The City of Ravens

CHAPTER TEN

Of course, unmasking Toseiyn Dulkrauth didn't really prove anything about the shadow Jack. Even if he was satisfied that Mantis and Tiger were not responsible for the appearance of the shadow, Jack had only eliminated one possibility. Jack gave up and returned his attention to Illyth, the Game, and the discomfited Toseiyn Dulkrauth, watching warily to make sure that Lord Tiger did not find an opportunity to slip up behind him and put a dagger in his back when no one was looking.

As the Green Lord's banquet came to a close, Jack returned Illyth to her manor and warned the servants there to be on guard for someone answering to his own exact description. "And you be careful as well," he told Illyth. "I am not the sort of person checked by a single failure, and it may be that my evil twin is similarly persistent. He may try to carry you off again."

"Don't worry about me," said Illyth. "The house guards are aware of the impostor now. They won't let someone who looks like you get anywhere near me." She laughed. "It wouldn't surprise me if my father had ordered the guards to shoot you on sight or something like that. I'd better check into it."

"Please do," Jack agreed. He climbed back into his coach and signaled the driver. The man flicked the reins with a small sound of encouragement, and the coach rattled away from the manor house. Jack settled in for the long ride, thinking furiously about Dulkrauth's hidden agenda and secret goals. "Some Game," he remarked, considering the situation. "Murder, conspiracy, kidnappings, and all the brightest of Raven's Bluff socialites and sycophants to weigh as suspects."

"Did you say something, sir?" the coachman called from above.

"Do you know where the Cracked Tankard lies?"

"I do, sir, although I advise against it. A person of your station would find the place squalid and coarse, filled with lowborn ruffians plotting robbery, murder, and worse."

"The very place!" Jack smiled, even though the driver could not see him. "Take me there at once!"

The hour was now growing late, and the Tankard was filled with local merchants, laborers, and clerks who preferred to take advantage of the tavern's comforts over those of their own homes. Several huge roasts sizzled invitingly over the fire, and Jack comfortably settled himself in his usual place. Briesa had the night off, but Jack flirted with another of the barmaids and won himself an unusually large helping of beef. He had barely started on his dinner when a large boot came down in the middle of his chest and rocked him back on his chair, pinning him against the wall.

"Hello, Jack," said Zandria. She held a dangerous-looking wand in his face. "I've been looking all over for you."

Now I remember, Jack said to himself. The Cracked Tankard is the place I come to when I want people to find me, interrupt my dinner, and threaten me with violence. "I need to find a new tavern to frequent," he muttered. He looked up at Zandria. The mage looked moderately charred, with black holes eaten in her leather jacket and an extremely close haircut, as if she'd angrily hacked off hair too singed to save. "Dear Zandria, is this uncomfortable approach absolutely necessary?"

"Where are the ring and the dagger, Jack?" the mage replied. "I found the Tomb's riches; I fought a deep dragon to keep them; I lost comrades and friends in doing so. I have no patience whatsoever for your petty larceny. You stole prizes that I worked very hard to acquire, and I want them back."

"You chased off the dragon? Excellent! When and where shall we meet to count out my two-elevenths share of the loot?"

"Your impudence was tiresome the first time you crossed my path, you sniveling little worm," Zandria snapped. "How dare you bring up such a matter, when you abandoned the field and left my company to stand alone against that monster?"

Jack shoved Zandria's boot from his chest and stood up as quickly as the blink of an eye, jamming one finger at her. "How dare you bring up the circumstances under which I departed the fight, when you went out of your way to make sure I would not show up in the first place! We had a deal, Zandria, and you broke it before I did!"

"You insinuated yourself into my company! I didn't ask you to eavesdrop on my conversation with Ontrodes, I didn't ask you to illicitly copy my notes, and I most specifically did not ask for your help!"

"But you accepted my aid when I had something useful for you, by which I refer to the solution to the Guilder's riddle. You would not have found the tomb at all if it hadn't been for my interference, and you sought to reward me by cutting me out of my agreed-on share. So who's the thief here, dear Zandria?"

The mage's eyes burned dangerously. "Choose your words carefully, Jack Ravenwild. You are an instant away from annihilation.''

Jack deliberately turned away from her to straighten his chair and took his seat again. He drank one sip from his mug and wiped his hand across his mouth. "Very well. Sit down, dear Zandria, and we'll examine the situation rationally. Both parties have claims and both have damages, so let us try to find a compromise that suits the situation."

"I have no interest in negotiating with you. Give me what is mine, and count yourself lucky that you walk away in the shape you were born to."

"I have always responded poorly to threats. In this case, I will make an exception. We have the Guilder's hoard; I want my two-elevenths. And, aside from the hoard, we have the Orb of Khundrukar-presumably in your possession-which I also was promised a two-elevenths stake in."

"I made no such promise!"

"Examine our contract, Zandria. The wording runs something to the effect of 'all items and treasures discovered in the Guilder's Tomb and any other regions jointly explored.' The Orb is certainly included in that." Jack fished around in his coat pocket and found a small pipe. He rarely indulged in pipeweed, but this seemed like an appropriate occasion. He tamped leaf into the pipe and lit it with a minor magic. "I would be willing to forfeit my two shares if you will forfeit your claim to the Orb."

"Impossible," Zandria said. "The Orb is not subject to discussion."

"If we remanded this matter to the local courts, I am certain they would uphold my claims on two-elevenths of the treasure, and they would assign me two-elevenths ownership of the Orb." Jack puffed on the pipe a moment.

"However, I have no particular wish to engage in an ugly legal battle with such a dear comrade as you. I would prefer a more informal and mutually satisfactory arrangement."

The mage glared at him for a long moment, thinking hard. Then she shoved her wand back into a holster at her hip and drew up the chair opposite Jack's. "I'll see to it you receive your two shares of the hoard. You give me the magical items you stole. You are bound by that contract, too, and I have a nine-elevenths ownership of the ring and the dagger. Does that meet your requirements?"

Magical items? Clearly, Zandria believed that the ring and the dagger were enchanted, which meant that they were more than mere baubles to be pawned at the first opportunity. In fact, magic rings had a reputation for potentially concealing extraordinary powers. Jack had thought that the gems and coins he'd stuffed into his pockets were the prize for his efforts in Sarbreen, a few hundred crowns of loot quickly converted into cash. But if he had a magic ring and an enchanted dagger in his possession, he might have scored far better than he'd thought.

Of course, there was no point in acknowledging this to Zandria. Jack carefully controlled his reaction and frowned studiously. "I accept two shares for the two items for the sake of argument, as long as we add the value of the ring and dagger to the hoard before calculating my cut, but the Lady Mayor's advertised reward for your Orb is ten thousand gold crowns and a noble title. What value shall we place on that?"

"We cannot split a noble title," Zandria said slowly, as if explaining weighty matters to a child.

Jack smoked and nodded thoughtfully. "I propose this: we place eleven marbles into a bag, two black, nine white. We shake up the bag and hand it to an impartial stranger, asking him to draw one marble from the bag without looking. If he draws a black marble, I win the entire reward due the finder of the Orb. If he draws a white marble, you win."

"I will not settle this question by gambling! Who knows how you might fix such a game?"

"We seem to be stuck," Jack remarked. "Clearly, you want the title. I will settle for cash. I'll give you ring and dagger for two-elevenths of the hoard (including the value of ring and dagger!) You give me the ten thousand crowns for the Orb's reward and keep the title."

The mage winced, but nodded. "Done. Now give me the ring."

"Not so fast," said Jack.

It was a shame to give up a chance at the noble title, but frankly, he preferred cash in hand, and he had too much on his mind to do a proper job of holding the Red Wizard over the barrel. Beside, he had no idea what Zandria might do if he made it too hard for her to deal honestly with him. He looked at Zandria and studied her for a moment, making a great show of thinking things through carefully and slowly.

"While I have no real idea of the value of those two items, your intense interest in them would seem to indicate that they are quite valuable indeed. Therefore, I will hold the ring and the dagger as security against my cut of the treasure and ten thousand gold crowns. I will redeem them when you make good on my agreed-upon share of the loot."

"Security?" asked Zandria incredulously. "Your impudence is beyond compare! I should incinerate you where you sit, and take both ring and dagger from your smoldering corpse!"

"You might do that, of course, but you would be disappointed. You see, dear Zandria, I do not have either ring or dagger on my person at the moment." That, of course, was a bald-faced lie; the ring nestled in Jack's vest pocket, while the dagger was tucked into his left boot. "Why don't we plan on meeting here again in, say, two days? That will give you time to turn in the Orb and collect the reward. Do you agree?"

The mage rolled her eyes, but nodded. "Fine. I agree."

"Excellent! Then let us share a drink to commemorate the agreement."

Jack signaled the waitress, but Zandria waved her hand in disgust. "I have no interest in toasting your health, Jack Ravenwild. I will assemble the money you require. Be warned: if you fail to produce the ring and the dagger, I will not entertain any further negotiations. I shall simply kill you on the spot regardless of repercussions or arrangements. I admit that may cause me some small trouble, which is why I did not end your life tonight, but you will be a smoking corpse, Jack, dead as every slaying-spell at my command can make you. Do not try my patience again."

The Red Wizard stood and turned on her heel, marching out of the room with her fury blazing like a brand in the night. Longshoremen and teamsters twice her size caught one glance of the expression on her face and fell over themselves trying to get out of her path. Jack raised his goblet to her back and smiled.

"Your health!" he called. "I shall see you in two days!"

Jack lingered another hour at the Tankard, enjoying the sense of security engendered by passing time in a room crowded with familiar faces while he planned his next move. Zandria had given him much to think about; he fished the ring out of his pocket and examined it again. It was a single piece of smooth gray stone flecked with red, quite handsome in its own way, although not particularly valuable at first glance. He whispered a few words and worked a minor magic to detect whether or not it was enchanted, and blinked in surprise-the stone ring radiated magical power to any who could sense such things!

"Perhaps you might be worth keeping after all," Jack said. He slid the ring back into his pocket.

The next Game event was three days off. Before then, Jack decided he had three things he needed to do. First, he needed to find his shadow double and take whatever steps were necessary to stop the fiend and discover its origins. Second, he needed to plan a safe and equitable exchange (or a shameless confidence game) to obtain the thousands of gold crowns that were rightfully his. And last, but certainly not least, he needed to stay out of the sight of the various parties who meant him ill, including but not limited to Iphegor the Black, Marcus and Ashwillow, Morgath and Saerk, Tiger and Mantis, and possibly the Warlord Myrkyssa Jelan.

"It is probably a bad sign when one's enemies significantly outnumber one's friends,'' Jack said sadly.

He drained the last of his wine and stood up to leave. Jack was so distracted by the plots at hand that he almost walked right out of the Tankard's front entrance with no regard for who or what might be watching. He paused in the rickety swinging door by the taproom's mossy walls and ducked back inside at once, cursing his carelessness.

"Having just discovered considerable wealth on my own person, it would be unwise to stumble into my enemies' hands again," he told himself.

Instead, he made himself invisible and used the spell of shadow-jumping to whisk himself to an empty rooftop he knew of three blocks away. The tactic seemed to work; he was not followed or accosted on his way to the Ladyrock. By the time he reached the hovel by the paper mill, midnight was hours past.

Jack passed the rest of the evening in a restless, vermin-pestered slumber. He eventually dozed off until well after noon on the following day, when he was awakened by a gang of neighborhood children engaged in a game of throwing stones through the rotting shakes of his cottage roof.

Jack groggily chased off the ragamuffins, ate a cold breakfast of old bread and hard cheese, and considered his schemes and designs. "My appointment with Zandria is not until tomorrow evening, leaving me a day, a night, and a day to occupy myself," he observed to an attentive cockroach who shared his quarters. "I should keep an eye on Zandria to make sure that she doesn't forget the terms of our bargain again. I should take steps to ascertain the current whereabouts of my accursed shadow. And I should also seek to unravel whatever plot Toseiyn Dulkrauth, the esteemed Lord Tiger, is up to. What to do first?"

None of the vermin infesting the premises offered any suggestions. In fact, they were so unhelpful that Jack resolved to spend the rest of the afternoon improving his conditions by effecting what minor repairs he could to the cottage and using various noxious magics to render his domicile unappetizing to rats, mice, insects, and their ilk. This involved the theft of quite a large amount of timber, straw, tools, and plaster from various businesses nearby, which Jack accomplished without any real challenge. With that attended to, he pilfered several days of foodstuffs and other supplies to see him through the week.

Finally, when he had rendered the cottage as tolerable as he could make it, Jack decided that it was worth a few hours of his time to learn more about the ring and the blade he'd stolen from the Guilder's Vault. He took both objects out and set them on the battered wooden table before the hearth. Then he slowly and methodically worked out a spell of identification, an enchantment that could analyze and decipher the spells folded into the very being of the ring and the dagger.

The dagger, he learned, was a highly enchanted weapon wrought with spells of secrecy and silence, the perfect blade for dark deeds and backstabbings in shadowed alleyways. It seemed well suited for his hand, a blade made for a rogue such as he. It also possessed the very curious property of retaining its enchantment in places where other magics failed.

"Potentially useful," Jack admitted, "but I cannot guess why I would willingly go into such an environment." He shrugged and returned the dark blade to his boot.

The ring, on the other hand, was a device whose maker cared little for subtlety. It was a manifestation of the power of stone and earth, fused with potent magics allowing one to command elementals or even the earth itself to do one's bidding. Passages might be opened where none existed before, walls raised or torn down at will. The user might even call upon the ring's power to imbue himself with the strength and toughness of stone itself.

"Very useful," Jack grinned. "Defense, offense, transport, and general utility all incorporated in one superbly wrought dwarven ring. I can see why Zandria lusts after you, my little prize."

Since he was loath to part with either device, Jack decided that he would have to strike a different bargain with Zandria. He'd keep the ring and the dagger as his two-elevenths of the hoard proper, leaving him with the ten thousand gold crowns associated with the reward for the return of the Orb. The gold was certainly sufficient to his means for the moment, and with the magic of the Guilder's artifacts, he could easily steal more anytime he liked.

"The only trouble lies in persuading Zandria to accept a renegotiated deal," he said aloud. "She probably cares little for the gold itself, and is far more interested in acquiring the magic in my possession; Red Wizards are like that. It might be useful to make sure that Anders and Tharzon are nearby, in case she is unusually resistant to the notion."

Without further delay, Jack departed the Ladyrock and set off in search of Anders and Tharzon. Both Northman and dwarf hadn't seen much reward for their labors in Sarbreen, so an opportunity to enjoy a cut should be welcomed by both. He decided to call on Anders first, taking the ferry over to Bitterstone and then heading north into the Temple District. The streets were crowded with workers heading home after a long day's labor, women scurrying out to purchase something for the stew pot, and gaily dressed rakes and ladies beginning the night's revelry a little early. Jack liked crowds; they provided him with a comfortable anonymity and plenty of opportunities.

He followed Blacktree Boulevard all the way through Holyhouses and Gowntown to the Market District. Anders rented a small room in the shadow of Purtil's Tower, a ramshackle structure of stone and rusted iron that comprised the city's oldest water tower. Jack turned east on Broken Bit Lane and then north again into the narrow alleyway winding almost beneath the dilapidated columns of the water tower. He crossed a small, sodden courtyard strewn with garbage and climbed up the wooden staircase that zigzagged across the back of Anders's building. The Northman lived in a very modest room on the uppermost floor.

He had just set his foot on the topmost stair when the deluge struck. From the water tower's flank fifty feet above, a great torrent abruptly broke loose. Metal groaned and stone creaked ominously as tons and tons of water poured out of the torn side of the tower and fell atop the boarding house where Anders lived. Jack was washed back down the stairway, striking step after step until he caught himself halfway down and found his feet again.

"Catastrophe! Calamity!" he cried in astonishment. "What now?"

As if in response to his question, the roof of Anders's building gave way beneath the weight of water falling from the tower overhead. Jack recalled that it was not much of a roof in any event, a frail structure of wooden shakes that admitted freezing drafts in wintertime and clouds of noxious insects in warm weather. The cascade of water continued from the breached tower, filling the upper floor faster than it drained away to the floors below.

The entire building groaned horribly. Inside, beams cracked beneath the watery assault, and the boarding house started to lean noticeably to Jack's right. The rogue hurried down the stairs and dashed out into the open courtyard to get clear of the failing structure. Rivulets of water ran past his feet.

"Anders!" cried Jack. "If you can hear me, run for your life!"

At that moment the Northman's door on the uppermost floor burst open, revealing the tall warrior. Anders Aricssen was soaked to the skin, and a torrent of water followed him out of the doorway. He was burdened with a double armful of whatever possessions he'd managed to gather up. Without ceremony Anders hurled his valuables from the porch. Then he caught sight of Jack in the courtyard below.

"You fiend!" he shouted. "You backstabbing, underhanded wretch! You whelp of a she-goat and a goblin! If I-"

The Northman was interrupted by watery disaster. The boarding house sagged over entirely on its side in a rumble of falling timber and a gush of water from every window. The wooden stairs collapsed like matchsticks, leaving Anders comically suspended in midair for one brief instant before joining the general ruin of his home. A wave of water half a hand high washed over Jack's feet where he stood, rooted to the spot in amazement. The torrent pouring out of Purtil's Tower slowed to a stream, then a drizzle, and finally a drip.

Jack looked up, craning his head to study the side of the water tower. Dozens of neighbors and passersby stood gawking at the scene, just as he was, but atop the tower he caught sight of a familiar black-clad figure-his shadow!

"It seems my twin has a great liking for mischief," Jack muttered.

The dark figure leered down at the ruined building, white teeth flashing in a fierce grin, and then vanished from sight. Jack sighed and doffed his cap, wringing water from it. Jack approached the sodden wreckage of Anders's house carefully, looking for any sign of the Northman.

Anders was pinned under a tangle of heavy wooden beams that should have killed him outright, but some fluke of chance had left him mostly unharmed from the building's collapse. Battered, bruised, and dazed, the Northman stared up into the sky, speechless.

"Good Anders, are you all right?" Jack said, picking up a board and heaving it aside. "Can you speak?"

"When I can stand," Anders said from beneath the rubble, "I mean to rend you limb from limb."

Jack paused in his efforts to extricate his friend, and surreptitiously rearranged the wreckage to hinder Anders if he suddenly tried to get up. "What offense have I given you?" Jack said slowly, although a terrible suspicion was forming in his heart.

'What offense have you given me? What offense? You have ruined my house and inundated my belongings! You came within a whisker of killing me! What offense have you given me?" Anders howled in rage and struggled to find his feet again, shrugging off hundred-pound timbers like matchsticks. "I am going to tear off your arms and beat you to death with them, O very prince of dung beetles!"

Jack backed away cautiously. "Anders, I should take this opportunity to advise you that I have been illicitly copied. For the last three days, a dark and sinister copy of me has been prowling the city, causing all kinds of mischief. I am afraid that the scoundrel has wrought the destruction of your house. I had nothing to do with it."

"You don't recall taunting me not ten minutes ago? Calling me an unwashed barbarian and promising me a bath? Twisting my nipple and pulling my beard?" With each exclamation the Northman heaved another board out of the way, drawing closer to freedom. "I take great pride in my personal hygiene, Jack. I swim every day. I am hardly unwashed, and I did not need a bath!" Anders staggered to his feet, bruised and bleeding, eyes burning like coals.

"Anders," said Jack, "how am I dressed?"

The Northman kicked a broken step out of his way and closed on Jack. In fact, Jack was dressed handsomely in red and yellow, with a plumed cap and a blue velvet waistcoat. Anders halted, squinting at the rogue.

"Ten minutes ago you wore gray and black. When did you change?"

"As I said, I am plagued by a duplicitous doppelganger who delights in harrying my friends. Two days past he pulled down Ontrodes's tower. Today he visited you. Believe me, the minor inconvenience you have suffered in the loss of your home and the destruction of your personal property is nothing compared to the lasting damage the villain has inflicted on my good name and honorable reputation."

"If this is some kind of trick-" Anders growled.

"Anders, would I stand here before you and tell you a story of such an outlandish nature if it were not strictly true?"

The Northman glowered. "I suppose you are going to tell me that you had nothing to do with the fire started in the Smoke Wyrm yesterday by someone answering to your exact description? Or the shameful fashion in which noble Tharzon's beard was dipped in flammable wax first, so that he ran down the street with his head on fire until he managed to smother the flames by plunging his face into a filthy mud puddle in the middle of Manycoins Way?"

"Tyr's eyes! My deceitful shadow did that?" Jack swallowed nervously. Tharzon would simply kill him on sight; there was no way he could ever stumble across the dwarf again, explanation or no explanation. "The dastard!"

"Not only that, but you-your shadow, I guess-hired seven street mimes to ape poor Tharzon's flight and extinguishment directly afterward, thus shaming the poor fellow seven times over in front of hundreds of passersby on the busiest street in the Market District." Anders raised an admonishing finger. "That was ill done."

"Street mimes?" Jack fought hard, very hard, to keep a straight face, despite a twitching of his lips and a snigger in his voice. He could see them blundering down the street, beating at their heads, only to fling themselves into the nearest pile of ordure- "I tell you, friend Anders, not in a thousand years could I have imagined such a base deed. I am responsible for neither Tharzon's scorching nor your drenching!"

"I believe you-for the moment, but if I should ever learn otherwise…" Anders held Jack's gaze for a long moment, naked anger riveting the rogue to the spot. Then he harrumphed and kicked the wreckage aside. "You'd best find out who is imitating you and bring this to an end, or you won't have a single friend in this entire city!"

Jack glanced skyward, scanning the rooftops. There was no sign of his dark twin, although that did not mean that the villain was not lurking there invisibly.

"I shall henceforward devote my entire existence to the discovery and punishment of this fiend," he promised.

Leaving Anders to the unenviable process of drying what little was left of his material possessions, Jack spent the rest of the evening and all of the following day searching all of his favorite haunts and places, asking people he knew when they'd seen him last.

The barkeep at the Cracked Tankard gave him a strange look and said simply, "Last night. Why do you ask?"

At the Wizard's Guild, the doorman squinted and muttered but admitted he hadn't seen Jack in a week or more. He checked various food stands, alehouses, and taprooms all over the waterfront, to little avail, and he avoided the Smoke Wyrm, because he already knew his shadow had done its work there.

"It would seem," he told himself after hours of wandering the city, "that my shadow twin frequents different establishments than those I favor." Finally he turned his steps toward the Cracked Tankard again, expecting any kind of mischief from the various parties that he'd learned were looking for him. The Knights of the Hawk had apparently been asking after him all over the city, along with a mage who might or might not have been Iphegor, and a pair of thieves who might or might not have been Morgath and Saerk.

"Zandria!" Jack stopped and put his hand to his head. "We are to meet this evening and discuss the division of the loot! I'd forgotten!" And he had no preparations at all for allies to back him up in the event the Red Wizard chose to deal dishonorably. He stepped off the street and onto the covered boardwalk running along Waelstar Way, perching atop a barrel of pickled herring outside a provisioner's shop while he thought. Anders wanted little to do with him, Tharzon he dared not approach, and any other blackguard he could think of was simply much too untrustworthy. Ontrodes was a drunkard, and Illyth a noblewoman-and neither would be much use in dissuading Zandria from treachery if the sorceress were so inclined.

"Elana would be a good accomplice," Jack muttered, "as she is extremely competent and claims to be immune to magic, a handy thing when one is confronting a wizard. It's a shame that she is the Warlord, and her minions are trying to kill me. Otherwise she'd be perfect."

Reluctantly he decided that there was nothing to do but trust in Zandria's honorable nature, so he hopped down from the barrel and continued on his way. She had agreed, after all, to pay him two-elevenths of the treasure plus ten thousand gold crowns of the reward-all told, a sum that must be close to thirty thousand gold pieces. "I could never transport such wealth," Jack thought. "I shall have to arrange for a detail of guards from some reputable counting-house to take custody of the coinage and convert it into more convenient sums later. If I do so, Zandria will see that I mean business and will not easily be cheated. And I can always try to ransom the ring and the knife back from her by offering cash for the articles of interest."

Quickly Jack hurried to the offices of House Albrath and there contracted for the services of six sturdy armsmen and a secure coach to await his negotiations with Zandria that evening. The cost was exorbitant-more than two hundred gold crowns-but Embro Albrath himself assured Jack that discretion was his watchword. For the deposit and a mere five percent of the value of the transaction, the mustachioed Albrath would see to it that Lord Jaer Kell Wildhame's wealth reached a secure location and that Jack was provided with the means to access his gains or convert them into other currencies at his leisure.

By the time Jack concluded his arrangements with the merchant, the sun was setting over the Inner Sea and the shadows ran long in the city streets. The day's warmth faded rapidly before the onslaught of a cold, damp offshore wind, bringing evening fogs to the city streets and a chilly, cloying mist to those workmen and wayfarers who had not found their suppers yet. Jack wrapped his cloak closer to his body and shivered his way across town again, riding inside his rented coach in the company of the garrulous Embro Albrath while his hired soldiers tramped alongside. He and his procession arrived at the Cracked Tankard an hour after sunset, creating quite a commotion.

"You and your men may wait outside," Jack told the merchant imperiously. "My business should be concluded swiftly."

Embro Albrath-a stout man dressed in red, wearing a sea of golden chains around his neck and a gold ring on each finger-shook his head. "I shall accompany you, my lord," the merchant said. "I have no wish to pass an hour or two in this clammy cold while a friendly fire warms yon taproom."

Jack began to protest but stopped himself. Albrath's presence lent an illusion of credibility to the transaction. He might do well with the moneylender at his side.

"Very well, but I must ask you not to interrupt, no matter what transpires. My affairs are complicated and my partners unreliable."

"I am the very soul of discretion," the merchant promised.

Jack nodded in appreciation and let himself out of the coach. He glanced once more at the six soldiers standing by vigilantly, then ducked inside. Embro Albrath trailed him by a step. The merchant hesitated half a heartbeat when he noted the location in which Jack intended to do his business, but he smiled broadly beneath his mustache as if he approved of the informal setting and said nothing.

The common room of the Cracked Tankard was filled, which was not at all unusual given the time of day. Jack studied the room carefully and saw no sign of Zandria, nor any agents or thugs who might have been in her employ. He caught the barkeep's eye and flashed a couple of silver talents, learning that Zandria awaited in a private dining room in the back of the alehouse.

"Excellent," said Jack. "Let us proceed!"

He bounded up the narrow staircase leading to the private rooms on the upper floor, confident and energetic. Zandria would deal honorably with him; Red Wizards might be prideful and dangerous, but if word got out that a Red Wizard's word was no good, why, the entire organization would suffer immeasurably! In fact, it would be far wiser for the leaders among the Thayan magocracy to sternly advise their lesser brethren to scrupulously honor the letter and spirit of any agreement struck, so that all people everywhere would know that a Red Wizard's word was his bond.

"Zandria is arrogant, condescending, and overbearing," Jack remarked, "but her integrity must be beyond reproach!"

"I beg your pardon?" said Embro Albrath, huffing slightly as he hurried to keep up with Jack's nimble ascent.

"Oh, nothing," Jack replied. "Look, here we are." He stopped at the indicated door, paused to adjust his fine coat and tug at his cuffs, then boldly entered the room.

Zandria sat at one end of a long table set with a modest meal, the swordsman Brunn standing behind her. The warrior's left arm was in a sling, but his face showed nothing but deadly competence and readiness for action. Six heavy wooden coffers lined up against one wall caught Jack's eye immediately; he knew a coin chest when he saw one. The Red Wizard and her champion faced a small, dark figure in a blue waistcoat very similar to Jack's-no, exactly similar to Jack's-and as Jack entered, all three glanced in his direction. The wizard looked sharply at her dinner companion, back to Jack, and to her companion a third time.

"Now this I was not expecting," she muttered darkly.

The shadow Jack grinned widely and pointed at Jack, standing in the open door. "And there, Zandria, stands the villainous doppelganger who even now fondles your stone ring and your black dagger in his larcenous pockets. The temerity! The impudence! I beg you, rid me of this accursed copy for the betterment of all mankind!"

Jack stood stock-still in astonishment, gaping at the scene. Behind him Embro Albrath halted in confusion, as Jack now occupied the entirety of the doorway and moved neither forward nor aside to permit the merchant to follow. The gold-chained moneylender craned his head and leaned to the left to peer over Jack's shoulders.

"What is it? Is there something wrong?"

Jack-the real Jack-found his voice, at least in part. He squeaked, "You can speak!"

"I recommend that you place him under a spell of dominion or holding at once," the shadow Jack continued to Zandria. "He is a crafty and cowardly fellow and will flee instantly if you do not restrain him!"

"My lady Zandria," Jack said quickly, "You have been deceived by that miserable wretch who sits at your table. He is a simulacrum of me, possessed of a spirit so malicious and spiteful that every moment you spend in his presence invites unforeseen disaster!"

"I would, of course, say the very same thing if I were a murderous doppelganger attempting to reverse your rightful suspicions back upon the noble personage I had so insidiously copied," the shadow Jack purred. "It is the oldest trick in the book when dealing with an identical copy of oneself."

During this entire exchange Zandria's expression had darkened from amazement to smoldering anger. Her eyes blazed furiously, and her cheeks burned red. "I don't know which one of you speaks the truth, and I don't care," she said, slowly standing and reaching for the wand at her belt, "but one or the other of you had better produce my ring and my dagger this very instant, or there will be hell to pay."

"Alas, fair lady, I cannot. My impostor stole them from me, just as he stole my shape," the shadow said. "Kill the felon and examine his belongings; you'll find the items you desire, concluding our business, and I'll take the gold and refrain from troubling you in the future."

"That's my gold!" Jack cried indignantly. "Zandria, I must insist that you remove this viper from the premises at once! Our business cannot proceed until he is no more!"

"Better kill them both, Zandria," Brunn advised in his rumbling voice. "It's the only way to be sure, and you keep ring, dagger, and gold all."

The wizardess pointed her wand at the shadow Jack, then at Jack, and then finally at a point more or less in between from which she might menace either one. She glared at each. They were dressed in the exact same manner, both faces were split by the same insincere mouth and framed with the same stripe of thin beard. In the dim lamplight of the dining room, the shadow Jack was fully substantial and vital, grinning with excitement, alert and alive and animated so convincingly that Jack's own mother would have been hard pressed to tell the difference between the two.

"I think you have the right idea," Zandria said to Brunn. She raised the wand and pointed it at Jack.

"Wait!" cried Jack. "I can prove that I am the authentic Jack, and the other one a work of foulest sorcery!"

"The obvious ploy," the shadow Jack replied. "Do not fall for his desperate manner, dear lady. He seeks to play upon your tender feminine mercies."

"At this point, I don't care which of you is real and which is not," Zandria remarked. "Somebody has my ring. I mean to have it, and whichever of you produces it will be paid appropriately. After that, the two of you can throttle each other to death as far as I'm concerned."

"Do you have the ring the lady refers to?" asked a very nervous Embro Albrath from Jack's left shoulder. "If so, I advise compliance. Continued uncertainty can only result in poor decisions and hasty acts."

Jack scowled deeply. He wanted to work out an arrangement that would allow him to keep the ring; he saw all kinds of possibilities in the device. But as long as his nemesis stood before him, he would never be able to negotiate any kind of deal with Zandria. On the other hand, the six chests along the far wall presumably contained close to thirty thousand gold crowns… and that made the prospect of losing his prizes from Sarbreen much less odious. Better the gold at hand, he reasoned, than death at Zandria's hands.

"I came equipped to execute our arrangement in good faith," Jack said loudly. He reached into his pocket and produced the stone ring, then pulled the dagger from his boot, advancing to set them on the table. "Here are the items I recovered from the Guilder's Vault. If you please, I will inspect the coinage now."

"As I told you! He had them all along!" the shadow crowed to Zandria. "The ring and the knife are yours, dear lady. In keeping with our bargain, I will take the gold and go."

"I brought the ring and dagger," Jack retorted. "Your business, dear Zandria, is with me. Ignore this treacherous cur. He offers you nothing but lies!"

Zandria frowned, but sheathed her wand and stepped forward to scoop the two items from the tabletop. She looked at Jack and said, "You've delivered on your end of the bargain; I'll deliver on mine. Take the gold and go." Then she turned to the shadow Jack and said, "Whether you're the authentic Jack Raven wild or an imitation, your twin produced what I wanted, so I am honoring the deal I made. If you dislike it, take it up with him."

The ingratiating smile fell from the shadow Jack's face, and his eyes grew dark and hard. Without another word he vanished, disappearing in the blink of an eye.

Brunn swore and stepped out into the center of the room, hand on sword hilt. "Blast! What now?"

"Be careful," Jack advised. "My clone knows everything I know. He may be gone, or he may have turned invisible." He moved swiftly to put his back against a wall and scanned the chamber for any hint of a stealthy unseen presence.

"No matter," Zandria scoffed. "My business here is done. Removing the gold is your concern." She dropped the ring and the dagger into the pouch at her belt and secured the cover. "Come, Brunn. We are finished here."

At the wizardess's hip, her dark and dangerous wand gently slipped up and disappeared. Jack saw it just as the magical weapon vanished into someone's invisible grasp. "Zandria!" he gasped in alarm. "Your wand!"

The Red Wizard snatched at the holster on her hip and cursed in Thayan. She whirled, a spell on her lips, but at that moment the shadow Jack appeared with her weapon in his hand and an expression of infernal glee on his face. He pointed her wand right at Zandria and activated the device. Blue flame engulfed Zandria and washed past her to blast a great swath of destruction across the table, the floor, the ceiling, and the far wall. A blast of heat seared the room, and the fiery roar drowned out Jack's very thoughts. The rogue only avoided Zandria's fate by throwing himself to the floor; Embro Albrath survived simply because he backpedaled so swiftly that he fell down on his broad bottom in the doorway.

"Help!" the moneylender called. "Magic! Murder! Betrayal!"

Zandria screamed and staggered back, engulfed in flame. The swordsman Brunn drew his blade so swiftly that Jack didn't even see him do it and struck out at the shadow Jack, but the nimble devil darted back three steps and turned the fiery wand on Zandria's companion, blasting him as well. The room itself was fairly well alight with the second blast, curtains and exposed beams dancing with sheets of flame.

Jack picked himself up and launched a deadly magical attack of his own, a pair of streaking force globes that hammered into the shadow and detonated with brutal force. The shadow flew back into the wall and hit hard, slumping awkwardly to the ground. Zandria's wand clattered from his fingers to the floor. Smoke and fire filled the room, and amid the roaring of the blaze Jack could hear cries of consternation and panic from nearby rooms in the Tankard.

This villain is destroying my favorite tavern! He thought, then he darted forward, drawing his rapier to finish off his foe.

The shadow scrambled to his feet and returned Jack's spell, blasting Jack off his feet with two hammer blows of magic that caught the rogue at hip and torso. For a moment Jack saw nothing but stars, twisting in agony on the burning floor. Blood ran between his fingers and his entire left leg felt numb. Across the room, the shadow also tried to recover and stand. He levered himself up by the table.

Near Jack, Zandria rose to all fours, hunched in pain. She should have been burned to a crisp, but the blue flames died out swiftly, leaving her scorched but not seriously injured-a spell of protection, Jack guessed. The sorceress straightened up, kneeling, and directed a brilliant bolt of lightning at the other Jack.

"No one steals my wand!" she howled. The thunderclap left Jack's ears ringing and blew a hole the size of a large man through the dining room wall and into the room beyond.

Unfortunately, it missed the shadow Jack, although the stroke of lightning contributed mightily to the impending demise of the Cracked Tankard. The shadow dodged with a quick roll that brought him close to the wizardess, at which point he kicked her in the jaw as hard as he could. Zandria spun in a half circle and dropped to the floor. The contents of her pouch scattered across the uneven planking, odds and ends of spellcasting, coins and gems, and-most significantly-the stone ring, which rolled almost to Jack's hand.

Jack snatched the ring and shoved it onto his finger, invoking its powers. The impervious toughness of stone hardened his skin; the cold, remorseless strength of rock flooded his limbs. He stood and recovered his rapier, advancing on his nemesis.

"Come on, you miserable copycat! Do you dare to face me with steel in your hand?"

The shadow Jack grinned and drew its own sword. "It's what I was made for," he hissed.

He lunged at Jack through the smoke and the flame, the dark steel of his rapier moving faster than a striking serpent. Jack parried the blow with unexpected strength and blocked a surprise attack of the shadow's poignard simply by batting it aside with his hardened hand. Then he returned a murderous thrust right at the center of the shadow's torso.

The shadow Jack attempted to parry, but Jack's rapier punched through the simulacrum's defenses, driven by the strength flooding into him from the ring. In utter astonishment the shadow looked down at Jack's blade, buried in its black heart. "Not… fair," the simulacrum gasped. Then the creature discorporated in one swift instant, melting into cold shadows that seemed to sink through crevices and divisions in the wooden floor as if returning to whatever cold hell had birthed it.

"Take that, you fiend," Jack snarled.

He stepped back, watching dark shadowstuff run from the blade of his rapier, then glanced around the room to gauge the damage. Zandria sprawled unconscious on the floor. Brunn had been fairly well incinerated by the full blast of the fire wand. There was no helping him. Of Embro Albrath, there was no sign at all; the stout merchant had fled the scene early and precipitously. And, of course, the room was now a blazing inferno, with roaring flames shooting up the walls and a blast-furnace heat beating on Jack from all sides. If they saved the tavern, it would be a miracle.

"Time to go," Jack decided.

He still wore the ring; that was a good place for it. The dagger was nearby, so he returned the dark dwarven blade to his boot. Then he picked up the unconscious Zandria and draped her over one shoulder (easier than he would have thought, with the magical strength of the ring to fortify his small stature). Flames blocked his exit from the room, so he simply used the shadow-transport spell to step from the fire-engulfed tavern to the cool, dark street outside.

After the roaring heat and searing flames, the streets were oddly dark and silent. Jack set down the Red Wizard, who groaned and stirred. The Cracked Tankard's roof was a mass of yellow flame, lighting up the entire block. From all directions citizens hurried toward the scene, hoping to extinguish or contain the blaze before half the city burned down. And with them came tramping squads of city watchmen, doubtless filled with questions and anxious for resolutions. Jack quickly examined himself-singed, battered, injured but not permanently. Zandria seemed to be in about the same condition, or perhaps a little bit worse for the wear.

"You'll forgive me, my dear Zandria, but I believe I will leave now," Jack said. "Since my share of the gold is now engulfed in an inferno, I'll just keep the ring instead. Farewell!''

If the Red Wizard protested, Jack did not notice. He had already darted away down the nearest dark alleyway.