“As it turns out, we ship it all over the Vast. Tantras, Calaunt, Procampur, even across the Dragon Reach to Harrowdale sometimes,” Tharzon admitted. “Sometimes the kegs are a wee bit heavy.”
Jack tipped his cap to his old comrade. “Clever, my old friend, very clever. So what of it? Do you know any good hands who could help me?”
“I thought you intended to make a great show of becoming respectable, Jack.”
“Becoming respectable is a surprisingly expensive process. And there’s nothing disreputable about venturing into the lost halls of Sarbreen to indulge an interest in archaeology or lost artifacts. Who knows what sort of harmless eccentricities the Landsgrave Jaer Kell Wildhame might indulge? Why, strange tastes and extravagant habits are the very hallmark of nobility!” Jack paused a moment to further consider Tharzon’s point. “Still … it wouldn’t do to be seen in truly unsavory company. No murderers, necromancers, or gnomes, if it can be helped.”
Tharzon leaned back in his chair, absently knotting his thick fist around his cane. His eyes took on a sharper, more calculating expression as he gazed toward the hearth. “I have a few handy fellows in mind,” he said. “They’ll want a cut of the prize, mind you. But they’ve had a thin time of it lately and they shouldn’t drive too hard a bargain. I could arrange for you to meet them in a day or two.”
“Can I trust them?”
“Only if you’re a fool, but I can see to it that you’ve got a friend at your shoulder.” The old dwarf rapped the cane on the floor again and called to Kurzen, still working to ready the taproom for the afternoon’s patrons. “Boy, leave that nonsense be for now and come have a seat. There’s business to discuss.”
Kurzen set the last of the kegs in place behind the bar, brushed his hands off on his apron, and came over to join his father and Jack. “What’s the work, Da?” he asked.
“Sarbreen, the seaward quarter, five levels down. Jack here has a book he’s looking for, and if there’s one valuable tome lying about, there’s likely to be two. We’ll bring in Narm and his band. They haven’t been too lucky of late, so they ought to be willing enough.”
Kurzen studied Jack for a moment, his dark eyes stern and unfriendly. “I’ve heard plenty of good stories about you, but it’s my neck as well as yours. Are you any use in a scrape?”
“Ask your Da,” Jack replied. “I saved him from a deep dragon once. And we fought the Warlord and her sellswords together.”
The younger dwarf looked over to Tharzon, who shrugged. “Jack’s not the man you want if you’re looking for a scrape, but he’s a good fellow to have on your side if you find one you weren’t expecting,” he said. “He’s quick on his feet, he’s a fair hand with a blade, and he’s got a little magic. But most important he’s got an eye for opportunity, and his wits are sharp. You could do worse, my boy.”
Jack nodded to Tharzon and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. Anything he said after that wouldn’t help much, so he waited for Kurzen to make up his mind. After a moment, the younger dwarf gave a grudging nod of his own. “All right, I’m in,” he said. “When do you want to make the try?”
“Four or five days from now,” Jack decided. Sooner would be better, but there was no way he was going to risk missing the Norwood revel by getting himself stuck in Sarbreen somehow. “Now, let’s talk about how we’ll split the loot. In my experience it’s best to deal with that question right up front to prevent unfortunate misunderstandings later.”
Any fears Jack might have felt about boredom setting in before the grand event at Norwood Manor proved ill-founded. He spent the afternoon of the eighth designing the Wildhame arms with the help of the limner, claiming to remember a device of three sable stags on a golden field divided by a scarlet chevron, with grapevines wreathing the emblem and the motto DARE, STRIVE, TRIUMPH on a scroll below. Master Willon thought it was a handsome crest indeed and promised to have it rendered and engraved in a tenday. After that, Jack attended the opera, discovering that the Bride of Secomber was a work of comic genius, flamboyantly played by its talented cast. Lord and Lady Flermeer struck him as somewhat coarse and grasping, asking him to bring up this suggestion or that with his good friend Marden Norwood when it was convenient; Jack soon realized that the Flermeers were desperate to get themselves into Norwood’s good graces, but he played along by generously offering to endorse any proposals they wished to advance.
The following day, he spent his morning with the Historical Society-which, as it turned out, provided him with an excellent opportunity to address a longstanding injustice of which he hadn’t been aware. Rather to his chagrin, Jack discovered that he was not remembered kindly in the accounts that had survived from his former time. Some versions suggested that he was a common criminal in Jelan’s employ, while others presented him as a feckless dupe whose bumbling efforts nearly handed the Warlord her final victory, and a few failed to mention him at all. Outraged, he went to great lengths to correct the inaccurate records of the events surrounding Myrkyssa Jelan’s fall in a manner that suitably reflected his own involvement. In the afternoon, he called on master tailor Gregor Silverstitch to pick out several of his finished garments for the Norwood banquet.
As Jack went about the town from the opera house to the Historical Society’s meeting-place to the tailor’s fitting room, he kept his eyes open for mysterious figures skulking about in dark cloaks, but no more drow-real or imagined-crossed his path. By the time he returned home the day before the Norwood ball, he discovered that new invitations and calling cards were waiting for his attention.
“What do these people do when they’re not calling on each other?” Jack wondered aloud, examining the correspondence in his study. “Why, keeping up with the social obligations is a profession all its own.”
“Many gentlemen occupy themselves with their investments and speculation,” Edelmon informed him. “Others take an interest in sporting events, such as hunting, boating, racing, or various games of chance.”
That caught Jack’s interest. “I assume wagering is involved?”
“Very much so, Master Jack. As they say, horse racing is the sport of kings.”
“That has distinct possibilities. See if you can’t find out when the next event of that sort is to take place, and who I would have to ingratiate myself with to win an invitation. I am a great admirer of contests of skill.” He was an even greater admirer of gambling, of course. If he couldn’t find a way to separate a few foolish layabouts from generous portions of their inheritances, then he was no thief at all. He was a professional, after all, and he’d knife through any casual gamblers’ games like a wyvern stooping on sheep. The only difficulty would be to avoid winning so much that he made an enemy or acquired a reputation.
“I shall look into it directly, sir,” Edelmon replied. He reached over to tap a finger on a small note. “This may be of interest to you. The Turmishan Embassy is hosting a tea the day after tomorrow; Lady Mislen Hawkynfleur wrote to express the hope that you’ll attend.”
Jack glanced up at the ceiling, trying to recollect which of the various personages he’d met over the last few days was Mislen Hawkynfleur. After a moment it came to him; she was one of the stately old matrons of Lady Moonbrace’s circle. “We shall regretfully decline,” Jack replied. “The Norwood affair is the only thing on my calendar for the next two days, Edelmon.”
He went to bed early, already drawing up schemes by which he invested in racehorses (or jockeys) and wondering just how one might go about fixing the results of a regatta. When he arose, he was greeted by another fine spring morning, unseasonably clear and warm. “An auspicious beginning to the day,” he remarked, and immediately began his daily ablutions. For the ball he decided to wear a long, mustard-yellow coat strikingly trimmed in silver piping over a ruffled white shirt, with red suede boots and a matching red hat crowned by a white plume; his rapier rode in a scabbard low on his left hip. Jack took a quarter-hour to admire his sartorial splendor as he congratulated
himself in the mirror and adopted various poses and stances to show off his new clothing. Then he directed Edelmon to pack him a small valise for the night, and engaged a carriage to drive him out to Norwood Manor shortly after noon. A little less than an hour later his carriage clattered down the long drive of the Norwoods’ estate and came to a halt at the manor steps.
“Jack, you’re here!” Seila hurried down the steps to greet Jack as he climbed down from the coach, and leaned forward to quickly brush her lips against his cheek. She wore a simple blue dress to her ankles; no doubt she had a gown picked out for the evening, but Jack was struck again by her midnight hair and her luminous smile.
He found himself grinning foolishly at her before he regained his composure. “How could I miss this occasion?” he replied. He followed her inside as a valet fetched his bag. The great house was full of servants and workers who were decorating for the party, arranging the furniture, tending to ovens that already smelled delicious, and setting up pavilions and lanterns in the grounds just behind the manor. Scores of tables and hundreds of chairs were appearing before his eyes, and Jack had to admit he was impressed. “I can see this will be some event,” he remarked. “How many people did your mother invite?”
Seila glanced over her shoulder at him. “Everybody,” she said. “I think we’re expecting around three hundred guests, perhaps a few more. To tell the truth, I’m a little embarrassed by all the attention.”
“Nonsense! You deserve it, my dear, after what you went through.”
“You endured even worse treatment than I,” Seila pointed out.
“Well, in that case I deserve it, too,” Jack answered.
She laughed, and caught his hand, leading him out on to the veranda behind the manor. “I’ve missed you these last few days, Jack. Oh, I’ve heard a great many things about your doings in town-everybody is talking about you-but I can hardly believe you’re the same person who brought me out of Chumavhraele. How have you been? Have you improved your opinion of our age?”
Jack shrugged. “I am very comfortable at Maldridge, of course-I must thank your father again when I see him-and I am making new friends. However, I have missed you as well. It’s a strange thing to begin a whole new life all at once.” He leaned on the balustrade, gazing out over the gardens. “I feel sometimes that I am waiting to wake up and find that this was all a strange dream.”
Seila reached out to turn Jack’s face toward hers, and she smiled sadly. “I think I know what you mean,” she said. “It’s been harder than I would have imagined to find myself home again. I suppose I’d given myself up for dead; I made my peace with many things. Now here I am, surrounded by the people and things I have loved all my life, and none of them seem the same. They haven’t changed, of course-I have. But my mother, my father, the household servants who have known me all my life, they seem anxious to simply pick up and carry on as if I hadn’t been buried in that awful place for months and months. Why, they hardly want to speak of what happened, but I feel I have to talk to somebody or I’ll just burst!”
Jack stood in silence for a moment, weighing her words. He was many things, but a canny student of the human heart was not one of them. Still, from time to time he chanced upon insight, and one came to him as he looked at Seila standing in the sunshine. “Your family and friends don’t mean to misunderstand you,” he finally said. “Whether they know it or not, they think it’s a kindness to forget those awful days as quickly as they can, and they believe that you must want to do the same.” A sudden thought struck him, and he laughed softly at himself. “And that might help to explain why your father was so anxious to remove me from your house. Well, that and the fact that he must worry that I entertain designs upon your virtue.”
Seila glanced away with a small snort. “He’s been worried about that since my fifteenth summer, give or take. It seems that every young man with prospects in the Vast knows that I’m the heir to the Norwood fortune and has a mind to seek my hand. Every few months a new suitor arrives at our doorstep, a complete stranger who hopes to persuade my father that he’s the best match for me … and at the same time sweep me off my feet with charm and flattery.”
Listen well, Jack, he told himself. She’s telling you how not to win her affections. “I gather none of them have won your heart,” he said carefully.
“My father points out that I’m now in my twentieth year, and it’s time to settle this question for the sake of the family. I know there are several good prospects that would please him well, and that a girl in my situation must make this sort of decision with her head, and not her heart. Still … I don’t feel that I am ready to marry yet, especially with the shadow of my time in the drow castle lingering over me.” She looked back up to Jack. “I should warn you, by the way, that several of my former suitors will be in attendance tonight. I have no doubt they’ll spend much of the evening trying to elbow each other out of the way to get to my side.”
He straightened up and rendered her a formal bow. “I shall of course defend you from any unwanted attentions,” he declared. “No well-born bore will ruin this night for you as long as I have anything to say about it.”
“Do I detect a note of jealousy?” Seila asked sweetly.
“I’m afraid I’m becoming far too fond of your company to share it easily. Your father may not be entirely wrong about me, after all.”
Seila blushed and lowered her eyes. “Jack, I don’t know if I-if we-”
“I understand,” he said. “It’s best not to rush into this sort of thing, especially because we met in such dark circumstances. It would be easy to mistake one’s feelings.” He reached out to rest his hand on hers. “But you’ll forgive me if I hope that no tall, handsome lordling from a fine family sweeps you off your feet tonight.”
Seila looked into his eyes again, and Jack could feel his head swim. For a moment they stood there together a little awkwardly; Jack realized he had no idea whether to say more, to say less, or simply to reach out and plant an audacious kiss upon her sweet red lips. Fortunately, Marden Norwood inadvertently came to Jack’s rescue. The silver-haired lord appeared on the veranda and caught sight of Jack. “Ah, Wildhame,” he said, striding over to offer his hand. “I thought I’d heard that you were here. Good of you to come.”
“Lord Norwood,” Jack replied. He returned the old lord’s handclasp firmly. “My thanks for the invitation; I am happy to help commemorate the occasion.”
“How are you settling in at Maldridge?”
“Very comfortably; it’s a splendid old house, and I have no complaints with the staff you left to me. I thank you again for its use.”
“The least I could do,” Norwood answered. “Now, if I could ask you to join me in my study, I have a small surprise for you-and perhaps a puzzle you might help me solve.”
“More gentlemen’s talk, Father?” Seila asked.
“Not this time, my dear. In fact, I think you’ll find this interesting, too. Please, join us,” Marden Norwood beamed and ushered Jack and Seila back inside to the same dark-paneled room where Jack had spoken with him about the drow and their plans. A large parchment map lay unfurled on the great desk, its corners pinned with stone paperweights.
“As you can see, I’ve found an excellent map of the Vilhon Reach from just a few years before your time,” Norwood said. “I don’t believe I mentioned this during our previous conversations, Jack, but as it turns out we Norwoods are in part descended from Vilhonese aristocracy. My grandmother’s family fled Chondath during the Plague Years and settled here in the Vast, where she married into the Norwood line.”
Jack covered his surprise by coughing into his fine silk handkerchief. “How interesting,” he finally replied, adopting a carefully casual manner. “I did not realize you had any knowledge of the Vilhon Reach. Are you familiar with its history and lands, then?”
Norwood smiled. “As Seila can tell you, I am something of an amateur historian.”
“Oh, yes,” Seila agreed. “Father reads constant
ly, and his personal library is one of the finest in Vesperin. I couldn’t tell you how many dinner conversations have been taken over by whatever happens to have caught his interest that day.”
Norwood shook his head modestly and continued. “I wouldn’t say I am an expert on the old Reach, but I have been studying up on Vilhonese lands and titles. Naturally, I was curious what had become of your homeland, so I searched through my tomes and dispatched a few letters to other collectors of old lore who might be better informed than I am. Are you well, Wildhame? You look faint.”
Jack didn’t doubt that he looked stricken. Somewhere a mile or so under my feet, Jaeren and Jezzryd Chumavh are enjoying a laugh at my expense, he told himself. He put a hand to the bridge of his nose, pretending to steel himself for a moment. To Seila’s father he said, “Forgive me, Lord Marden. It’s simply struck me again that my homeland is lost now in the past. I find it hard to believe that it is all no more.”
“Father, have you no compassion?” Seila scolded. “Why, it breaks his heart just to think of it!”
Jack pinched himself hard enough to bring a tear to his eye, and looked down at the floor again as he struggled to regain his composure.
“I am sorry,” Norwood said, raising a hand in a placating gesture. “I simply hoped that I might be able to provide Lord Wildhame with some unexpected good news about the existence of his old family lands or the survival of his kin. Truly, I did not mean to press.”
Jack waved away the old lord’s apology, making a show of rallying to the topic. “No, no, your father’s curiosity is quite understandable,” he said to Seila. “Please, Marden, carry on. What can I tell you about Wildhame?”
“Well, it seems that I know less about the region than I’d thought, because I cannot quite place the landgraviate of Wildhame nor discover anything about your family.” Norwood grimaced. “I simply did not know where to begin.”
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