“I cannot contemplate the thought of failing you,” Jack said. “Of course I will be there.” They drifted toward the robing room to turn in their masks and depart, waiting patiently as the players before them unmasked in secret and exited the other side of the room. “Should we meet beforehand in order to examine our clues together and build a solution?”
“An excellent idea,” Illyth said. “Why don’t you come to Fleetwood Manor an hour or so early, and we’ll compare notes.”
Jack grinned. The carriage rides to Illyth’s estate were costing him an arm and a leg, but he couldn’t possibly let her know that. “Consider it done—” he started to say, when he looked past Illyth’s shoulder and noticed Lady Mantis watching the two of them like a hawk preparing to swoop down on a pair of field mice. Her green gown and glittering mask concealed malice so intense that Jack could almost feel it where he stood.
“Jack? What is it?” Illyth watched him for a moment, then glanced over her shoulder. “It’s that lady you met earlier tonight, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said, “although I wouldn’t really say that I have the pleasure of her acquaintance.” He looked around for her companion, Lord Tiger, and failed to spot him. Ahead of Jack and Illyth, two Game attendants opened the door to the robing room and ushered in another pair of players, closing the doors behind them. The line advanced a couple of steps. “I don’t see her escort anywhere, do you?”
Illyth looked around the ballroom. “He wore a tiger mask, right? I don’t see him.”
Jack tugged at his chin, thinking. “Tell me, Illyth, if you were discussing the details of some nefarious plot and discovered that a masked player had overheard your conversation, what would you do?”
“Why, I would try to identify him, so that I could confront him later and determine whether or not he heard anything important.”
“And how would you do that? Might you resort to unpleasant tactics to ascertain what had been discovered?”
Illyth glanced over at Lady Mantis. “Jack, this is just a game. This is the way the Game of Masks works—plots within plots within plots. The Riddle of the Seven Faceless Lords is simply the plot device against which the real Game is played, a game of acting out parts and making alliances, a game of innuendo and intrigue that the players themselves create as they go along. That’s the Game of Masks.”
“It’s also a regular gathering of the wealthiest and most powerful people of Raven’s Bluff,” Jack said. “If I were not the very soul of honesty, I might be tempted to use the Game as a convenient tool in furthering my own ambitions and designs outside the Game events. Perhaps by embarrassing or eliminating rivals.”
“You have a sinister and suspicious mind, Jack.”
“Every day I regret that I am not more generous and trusting, dear Illyth, but I suppose I must make the best of the talents I have been given.” The line advanced again; Jack and Illyth were next in line to remove their masks in secret and leave the party. “Humor me for a moment: where is Lord Tiger?”
“Who knows?” Illyth said crossly. “The washroom? Drunk under a table? Perhaps trysting with a secret lover in a private room of the house?”
“Good answers all,” Jack said. “I think he’s outside, watching the entrance to the foyer. Lady Mantis will note when we go inside to remove our masks, and then she’ll send someone—that servant there, by her side—to tell Lord Tiger that we are inside. When we leave, Tiger will identify us. Lady Mantis and Lord Tiger desperately want to know who Lord Fox and Lady Crane really are, and they mean to find out in just a few more moments.”
“He might not know who we are, even if he does mark our appearance,” Illyth said.
“True, but he could have us followed, or he might be able to ask anyone standing outside awaiting a carriage who we are. I might be difficult to identify, but I suspect you will be more easily recognized.”
Illyth hugged her arms and suppressed a shiver. “Damn it, Jack. Now you have me thinking the same nasty and suspicious thoughts you’re thinking. Should we delay removing our masks?”
“They’ll simply wait as long as they need to. The longer they wait, the more players leave, and the easier it is to be certain of our identities.”
“We can probably identify them in turn,” Illyth pointed out.
“To what end?” Jack asked. “All we know is that they talked of something that sounded very suspicious. Who would move against a Game player based on that information?”
“So what should we do?”
“Fox them, of course. We’ll leave without allowing ourselves to be observed.” Jack drew Illyth out of the line for the robing room and led her across the ballroom to one of the antechambers. Lady Mantis watched them go and made a show of casually strolling in their direction, keeping an eye on them without following too closely. Jack and Illyth slipped behind a curtained alcove; then Jack turned to Illyth. “I know a little magic,” he said. “I’ll work a spell of invisibility on us both, and we’ll walk right by Mantis and Tiger.”
Illyth stared at him. “You are a mage?”
“Merely one of my many talents, dear Illyth. I consider myself a renaissance man, well versed in a variety of skills and exploits. Now, I will cast the spell first on you. Take hold of my sleeve so that we don’t lose each other when I make myself invisible too.” Jack mumbled the words of the spell and worked the gestures and passes necessary to form the emerald energy into the shape he needed; Illyth, looking both surprised and delighted, faded from view. He waited until he felt her hand on his arm and then worked the spell for himself.
“You’re invisible,” whispered Illyth’s voice in his ear.
“As are you, my dear. Now, stay close to me and try to move quietly.”
“What of our masks?”
“We’ll take them with us tonight. I don’t think the Game attendants will mind too much, provided we bring them back for the Yellow Lord’s Tournament.” Jack set his hand on hers, and they strolled back into the ballroom arm in arm. Lady Mantis and her servant stood there, waiting and watching. Few Game players were left, a handful of handfuls scattered about the floor, laughing and gossiping as the attendants began to clean the room.
Jack altered their course so that they passed right in front of Lady Mantis. Illyth gasped in alarm and tugged at his arm, but he grasped her hand firmly and carried her along.
“Good evening, Lady Mantis,” he said aloud. “I do hope you have enjoyed the party. Perhaps we’ll see you outside. Good night!”
Mantis nearly jumped out of her shoes. “Who’s there?” she snapped. Jack simply laughed and walked off, leading Illyth away.
“Are you insane?” Illyth hissed in his ear. “Now they’ll know how we eluded them!”
“True,” Jack admitted, “but Mantis and Tiger will spend days wondering whether or not invisible spies are listening in on their conversations and reporting their every action to the proper authorities. It should cause them no little worry.”
“It should make them all the more interested in discovering who we really are!” Illyth groaned. “You never settle for half measures, do you?”
“Bold statements and daring actions are the hallmarks of confidence and the stuff of greatness,” Jack said. “Shall we go?”
Side by side, they walked out into the night.
The next day, Jack sat on the end of a pier, kicking his feet idly over the waters of the inner harbor, and thought about what to do next. Time was heavy on his hands. All around him, the wharves thronged with people, longshoremen and sailors and teamsters and touts and peddlers, all shouting and calling out to one another as the business of the port carried on in the normal manner.
Elana had not left word for him at the Cracked Tankard, at least not yet, so he could not retrieve the book from its hiding place and collect the balance of his fee. He had a night and a day to wait yet before he could deliver the Sarkonagael. The next Game event was not for two nights yet, so there was little opportunity to continue his attack on the
Riddle of the Seven Faceless Lords or to determine who Lady Mantis and Lord Tiger were and what it was they were up to.
Morgath and Saerk hadn’t put in an appearance for days; presumably they’d followed Anders out of town in an effort to steal or recover the ruby the Northman held.
Marcus and Ashwillow hadn’t shown their faces since that one unfortunate encounter in the alleyway near Jack’s apartments.
Iphegor the Black had not been observed to leave his tower since the untimely demise of his familiar after Jack’s burglary.
Ontrodes had run him out first thing in the morning when Jack dropped by to find out if the sage had learned anything more about the Sarkonagael. Even though Jack had the book in his possession, he was still interested in finding out what exactly it was so that he could figure out why Elana wanted it. He’d tried to read it, of course, but the cursed thing was obscured in a mage script he couldn’t unravel. Of course, he didn’t show Ontrodes any of the book—that would invite trouble, especially considering how diligently the sage was working for Zandria. Jack had the feeling that Zandria and the Sarkonagael would not mix well.
He looked up at the blue sky, streaked with high, wispy clouds. “At least it finally stopped raining,” he remarked to no one in particular. He polished a stolen apple on one sleeve and took a reflective bite. The Brothers Kuldath suspected him of stealing their rubies. The Knights of the Hawk suspected Elana of something and associated him with her. Doubtless Iphegor the Black very much wanted somebody’s head on a plate, although it was unlikely that the wizard would believe for long that Marcus the knight-commander was the perpetrator of his familiar’s cruel end.
Jack took another bite and picked up a small book and a quill, thoughtfully transcribing a few more Game clues into the journal. Every clue rang of authenticity; Jack had seen dozens of official clues now, so he knew exactly how they were worded. In fact, the journal he was creating featured half a dozen accurate hints, just to add a patina of truth to the utter fabrication of the rest of the clues. The trick of it was losing the notebook at the right moment of the next Game gathering, without making it look like it had been lost on purpose. With any luck, a few participants would knock themselves out of the Game with Jack’s forgeries.
That task attended to, Jack blew on the page to dry the ink and then put the book away in his vest pocket. The Game was attended to; Elana was not prepared to meet with him yet; that left Zandria and her riddle as the next item of business on Jack’s agenda.
“And that means I’ll need to speak to Tharzon,” he said.
He finished his apple and tossed the core into the water, then scrambled to his feet—only to find a hulking figure in a dark hooded cloak standing over him. “Not so fast, friend Jack. I’d like a word with you.”
“Anders?” Jack peered under the hood. “Please announce your presence next time with a Northman’s drinking song or perhaps a wild war-whoop. You frightened me out of my wits, creeping up on me like that.”
“Someone’s looking for you, then?”
“My talents are widely sought. Failing that, so is my head. Back from Tantras already?”
Anders nodded. “A pair of bandits waylaid me, but I discouraged them from pressing an attack. They did manage to lame my horse by stringing a rope across the road, so I had to walk the poor beast the rest of way there and back.”
Jack glanced around the busy docks, but no one seemed to be paying any special attention to the two of them. “And the ruby? How did you fare?”
Anders offered a gap-toothed grin and held up a small purse. “Better than expected. I fenced it for eight hundred and fifty gold crowns.”
“Excellent! So my share would be four hundred and twenty-five, then.”
“I think your recollection is faulty, friend Jack. We agreed on a sixty-forty split in my favor. To spare you the trouble of figuring it, I have already done so; it’s five hundred ten for me, and three hundred forty for you.”
Jack scowled. “That’s hardly fair.”
“You agreed to it. I don’t consider it fair that I was hounded across the city by a ten-foot-tall demon and now seem to be held responsible for a robbery we committed together while you walk about free and clear.” Anders dropped the purse into Jack’s hands. “Your share. Count it if you like.”
“Later,” Jack replied. “Regarding those bandits: by discourage, do you mean chased off or discouraged in a more permanent manner?”
“Chased off, I’m afraid, although one will walk with a limp for the rest of his days.” Anders frowned and looked down at Jack. “You didn’t hire someone to waylay me, did you, Jack?”
“No, of course not,” the rogue said quickly, holding up his hands. “It’s very bad business to betray one’s partners, after all. Word gets out, and then no one wants to work with you.” He could see that the Northman was not entirely convinced, which stung Jack to no small degree. Making a show of another glance around the wharves, he reached up to put his arm around Anders’s shoulder and said in a low voice, “I consider you to be one of the most trustworthy cutthroats I know. And, since I know that you feel that I have been less than forthright in my dealings with you of late, I earnestly desire the opportunity to win back some of your trust. What would you say if I told you I had another prospect that could prove very, very promising?”
Anders regarded him suspiciously. “Such as?”
“The opportunity to loot one of the most famous of Sarbreen’s hidden vaults? A potential king’s ransom, waiting just beneath our feet?”
“And the opposition?”
“Not opposition per se, but rather rivals seeking to beat us to the prize.”
“Based upon my previous associations with you, I interpret those statements to mean that you’ve learned of a hitherto unnoticed pile of dwarven coppers for which we must strive against an army of angry demons conjured by ill-tempered Thayvians.”
“Nothing quite so bad as that. And we have an advantage; the competition doesn’t know that what we intend or what we know.”
Chewing his mustache thoughtfully, the Northman watched the longshoremen and sailors thronging the wharves, hard at work. “What’s the prize again?”
“The Guilder’s Vault, a crypt in which the masters of ancient Sarbreen entombed Cedrizarun, the master distiller and a leader of the city.” Anders appeared to waver so Jack decided to set the hook. “Come with me, and I’m sure Tharzon can answer your questions.”
“The dwarf tunneler? Are you cutting him in, too?”
“The very same. And yes, I intend to take him on as an equal partner. Can you think of anyone more knowledgeable in the ways of Sarbreen’s passages and vaults?”
The Northman shook his head. “No, Tharzon would probably know more than anyone. Very well, I admit that I’m interested.”
“Follow me, then,” Jack said and set off at once.
The two rogues hurried up Cove Street and took a left on Nightlamp, following the road to DeVillars Ride and turning right again. Two blocks brought them to Rhabie Promenade, and then they turned left again onto Manycoins Way and followed that road the length of the Temple District, through the Market District, and on into the neighborhood of Torchtown. Hidden in the back alley off of Vesper Way they found the Smoke Wyrm, a small taphouse in the solid stone cellars under a merchant’s office. The place was favored by many of the dwarf craftsmen who lived and worked in Torchtown, and featured some of the best beer in the city.
In the middle of the day, the place was virtually empty; no self-respecting dwarf would consider drinking when there was work to be done. The only occupants were a couple of Sembians engaged in hard drinking despite the hour, and a sturdy dwarf barkeep—Tharzon.
“Jack Ravenwild,” the dwarf rumbled. “I hold you responsible for a lack of sleep of late. That puzzle you gave me has me tied in knots. Anders Aricssen, good to see you again.”
“I had hoped that you might have solved my riddle by now,” Jack said. “Draw us two mugs of Old Smokey, frien
d Tharzon; we’ve much to discuss.”
Tharzon eyed him balefully but complied, filling a pair of clay mugs from one of the numerous casks behind the bar. He set it on the worn wooden bar but didn’t slide it toward Jack until the rogue rolled his eyes and set a silver talon on the table. Jack blew the foam off the draft and took a cautious sip; Old Smokey was good dwarf-work, and it would fuddle a man’s wits in two mugs, if not one.
“Did you have any luck at all with it?” Jack asked.
“Some,” Tharzon admitted. He nodded at Anders with a look at Jack, but Jack waved him on. With a shrug, the dwarf reached into his leather apron and pulled out a folded piece of paper, carefully unfurling it with his thick fingers. “I won’t know whether I’ve solved it or not until I stand in the Guilder’s Tomb. Here it is again:
“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.”
“A rather obtuse riddle,” Anders remarked.
“Hmmph. Well, whoever translated this from Dwarven missed a couple of words. Instead of ‘girdled,’ it means ‘encircled,’ and instead of ‘the leaves of autumn,’ it could be read, ‘these leaves of autumn.’ ” The dwarf shook his head. “And where it says ‘mark,’ you should probably think of it as ‘measure.’ Hasty work, poorly done.”
“Interesting,” Jack said. “I don’t see that it changes the meaning much.”
“No, but you never know what might be significant. Clearly this is a set of instructions for finding the entrance of the vault. Missing even one word might mean that you never find it.”
“It seems to me, friend Tharzon, that understanding this puzzle depends on understanding three things: the thirty-seventh, these leaves of autumn, and the summer staircase. I suppose you could add climbing the staircase to that list.” Jack took another sip and offered a foamy leer. “Fortunately, I have already divined the meaning of the thirty-seventh.”
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