“I deem it unlikely. Street gangs come and go, and for that matter so do adventurers. All of Jelan’s plots and designs are a hundred years out of date; even she couldn’t easily recover from such a setback.” Jack considered the question again, and decided that he was well satisfied with that answer. He winked at Seila. “Now on to more important matters: I promised you three days ago that I’d tell you the tale of the Guilder’s Vault. Well, here sits one of my comrades in that harrowing adventure, and between the two of us I think we can do it justice.
“The tale begins in the disorderly library of a disreputable old sot of a sage by the name of Ontrodes, whose counsel I’d sought on the matter of a missing arcane tome known as the Sarkonagael …”
The telling of the story of the Guilder’s Vault took up the rest of the morning. Jack counted it as time well spent, because Seila was completely enthralled by the story, all the more so because old Tharzon was able to reinforce the telling of the tale with his own recollections. After that, Jack and Tharzon traded news of old comrades for a little longer-most of whom, as one might expect, were long since dead-until Jack finally held up his hand. “I could spend the rest of the day talking with you, friend Tharzon, but I’ve a lot of city still to see, and it would be a pity to bore my lovely companion, here. I promise that I will return soon to resume our conversation.”
“Fair enough,” Tharzon replied. He snorted in bemusement, and shook his head. “Jack Ravenwild, here under my beams again. Who could have thought it?”
With another round of handclasps, Jack and Seila said their goodbyes and returned to the sunny streets outside. They climbed back into the carriage, and Seila leaned close to Jack. “He seems a very pleasant fellow,” she remarked. “And what stories, too. I think you were not as much of a gentleman back in those days, Jack.”
“Rather like a good brandy, Tharzon’s mellowed with age,” Jack replied. “He was a very fierce fellow a century ago, and in fact once swore a blood oath to hack me to pieces if he ever saw me again. Fortunately, that little misunderstanding was cleared up! But I never would have thought him to be so sentimental.”
“Where to now?”
Jack considered the question for a moment. He’d hoped that Tharzon might be able to shed some light on why he’d been encysted in the wild mythal, but it seemed that his disappearance had been as much a mystery to his friends as it was to himself. He would have to think of some other way to pursue that inquiry, he supposed. “Hmm … well, I can’t think of any other old friends to look up unless we visit the cemetery. Let’s just have a turn around the city and see what we see. I used to have a house over in Mortonbrace, and I sometimes made do with a little loft in Burnt Gables and a cottage on the Ladyrock.” Jack’s eye fell on a counting house, and another thought struck him. “And I would dearly like to visit Wyrmhoard House, if they are still around. My deposits have had a hundred years to grow; I am frankly curious as to the state of my accounts.”
“To Mortonbrace, Hartle,” Seila said to their driver. “But take your time, there’s no hurry.”
“As you wish, my lady,” the driver replied. He gave the reins a shake and clucked at the horse, and the carriage rolled away from the Smoke Wyrm. They drove east on Vespers Way until they reached Moorland Ride, where they turned south and passed through the neighborhoods of Sixstar, Tentowers, and Swordspoint. Jack engaged himself wholly in the game of trying to spot which buildings remained the same and which had changed, then comparing the current occupants or business to the ones he remembered from his time. Many of the fine townhouses and manors in the noble neighborhoods still belonged to the same families, as one might expect, but most of the businesses were strange to him.
In Swordspoint they turned east on Raven Way, and crossed the small bridge over DeVillars Creek into the neighborhood of Mortonbrace. In Jack’s day Mortonbrace had been something of an up and coming neighborhood, a place where many of the newly wealthy-including no small number of adventurers-had built fine new houses for themselves. Now, a hundred years later, it seemed that Mortonbrace had seen its peak and was growing old. Fine old manor houses now verged on dilapidation; some were broken out into a dozen or more apartments occupied by poor laborers and craftsmen, many of them from foreign lands. Jack discovered that the fashionable townhouse he’d bought for himself with his reward from the whole Myrkyssa Jelan affair was now occupied by several families of halflings.
“Well,” he said with a sigh. It surprised him how much the sight of his house falling into disrepair and full of strangers darkened his mood; he’d never been one to care too much for the roof over his head, as long as he had one. “I suppose it would have too much to expect that the house would have stood vacant all this time.”
“You might still have a claim on the place,” Seila offered. “Or I’m sure you could buy it back if you wanted to.”
Jack eyed the place dubiously. The roof now had a distinct sag to it, the porch slanted noticeably, and the siding was covered with salvaged planks and patches. He put on an air of indulgent good humor, and waved off the suggestion. “I think I’ll let them keep it,” he replied.
Next they visited Wyrmhoard House, the counting house where Jack had once kept the modest wealth he’d managed to save instead of spending on fine furnishings, splendid garb, and various dissipations and entertainments. There Jack learned that the five hundred or so gold crowns he’d once possessed had vanished into history, the account having been settled by someone claiming to have been acting as his legal heir about four years after he’d disappeared. “Duplicity! Despoliation!” Jack cried at the clerk assisting him. “How could you have simply given away the funds I entrusted to you?”
“Sir, you are referring to an event that occurred ninety-five years ago,” the clerk protested. He was a balding, middle-aged gnome who stood on a high riser behind the counter. The gnome pointed to the ancient, yellowed ledger in which the transaction was recorded. “It’s a wonder that we have this much of a record. This-” he paused to squint at the fading signature-“Morgath? Is that it? This Morgath apparently presented a court writ attesting to your demise, and another authorizing him to see to your estate. I can only surmise that my predecessor here at Wyrmhoard House saw no reason to doubt the veracity of the documents.”
“This is outrageous!” Jack protested. “I demand immediate redress.”
The clerk closed his dusty ledger. “You may seek such a ruling from the city magistrate, sir, but I will not hand you five hundred and thirty-five-”
“You neglect one hundred years of compound interest,” Jack interrupted.
“Five hundred thirty-five gold crowns or their compounded value, then. I cannot simply give you that sum. Do you have any proof that you are this person who lived a hundred years ago?”
“Of course I am me!”
“Then the magistrate should be able to establish that fact to my employer’s satisfaction. But I must reiterate that as far as Wyrmhoard House is concerned, the estate of Jack Ravenwild has already received all funds owed to it. I suggest you take up the matter with Master Morgath. Or, more likely, his descendants, if you can find them.” The clerk sniffed at Jack, tipped his cap to Seila, and scurried off with his ledger.
“If I can find them,” Jack muttered. “You have not heard the last from me on this matter!” he called after the retreating gnome.
Seila offered a small smile in sympathy. “I’m sure we can help you reestablish your identity,” she said. “My father has friends in the courts. Do you have any idea who this Morgath was?”
“No,” Jack said glumly. They left the counting house and climbed back into the carriage. Then Jack was struck by a memory … a fat, unctuous fellow from the thieves’ guild who always had a tall, bony thug at his side. “Wait, yes. Morgath was a thief. The clever bastard must have forged the documents so that he could plunder my savings after I disappeared, Mask damn his black heart!”
“I am sure that you will not be left in want,” Seila pointed out.
“My father will be grateful for my return, I can promise you that much.”
Jack’s interest piqued at the thought of a handsome reward, but he carefully put on an air of good cheer. “Nothing of the sort is necessary,” he claimed. “Come, let’s continue our tour. I am enjoying the outing greatly, that last little bit of unpleasantness excepted.”
They drove on along Stonekeep Way through the Skymbles, and turned westward again into Burnt Gables-no, Jack reminded himself, Sindlecross, as it was now called. There he found that the old warehouse he’d once lived above was simply gone, replaced by a large granary. Jack grimaced; behind the stove in his loft there’d been a hidden cache where he remembered leaving a sackful of gold coins and gemstones for a day when he might need them, but clearly the hidey-hole and its treasures were gone now. “So much for that,” he sighed. It seemed that he was much poorer than he’d hoped he would be. “Take us through Shadystreets, and then find us a ferry to the Ladyrock.”
“Very good, sir,” the coachmen replied. He drove them south on Sindle Street to Riverview, where Jack pointed out to Seila the spot where the leaning tower of the old sage Ontrodes had once stood. The sage’s house was long gone, of course; it had been on the verge of falling down in Jack’s day, so he would have been astonished to find it still there. Then they made their way down to the point of Crow’s End. There Jack and Seila hired a boatman to scull them two hundred yards over to the island in the middle of Raven’s Bluff’s harbor. A half-hour’s walk in the afternoon sunshine was sufficient to circle the Ladyrock; Jack’s old cottage was still standing but was abandoned, its roof mostly caved in and its walls overgrown with ivy and brambles.
Seila looked at it with distaste. “Did you really live here once?”
“It was in much better repair a hundred years ago. But it was a very modest abode, even then.” Jack looked it over and shook his head. “I suppose I could fix it up.”
“Why did you need so many residences, anyway?” Seila asked. “And, excuse me for saying so, weren’t they all rather modest for a gentleman of your station?”
“The Mortonbrace house was a perfectly genteel address when I bought it. As for the loft and the cottage, well, I think I have already told you that I was not without enemies. This cottage may have been little better than a hovel, but no one knew I owned it and I could retreat here for privacy when I found it prudent to drop out of sight.”
Seila gave Jack a long look. “Were you a criminal of some sort, Jack?”
“Absolutely not. You must remember, in my time the city fell under the rule of corrupt merchants and nobles who subverted our civic institutions. Why, the Warlord Myrkyssa Jelan insinuated herself into the office of Lady Mayor by adopting an alias. When a city is ruled by malefactors, then patriots become outlaws.”
“I’ve heard the story of Myrkyssa Jelan before, but never the rest about corruption in the merchant houses and nobility.”
“Well, of course not. Powerful people were very embarrassed by the events of that time. I have no doubt that over time they worked very hard to whitewash the civic records.” Jack noted the concerned frown on Seila’s face, and quickly added, “The Norwoods were, of course, above reproach. Your family was one of the noble houses who worked to set matters right.”
“That is good to hear,” Seila replied, a look of relief on her face. “I was afraid that my ancestors might have been on the wrong side of that. So where would you like to go now?”
Jack glanced up at the sun, beginning to lower toward the west. “It’s getting late in the afternoon. I propose that we return to Norwood Manor.”
“I’m ready to go home,” Seila agreed.
They returned to the Ladyrock’s landing and hired another boat to take them back over to Crow’s End, where the carriage waited. Jack busied himself with studying the passers-by in the streets as they drove back to Mortonbrace. If anything, Raven’s Bluff seemed even more cosmopolitan than it had been a hundred years before. Sprinkled among the teeming crowds of humans he saw sturdy dwarves, dapper halflings, graceful elves of several kindreds, and people of kindreds he’d never even imagined before. As interesting as that seemed to him, none of the city folk seemed to take any notice of the nonhumans among them; clearly they were a routine sight in Raven’s Bluff.
An hour’s drive carried them through the city’s northern gate and out along the Tantras Road again. The carriage returned to Norwood Manor as the shadows stretched out long black fingers across the lawn and the evening chill gathered close. Seila shivered, and Jack took the liberty of putting his arm around her shoulders and inviting her to snuggle closely beside him. She looked up at him with her enchanting green eyes before leaning her head against his shoulder.
“Not everything is misery and toil in this age, Jack,” Seila said. “What do you think of the Year of the Ageless One now?”
“It shows more promise than I had first thought,” Jack admitted. “Much has changed, and not all for the better. But I could become used to it, I think.”
Seila chuckled softly to herself. “Do you think that you might be the Ageless One named by this year? Perhaps old Augathra caught some glimpse of your predicament when he wrote out his Roll of Years.”
“I doubt very much that my troubles and travails inspired a half-mad seer who lived a thousand years ago to add one more cryptic euphemism to his great prophecy. As much as it pains me to say it, I am not that important.”
“Well, I, for one, am glad that you found your way to this day,” Seila replied. She reached up to turn Jack’s face toward hers and kissed him soundly. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the soft delight of her lips as the horse’s harness jingled and the wheels clattered over the cobblestones of the manor drive. Then, all too soon, the carriage rocked gently to a halt by the manor steps, and Seila drew away. “Thank you for saving me,” she said.
For a moment Jack couldn’t find any words at all. Then he grinned and said, “I don’t suppose you could go find some new predicament for yourself? I would dearly love to rescue you again if that’s the reward for my efforts.”
She laughed, and clambered out of the carriage without a reply. Jack stared after her for a moment, admiring her fine curves and the silken sheen of her dark hair. “I believe she’s growing fond of me,” he murmured to himself. He might be absolutely destitute in this new day and age, but Seila Norwood very definitely was not, and that meant that this was no time to become soft in the head over a fetching figure and eyes as green as springtime, he told himself firmly. “Keep your wits about you, Jack. This is an opportunity not to be missed.”
With a broad smile, he leaped down from the carriage and followed Seila inside.
The next day, Seila’s father returned from Tantras.
Jack learned that the Lord Norwood was home when he ventured downstairs after sleeping away the better part of the morning. He found Seila having a late breakfast with her mother Idril in a small dining room that overlooked the manor’s gardens. A handsome, middle-aged nobleman sat between them, wearing a dark blue waistcoat and a large gold chain around his neck.
The fellow looked up as Jack entered, and beamed. “Ah, this must be our guest,” he said.
“Jack, allow me to introduce my father, Lord Marden Norwood,” said Seila. “Father, this is the Landsgrave Jaer Kell Wildhame of the Vilhon Reach, my only friend during those awful months of captivity, and ultimately the author of my escape.”
The silver-haired lord rose from the table and stepped forward to grasp Jack’s hand firmly. “My Lord Wildhame, I am forever in your debt,” he said. “Seila is the delight of my heart, and the hope of my house. By bringing her away from those accursed drow, you have given me cause to live once again.”
Jack returned his handclasp. “It was my great honor to have been of some small service to your lovely daughter, my Lord Norwood,” he said. “Allow me to thank you for the hospitality of your home over the last few days. The circumstances of my arrival in this new day left me with nothing m
ore than the shirt on my back, and trust me, that wasn’t worth keeping.”
“Think nothing of it,” Norwood replied. “The least we could do, really. Seila told me of your extraordinary story this morning. I cannot imagine what you must make of all this, my Lord Wildhame.”
“Please, my lord-Wildhame or just Jack. My father is, or I suppose I must now say was, Lord Wildhame.”
“Of course, Jack, of course. And you should call me Marden. I believe you’ve earned that familiarity.” The elder Norwood pumped Jack’s hand again, and turned to Seila. “My dear, if you’ll permit me, I would like to steal your Jack away for a short while. I have some things I’d like to speak with him about.”
Seila gave her father a heart-melting pout, but her eyes laughed the whole while. “I suppose,” she said. “Do be kind to him, Da. Good luck to you, Jack.”
Lord Norwood steered Jack over to a large study that adjoined the dining room. It was finished in rich southern hardwoods and furnished in fine leather. Jack saw Seila glance once after them before the old lord drew the door shut behind him. He decided that utter confidence was called for; there was no Wildhame estate, of course, and in fact there never had been any such place, but as far as Marden Norwood knew, he was exactly what he said he was. After all, he reminded himself, nobility is simply a rather exclusive club that a few very ordinary individuals happen to belong to, thanks to nothing more than the accident of birth.
He faced Marden Norwood squarely, and asked, “How may I help you, Lord Marden?”
“Before we speak of anything else, there is something I must do,” the nobleman replied. “I have instructed Dralden Horthlaer of Horthlaer House on Manycoins Way to make available to you a credit line of five thousand gold crowns. Draw on it for anything you wish; the money is yours. I cannot set a value on what you have done for my family, but at least I can make sure that you will not be in want so long as it lies in my power to express my gratitude in some small way.”
Prince of Ravens frr-1 Page 10