The City of Ravens

CHAPTER THREE

As it turned out, the Game was not scheduled to begin until the following night. Jack promised to pick up Illyth at sunset (yet another expensive carriage ride! he lamented), then returned to the city and dined at the Cracked Tankard. Following that, he called on Ontrodes to see if the sage had made any progress in the Sarkonagael riddle, but the old sot hadn't even started to look into it yet- he was too busy working on Zandria's dwarven runes. When Jack complained, Ontrodes pointed out that she paid him in real coin, while Jack simply promised a flask of brandy and would undoubtedly deliver the cheapest and most miserable brew he could pour into a nice-looking flask. So Jack returned to his rooms in Burnt Gables and went to bed.

The next morning brought a cool, steady wind off the Inner Sea and a gentle rain that promised to last all day. Jack foraged through his larder for something to eat, discovering a wheel of cheese and a small barrel half full of last fall's apples, now sweet and wrinkled. While he ate, he considered his next move. He decided to press forward with his investigations on Elana's behalf. This time, he would go straight to the source.

When he finished his breakfast, Jack turned his attention to his closets. His rooms comprised half of the loft of a warehouse stocking sail canvas, barrels of pitch, great reels of rope, and dozens of other items useful to the Ravenaar shipyards and provisioners. It was an odd arrangement; Jack paid nothing for the space, and in return he was obligated to guard the warehouse from others of his profession. Since no self-respecting thief would try to carry off loot such as planks or ballast stones, he didn't have to work too hard to protect the place. Jack had furnished a fairly comfortable and well-appointed apartment in the building's upper story, and if the place was stiflingly hot in the summertime and intolerably drafty in winter, it was free.

The warehouse offered one other virtue Jack enjoyed-it provided ample storage for anything he stole and wanted to keep. He had almost a dozen closets stuffed full of various knickknacks and odds and ends he'd pilfered. Jack systematically searched through his closets for attire suitable for a visit to the Wizards' Guild, and found a heavy rune-embroidered robe of dark blue brocade over fine cotton. He pulled the robe on over a pair of baggy red breeches and pointed Calimshite slippers, adding a simple red fez to complete the outfit.

"I need a dangerous-looking staff," he muttered, critically examining his appearance in the mirror.

He settled for an iron rod about two feet in length, capped by a serpent's head of copper. He formed a simple spell and placed an invisible rune on the serpent rod, so that it would seem to be magically enchanted if examined by anyone who could detect such things. Then, with one more adjustment to his fez, he trotted down the rickety stairs out into the streets.

"I am a formidable wizard," he said aloud. "I have urgent business at the High House of the guild. Delay me at your peril!" No one was close enough to note his words. Adopting an expression of stern determination, he stomped off toward the Uptown district.

The High House of Magic was a large building of black stone, designed to resemble a castle in strength and majesty despite its surroundings. It was simply a well-made hall with false turrets and a decorative parapet, but the structure loomed over its neighboring buildings, a stodgy old gaffer knee-deep in disrespectful children. Without hesitation, Jack bounded up the short flight of steps leading to the front door, taking them two at a time. Then he hammered his iron rod against the door in the most imperious fashion he could imagine.

"Open up at once!" he cried. "The Dread Delgath demands admittance this very instant!"

The door opened slowly, with a monotonous creaking of wood. A wizened old porter stood there, squinting up at him (quite a feat, considering Jack's own modest stature). "Eh? What do you want here?"

"The Dread Delgath has come to grace your impoverished fellowship with a mage of the highest caliber and most impressive credentials," Jack said.

"And who would that be?" said the old man.

Jack glared at the doorman. "Why, me, of course! Whom else could I possibly be referring to?"

"Ah, I see," said the doorman. "Well, why don't you come in, and I'll summon Master Meritheus to discuss your potential for membership."

" 'Potential for membership', indeed! Why, the Dread Delgath should-"

"Right this way, sir," the old man said.

He turned and scurried inside so quickly that Jack had to dart after him in a most undignified manner in order to make sure he was inside rather than out when the door creaked closed again. Jack found himself standing in a dark-paneled foyer, dim and dusty, the air thick with dust and the faint, mysterious scents of exotic incense and alchemical experiments. The old man was nowhere in sight.

Jack waited a long moment, and then, just as he was about to strike off on his own, he was surprised by the sudden appearance of a tall, heavyset wizard in voluminous robes. The wizard was a young man with a round, sallow face and a drooping black mustache; he resembled nothing so much as an overfed house cat with a lazy inclination to toy with its prey.

"I am Meritheus. So, you're interested in Guild membership?" he said in a bored voice.

"The Dread Delgath is indeed interested," Jack said. "In fact, the Dread Delgath is so pleased by your magnificent guild house and your friendly porter that he shall refrain from charging you for the privilege of his company. Access to your library shall be sufficient for his compensation today."

Meritheus merely raised an eyebrow. "Our thanks. Now might I see some small demonstration of your powers? We would like to ascertain whether or not you are really a wizard before we consider your application."

"Under normal circumstances the Dread Delgath might incinerate you for your insolence, demonstrating his powers quite thoroughly!" boomed Jack. "However, the Dread Delgath is from time to time moved to small and compassionate acts, and thus he refrains from destroying you utterly. Attend, sir!" He reached out and seized the magic in the way he always had, shaping a spell of chaotic energy that swirled around him in a green spiral.

In the blink of an eye, Jack stood behind the wizard. He reached out and tapped the fellow on the shoulder; when the Guild wizard turned, he disappeared again, now standing back in his original spot. He tapped the wizard on the other shoulder, and then magicked himself to the top of a nearby bookshelf, where he perched like a brightly colored bird.

"Witness how the Dread Delgath masters time and space! I can be here-" he vanished, taking up a position on the other side of the hall- "or there!" — now standing on his head at the opposite end of the hall. He vanished again, appearing right before the young wizard. "Or anywhere, for that matter!"

The young wizard frowned. "I have seen spells such as that before, but I did not see how you cast it. Are you using some kind of magical device to accomplish your teleportations?"

"Faugh! The Dread Delgath needs no crutch to employ his magic!" Jack thundered. He dropped the iron rod to the floor and repeated his instantaneous vanishings again. "My magic is simply too advanced for one of your minuscule accomplishments to comprehend!"

Meritheus pulled a small notebook or ledger from the sleeve of his robe and readied a pen. "I'll take your word for that," he said dryly. He looked Jack up and down, and then started to write. "Name: Delgath-"

"The Dread Delgath!"

"The Dread Delgath, then. Specialty: None-"

"Master of time and space!"

"Very well, then. Specialty: Master of time and space." Meritheus narrowed his eyes and scratched angrily at his book. "Rank at entry… your spell of demonstration would seem to indicate full membership over neophyte or associate status, but I do not have the authority to vest you in a more advanced circle."

"The Dread Delgath shall, of course, demand immediate attention to that matter," Jack replied. "However, for the nonce, he recognizes that you are merely a powerless functionary incapable of making any bolder decision without the express consent of your superiors. Fill in your book as you see fit."

"Very good, then. Your application for membership will be considered in three days' time, when the Guild council meets. If you are accepted, you will be required to pay a small entrance fee-"

"Insignificant," Jack said with a wave of his hand.

"— of five thousand gold crowns," Meritheus finished. "After which, of course, your monthly dues will be twenty-five gold crowns. Unless, of course, you convince the council to accept your immediate promotion into the inner circles, which would be somewhat more expensive than that."

"Five thousand gold crowns?" Jack asked in a small voice.

"The Dread Delgath, master of time and space, surely does not balk at such a trivial sum?" Meritheus asked with an expressionless face.

"No, of course not!" Jack roared. He waved his arms in disgust and paced in a small circle. "But, for the sake of argument: if, perchance, for reasons unknown and unfathomable to mere mortals, the Dread Delgath elected not to advance such a pittance at this time, what other options might be open to him?"

"In that case, the Dread Delgath might be interested in our 'affiliate' membership. The cost is only fifty gold crowns."

"Describe at once the privileges and responsibilities of such an arrangement," Jack said.

"Affiliate members are entitled to attend any social events the Guild sponsors, such as our twice-a-tenday Fifthnight gatherings and our monthly Revels Arcane. You will receive a comprehensive briefing on the laws and obligations of practitioners of the magical arts within the city of Raven's Bluff, and you will receive limited access to the Guild library."

"Limited in what way?"

Meritheus consulted his book. "You may use the common areas of the library between the hours of sunrise and noon, on the third and eighth days of each tenday."

Jack thought quickly. Today was the twenty-third day of Ches, and the third day of the week. "Including, I take it, the remainder of this morning?"

"Were you to deposit the affiliate membership fee now, then yes, I suppose for the rest of the morning." Meritheus rolled his eyes.

"Then the Dread Delgath so agrees!" Jack cried. He immediately counted out ten five-crown pieces from the now-spent advance Elana had provided him with and pushed the gold coins into Meritheus's hand. "Take me to the library, at once!"

The mage simply pointed. "The second door on the left. And please, remember to be quiet."

Jack marched off at once to the indicated door. He hadn't planned to spend the rest of the money that quickly, but a membership with the Wizards' Guild might be useful. He'd never considered it before; he wasn't a real wizard, and it was very expensive. He could pass for a mage at need, perhaps commanded more arcane powers than many who claimed full membership. And, if it was a mere fifty crowns standing between him and the clue he needed to locate the Sarkonagael, then he stood to come out ahead.

He threw open the library door with complete confidence and stepped inside. It was a surprisingly small, cluttered space, a series of four or five small vaulted chambers illuminated by high, narrow windows spaced evenly along the wall. Heavy bookshelves stood an arm's length apart in a dozen serried rows, jutting out into the room like the piers along the Fire River. Several mages glanced up in annoyance at Jack's entry; he took no notice of their presence and strode over to the librarian's desk, where an angry-looking woman of indeterminate years worked furiously to catalog several stacks of books. She ignored him as long as possible, until Jack cleared his throat so forcefully he immediately started a coughing fit.

"Yes?" she snapped when he finished.

The Dread Delgath requires your assistance," Jack intoned.

"Who's that?"

"I am the Dread Delgath!" Jack declared.

"Does the Dread Delgath refer to himself in the third person because of some disorder of the mind, or is it simply a puerile attempt to invest a measure of imaginary confidence in an otherwise inadequate personality?" the librarian asked. She waited a moment, watching Jack choke in rage, and then shrugged. "Never mind, I suppose it doesn't matter. What is the Dread Delgath looking for?"

"Records of old memberships," said Jack. "From about six to ten years ago."

"The last bookshelf on the right holds Guild records. You'll find membership rolls and the minutes of Guild council meetings on the second and third shelves. Try not to damage any of them, if you please."

"Damage them! The Dread Delgath-"

"— Would be much more welcome here as the Silent Delgath," the librarian said, cutting him off. She frowned and returned to her work, shaking her head.

Jack sniffed and abandoned the field. He went to the shelf the librarian had indicated and began to pull volumes at random, looking over the material to determine what was available. It was not very well organized at all; few people seemed to have any real interest in Guild business that was several years out of date, not when the other shelves held insights into the working of magic, the treasures and hoards of wizards long dead, and all manner of dark and dire secrets of power and wealth. "To work, then," he said with a smile.

Jack had expected to find some immediate clue regarding the fate of Gerard and the disposition of his tomes and grimoires, but he soon discovered that serious research was not a matter of pulling one lucky record from the shelf on the first try. He spent the better part of an hour rummaging through the records and made no progress at all until he struck upon the strategy of examining the records of Guild dues paid and unpaid. Leafing backward a year at a time, he found Gerard's missed Guild dues listed among the dozens of other wizards who'd failed to keep up with their monthly membership fees. Then it was simply a matter of checking through consecutive records to determine when Gerard's account had gone into arrears and when it was closed altogether.

In a few minutes he had his information: Gerard had made his last Guild payment in the month of Eleasias, Year of the Sword. For twelve months the Guild had recorded his failure to pay, closing out his membership in Eleint of the Year of the Staff. On a hunch, Jack examined the minutes of that month's Guild Council meeting… and there he found that the Council had ordered the wizard Durezil Nightcloak to attend to Gerard's tower and dispose of the missing wizard's affairs in order to recover the missing dues.

"How very generous of them," Jack said with a smile.

Suffused with the delightful taste of success, he replaced the old record and helped himself to the most recent, searching for a record of Durezil's listed address or Guild status. He flipped quickly through the pages, whistling merrily.

Until he found the entry reading: Durezil Nightcloak, Initiate of the First Circle. Deceased as of the Fourth day of Alturiak, Year of the Unstrung Harp. Reported mauled to death by hungry trolls and subsequently devoured. Membership account closed by order of Meritheus, Assistant Secretary for Rolls of Membership, on the Ninth day of Mirtul, Year of the Unstrung Harp.

"Dead? How inconsiderate of him!" Jack muttered. "How spiteful to live five full years from the day he dealt with Gerard's effects, only to die a year before I had need of his services! What kind of a man would do such a thing?"

None of the other wizards on hand deigned to answer, although Jack received a few black looks. He replaced the book on the shelf and stood there a moment, thinking hard about his next move. He might have to look into where Durezil had gone off to before getting killed, perhaps he'd kept the Sarkonagael when he handled Gerard's final arrangements. He tugged on his finger-thin edging of beard, studying the shelves in front of him with a blank look.

"Oh, no! Not you!"

Jack blinked and looked up. There, not a yard away, stood Zandria, her arms full of heavy scrolls. The beautiful mage scowled, fury descending over her features in a mere moment.

"This is the private library of the High House of Magic," she hissed. "How dare you creep in here to paw through these tomes! The unmitigated gall of it!"

"My dear lady Zandria," Jack said, raising one hand to forestall her tirade, "I have just this morning become a member of this esteemed Guild. I am a scholar and a practitioner of the Art, just as you are. We are peers and professionals; your outburst is unseemly."

"You are no peer of mine!" Zandria said angrily. "You are here with some larcenous scheme in mind, I am certain of it! When I get to the bottom of it, I promise you, you'll wish you had never crossed my path!"

Jack smiled and plucked the topmost scroll from Zandria's arms. "What have you got here? Maybe I can be of some assistance." He studied it with some interest.

"Get your hands off that!" Zandria snapped. She dropped her armful of books and scrolls on the nearest table and wheeled on Jack, snatching the scroll out of his hands. "Your juvenile stunts don't amuse me in the least. I will see to your removal at once!" She replaced the scroll on top of the pile and marched off to the librarian. She began to harangue the woman in an angry whisper, frequently pointing at Jack.

Jack watched in idle interest for a few moments. Zandria apparently managed to convince the librarian that his presence deserved some further investigation, and with a scowl in his direction, the woman rose from her desk and led Zandria out into the hall. He gloated privately, imagining Zandria's delicious frustration when she discovered that he had every right to be in the Guild library-and then his eyes fell on the stack of research Zandria had left on the table. "Ah, I might be able to help you after all." He laughed to himself.

With a confident air he sat down at the desk and efficiently rifled through the titles and texts the adventuring mage had left behind. "What have we here?" Dwarf Runes and Marks. A Survey of Crypts and Sarcophagi. Ciphers and Codes. A Study of Tombs. Winemaking and Vintners. Eralme's Encyclopedia of Eastern Vintages. A few dozen letters. A handful of mercantile books recording hundreds of transactions. "Quite a little mystery," Jack observed, "apparently involving a dead dwarf or wine maker-that Cedrizarun fellow she questioned Ontrodes about, I suspect."

Jack leaned back and set his slippered feet on the table, doffing his fez and staring into it absently as he considered the riddle. He knew Zandria's kind; the city of Raven's Bluff was full of them, bold and certain adventurers searching for monsters to slay, wrongs to be put right, and treasures to be found. A Red Wizard of Thay, utterly confident in her abilities, desperately interested in seemingly random topics linked only by the name of Cedrizarun, a deceased dwarven master distiller. Either Zandria was a liquor aficionado of epic proportions, or she was on the trail of some wonderful and richly rewarding adventure.

What Jack didn't know about the pursuit of wealth wasn't worth knowing. "She'll need my assistance, no doubt of it," he concluded. He returned his attention to Zandria's stack of books and uncapped one of the scroll tubes, emptying its contents onto the table. It was a piece of new parchment smeared with a carefully rendered charcoal rubbing, sandwiched between pieces of waxed paper. He rolled it out on the table and studied it.

The rubbing showed a detailed carving or relief from some unknown source. A smiling sun-face looked down on a vineyard, bordered by an elaborate scrollwork of curling leaves. In the center was stamped a dwarven mark that Jack didn't recognize. And, in a banner across the bottom, a string of impenetrable dwarven runes was carved. Fortunately, someone had taken the time to record a translation in a different hand beneath the dwarven writing:

"Other hands must take up my work

Other eyes my works behold

At the center of all the thirty-seventh

Girdled by the leaves of autumn

Mark carefully the summer staircase and climb it clockwise thrice

Order emerges from chaos; the answer made clear."

"What an obtuse riddle," Jack muttered. He found a piece of blank parchment and set it over the top of the charcoal rubbing; then he worked an old spell he knew. Under the soft chaotic energies of Jack's sorcery, the blank parchment began to darken and smudge, taking on every detail of the rubbing exactly as it appeared in Zandria's parchment. Whistling under his breath, Jack folded the new copy and stuffed it into his robe. Then he picked up the scroll tube and started to replace the mage's rubbing.

"Put that down at once!"

Zandria stood in the doorway, Meritheus and the librarian at her side. She raised her hands to work some spell of great destructive potential, but the two Guild wizards restrained her in a panic.

"Please, my lady, the books!" the librarian cried.

"You must respect the sanctity of our fellowship!" Meritheus added. "Guild members do not engage in spell-slinging within these walls."

"Bugger the Guild!" Zandria shrieked. "He's been rooting through my books! If you don't want me to incinerate him in your precious library, you'd better get him out of here this very minute!"

Meritheus looked at Jack. "Master Delgath, it is now well past noon. If you please, affiliate members must confine their visits to the library to the morning hours."

"The Dread Delgath does not care for your petty rules and bylaws," Jack replied, "but in the interests of fostering good relations with his lesser fellows, he shall now absent himself from the premises." He paused and then added, "He also wishes for you to look into the rude behavior of one Zandria, who has offered the Dread Delgath nothing but contempt and suspicion despite his earnest efforts to assist her."

"The Dread Delgath would be well advised not to press his luck," Meritheus observed dryly.

He stepped aside and indicated the door with a jerk of his thumb. Jack gathered his robes about him with the greatest dignity he could muster, and then strode out of the room without even a glance at Zandria, who glared at him with undisguised loathing.

Jack tried not to notice how quickly the doorman hustled him out into the street, and he paid no attention to the rather authoritative boom! of the door slamming shut behind him. He patted his breast pocket and set off for home.

After a sparse lunch of black bread and sharp cheese at the Cracked Tankard, Jack headed back to his apartment to change his clothes. He threaded his way through the midafternoon hustle and bustle of the Anvil without even noticing, his mind working on the various riddles before him. Many of the streets were so choked with wagon traffic and long lines of porters carrying heavy burdens that other pedestrians were forced to detour blocks out of their way to get around the crowds.

While he walked, he considered his next step. Illyth Fleetwood expected his presence at the Game of Masks later in the evening, but he had most of the afternoon free. He could inquire after the belongings of the mage Durezil using some of the same sources he'd checked out when he was looking for Gerard, or he could buy a flagon of strong drink for Ontrodes and see if the old sage would let slip some information about what exactly Zandria was looking for and whether or not Jack might beat her to her prize. He grinned fiercely and leaped up on an empty hitching rail, then to the ramshackle overhang that ran from building to building along Morlgar Ride, balancing easily as he ran over the mud and the crowds of the street. It didn't matter, not a bit. The world was full of possibility, and any course he chose was guaranteed to produce extremely satisfactory results.

"I am amazing!" he cried aloud, and it didn't trouble him at all that no one in the crowd seemed to agree with him.

He reached his apartments and changed his clothes, dressing in his customary attire of gray and black. The Dread Delgath was not needed again this day, and Lord Jaer Kell Wildhame didn't have to come out for a few hours yet. In the meantime, Jack had business as Jack. He buckled his sword belt around his waist and hung his rapier and poignard at his side. Then he trotted down the stair and out into the street.

The fact that he was thinking about three or four different things probably contributed to his failure to note the cloaked figures watching his door. Without a word of warning, Jack was seized from behind and dragged off the street and into a nearby alley mouth. He was punched once in the stomach, hard; when he doubled over, somebody pulled his cape over his head and ran him into the nearest wall so hard that Jack saw nothing but stars for a good five or ten heartbeats.

One hand clamped across his middle and the other pressed to his skull, Jack looked up and got his first good look at his assailants. One was a big, brawny fellow, clean shaven and good looking, with black hair and clear gray eyes that showed not a hint of friendship. Despite the angry, purposeful look on his face, he seemed to exude authority. Jack had seen his type before-some kind of lawman or agent of the city's lords, charged with a list of duties and responsibilities as long as his arm and deadly serious about discharging each and every one. He was evidently the one that had manhandled Jack.

The other assailant was a woman with pronounced elf features and a shoulder-length sea of brilliant copper hair. She might have been a half-elf-her height and build were too statuesque for a full-blooded elf. Her dark eyes were not any warmer than her companion's.

"In a hurry, Jack?" she asked.

"Not at all," Jack rasped, trying not to show how much his stomach hurt. "If you could perhaps persuade your companion to pummel some other passerby, I should be delighted to spend the rest of the day in your company. But I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage, my lady. To whom am I speaking?" He started to push himself up, but the big man stepped forward and kicked his arm out from under him; he sat down again hard.

The woman smiled coolly. "We'll ask the questions," the woman said. "So, where are you going, Jack?" She wore a jerkin of metal-studded leather over green wool breeches and a shirt of fine mail. A slender long sword was sheathed at her side. "Be honest now."

"I thought I might take a stroll in the fish market. I miss the wonderful aroma when I'm away from the place for too long."

The big man shook his head and reached down to grab a handful of Jack's hair. He thumped Jack's head against the wall once, hard enough to start the stars in Jack's eyes again.

"Think of a better answer than that," he growled, "and don't waste our time."

"You wouldn't be on your way to meet Myrkyssa Jelan, would you?" the woman asked.

"Myrkyssa Jelan?" Jack blinked to clear his eyes and shook his head to make sure he was hearing correctly. "The warlord Myrkyssa Jelan? Enemy of the city, leader of Jelan's horde, ten feet tall and magic-proof Myrkyssa Jelan?" He tried to keep his face straight, but despite himself, a snicker crept into his voice, and then a snort, and finally a full gusty guffaw. "Myrkyssa Jelan! Oh, my lady, you are making a fool of me! Myrkyssa Jelan, indeed!"

Two years ago, the Warlord Jelan had ravaged all the Vast with a great horde of mercenaries, goblins, ogres, and giants, finally bringing all her forces to bear on Raven's Bluff. The army, led by Lord Charles Blacktree, had sallied forth to meet her in the field. Skirmishing and forays had followed for months, culminating in a week-long battle in which Jelan's onslaught finally failed on the sixth day of continuous fighting.

"No, I am afraid that I do not have the pleasure of Myrkyssa Jelan's acquaintance," Jack managed to gasp, "but I was hurrying to meet the sceptanar of Cimbar and the king of Cormyr, who even now plot a dastardly double-pronged attack on our fair city. Consider yourselves warned!" With that he lapsed into raucous laughter again.

Muttering under his breath, the big man stepped forward and seized Jack by the collar. "This is no joking matter. We have reason to believe that the Warlord's agents are at large in the city. She means to lay the city to waste. I mean to stop her. Don't laugh at me!"

"Honestly, I don't know what you're talking about," Jack said.

The dark-haired man hauled Jack to his feet and drew back one hand to strike Jack across the face, but the rogue twisted out of the warrior's grasp and backpedaled an arm's length. He set his hand on the poignard's hilt.

"Your attentions are unwelcome, sir," he said with a light laugh. "I thank you for the jest, but I must excuse myself." He paused and then added, "The Simbul expects me shortly, and I cannot keep such a lovely and important lady waiting, if you understand me."

The man halted. He deliberately pushed his cloak clear of his right shoulder, revealing a longer and heavier shirt of mail than the woman and a heavy broadsword at his belt.

"I think the question is, do you understand me?" the man said. "Don't trifle with us, street rat."

"You say you don't know anything about Myrkyssa Jelan. Interesting. I can produce a dozen witnesses who saw you meet with a woman named Elana at the Cracked Tankard a couple of nights ago," the woman said. "What did you talk about?"

"Even if that is correct, which I don't admit for a moment," Jack said, "there is no law against sharing an ale with an acquaintance in a tavern."

"Perhaps you should concern yourself with the question of who Elana is really working for, Jack Ravenwild. Spies need dupes, after all."

"I am nobody's dupe!"

"Don't be so sure of that." The man set his hand on his sword hilt. Jack followed the motion with his eyes, spotting a tattoo on the back of the fellow's sword hand-a hawk in flight, stooping with its talons extended. "Now, answer my friend's question."

Knights of the Hawk. Jack shook his head, still trying to clear the cobwebs. He'd managed to attract some very prestigious attention indeed. "I might. But first, tell me why the Knights of the Hawk are interested in Elana. And who you are, for that matter."

The man scowled. "You can call me Marcus. This is Ashwillow. Remember the names."

"Have no fear on that account," Jack said. He rubbed his head. "I won't forget you."

"We want to have some words with Elana," Ashwillow said. "We have reason to believe that she's involved in some undesirable activities, the kind of activities people get imprisoned for. Or possibly hanged." She stared hard at Jack by way of extending the threat.

"Have you seen her?" Marcus asked.

"Not since I spoke to her the other night," Jack answered.

"What exactly did you talk about?" Ashwillow asked.

"She had lecherous designs upon my person, but I informed her that my personal standards of conduct could not possibly accommodate her lustful wishes," Jack said. He dusted off his cape and rearranged his clothes. Then he deliberately pushed his way past the two city knights. "Our conversation included nothing that could possibly be of interest to two such brave and noble defenders of the city."

"We'll be keeping an eye on you," Marcus called after him as Jack walked out of the alley. "If you're withholding information, you'll be called to account for it later."

Jack bit down on his reply and left without another word. He'd be keeping an eye on them, too.