade. Jack yelped and dodged, parrying the attacks as best he could while he gave ground, circling behind the coach. The other fellow didn't have a great amount of skill, but he was blindingly fast and exceedingly agile, leaping and jumping with the energy of a madman as he slashed and stabbed.
"Jack! What in the world is going on here?" Illyth appeared behind the shadow Jack, still holding up her dress with one hand. "Who-?" The noblewoman halted in amazement, watching the duel between Jack and his twin.
"Illyth, get back!" Jack cried.
He met a high swing by ducking under it, then rolled to one side to avoid a follow-up thrust that would have gutted him had he been a hair slower. He responded with a couple of wicked jabs in the general vicinity of the shadow Jack's midsection, but his evil clone merely rolled aside. They exchanged another blinding pass of sword-play in which neither could penetrate the defenses of the other, and then sprang apart.