that Kurzen, Narm, Arlith, and Halamar get their cuts?”
Tharzon nodded in satisfaction. “I’ll take care of it,” he said. He swept the coins into a good-sized coinpurse, and tucked the purse inside his tunic.
“Now, about that advice,” Jack said. “Do you know of any quiet, safe, and comfortable place where I might hang my cape for a few days until I put my affairs in better order? Anonymity would be advantageous.”
“This has something to do with the fire at Maldridge today, doesn’t it?” the old dwarf grunted. “Well, you can’t stay here-I prefer to stay clear of your troubles.”
“Surely you must have some recommendation?”
Tharzon frowned beneath his beard, thinking. “There is a vacant tinsmith’s shop with a small apartment upstairs, over on Broken Bit Lane,” he finally said. “I happen to hold the deed. From time to time I arrange for friends who don’t want to be found to stay there. You can have it for a few days, but mind you, Jack, I don’t want the place burned down.”
“It sounds ideal,” Jack replied.
“You may revise your opinion soon enough. It’s cramped, cluttered, and furnished only with a cot,” the dwarf answered. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a simple iron key. “Number sixteen.”
“I thank you.” Jack decided that Tharzon was simply exercising modesty in describing the tinsmith’s room in such cautious terms, and accepted the key. Nightfall was not far off; he was not looking forward to lugging the heavy duffel several blocks, but it would probably be best to take care of the job before dark. One last mug of Old Smoky, then, or perhaps two … He followed Tharzon back out to the taproom, laid down a silver talent on the bar for a refill, and returned to the table where all his worldly possessions sat.
“Jack Ravenwild.”
Jack looked up from his mug and discovered the fire-mage Halamar at his table. The sorcerer gave him a small nod, his shaggy red braids falling around his shoulders. “This is something of a coincidence,” the sorcerer continued. “I was recently engaged in a conversation about you. May I join you, sir?”
“By all means,” Jack replied, gesturing at the seat across the table. He straightened up and kicked the canvas bag out of the way.
Halamar took the proffered chair, and signaled to Kurzen at the bar. The dwarf nodded and drew a pint for the mage, who cleverly used a minor telekinesis to summon it to his hand. “Ahh, that’s good,” he said. “Now, as I was saying-strange, do you smell smoke?”
“I smell little else,” Jack muttered darkly. “Please, continue.”
“Anyway, I was at the High House of Magic earlier this afternoon, and I encountered our esteemed visitor Tarandor Delhame berating his apprentices about some oversight or inattentiveness on their part. The door to his chamber stood open; there was a finely carved wooden case standing on his desk, with a strange greenish-black bottle next to it. I admit his distress provoked my curiosity, so when he was finished with his disciplinary measures, I asked him what had gone wrong.
“Tarandor said to me, ‘That ignorant, strutting buffoon of a sorcerer’-his words, not mine-‘has somehow escaped a very expensive spell of entrapment, and now I will have to start all over again.’ I asked him what sorcerer he was referring to. ‘Jack Ravenwild,’ he replied. ‘It was a conjuration of the eighth order, proof against the escape of any prisoner short of an archmage or demon prince. How could he have slipped out?’
“Well, I was surprised that Tarandor knew you by name. ‘Why in the world would you want to entrap Jack Ravenwild?’ I asked. ‘I am under an obligation to do so,’ Tarandor replied. ‘Meritheus left instructions for my master, who passed them on to me. Apparently he foresaw some calamity involving Ravenwild.’ I pointed out that it was impossible to know what threat old Meritheus foresaw or whether it still pertained after so many years. Tarandor only shrugged. ‘Who cares?’ he replied. ‘All I want to do is discharge my obligation as quickly as possible and return to Iriaebor.’
“I remonstrated with Tarandor, but it was clear that he had little interest in my views.” Halamar paused to imbibe a long swallow of his ale, and continued. “Anyway, I went on my way rather puzzled by the whole episode. I hope you can provide some new insight. Oh, and by the way, how did you escape an entrapment of the eighth order? That is no small feat.”
“I am a man of hidden talents,” Jack replied. “As it turned out, I had the Sarkonagael on my person when Tarandor conjured me into that bottle. I found a spell inside that helped me to escape. A shame that Tarandor has already noticed my absence; I was hoping he would remain ignorant of my freedom for some time yet.”
“That is unfortunate. Tarandor is a very capable abjurer. I would not want to have him determined to imprison me.”
“What will you tell Tarandor when you see him again?” Jack asked.
The fire-sorcerer scratched at his small patch of beard and shrugged. “Not a thing. In the first place, I find him arrogant and overbearing. More important, I am still awaiting my five-hundred-crown share from the disposal of the Sarkonagael, which I would be unlikely to receive if you were to be thrust back into permanent stasis. Speaking of which, have you claimed the reward yet? I would feel better if we resolved that without much more delay.”
“I settled it today. Your share is in Tharzon’s keeping.”
“Indeed?” Halamar glanced over at the bar and caught the old dwarf’s eye. Tharzon gave him a small nod. “Excellent! I had been led to understand that you sometimes experienced difficulties in observing such details.” He raised his tankard to Jack, and took a deep drink.
Jack took the opportunity to do likewise with his own cup, while thinking hard about the challenge posed by Tarandor’s unreasonable suspicions. He could hardly continue with his ordinary business if a competent and ambitious wizard was determined to trap him again. Somehow he would have to find a way to dissuade Tarandor from any further attacks on his liberty. “It seems that I will have to discourage Tarandor,” he mused. “I assume that the Guild might frown on murder or abduction?”
Halamar simply looked at Jack. “Can you think of any better way to confirm Tarandor’s misgivings about you?”
“A theoretical question only,” said Jack. He frowned in thought, considering the question of how to avoid recapture at Tarandor’s hands. Outside, the temple bells began to strike the hour; when they reached six bells, he suddenly leaped to his feet and slapped a hand to his forehead. “Selune’s silver slippers!” he cried. “I am supposed to meet Seila at the opera in an hour!”
Halamar raised an eyebrow. “Do not let me detain you, then.”
“We will continue this conversation later,” Jack promised. “My thanks for your news, Halamar.” With that, he seized the duffel with the remnants of his wardrobe, threw it up on his shoulder, and hurried to the door.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A little before eight bells in the evening, Jack strolled up to the Rundelstone Opera House. He’d hurried from the Smoke Wyrm to the dismal little apartment above the vacant tinsmith’s shop, washed quickly, and changed his clothes before racing back across town to Rundelstone. He wore a fine pair of black silk breeches, a double- breasted tunic of black with silver buttons, a short cape, and a rakish felt hat. They were the least-rumpled and least-smoky of his clothes. Of course, no one noticed his fine ensemble at the door, because he was invisible.
With some difficulty he worked his way through the crowd; in close quarters it was difficult to avoid being jostled, especially when other people had no reason not to walk right through where he happened to be standing. Jack feared for a moment that arousing suspicions with an invisible collision was inevitable, but before he caused a scene he hit upon the strategy of drawing up as close as he could behind a tall, important-looking lord. Other opera-goers naturally deferred to the fellow and helpfully cleared out of his path. Once the nobleman paused to sniff at the unexplained aroma of smoke in his vicinity, but he pressed on with a shrug, and Jack followed him inside.
Jack quickly fled the crowded lobby and climbed the stairs to the box level. Finding himself momentarily alone in the stairwell, he resumed visibility and began to look for the Norwood box. He discovered that the boxes were labeled with brass placards engraved with the name of the seats’ owner for the season, which made finding Seila a simple matter indeed. With one last look around for any observers, Jack cautiously opened the door at the back of the box and slipped into the back of the small balcony enclosure.
