"Other hands must take up my work
Other eyes my works behold
At the center of all the thirty-seventh
Girdled by the leaves of autumn
Mark carefully the summer staircase and climb it clockwise thrice
Order emerges from chaos; the answer made clear."
"What an obtuse riddle," Jack muttered. He found a piece of blank parchment and set it over the top of the charcoal rubbing; then he worked an old spell he knew. Under the soft chaotic energies of Jack's sorcery, the blank parchment began to darken and smudge, taking on every detail of the rubbing exactly as it appeared in Zandria's parchment. Whistling under his breath, Jack folded the new copy and stuffed it into his robe. Then he picked up the scroll tube and started to replace the mage's rubbing.
"Put that down at once!"
Zandria stood in the doorway, Meritheus and the librarian at her side. She raised her hands to work some spell of great destructive potential, but the two Guild wizards restrained her in a panic.
"Please, my lady, the books!" the librarian cried.
"You must respect the sanctity of our fellowship!" Meritheus added. "Guild members do not engage in spell-slinging within these walls."
"Bugger the Guild!" Zandria shrieked. "He's been rooting through my books! If you don't want me to incinerate him in your precious library, you'd better get him out of here this very minute!"
Meritheus looked at Jack. "Master Delgath, it is now well past noon. If you please, affiliate members must confine their visits to the library to the morning hours."
"The Dread Delgath does not care for your petty rules and bylaws," Jack replied, "but in the interests of fostering good relations with his lesser fellows, he shall now absent himself from the premises." He paused and then added, "He also wishes for you to look into the rude behavior of one Zandria, who has offered the Dread Delgath nothing but contempt and suspicion despite his earnest efforts to assist her."
"The Dread Delgath would be well advised not to press his luck," Meritheus observed dryly.
He stepped aside and indicated the door with a jerk of his thumb. Jack gathered his robes about him with the greatest dignity he could muster, and then strode out of the room without even a glance at Zandria, who glared at him with undisguised loathing.
Jack tried not to notice how quickly the doorman hustled him out into the street, and he paid no attention to the rather authoritative boom! of the door slamming shut behind him. He patted his breast pocket and set off for home.
After a sparse lunch of black bread and sharp cheese at the Cracked Tankard, Jack headed back to his apartment to change his clothes. He threaded his way through the midafternoon hustle and bustle of the Anvil without even noticing, his mind working on the various riddles before him. Many of the streets were so choked with wagon traffic and long lines of porters carrying heavy burdens that other pedestrians were forced to detour blocks out of their way to get around the crowds.
While he walked, he considered his next step. Illyth Fleetwood expected his presence at the Game of Masks later in the evening, but he had most of the afternoon free. He could inquire after the belongings of the mage Durezil using some of the same sources he'd checked out when he was looking for Gerard, or he could buy a flagon of strong drink for Ontrodes and see if the old sage would let slip some information about what exactly Zandria was looking for and whether or not Jack might beat her to her prize. He grinned fiercely and leaped up on an empty hitching rail, then to the ramshackle overhang that ran from building to building along Morlgar Ride, balancing easily as he ran over the mud and the crowds of the street. It didn't matter, not a bit. The world was full of possibility, and any course he chose was guaranteed to produce extremely satisfactory results.
"I am amazing!" he cried aloud, and it didn't trouble him at all that no one in the crowd seemed to agree with him.
He reached his apartments and changed his clothes, dressing in his customary attire of gray and black. The Dread Delgath was not needed again this day, and Lord Jaer Kell Wildhame didn't have to come out for a few hours yet. In the meantime, Jack had business as Jack. He buckled his sword belt around his waist and hung his rapier and poignard at his side. Then he trotted down the stair and out into the street.
The fact that he was thinking about three or four different things probably contributed to his failure to note the cloaked figures watching his door. Without a word of warning, Jack was seized from behind and dragged off the street and into a nearby alley mouth. He was punched once in the stomach, hard; when he doubled over, somebody pulled his cape over his head and ran him into the nearest wall so hard that Jack saw nothing but stars for a good five or ten heartbeats.
One hand clamped across his middle and the other pressed to his skull, Jack looked up and got his first good look at his assailants. One was a big, brawny fellow, clean shaven and good looking, with black hair and clear gray eyes that showed not a hint of friendship. Despite the angry, purposeful look on his face, he seemed to exude authority. Jack had seen his type before-some kind of lawman or agent of the city's lords, charged with a list of duties and responsibilities as long as his arm and deadly serious about discharging each and every one. He was evidently the one that had manhandled Jack.
The other assailant was a woman with pronounced elf features and a shoulder-length sea of brilliant copper hair. She might have been a half-elf-her height and build were too statuesque for a full-blooded elf. Her dark eyes were not any warmer than her companion's.
"In a hurry, Jack?" she asked.
"Not at all," Jack rasped, trying not to show how much his stomach hurt. "If you could perhaps persuade your companion to pummel some other passerby, I should be delighted to spend the rest of the day in your company. But I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage, my lady. To whom am I speaking?" He started to push himself up, but the big man stepped forward and kicked his arm out from under him; he sat down again hard.
The woman smiled coolly. "We'll ask the questions," the woman said. "So, where are you going, Jack?" She wore a jerkin of metal-studded leather over green wool breeches and a shirt of fine mail. A slender long sword was sheathed at her side. "Be honest now."
"I thought I might take a stroll in the fish market. I miss the wonderful aroma when I'm away from the place for too long."
The big man shook his head and reached down to grab a handful of Jack's hair. He thumped Jack's head against the wall once, hard enough to start the stars in Jack's eyes again.
"Think of a better answer than that," he growled, "and don't waste our time."
"You wouldn't be on your way to meet Myrkyssa Jelan, would you?" the woman asked.
"Myrkyssa Jelan?" Jack blinked to clear his eyes and shook his head to make sure he was hearing correctly. "The warlord Myrkyssa Jelan? Enemy of the city, leader of Jelan's horde, ten feet tall and magic-proof Myrkyssa Jelan?" He tried to keep his face straight, but despite himself, a snicker crept into his voice, and then a snort, and finally a full gusty guffaw. "Myrkyssa Jelan! Oh, my lady, you are making a fool of me! Myrkyssa Jelan, indeed!"
Two years ago, the Warlord Jelan had ravaged all the Vast with a great horde of mercenaries, goblins, ogres, and giants, finally bringing all her forces to bear on Raven's Bluff. The army, led by Lord Charles Blacktree, had sallied forth to meet her in the field. Skirmishing and forays had followed for months, culminating in a week-long battle in which Jelan's onslaught finally failed on the sixth day of continuous fighting.