The City of Ravens

CHAPTER TWELVE

As might be expected of someone in Jack's line of work, he was no stranger to the city's gaols. Fortunately, he had endured no long incarcerations, nor had he ever been convicted of any serious crimes. More than once, he'd simply waited until no one was looking to charm a guard and talk himself out of prison or absented himself from the judicial process with a well-timed spell of invisibility or disappearance. In fact, Jack had acquired a dangerous level of confidence in his ability to avoid legal complications.

This time, the city officials were not treating him as a common burglar, rumored fence, or suspected swindler. They were treating him as a murderer, traitor, and spy, whose known magical powers merited the utmost caution. He was fitted with a set of enchanted fetters that utterly blocked any attempt on his part to wield magic, then he was interred in the strongest, most secure, and incidentally most dismal cell in the city, in the prison-fortress of Ill-Water.

Ill-Water was not actually located in the city proper; it was built on an artificial island of massive stone slabs a few hundred yards out beyond the harbor entrance, surrounded by the cold waters of the Inner Sea. Raven's Bluff reserved Ill-Water for prisoners whose crimes, abilities, or stations were so far beyond those of the common criminal that no possibility of escape could be allowed. For cutthroats, brawlers, smugglers, and highwaymen, the city's prison hulks offered weeks, months, or years of backbreaking labor. For crimes of a less violent nature, the Nevin Street Compter sufficed, but for those who had aligned themselves against the powers of Raven's Bluff, Ill-Water was the fortress of last resort.

Jack saw no other prisoners, no exercise yards, no mess halls, nothing of the outside. He was ferried to the island prison in the lightless hold of an armored prison barge, led through a cyclopean maze of winding stone passages and massive iron doors, and then finally deposited in an oubliette four feet square and about fifteen feet deep, reached only through an iron trapdoor bolted and locked from outside. A grill of thick iron bars about a foot square in the center of the trapdoor provided the entrance for food, water, and a thin glimmer of yellow light. A similar grill in the center of the cell's cold stone floor served as the means by which his wastes exited.

And there he remained for some interminable time in the darkness, relieved only by the pale gleam of torchlight from some distant spot in the hallway above, and in the silence, sundered only by the unending dull thundering of the surf breaking against the prison's massive foundations. Neither condition showed the slightest fluctuation or variance; before he'd slept even once, Jack had lost track of whether an hour, a half-day, or even several days had passed. He tried talking to himself, singing, thinking up dirty jokes, challenging himself with mental puzzles, marching in place, and straining at the iron fetters that bound him, but ultimately the tedium overcame him, rising up like a dark and sinister flood, drowning him in despair and futility so that he simply slouched on the floor and gazed upward longingly at the light.

Jack had always imagined that any incarceration might be an arduous and exacting kind of adventure, an opportunity to survive a difficult experience and then escape from it in a particularly daring and skillful manner, the kind of experience that would only add to his fame and renown. What he had not expected was to be buried in a cold stone shaft and simply forgotten about. He hadn't expected to be alone, with nothing but the mocking half-light and the maddening reverberation of the distant surf to keep him company.

After he'd slept twice, he was awakened by a guard's passage. Jack leaped to his feet in excitement, amazed at how so common an occurrence as a human being walking by overhead could seem like the most entertaining break in the tedium. The small grill in the center of the trapdoor opened; a basket containing a flagon of water and some tough black bread was lowered on a length of twine.

"Remove the bread and the flagon," directed the voice from above. "You can keep the container until your next meal. You'll put the flagon in the basket, and it will be refilled. Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Jack. "Listen, I would like to speak to-"

"One more word, and you'll miss your next meal. Two more, and you won't eat for three days. You are not to speak at all, unless asked to. Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Jack.

He fidgeted and grimaced, desperate to say something, anything to keep the person above nearby, but he did not doubt for a moment that the jailer would do exactly what he said he would and skip him for the next few rounds.

"Good."

A shadow moved across the light above; the basket was abruptly drawn up again. Jack resigned himself to chewing on the tough bread and washing it down with the icy water, and considered whether or not he should begin a count of feedings by way of marking the time.

He slept again, awoke and spent a long time staring at the walls, and then the basket was lowered to him again. He received another chunk of coarse bread and a refill for his water flagon. The cycle repeated several more times. Jack wondered if strangling himself with his fetters might be preferable to eternal incarceration, and to divert his mind from such a grisly prospect, he began to hatch for his own fancy the most outrageous escape plots he could imagine.

"I could scale the cell walls chimney style, seeing as they have carelessly been left so close together," he mused. The shackles were unfortunately fixed to a heavy bolt in the cell floor, preventing him from climbing anywhere near the trapdoor above.

"I see that my jailers thought of that already," Jack muttered after trying the scheme. "Then perhaps I shall work at dislodging the grate below. I am a small fellow and may be able to fit through the opening and discover where the cell's wastes are discharged. Given that this place is built upon an artificial island, they are almost certainly emptied into the sea. It is a foul path indeed, but I am desperate and cannot be fastidious in these matters."

The bars were as thick as spear shaft and evidently anchored deeply in the stone walls. With the strength of an ogre he could not have pulled them loose.

"Very well, then. I did not care for that scheme, anyway. Instead, I shall remove these enchanted shackles, thus making available magical abilities that must surely suffice to free me from this dismal place."

The shackles were enchanted quite well. Hours of experimentation convinced him that he'd have to break most of the bones in his hands to free himself of the irons on his wrists. Broken hands, of course, would drastically inhibit his ability to work magic, and there was no way that his feet could be crushed or pulped enough to slip out of his ankle irons.

"Even if I could free myself that way, I would have two broken hands and two broken legs," Jack mused. "Beginning my escape in such a condition would not be advisable."

Before Jack had determined which of the unattractive options promised the best chance for escape within the next decade, he was interrupted by the approach of booted feet, a number of them, in the corridor above. The procession stopped above his cell; a moment later, the trapdoor was pulled open. Lanterns bright enough to make Jack shield his eyes shone down on him.

"Jack Ravenwild," stated one of the guards above. "You have been summoned to appear before the Lord High Magistrate to answer to charges of treason, murder, arson, conspiracy, assault, and various other crimes and misdemeanors."

The guards lowered a narrow ladder into the cell. Two climbed down and freed his fetters from the bolt in the wall, then escorted him back up to the hall. There he was chained securely, blindfolded and hooded, and finally manhandled through the prison's labyrinthine passageways and out into the open sea air. He could hear a boat scraping against the stone quay, rocking up and down in the soft swell.

"The prisoner is ready for transport," said one guard aloud.

"Put him in the boat," another replied. "Chain him securely. The Lady Mayor herself wanted this one tried and condemned speedily."

"Are we going to see him again?" asked the first guard.

"That's up to the Magistrate," said the boatman. "I suspect that you'll hold him for a day or two, and then he'll be put to death." Someone prodded Jack with a cudgel and shoved him down into the damp bilge of an open boat. His chains rattled and clanked as they were secured to the boat in some unseen manner.

"It seems," Jack muttered to himself, "that attending my own trial is the only opportunity I will have to leave this place."

Jack was transferred from the boat to a small, shuttered wagon that trundled through the streets. The normal bustle and commerce of the city was missing altogether. Jack guessed that the hour was very late, but he'd thought that he had felt weak sunshine through the heavy hood during his short voyage across the harbor in the prison scow. If the sun was up, then the quiet of the city was very peculiar. He shrugged and set the issue aside; he had far more important things to worry about.

The wagon halted, and Jack was dragged out and hauled up a steep flight of stone stairs. Heavy doors creaked open ahead of him, only to boom shut when he and his captors passed. The quality of the sounds changed-footfalls echoed, the mail of his escorts jingled shrilly. They were inside a large building, which he guessed must be Ravendark Castle, seat of the city hall and location of the city's High Court. In all the years he'd lived in the city of Raven's Bluff, Jack had never once set foot in the place. Suspicious guardsmen and nosy bureaucrats made it a bad place to visit, if one's chosen vocation was not entirely sanctioned by the civic authorities.

He was ushered into another chamber, and his chains were fastened to a post or rail nearby. A soft murmur of voices sounded anxiously in the middle distance, the muted buzz of a hushed crowd or gathering.

"If the prisoner is secured, remove his hood," commanded a strong voice nearby.

"The shackles prevent the working of magic, my lord," responded someone very close to him. "He is helpless."

"Good. Unhood him, but maintain a careful watch. He is known to be quite elusive."

Jack was roughly handled for a moment as unseen hands worked at the bindings of his hood, and then the heavy leather mask was pulled away from his face. He stood in a prisoner's pulpit, his hands chained together, with the chain anchored to two heavy stone columns. Shafts of dim sunlight slanted across a small, high chamber of stone. Blinking to accustom himself to the light, he twisted around to look behind him. He was in a courtroom, the gallery filled with several dozen people, and in front of him behind a tall stand stood a very stern-looking man with a dour face and large, powerful hands clasping a rod of office. The judge looked over at a mailed guardsman standing by the prisoner's rail and nodded.

"Jack Ravenwild, you stand accused of high treason, murder, arson, assault, burglary, swindling, the malicious use of magic for sinister designs, and conspiracy to overthrow the rightful rulers of the city of Raven's Bluff," intoned the bailiff. "You stand before Lord High Magistrate Tordon Sureblade. What say you to these charges?"

"I believe there has been a terrible misunderstanding-" Jack began.

The bailiff cut him off. "You may plead guilty, not guilty, or no contest to the charges," the officer said.

"Not guilty then. I am innocent of every charge brought against me, and I warmly greet this opportunity to answer each one in due course." Jack cleared his throat and added, "If it please the court, may I be set free of these bonds? I confess that they distract me terribly from the grave matters at hand, and I fear that simply appearing in irons may unconsciously sway the court to view me in an unfavorable and undeservedly criminal light."

"Note the accused's plea as not guilty," said the Lord High Magistrate from his lofty vantage, "and leave him in his shackles." In another corner of the chamber, a court clerk hastily scribbled into a large leather-bound book, evidently recording the proceedings. Then the Magistrate turned his attention to Jack. "Understand, sir, that I am vested with the full and solitary power to hear your case, adjudicate your guilt or innocence, and pronounce sentence. As the High Magistrate for this city, I am the only appellate authority and the final arbiter of all matters of justice and order. You stand before me instead of a lesser magistrate because the charges laid against you are extraordinary in nature and capital in punishment. Do you understand?"

Jack managed a feeble nod. What little confidence he might have felt at regaining his sight and powers of speech was rapidly dwindling. He suspected he would have a hard time baffling Tordon Sureblade with a convoluted fabrication or warming his heart with charm and earnestness. In fact, he suspected that he would do very well to treat the Lord High Magistrate with the same caution he might give to an angry dragon.

"I do, my lord."

"Very well. Officers of the Watch, you may present the evidence against this man."

One by one, the city authorities paraded through the court the Brothers Kuldath, Iphegor the Black, Marcus and Ashwillow, Zandria and those who survived in her band, several shopkeepers and ferrymen from the Ladyrock, the Master Crafter Randall Morran, a woman by the name of Lady Milyth Leorduin (Jack identified her as Lady Mantis by her voice and virulence), Briesa and other waiting-staff from the Cracked Tankard, and even Ontrodes the sage.

"That is the man we saw in our house!" cried the Kuldaths, pointing their bony fingers at Jack and quavering with mercantile rage. "He stole our ruby!"

"I deny any such doings," Jack replied in turn. "At the hour stated by the Kuldaths, I was engaged in charitable work among the poor. It's not much, but I do what I can."

Iphegor the Black came next. "There stands he who burglarized my tower and murdered my familiar," snarled the wizard. "If you do not execute him, my lord, I beg you to remand him into my custody. I would be only too happy to take care of the matter for you!"

"I heard of the incident of which Master Iphegor speaks," Jack said with a frown of true concern. "While I grieve for his loss, I believe that the man seen to exit his tower answered to a description not unlike that of Sir Marcus of the Knights of the Hawk, or so I heard, anyway. Might I ask if any investigation has been made into his involvement in this sordid affair?"

Meritheus, the agent of the Wizard's Guild, followed. "He represented himself as the Dread Delgath and joined the Guild under a false name," reported the stout mage. "As he is an accused felon, we revoke his membership immediately and disavow any association with his actions."

"I have no idea what he is talking about," Jack replied. "I am not now, nor have I ever been, a member of the Wizard's Guild. Given the spectacular destruction visited upon the city's theatre quite recently by the archmage of that villainous collection of necromancers and ill-doers, I should hope never to become a member in the future!"

Marcus and Ashwillow took the stand after that, each in turn. "Our sources observed the accused's meetings with a swordswoman calling herself Elana on several occasions," stated the Hawk Knights, each telling the same tale. "As we privately stated to the Lord High Magistrate earlier, we have conclusive proof that Elana is an agent of the Warlord Myrkyssa Jelan, which means that the accused is very likely to be engaged in Jelan's plots against the city. He also resisted arrest and questioning on two occasions."

"Elana did, in fact, contact me about a very mysterious matter of employment," Jack admitted ruefully. "I turned her down at once, of course, and immediately commenced a thorough investigation of all her affairs. In fact, I had amassed a fair body of evidence indicating that she might have something to do with the Warlord and was engaged in preparing to turn over my findings to the proper authorities when the Hawk Knights evidently mistook my activities for collusion in her sinister schemes. Well, I am glad I had a chance to clear that up!"

The Knights of the Hawk were followed by Zandria the Red. "He interfered with my legitimate efforts to salvage treasure from Sarbreen's depths and was directly responsible for bringing my company into contact with a deep dragon, which led to the deaths of two of my partners," Zandria said. "He also pilfered my notebooks, stole treasure I was engaged in legally recovering, and spied on my preparations in order to prepare an ambush for me below the city."

"The Lady Zandria unfortunately suffered a serious blow to the head during the very expedition she refers to," said Jack. "She has entertained paranoid delusions ever since. In truth, I am her chartered partner in these operations and sought only to fulfill the terms of our contract. Regardless of what you do with me, please arrange medical assistance for her, before her delusions result in a true catastrophe."

"Six days ago, a cartload of fresh thatch disappeared from my workshed early in the afternoon," said one roofer Jack didn't recognize. "At the end of the day, I noticed that an abandoned house on the east end of the Ladyrock sported a brand new roof."

The thatcher's story was amplified by that of two carpenters and a bricklayer, who reported missing tools and materials they later discovered in and around the same house, while the tavernkeep of the Red Sail identified Jack as the very same man who'd suddenly taken up residence in the abandoned cottage.

"I visited the Red Sail, yes," Jack admitted, "but I do not maintain a residence upon the Ladyrock. And I certainly cannot be held accountable if its mysterious owner finally decided to fix the place up. Why do I stand accused of repairing his roof?"

Randall Morran, the Master Crafter of the city's bardic guild, climbed to the stand with a serious and weighty expression on his face. "The accused took part in the Game of Masks under the guise of Lord Fox," reported the Master Crafter. "I was present in the robing room on several occasions when he was given his mask for the game or removing it at the end of the evening. He was suspected of cheating by several other players, although I cannot honestly say that I witnessed it."

"Of course I participated in the Game," Jack said cordially. "I was given to understand that, within the Game, players were expected to make full use of all the resources at their disposal to solve the riddle. I would never condone any such behavior had the Game not required that sort of thing to begin with. That was part of the fun!"

Lady Mantis spoke next, although she wore no mask in the courtroom. "I happened to overhear a conversation between Lord Fox and Lord Tiger, whom we now know was Toseiyn Dulkrauth," Milyth Leorduin reported. "They were planning some kind of attack or ambush within the Game, something about arming the Faceless Lords with magical wands and striking during the Blue Lord's Revel. I regret to say that I deemed their conversation to be nothing more than a game within the Game. If only I'd known that they plotted a real murder!" She wiped real tears from her eyes and sobbed delicately. "I cannot imagine what kind of fiend would plan such a thing as the attack at the theater the other night!"

"Ah-ha!" said Jack. "The Lady Mantis seeks to reverse her guilt upon me! She reports the very evidence I would have given against her. I require her immediate arrest upon the charges you have mistakenly assigned to me!"

"The fiend burned down my skewer stand and made off with the receipts of a full day's business," complained a vendor in sausages from the Anvil, "and he fondled my wife as well!"

Jack squinted at the fellow and shifted nervously. He didn't remember doing anything like that. "Perhaps the gentleman has confused me with somebody else," he offered timidly.

"I found him spying upon my girls in their dressing rooms, lurking about invisibly while they bathed after a performance," stated the proprietor of a festhall and dance revue. "When I cornered him, he worked an enchantment upon me that led me to distribute all the money in my coffers and crawl to the Temple of Loviatar on my hands and knees, groveling for forgiveness!"

"I am certain I had nothing to do with that!" Jack cried. "Besides, if I was invisible, how in the world does he know it was me?"

"Because you threw off your spell in order to ride upon my back, lashing me with a cat-o-nine-tails and composing shameful limericks the whole way!" the man stated. "What did I ever do to you, you villain?"

An awful suspicion began to dawn in Jack's heart. He hadn't burned down the sausage-vendor's shack or harried the whoremaster all the way to the temple of the bitch goddess, but it was not inconceivable that his shadow-self might have done these things during the days it was free to make use of his appearance and abilities. He looked over to the gallery where witnesses waited, observing the trial. Dozens of sullen, angry stares weighed upon him like leaden chains.

"Are they all here to testify against me?" he asked the bailiff in a stage whisper.

The officer shrugged. "Only a dozen or so. The rest are here to beg the Lord High Magistrate for your death, on account of the injuries you wreaked on their loved ones, property, and acquaintances."

"Oh," Jack replied. He turned to face the Magistrate as the last witness filed down from the stand. "My lord, is it truly necessary to hear anymore evidence of this sort? It is clear to me that the city has built a flimsy case out of hearsay and circumstantial evidence. I beg you, let us end this farce before we exhaust one more moment of your undoubtedly important time. I am feeling quite magnanimous and shall generously forgive my slanderers for any misstatements or untruths they spoke, in the interest of speeding along these proceedings."

"It is ironic that you should speak of truth," Tordon Sureblade said grimly. He held up one hand-a glint of gold encircled one thick finger. "I wear upon my left hand a ring of truth, which prevents me from speaking any falsehood. It also makes clear to me the falsehoods of others. You, sir, have twisted and wormed your way through the entire hearing, mixing lies and falsehoods with glimmers of a false earnestness. Never in my years of serving this city on the bench of high justice have I encountered such a morally dissolute and utterly despicable person as yourself!"

"I didn't lie about the Lady Milyth's testimony! Or about the sausage vendor's wife, or the whoremaster's tale!"

"Rare exceptions over the course of the last three hours," the magistrate said. He threw a stern look at the gallery, where Lady Milyth Leorduin sat in a noble's box with a small retinue. The noblewoman's face was set in a look of utter serenity, as if she deemed the proceedings completely beneath her notice. "And I will look into these anomalous testimonies. But the fact remains that you are guilty of burglary on at least two accounts, conspiracy, and most seriously of all, high treason by way of your association with the Warlord's agent in the city. Can you present any evidence or testimony to contradict these findings?"

Jack nodded vigorously. "Yes, I can, Lord High Magistrate. I require several days of liberty-escorted by city officers, of course! — to build the case for my defense. I can contest each and every one of these very serious charges."

The magistrate held up his hand, on which gleamed the ring of truth. "I didn't think so," he said in a tired voice. "Bailiff, remove the prisoner. He is to be incarcerated in the fortress of Ill-Water for a period of one tenday, during which time I intend to open an investigation into the affair of the Game of Masks and Lady Milyth's role therein, as well as the other charges of which the defendant was truly ignorant. Then he is to be hanged by the neck until dead unless the circumstances of the investigation warrant a stay of execution."

The courtroom buzzed with excitement over the verdict, including one or two strong remarks suggesting that it would be much better to put Jack to death on the spot and then investigate the other allegations. Jack looked up at the various witnesses who had spoken against him; the Kuldaths glowed with triumph, the Master Crafter Randall Morran seemed disappointed, the commoners ranged from whoops of glee to smug nods of satisfaction. The bailiff and the guards escorted Jack out of the room and back to a holding cell in another part of the castle, hooding him again.

He found himself sitting on a hard wooden bench in a small wagon, doubtless locked and barred and enchanted against any possible escape, with a pair of guards sharing the cramped space.

"So it's back to Ill-Water?" Jack asked through the hood.

"Silence," one guard grated.

Jack shrugged as best he could given his bonds. The wagon trundled off over the cobblestones, rattling and swaying. He listened closely for any signs of business or activity in the city; the roads from Ravendark Castle to the boat landings wound through the busiest parts of Raven's Bluff, and he strained for the sounds of conversation and commerce from the streets beyond the wagon's walls. He heard nothing but the creaking of the wheels.

After a surprisingly short ride, the wagon halted. The door squeaked open, and the two guards climbed out, the wagon shifting with their weight. Someone else climbed in and sat beside him; a soft feminine hand grasped his.

"Oh, Jack," said Illyth in a small voice. "I just heard the verdict."

"Illyth? What are you doing here?"

"I arranged a short visit before you're to be returned to prison. I've been trying to see you all week, Jack, but they won't let anyone go out to Ill-Water." She laughed softly, a sound that almost ended in a sob. "I bribed the guards to allow me to see you before you reached the landing. Jack… is there anything I can do? There must be some way to reverse the magistrate's judgment!"

"I do not know," he answered. "The only thing I can think of is to call in whatever favors you can to delay the execution for as long as possible. The magistrate said he would order an investigation into Milyth Leorduin's involvement in the Game (she's Lady Mantis, apparently) so you might work with the investigators to clear me of that charge, at least."

"Done," said Illyth. "What of the other charges, Jack?"

He remained silent for a long moment. "I don't think there is much you can do, Illyth. Most of them are true. I'm pretty much what they say I am."

"Oh, Jack," she whispered. "You helped Myrkyssa Jelan?"

"I didn't know that I was helping her at the time," he said. "I thought it was simply another job. I'm a burglar, a thief, a scoundrel, but I am not a traitor, not wittingly, at least. And I've never killed anybody other than Iphegor's mouse, and that was an accident!"

Illyth was silent for a long time. He could hear her sobbing quietly. The door at the back of the wagon opened again, and the guards reentered.

"Sorry, m'lady, but we cannot delay any longer. We're expected at the landing, and questions will be asked if we're late."

"A moment more," Illyth said. She returned her attention to Jack. "Jack, there must be something we can do!" she said urgently. "You don't deserve to be put to death for what you've done!"

He leaned back against the wagon's wooden interior, his shackles clinking together. Given the fact that he would probably not get a chance to escape, what could be done? He thought hard and fast.

"The only thing I can think of is this: approach Marcus and Ashwillow, and let them know that I'd be willing to cooperate with them in locating Jelan and her agents. I've seen several of them, so I might be able to find them or testify against them, if need be. I might have some value as a means of unmasking the Warlord's plot."

"It's time to go, my lady," the guard repeated.

Jack felt the wagon shift again as Illyth retreated. "I know," she said to the guard. She paused. "Jack, I'll do what I can. Everything has been so strange lately. The Game plot, and now these shadow people are showing up all over the city… I know that the authorities want to find out what's going on. Maybe you can help them."

She suddenly leaned forward and kissed his hand, then clambered out of the wagon. She murmured something to the guards, and Jack detected the unmistakable jingle of coinage changing hands. Then the guards closed the door again, and the driver flicked his reins at the horse drawing the prison wagon. They clattered off through the silent streets.

As far as Jack could tell, the Ravenaar guards returned him to the exact same pitlike cell that he had occupied before. If it was not the same cell, it was identical to the first in every detail that mattered. Freed of the stifling hood, he enjoyed the sense of relative freedom and the ability to stand, sit, or he down as he pleased. But the enchanted fetters on his wrists and ankles still denied him the ability to access any of his magic, and the dull booming of the surf through the fortress's seawalls reminded him that he was interred quite securely in a place he would likely never leave alive.

He quickly became bored with pacing the narrow floor and occupied himself for a time by considering whether he might have influenced the Lord High Magistrate's decision through a more cogent and eloquent defense.

The magistrate's ring of truth was quite tricky; there ought to be a law requiring him to disclose the fact that he used such a device before defendants said a word to him, Jack reflected. The careful absence of fabrication in his defense would have been quite challenging. On the next occasion, he would work hard to suggest or imply falsehoods he wished to impart to the authorities through half-truths and omission. For example, he might have damaged the value of Zandria's testimony by stating the terms of the agreement they had reached regarding the reward for recovering the Orb and simply asking the magistrate whether she would gain his cut of the treasure if he should happen to be convicted. No lies spoken, but a damning suggestion that Zandria stood to gain thousands of gold crowns by helping to ensure that he was not available to collect his share of the contract.

In fact, if he had known that the Magistrate could discern lies, he might have simply told the truth about why he undertook the recovery of the Sarkonagael for Elana. He certainly didn't know that she was an agent of Myrkyssa Jelan (actually, Myrkyssa Jelan herself!) at the time, and the magistrate must have accepted that as a mitigating circumstance against the crime of treason. The charges of murder and conspiracy were brought into question by Lady Milyth's false testimony, so all that would be left were charges of theft and burglary. "And those," reflected Jack, "are not capital crimes. I should therefore be incarcerated in the Nevin Street Compter for some inconvenient period of time until I arranged my escape, not awaiting death in ten days in the most secure facility available to the city authorities. What a dismal prospect!"

Jack reexamined his fetters again, hoping that there might be a way to remove them. If he could regain his magical abilities, he could remove himself from the situation in the blink of an eye. Within an hour he'd be aboard a ship bound anywhere else on the Inner Sea, Impiltur or Procampur or Westgate or Marsember or anywhere but Raven's Bluff. Unfortunately, the manacles still defied his skill.

"A fiendish device, unnecessarily cruel and entirely uncalled for," he mumbled. The infernal reverberation of the ceaseless surf held no answers for him, so he closed his eyes and dozed off for a time.

He was awakened by the approach of someone in the hallway above. Anticipating his crust of bread and flagon of water, he groped around in the darkness for his flask and stood up with a rattle of chains. But the light seemed dimmer than that carried by the guard on his rounds, and the motion above somewhat more furtive. Quietly the bolt securing the trapdoor was drawn back, and the cover to his cell opened stealthily.

A woman's voice whispered, "Jack Ravenwild?"

"Yes! Yes! I am he!" Jack replied.

"Good." She stood up and moved away. Jack suddenly feared that, having gone to some trouble to locate him, his mysterious guest now intended to leave him exactly where she had found him, but then she whispered, "Bring a light," to another person or persons above.

A moment later, she returned holding a small lantern to look in on Jack. He squinted up at her, shielding his dark-adapted eyes against the light. The Lady Mayor Amber Lynn Thoden crouched at the top of the cell.

"Hello, Jack," she said. "We have some things to talk about."