The day was warm already, though nowhere near as hot as it would be come summer, when each of them found a runner waiting for them at their dwelling or business with an envelope sealed with the wax crest of a noble. The young runner delivered the message with a smile once she had confirmed the identity of the recipient, lingering expectantly.
            Opening the letter, they all found an invitation in a neat hand, which read:

'Greetings, and I hope this missive finds you in good health!

My name is Lavinia Vanderboren, and I humbly request your attendance at dinner at my estate on Festival Street and Blue Skink Lane tomorrow evening. I think that I can present you with an opportunity uniquely suited to your skills. Please inform the carrier of this letter of your response to this invitation, and I hope to be speaking to you soon!

- Lavinia Vanderboren'

            "I'm humbled to be of Lady Vanderboren's note, and am delighted to accept," Reginald barely hesitated, smiling graciously to the courier. He considered expressing condolences or acknowledgements of the family's recent tragedy, but it would be unseemly to put the courier in a position of potentially needing to broach an uncomfortable subject to relay the feelings. The young Lady Vanderboren would set the tone tomorrow evening; her missive certainly seemed to be upbeat and forward-looking. He thus extended no questions.?
            Preparations! He would need to have that shirt tended; a dinner required a certain measure of decorum, after all; and one did not simply elect just any street bauble for a hostess gift, so some consideration and soliciting of vendors was to be made. While he knew of the family, he did not know to what flavors or fashions Lady Vanderboren's tastes aligned, so he would be off to make inquiries in the markets surrounding the household as to what might most frequently have caught her eye.

            “Thanks, Dove,” Lillia said to the wiry street girl, handing her a coin.
            “Anytime, Mizlil,” the girl lisped, the unfortunate remainder of a beating she hadn’t deserved. “Zheez put up at the puppet zhow juzt now. Catch her ya can, if’ya hurry.”
            A steeling pause and the girl gambled further, “Whatcha need her for?”
            Lillia turned her attention back to Dove, and the younger knew she had overstepped her bounds. Such was her curse though. She had smashed lips to prove it.
            “Dove,” the older started, “What have I said.”
            “I know, Mizlil, I know,” Dove replied quietly. “Queztionz beget blood.”
            “And with you more than most,” Lillia said. “Tread lightly, my dear, and we’ll see you through. Now go on, and stop your worrying. She’ll not take any of your work.”
            Lillia watched the girl nod and disappear back into the streets of Merchant District. The pair were more alike than Dove would ever know, but fate never seemed to favor the younger of the two. Each certainly had their curses to bear however.

            Gbele studied the wax seal for a moment before breaking it, wondering what the imprint might mean. Brow furrowed, he immediately realized that the message was written in Tashalan. He could barely speak it, and could not read a word, a shortcoming that embarrassed the proud holy man. Every simple transaction in this unfamiliar world raised challenges, but Gbele was not one to shrink from challenges. He squared his jaw and made a conscious effort to smile back at the street urchin.
            "Read for me, if you please." He handed the message back to the runner, and listened carefully as she related the invitation. His smile took on genuine dimensions as he realized that Ubtao was already influencing events to address his nightly visions. He put his hand on his heart, intoning, "I will make attendance to this dinner. All praises to fine hostess."
            After the runner left, Gbele stepped back into his room at the boarding house, wrinkling his nose at the foreign smells within. Sitting on the moldy straw in the muggy heat of mid-day, he repeated "Festival Street and Blue Skink Lane" until he was certain he had committed it to memory, then lapsed into a meditative state.

            Lillia had watched the messenger for well over an hour. The young woman lurking near her door was unknown to her, though Lillia had seen her face before. She couldn’t place where, yet, but faces were something that she always tried to remember. One never knew when a particular one might come calling, though this face didn’t seem to pose any real threat. She was horrible at lurking.
            So Lillia had approached without drawing a weapon and received the missive with typical ease and common gratitude. Silence then stretched between the two stationary women until finally the messenger spoke.
            “I’m to wait for a response, miss,” she said.
            “For how long?” Lillia replied. She only allowed the courier a moment or two of flustered uncertainty before laughing and dismissing her words as humor. “I’m kidding, dear,” she said. “I’ve so been in your shoes before.”
            She placed a reassuring hand on the messenger’s forearm, and seeing no sign of fear or uncertainty, popped the wax seal with her other hand. If there had been nefarious intentions coiled within the note, they would both have suffered the consequences.
            Lillia read the words within, the nuances that skulked underneath, and forcibly kept her heart from hammering in her chest. She feigned reading them a second time to allow for a few more calming breaths to steady her, then she looked to the courier with a smile.
            “Inform the lady that I will attend,” she said, but in her mind, she was already planning on how she would escape Sasserine.

            When the sun had finally dropped behind the lowest roofs Loupin lugged a satchel of old books to the east end of the neighborhood where she lived. She went by herself. The parrot grew nervous in stormy weather, and while it did not look like raining, the clouds were already bruised and ugly and thunder was already rolling somewhere north of the city, out over the sea. It sounded angry but not especially dangerous.
            If she felt tense about anything it was venturing unchaperoned into the East End when the sun was going down. She should have gone sooner, maybe when Reginald was there; his honor may not have allowed him to leave a decidedly un-warlike girl on her own after nightfall, and Loupin could have impressed him into accompanying her. It was her mistake to wait and dither. The day had not been too hot, not summer-hot, and while the humidity was unpleasant, at this time of the year it threatened crops and gardens more than people. Her laziness had gotten the better of her again. Thus she had to weave her way past the rummies outside Fifteen Horses And a Mule and the johns outside the Painted Vixen, to deliver her burden. The Merchant's Watch was effective, perhaps the most effective constabulary in the city, but there were a lot of brothels and bars in the neighborhood to monitor, and especially on the East End.
            The last bridge she had to cross brought her onto Blue Skink Lane and right past the tall trees and high mortared walls encircling Vanderboren Manor. It was probably the largest of its kind in the district. Loupin had the invitation folded in her jacket pocket at that very moment, but she didn't have the nerve just then to introduced herself to anybody who might be stationed at the gate. It was strange to think she would be inside that hall before another day had passed; mysterious oligarchs were not the sort of dinner company she dreamed after, and if the Traveler's Street courier had found her before Orimander had returned to the shop, she might have hesitated even to provide him with an answer. As it was, her mentor had practically accepted on her behalf. Neither of them were able to guess what such a banquet might portend -- if it was wizardry the Vanderborens were after, Orimander was by a thousand miles the better one to contract -- but rejected business opportunities didn't pay her rent, as Orimander knew better than anybody, even her.
            But the Vanderborens had something bordering on an ill name, and Loupin almost dreaded to meet any of them, no matter how politely they might inquire after her. Some people said they were cursed, perhaps in revenge for shadowy business dealings. People didn't get rich by working hard, nor by working honest. If they were looking for somebody to help them lift some kind of curse, they couldn't have picked a less qualified half-elf. The only skills she had were the ones she was using now, a knowledge of how to evade drunks on the route between the Emporium and the Inner Labyrinth.
            The latter, an occult bookseller, was north of the manor on Vine Street, overlooking -- or more accurately, on the verge of collapsing into -- the little lagoon at the center of the East End.
            The shop was already closed and Loupin had to bang several times at the door to summon anybody inside. The delivery warranted no great verbal explanation, as the books had been sent to Orimander for analysis, and included a sheaf of explanatory notes he'd dictated to her. They were not magical in nature, nor practical in spirit. Whoever was going to buy them, much less read them, was bound to regret it. But that was none of her business. It was enough to have delivered them back to the shop on the day they'd been promised, and to be released from lugging useless tomes from one end of the district to the other.
            It thundered again, a little more loudly this time, and listening closely Loupin heard some friendly commotion drifting across the lagoon. It sounded like a bunch of noisy kids, and it cost her no effort to guess that Damaskio had organized another puppet show for the neighborhood. Such shows were not executed strictly in the spirit of community service: Damaskio sold puppets and toys, and on relatively temperate nights like these, with lightning to heighten the drama (or comedy, morelike), all the innumerable progeny of the local sex industry were turned out onto the streets, unwary and vulnerable to impulse capitalism. Loupin could understand the attraction of it all. Like most of these dirty-faced brats, she could hardly afford to reserve one stray penny for entertainment, and the shows were generally free, even if the toys were not.
            With not much to do, nor much immediate desire to face the roundabout journey back, Loupin decided to walk the rest of he way around the lagoon to see what the evening's matter was about. The lagoon was not at all large -- two dozen gondolas were enough to crowd it -- and the shows were conducted only four or five lots further up the way. She might have to brave the criticism of a few exhausted Lotharios stumbling out of the brothel or the bathhouse nearby, but after all, these children had mothers, and mothers had to work somewhere. At times drunken catcalling even had a way of making a young woman glad for what she had; of course Loupin had next to nothing, whatever Lavinia Vanderboren thought, but her job and flat on the West End, on the same street as something as well-protected and uncontroversial as the Telvanta Academy, could manage to feel safe and look attractive even when the lightning flashed and all the humid shadows of the peninsula drew down over the city.
            The empty satchel bounced against her hip as she approached the intersection where Vine Street turned into Puppetmaker's Lane. Loupin was dressed in plain boots and a thin jacket against the small potential for a sudden evening squall and the accompanying mud, but she had no hat, and with her pinned-up hair, pointed ears and dusky Calishite complexion, was easily recognizable, even if she didn't actually know many people in this raucous working-class corner of town.
            A handful of heartbeats later found Lillia appearing beside the half-elven girl who was frequenting their section of the city enough to warrant a chat. Loupin. That was her name. Lillia had followed her, had made some inquiries. On the surface, the stance of this girl, the nature of her travel, it all spoke of common occurrence, nothing to warrant alarm, but Lillia wasn’t one to let a matter slide. Better to sift through it to be sure.
            Especially after the invitation had arrived.
            Lillia inhaled a deep rift of dusky air and released it with a pleasurable sigh, enough to draw the nearby woman’s attention. Lillia glanced her way under the guise of realizing she may have disturbed Loupin’s own reverie. She offered a cordial smile.
            “So beautiful,” she said and returned her gaze forward in the general direction of the puppetry. What she had been referencing specifically though, was vague enough as to be anyone’s guess.
            Dressed in comfortable swaths of blue, the dark-skinned woman bore a lightweight cloak across her shoulders which flapped gently in the breeze, likely intended for use against any sudden rain.
            Surprised, Loupin glanced behind her to see whether anybody else was there, and did not respond immediately as she turned back to watch the show. They stood far from the ragged edge of the audience, and as the sun went down, it was growing easier to hear the story than to see it.
            As Lillia seemed always to maintain a private defense perimeter, fashioned from street etiquette and multiple escape routes, a person in her occasional company had to decide not only what to say but how to say it. Theirs was mostly a business relationship. Loupin had only very limited interest in assessing mundane documents, and as Lillia could not read magical ones, they sometimes referred clients to one another. That was all, maybe, they would ever manage to do with each other, as by ancient habit the former reserved a degree of self-sufficiency even when she knew she needed help, and at least around her the latter had usually acted much the same. Though it should have been easier to trust another girl, especially one from the same district, they were neither of them inordinately quick to trust.
            "I had something for you," Loupin said finally, settling on a declarative, since they always worked better with Lillia. "Or maybe not -- I wasn't sure. Anyway, I ran out of time. You can be hard to find, you know."
            Lillia blinked slowly and allowed the memories of their first meeting to wash away with the stormy undercurrents in the air. Her lips parted in a light smile at the numerous similarities to this night’s engagement. Memory was such a fickle, feral mistress, summoned on primal, emotional tides.
            “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she replied. “Though I’m sure if it were vastly important, you would have found me.”
            How long had the two known each other now? The difficulties they shared in forming any lasting relationships was what had finally bound them. Most would have called such fancy doomed from the start, but only Loupin and Lillia knew in whose boots they had trod. It worked for them, for now.
            “I’ve been laying a little low,” she confessed, shrugging and splaying her hands. “Since…the papers.” Lillia took a deep breath, and then added, “There have been questions.”
            She turned to Loupin and voiced a question of her own. “But what brings you to linger this late in our saucy end of the district tonight then?”
            "The amount of sauce between it and my doorstep," Loupin said, just a little nettled by the question. There was no class distinction to appreciate between herself the people in this neighborhood, not when she couldn't even afford a gondola to avoid the gauntlet of dinner drunks and hustlers lining the route back to her own street. With the money from this delivery, she could finally cover another month in her garret and nothing else. She decided to change the subject. "Anyway, it's not as late as that. I... thought things would have quieted down for you for you by now."
            Loupin knew something about the papers in question, but only just enough to make her wish she didn't. The subject of slavery might have been expected to attract her special interest, but it brought up a certain amount of unhappy shit, and in any case she couldn't do a thing about any of it, not really. She was essentially the worst mage in the city. If she were curious about why a cautious underemployed seamstress would want to get involved in stuff like that, she did not bring herself to ask. Lillia didn't like too many questions anyway.
            Lillia’s features darkened for a moment as she pursed her lips. Her eyes shifted away from the puppet show to the Vanderboren estate looming on the far side of the lagoon. Then just as swiftly, the evening breezes softened her edges and returned her to the immediate vicinity.
            “I would have thought the same,” she replied. “But now a roar has practically echoed down these alleys.” She shook her head and waved off the sour line of thought.
            “Tell me,” Lillia asked politely. “Have you ever had reason to call on or perhaps make a delivery to Vanderboren Manor?”
            "No," said the other, after a moment's hesitation. Her voice grew rather careless. "But rich people usually do business through an agent, don't they? Why, are you keeping quiet on, uh, their account?"
            “Oh, it’s quite the opposite in fact,” Lillia said with a smile. “I wish they would keep quiet regarding me. I suppose I wasn’t being clear enough though,” she added. “A typical failing of mine. I was just curious if you’d ever been inside the walls of the estate. But no matter.” She waved a dismissive hand.
            “Mind if I walk with you awhile?” She gestured down the street as the puppet theatrics wound down. “Safer for both of us that way.”
            Loupin was hardly paying attention to the puppets. She didn't move, either, and glanced around again, as though she thought Lillia might after all have brought along some company, and maybe not a welcome kind.
            "I understood what you meant," she said, her voice refocusing. She almost sounded wary. "But what do you really mean, Lillia? Because if you're here trying to warn me away from Whats-its-nuts Manor -- or something -- you may as well say so plainly. I'm even less crazy about this neighborhood's intrigues than I am about being snooped on or followed or escorted around because of the raging of the alleyways, or whatever. So what's going on?"
            The truth was Loupin was always tempted to attribute Lillia's subtleties to some kind of association with an Organization Better Left Unnamed. The human girl might be friendly enough, but she was also good at popping up suddenly, and disappearing suddenly, and -- judging by their surroundings -- possibly did did not abominate every sort of moral turpitude. Which was not normally an issue, except that they both knew Loupin would have to pass by that old manor again on her way home, and also the inexplicable invitation was still right there in her jacket pocket. So what was going on?
            Lillia’s head tilted in comical animal fashion and a winsome smile crested her lips. A look of confusion skipped across her features in the evening shadows.
            “Why would I warn you away from the manor?” she asked. “I’ve never set foot inside either, and I thought you might just like some company on your walk home.” The confusion on her face dipped into consternation for a few moments before the haze cleared.
            “Oooh, wait, you’re wondering why I’m asking about it at all,” she said and chuckled lightly. “Loupin, your mind does ferret out every nook and cranny, doesn’t it?”
            Lillia bent down a bit toward the petite half-elf and said with a mischievous air, “Walk with me a bit, if you like, and maybe I’ll tell you.” Then she turned and started to move west down Stirge Street at a comfortable amble toward the bridge which would lead across to Vanderboren Manor.
            After a moment Loupin followed her, though not without a final hesitant glance around. For the sake of security she lifted the strap of her empty satchel from her shoulder and hooked it over her head. Anybody could have whisked it off and disappeared into the evening gloom and shadow, as the sun, hardly perceptible behind the crawling banks of clouds, westered behind the lowest buildings of the neighborhood.
            The wind was picking up as lightning neared the city. It was not very cold yet, and Loupin still thought it unlikely to rain, or at worst without much feeling. A dry storm was excitement enough. She was not quite near enough to home to sense her familiar, but she could predict his agitation nonetheless. It would probably affect her sleep.
            "Hopefully you're not going to tell me the Vanderborens made their money in the slave trade, and that you're embarking on some crusade to topple them," Loupin remarked grimly, trailing a step or two behind Lillia's shoulder. "It's not what I'm dying to hear, just at present. No offense."
            Lillia snapped a look at Loupin and said, “I pray to the gods not.” Then she added as an afterthought, “And crusade, me? Really?” A shake of the head. “I don’t crusade.”
            She walked in silence then for a bit, deflecting further talk with her body language until they were upon the bridge. There, roundabout midway, she drew up and leaned her hips against the protective wall, back to Vanderboren Manor and arms crossed over her chest. She stared at Loupin for a few moments, face somber, almost rigid.
            “I was going to give you a song and dance about a boy,” she started. “Most girls get dreamy over such lovestruck business. But not you. No, dreamy’s not something in your repertoire, I gather. Mine either.” She finished with shrug.
            Then her demeanor shifted as a couple began crossing the bridge, likely as not just on their way home elsewhere in Merchant. The smile on Lillia’s lips, the sparkle in her eye, the subtle shift in her stance, she was a ray of sunshine now. It was an eerie transformation for Loupin to watch from such proximity.
            “Pleasant evening to you,” Lillia said, waving, and the couple returned a salutation without slowing.
            Once they were clear of the bridge, the sunshine was sheathed once more, and Lillia watched Loupin for a moment longer with her keen, assessing gaze. Then she reached out a hand.
            “Here,” she said. In her fingers was a missive that looked oddly familiar.
            The handwriting was familiar enough, and Loupin was frowning before she'd even begun reading. The wording seemed identical. With her free hand, she fished into her pocket long enough to extract and shake open her own copy. She held them side by side, comparing them in whatever light there was left to exploit, and at arm's length so Lillia could see.
            "Huh," she said, for the moment too baffled to feel afraid. She skimmed both papers for significant differences, finding none. "Well. Fuckin' hell. I don't get it. Did you get this today?"
            Lillia bounced off the wall the moment Loupin brought forth her own invitation. She was a little wide-eyed as she stepped around to skim the contents of both missives.
            “Ahhh, no wonder you were so skittish,” she said, then added with a chuckle. “You must have thought I was looking to skin you.”
            When their eyes met in a long, awkward moment, Lillia frowned and said, “I’m not, just so you know. I just wanted you to walk by the damn place with me as a cover for giving it the once over, but I can see that was a little short-sighted.”
            She shook her head and asked, with a pair of extended hands, to view the two notes herself. Examining both the penmanship and the parchment construction, she nodded and said, “Definitely form the same source, and yes, I got mine today via courier.”
            She handed Loupin’s copy back to her and took a deep breath. “So,” she said, “That begs two questions.”
            “First,” she held up a finger. “If there were these two, are there going to be more than these two?”
            “And second,” up went another finger and one corner of her mouth wryly. “Are you going?”
            "I dunno, are you?" Loupin replied, her own mouth assuming a similar shape. She peered back down at the paper, as though it could contain secret letters scrawled in lemon juice. "Those aren't even my two questions. What the hell talents do we both have that might interest ol' Lavinia Vanderhosen? And why only a day's warning? You know that can't be good."
            She reflected for a moment. Her brows lowered a bit.
            "You know who it is," Loupin decided, "you know who it probably is, it's that little fucker, Reginald. I just saw him, like an hour before this came. Man, I knew he didn't need that stupid scroll analyzed! Prob'ly scoping me out. But he's the only one who hangs around both of us, and you know that guy can't cross a taproom without befriending some random murderhobo. I bet he told ol' Lavinia we were geniuses or something. Some bullshit. Seen him lately?"
            “You think Reggie No-Thumbs did this?” Lillia asked, her face twisted in confusion. “That old panhandler down on Ditch Street? Why would he do this? I don’t think he can even hold a quill much less wr--”
            The look on Loupin’s face brought Lillia up cold.
            “Ohh, wait, you mean Brushcutter,” Lillia said with a nod, shifting gears quickly. “I don’t know. Could be. I’ve known a few rakes though, and he doesn’t really seem the intrigue type. More the slap-you-in-the-face-for-a-duel type, don’t you think?”
            “And I can’t imagine why I got this,” holding up her invitation. “You at least have magic at hand. I’m a tailor.”
            “Which also begs the question,” she added, pinching her mouth to one side and looking Loupin up and down. “Is…that what you’re wearing?”
            Lillia smiled at her sheepishly, but beneath the surface, her mind was dancing around a hundred different scenarios that could unfold in the hours to come. She didn’t like playing dumb, but some habits were reflexive. Loupin’s invitation had sated many of the initial concerns Lillia had entertained about what she thought of as the Vanderboren Debacle, but Brushcutter had been looking for her. She had only just managed to duck him near the markets. He was fast for a flowery stump.
            Now Lillia wondered what was going on, and usually nothing would tame that curiosity once it brimmed. Well then, it looked like at least a preliminary investigation would be worthwhile.
            Loupin was too surprised by Lillia's question to notice the absence of a direct confession. She looked down at herself. It was true: she was a mess, all the way down to her shoes. In this condition, they probably wouldn't let her past the gate. The slightly-better junk she did have wouldn't win many prizes, either, but she did have her nice coat, the gray one that Lillia had done some fancy stitching on. She hardly ever wore it -- the material was a little too heavy for southern weather, generally -- but it made her look marginally more like a wizard. Also she couldn't afford to hire Lillia just then, and they had never before relied upon each other for favors.
            "No-o," she said uncertainly. "Uh, this is just, like, camouflage. Keeps me from gettin' jacked up. Listen, you wouldn't be asking me if I'm going unless you were thinking about going, and I don't think you'd be going if you thought there was something wrong about all this -- although I'll bet you five hundred rubies that gnome's gonna be there -- but I've never heard anybody say anything glowing about ol' Lavinia or her bunch, so if we do this, we're in it together, all right? Tomorrow, I'll memorize my good smash-'em-up-type spells, and you can, uh, you can... sew us some plate armor or something." She shook her head in despair at the matching papers. "It's probably a mistake. Why the hell would rich people want me for anything? I'm the worst. You don't think it could be because of, uh, your, uh -- those papers that you read, do you?" Loupin had recused herself from participating in Lillia's Documents Debacle, in fact she had practically recoiled physically from the adventure, but she'd seen the documents, at lest technically, so could her own name have wound up in the record, somehow? She hoped not; she had enough problems.
            “Well now I do!” Lillia said. “Ugh, and I don’t have anything to wear. This week just keeps getting worse. I could maybe whip something up, but without the right accessories, it would look like something, well, something that I just whipped up!”
            She read the invitation again. “Uniquely suited to our skills,” she paraphrased. “So she knows a little bit about us by the sounds of it. If for no other reason than that, I’m going because I want to know what she’s heard. And I want to see if you’re right about Brushcutter. Plus, there might be a job in it.”
            “Alright,” she said. “I’m gonna clean up a bit, but not a lot. So don’t worry over your clothes too much. Meet here, tomorrow, five bells, and we’ll make our approach from there. Sound good?”
            Loupin wasn't sure good was the right word, especially if she was going to be expected to do something impressive with magic for the edification of ol' Lavinia Vanderbelch, but she agreed to the plan. Reluctantly.

            Lillia’s mind had descended into the quiet pool of reflection that came just before an insertion. Her hands worked oblivious of her thoughts. Tightening a pair of laces. Sliding her toolkit into the hidden pouch above her tailbone. Adjusting the angle of a belt sash and the sap woven within. Dusting a little rosy color onto her cheeks. Gathering her hair in a loose tie behind her and then pulling the breathable sleeves of her top back down to her wrists, further concealing Harmony asleep in her nest.
            A final, relaxing breath, and then she summoned the slightly fearful and uncertain emotions which would be her mask for this evening. She tucked the invitation into an easily accessible fold and pulled the door closed behind her with a tentative click.

            Vanderboren Manor was located in the eastern section of the Merchant District, the heart and soul of Tashluta, and the seven-foot-high stone wall that surrounded the estate was impossible to miss - as was the towering three-story house that dominated the grounds within. Leering barongs and capering dancers in traditional outfits festooned the carved eaves of the manor's roof, and several trees gave the grounds a nice buffer from the hustle of the city - though, to be honest, there wasn't too much bustle before the gates of the manor, despite the gondola waystation nearby.
            When those invited approached beneath the blazing orange and purple clouds of evening (far more beautiful than the darker clouds out over the bay that rumbled now and then in the distance), they found that the artfully carved front gates had been left open for them, though no one was present to greet them.
            A neatly dressed riverstone path lit by paper lanters led to the front door, offering them a small look at the surrounding garden on the way. Well-cared-for plants and tiny stone shrines dotted the lush surroundings, where all manner of flowers bloomed in abundance, and the sweet smell of blooming citrus trees wafted through the air.
            Once they ventured to the front door, knocking summoned a wizened little old halfling woman, who opened the door and invited them in. Taking whatever cloaks or other garments or accoutrements they wished to remove, she introduced herself as Kora, and asked them to wait in the atrium, promising that Lady Vanderboren would be with them shortly. Then she trundled away, her bare feet silent on the wood floors, leaving them to each other's company.
            The atrium was spacious, and well-appointed, but not overly ostentatious. Here and there, there was evidence of the family's explorations and adventures, enough to spark interest without seeming boastful or gaudy. A framed map of strange lands, the head of a tiger, a mysteriously crafted bottled ship, complete with sails and rigging; slightly eccentric keepsakes, as one might expect of a noble family with a merchant fortune.
            "Delighted!" exclaimed the feathered hat as it was doffed upon its entry to the manor, revealing Reginald's obsidian locks. Reginald yielded the hat to Kora graciously, and removed his shouldercloak with an equivalent flourish and presented it forth over his arm to her care. His left hand fell easily upon the hilt of his ornamented rapier to keep the point of the blade safely in his wake as he executed a partial bow to Kora, then saw himself into the atrium.
            "My, my!" Reg exclaimed anew at the taste displayed in the room, and the quiet celebration of adventures past, which he could profoundly appreciate. Reginald ambled contemplatively about the room, examining the various accoutrements and momentos upon display with an honest fascination.
            A thin form seemingly fell from the sky just outside the manor. Sydreas Faeborn lithely rolled upright, deftly transitioning from a vertical landing to an easy saunter towards the door. In truth, he had been using the walls as his street. While he had the ability to melt efficiently through a crowd, sometimes it was just quicker to avoid it entirely.
            Reaching the door, the elf merely bowed respectfully to Kora, not having any particular extra accouterments to drop off. He preferred quick, efficient movement, so flappy clothing like coats or cloaks only got in his way. If need be he had a close-fitting jacket that he could don, but not today. His garb consisted of a simple leather tunic and trousers, accompanied by just a rapier at his hip.
            He entered the atrium as bid and cast his eyes around the eclectic collection. A low whistle exited his lips before he noticed the gnome standing nearby. "Well met, sir," he greeted with a tilt of his head, "Syd is the name. A curious place, this."
            The next man to enter the room is a bit below average height for a human, but broad in the chest and shoulders. With his dark skin, cured wildebeast hide shirt, and simple sandals, he looks to have been pulled directly from the interior jungle. The head of the war-pick tucked in the sash that serves as his belt is cast to represent the head of a raptor; this, and the tattoo of a complex maze on the back of his right hand mark him as a holy man of Ubtao, Creator of Chult. It isn't clear whether the holy man wears his jungle attire as an affectation, or simply because he has no other clothes. He simply nods to the halfling as she turns to go, then wordlessly takes in his surroundings. He seems entirely out of place, though not uncomfortable, in the fine room, and shows no inclination toward speaking.
            "A pleasure, sir!" Reginald returned in kind, offering a much more dramatic bow and roll of his hand. "Singular!"
            "Quite the display, no?" He cast about the room once more, but returned forthwith to the new arrival. "Reginald Brushcutter, at your service. If I gather truly from your exchange with Kora, you have also been invited to attend dinner this evening?"
            "Indeed. I suspect that anyone calling at this hour would be similarly invited." Syd smiled as his eyes were drawn to their new companion - how could they not. "Including the fine silent gentleman here."
            "Silence is social potential preparing to manifest," Reginald pronounced to both gentlemen, then turned to speak the dusk-skinned newcomer. "You, my good man, by garb appear as fresh or as accustomed to expedition in the merits of the jungles as any foray which may have yielded these displayed momentos, here." He indicated the modest array of the room with a gentle sweep of his hand. The gnomes eyes took in the markings upon the latest comer's accoutrements, and once or twice he paused, impressed, if he interpreted the whorls and dyed nuances correctly to indicate that before them stood a warrior of some merit and accomplishment. "Indeed you are," Reginald amended and commented to himself in summation, both, and dipped his head in a respectful nod.
            Kora apparently wasn't under instructions to announce the guests as they arrived, some social pleasantries were tasked upon them all as a default matter of course. Reginald placed a splayed palm upon his chest and executed a partial bow, "Reginald Brushcrutter, good sir." He held up and forward a diminutive hand in offered greeting.
            The holy man looks from the elf to the gnome, clearly making an effort to keep up with the conversation...and just as clearly failing. His brow furrows as he waits for Reginald to finish with what he takes to be some sort of long-winded cityfolk introduction. He shakes hands in a manner suggesting that though he is familiar with the custom, he only barely tolerates it. "Mister...Brush-cutter? Is this correct? I am Baba Gbele, of Chult. I was invited to this place." There is a long pause as he considers perhaps adding to his statement, but before he can decide whether to do so, Lillia makes her entrance. He gives her a generally disapproving look, though this may simply be his default expression.
            The gnome smiled disarminingly, and wrapped up quickly, as new arrives were arriving! "Just 'Reginald,' if you please, sir. We're all in good company, this evening, it seems; I hazard we were /all/ so invited. Would it be most proper to favor you as, 'Gbele,' sir, or do you prefer your full name?"
            Gbele nods his head. "It is Baba Gbele...or simply Baba, if you please." Once again, the holy man considers adding to the conversation, but is overtaken by the rapid series of events.
            Lillia’s face slowly leaned into the opening of the atrium doorway, eyes wide with indecision. As the first male gaze turned in her direction, she disappeared in swift silence behind the jamb.
            Muffled words and sounds of a light scuffle ensued, followed by Lillia’s head and shoulders spinning into view for a moment. Then another girl’s features spun through briefly, before also disappearing, and then apparently the momentum of whatever was going on sent Lillia stumbling a step or two into the exquisite chamber.
            She cast a dark look back the way she had come before turning a comical smile upon the striking figures in the atrium. Offering an appropriate bow for the setting and gender, she said by way of greeting, “Fair tides to you, all.”
            “I take it we’re not too late?” she added, stepping clear of the doorway.
            Dressed in well crafted utilitarian cottons and linens, the tailoring enhanced the curves of the toned body beneath. The interplay of seafoam and cobalt, accented with buttery yellow created a young and fresh vista overall. There was no way this girl had seen two decades of life, and quite likely a few years less than that.
            The second girl, shorter and less robust, looked scarcely older. She kept her hands in the pockets of her long gray coat, which was buttoned all the way up, and extended nearly all the way down to her booted shins; it was gold-stitched, and tailored in a way that almost made it seem borrowed from the first girl. It had a big roomy hood, too, which the girl wore up, covering her coffee-colored hair. She was brown and slender as a switch, and had the strange amber-colored gaze of an elf. That gaze, upon catching a glimpse of Reginald Brushcutter, swung heavy-laden with irony in the direction of her human companion.
            Reginald's face brightened to three shades of merriment at recognizing Loupin at her entry... and... was that Lillia? Reginald almost chanced a guess aloud, but he'd be wrong on that count before.
            "We can't be," Loupin joked, pushing her fists deeper into her pockets. "Their shirts aren't covered in gravy and wine."
            " They might as well be, when placed next to you two," came a chuckle from behind.
            Standing in the doorway was a man of dark and vibrant color, dressed in the typical, loose garments of a sailor from Tashluta. Thick, hardy boots held down crimson pants that billowed out over the tops of the leather footwear, separated from a top of purest white by a silken wrap of patterned gold. Within the cradle of the makeshift belt lay a simple scabbard, curved and long, with the handle that jutted from its maw looking worn and dour: the slow decay of metal to salt. His beard sat neatly trimmed around his full mouth, while his hair was left loose and wild, kept from his eyes only by a simple bandanna.
            " Talib Islaran, son of Keltar," he introduced himself in tones reminiscent of caramel slowly pouring from the boiling pot, " At the service of this house and its guests."
            He bowed in a sweeping gesture, smiling brightly at those gathered. When his coffee eyes settled on the garish gnome, he let out a laugh and excused himself past the women to greet the adventurer.
            " Reginald! I had a feeling I would find you here," he grinned, offering a hand to the man who had given him the gift of an unbiased ear, " I suppose Lavinia's letter was what you had been half-waiting, half-searching for, hm?"
            "And Talib as well! As I live and breathe! The city suddenly seems much more closer-knit than it did one solitary day ago, or surely there's a touch of fate intertwining threads!" Reginald exclaimed with a chortle. "Perhaps it is, indeed; if nothing else, I must say, my interest is now profoundly piqued," he continued, at Talib's apropro reference to Reginald's own recounted whims earlier. Sharp wit and sharp memory, that one.
            Talib turned to scan the arrayed. The two women, an Elf (another foreigner?), and a man who clearly belonged in the wild rather than a refined atrium. What was it that the Vanderborens were up to ..? It wasn't every day an Islaran received and invitation from their ilk, and that was considering Keltar Islaran's prestigious position as harbormaster. Then again, the Islarans were much like Talib: scattered to the wind lest they be grounded to the stone of the lighthouse.
            " It seems Lavinia keeps diverse company," Talib observed, taking a small walk around the atrium. He stole a glance at the miniature ship in the pristine bottle, studying it like a painter would his canvas. A galleas, he deduced: strong and powerful, meant for trade and war. Much like he had served on.
            " But does any of us know why we have been requested here?" he asked, looking back and forth between the assembled, " I enjoy coffee and company as much as the next, but I was hoping for answers upon arriving, and now I've only more questions."
            Lillia started a bit at Talib’s entrance and all but hopped out of the way when he came striding past. She coasted to a stop near Gbele and offered him a wan smile before slowly turning away, only to find herself inside the wiry elf’s sphere of influence.
            She adjusted her course accordingly and drifted back to the nearest wall. Six of them in the chamber now. How many more were coming?
            “I really don’t think I’m to be here,” she said to no one in particular.
            Glancing up, she noticed that she had come to rest directly beneath the mounted tiger head, and with a roll of her eyes, she ventured slowly across the room in Loupin’s general direction.
            "Nonsense," Reg responded to Lillia out of turn, for at hearing her speak, his doubt as to the young woman's identity was easier to dismiss.
            Syd's eyes took in the others as they arrived. He stood lazily, leaning to his left side, his left wrist resting against the guard on his rapier. He shook his head in amusement at the esoteric collection of individuals. Not unlike the room itself.
            "I imagine the reason for our invitation will be revealed at dinner." He paused realizing that he had only introduced himself to the gnome. He offered a small tilt of his torso to the room at large. "Sydreas Faeborn of Tashluta. Pleased to meet all of you."
            Loupin figured it didn't take much imagination to imagine that much. What nearly defied imagination was the possibility that coincidence alone could account for the presence of so many acquaintances of a certain Reginald Brushcutter. Still, if he had expected them, his expression alone betrayed undeniably little; and she was quite young and credulous enough to feel a little spooked.
            "I wonder how long before the lights go out and we have to figure out which guest murdered Lady Vanderhogan," she said quietly, smirking at Lillia. "I guess it'll beat a puppet show. How's business, Reg? You look prosperous tonight. As do your friends. In the main."
            Reginald smiled kindly, "Most gracious of you, my dear Loupin, though you do me too much credit. Of those gathered here so far, I've prior fortune only to meet you, and Lillia, and Talib previously. Good Sydreas, great Baba Gbele, I've just had the pleasure this evening. That I find myself here, in such collected company..." Reginald bowed and gestured to all assembled, "does portend well to tales, business, and prosperity alike."
            He continued with an observation and a friendly question of his own, "Have you and Lillia known each other long?"
            To all, Reg responded to Talib's general query, "It seems we have all received invitations to dinner and a proposition, and I warrant we all extended our acceptances, as well. The invitation spoke of nothing of assembling such an interesting party, much less any hint at more than a solitary meeting. Far from any of us being nonplussed by wounded grandeur, if anything, I am more intrigued than ever at our hostess' means and intentions. That I gather there are pre-existing associations and friendships; and some which may be happenstance, if Fate is denied too much credit," Reg nodded to Talib, for the one crossed path they shared, "is nothing less than astounding if Lady Vanderboren extended her invitations individually." He laughed again, as one would at a clever twist in an attended play.
            "We have but conjecture until we are received." Reginald reached into an inner pocket of his vest and produced the invitation he'd received. "For love of the story thus far, and granting that our host will surely soon explain more directly -- perhaps after dinner -- while the mystery breathes would any of you care to compare what we likely each received?"
            Lillia fished her own invitation out of a pocket and held it up, a bit like a talisman to show she actually was invited to this unique gathering. Then she used it as a pointer of sorts to emphasize her words.
            “I’m Lillia,” she said, pointing first to herself and then to the other girl, “And this is Loupin. We’ve already sussed out our invitations together a bit, and they were all but identical. Same hand for sure, same materials.”
            She realized then that most of the occupants were watching her, and she swallowed visibly. “You can have a look now, if you like,” fanning out her invitation in a pair of fingers toward Reginald. “Or after dinner is fine too. I don’t want to cause any fuss.”
            Reginald stepped closer, as Lillia offered to permit such a review, and accepted Lillia's invitation with clear interest. "Kudos to your initiative and intuition for already having considered it," he complimented, holding his letter of invitation adjacent to hers; one in each hand; and considering them side by side from appearance to wording to feel. He flipped them each over between his fingertips and repeated the exercise with the reverse, and even went so far as to touch the edges of the paper together to compare the lengths of the matching long and short cuts.
            "Thank you, Lillia." Reginald extended her invitation back for her care. His curiosity sated, he folded and tucked his own invitation back inside his vest.
            Gbele looks, in an obviously disapproving manner, at the sharing of the invitations, but says nothing. Nor does he give any indication as to whether he has one of his own. Rather, he squats down on his haunches, arms wrapped round his knees, and begins to wait patiently.
            Lillia’s head turned reflexively in Gbele’s direction as he squatted. Truth be told, the jungle man’s form and physique drew the eye to the point where it was hard to look away. At least for those who grew up inside the walls of Tashluta. While the jungle spilled into the city with reckless abandon, there were still significant cultural differences between the wilds without and the civilization within.
            She did not wilt under the big man’s stern gaze when it turned her way however. Holding the invitation, bringing it into the light of day, seemed to have reinforced her belief in her presence at the dinner party.
            Loupin seemed somewhat nonplussed by Gbele's manner, and by Lillia's unexpectedly tentative attitude; but her thoughts were computative. There were men at ease with weapons lounging in an elegant atrium, and another who belonged anywhere but in one; and she was armed with magic, poor though it may have been in quality, while Lillia had -- well, something more than a way with thread, her instincts told her.
            She doubted she was the only one who might guess where the engagement was heading, and a feeling of delicate tension began to drain down her neck into her shoulders.
            "Master Faeborn has the right of it," she suggested lightly. "But we do know why we accepted the invitation, whatever the wording. I too came with the idea that it might afford profitable work. I don't mind admitting that I'm a spell-caster by trade, and from this district, though I have never met the Lady. Is it fair to assume we share similar motives, if not perhaps dissimilar skill sets? Or are some of you fellows familiar to this house?" Some humor crept into her voice. "And let us excuse good old Baba from having to reveal anything that might imperil his exceptionalism, of course."
            Reginald looked about the room once more; six, assembled. "I do wonder who else may be joining this evening," he pondered aloud, as equally enticed by the idea of additional developments as accepting that those who were present thus far would be quite suitable and interesting dinner companions, if all invited were now present. Of the well-appointed atrium, Reginald selected one of the conversationally-positioned upholstered chairs, shifted his rapier in its dress sheath to his fore with a practiced grace, placed one palm upon the chair's raised seat, and slid up upon it. He pivoted smoothly as he settled into crook of chair seat, back, and open hardwood arm, and brought one cleaned-for-the-occasion boot up such that he could rest his own arm casually across his upraised knee. The seated position contributed perhaps another inch or three of height versus his normal standing height. Kora had indicated Lady Vanderboren would be with them shortly; and he had to presume 'shortly' was short, indeed, as no food or drink had been arrayed in the atrium for guests while they waited; but creature comforts could be had while waiting.
            "Have any of you had occasion to meet or dine with Lady Vanderboren, previously? Not I; a first invitation, and flattering to have been of appropriate note."
            Syd shrugged, leaning his shoulder against a door jamb. "I do not know the Lady, nor have I ever been within these walls before. But, I have heard things on the street." His eyes scanned the room as if he were about to reveal a great secret, though anyone with an ear to the crowds could discern as much. "The Lady has just recently inherited the estate following a... family tragedy. Her brother appears to be missing, which may be the reason for our assemblage herein?" He shrugged once more, "But I hesitate to guess until we speak with her."
            “We’ve never been either,” Lillia said, including Loupin in her declaration of the lack of experience with the Vanderboren estate. “Though we’re both from the district, as Loupin said. It’s fairly common knowledge around these parts that the Lady has been going through a rough patch.” She offered up to Syd, “No offense intended.”
            Syd shrugged again at the explanation. "No offense taken. Not all of us are from the area," his eyes flitted from person to person in the room, "so it may not have been universal knowledge." His reply was accompanied by a smile to indicate it was truly no matter.
            Lillia then addressed Reginald. “And I can’t frame it for you exact, but I guess we crossed paths, what Loupin, a little over a year ago?”
            “Typical fare,” she continued speaking to Reginald. “Couple of honest girls, sending business each other’s way. And business is always tight. Could always use a little more. Pretty much why we’re here.” She finished with a shrug.
            "Pretty much," Loupin agreed, adding, "although, being honest girls, we should own up to mild curiosity, too. And yet, if none of us has ever been associated with any Vanderboren, either vanished or alleged -- and if we have too little obviously in common to be competing for the same job -- and if our 'skills' have already been assessed individually -- it follows, perhaps, that we're here to be hired as a group. And as you fellows lug weapons even to dinner, I assume your skills are partially martial in character. So do we dare to bargain collectively? Because personally, I don't feel quite desperate enough to risk life and limb for whatever is bound to be offered in the first instance by the, uh, 'cream' of this particular neighborhood. Speaking as someone who is compelled now and then to do business with it."
            "I have no problem with collective bargaining. An equal split of spoils and/or reward is assumed, yes?" Syd said.
            "Hell yeah," Loupin reckoned, considering it. "Making allowances for the fact that most of us will have more use for some spoils than for others. But if good ol' Lavinia can afford to furnish such a splendid pile -- the splendidest in these here parts, for those of you who maybe don't know our district -- than I think she can afford to sell a few furnishings for our benefit, especially if this has something to do with tracking down her beloved brother. That stuffed animal head isn't doing her any good, for example. And obviously she wouldn't have chosen us, of all people, if she could afford the biggest names in town -- no offense -- but there are six of us. If we close ranks, we might just be able to squeeze a little extra out of her. Let's not sell ourselves short, right? We look more or less like professionals. In the main. Just a thought."
            Just then, the doors down a short hallway opened, and through them strutted two men and two women, with Kora racing behind them. The man in front was tall and handsome, clad in a fine breastplate and carrying a bastard sword, and he paused on the way toward the front door to look over each of those gathered from head to toe. His companions - a jaunty half-elven woman who gave Loupin a smirk as she strode by, more or less festooned with daggers; a ruddy-faced dwarf in brown and green robes whose only comment on their presence was, "Hmph!" as he stomped by, a large curved spear over his shoulder; and finally, an attractive, if haughty-seeming, woman in dark purple robes, with a crescent moon tattoo on her face - they all strode through the small crowd without bothering to introduce themselves.
            The tall man grinned at them. "Hmm. You must be the help Lavinia's bringing in to do the chores. Best of luck to ya!"
            And with that, he too swept out of the manor, leaving only a trail of footprints on the lacquered floor to show the four had been there.
            "Or perhaps to overcome the challenges thus far unmet," Reginald responded with equally-jovial poise, concurring in friendly backhanded fashion with the armored human as if they were on the same side of the table, versus taking the man's statement as the denigration it may have intended to be. "Fair fortune to you, as well, good sir."
            Reg anticipated he'd remember well his brief sight of the four.
            Kora shut the door after them, puffing a little after her run. Looking back at the gathering, she smiled. "Ahem. The Lady will see you now. Please, do go in." She gestured at the hall the four had come from, at the end of which they could glimpse a dining hall.

            The private dining hall was comfortable and cozy, softly lit by wall-mounted lanterns. A large open window overlooked the manor's central courtyard, letting in the flower-scented breeze through fine netting, and there were intricate, colorful woven grass rugs on the floor. A long table was set for dinner, and servants peeked from nearby, prepared to begin bringing out the feast at Kora's command.
            A large portrait hung on the wall, a lovely work in oils depicting a handsome young man. Standing before the portrait was an attractive woman wearing a long, flowing blue dress, her long, dark hair pulled back in bunches caught by small clasps. She smiled at the group as they entered, with a nod of equals to Talib.
            "Thank you all for coming. I am Lavinia Vanderboren, and I'm very pleased to make your acquaintances. Please, do sit." She gestured at the table gracefully, moving to stand at the head of it, her back to the outdoors. The moment she settled into her chair, a few servants began bringing in fragrant, delicious dishes, all local to Tashluta, from curried goat to stir-fried vegetables to heaping bowls of spiced rice to honeyed roast chicken, filling the air with a pleasant, hunger-stirring scent.
            "Charmed, most charmed, indeed, Lady Vanderboren," Reginald bowed. "I'm flattered both by your invitation and the opportunity to dine with you and friends, established and new alike."
            Reg pulled his rapier's sheath free from his belt with quick work of his fingers upon its bindings, and yielded it to one of the attendants; practical considerations while dining at a formal table. He then presumed to select a chair one removed from Lavinia's right, along the length of the table, scaling it without pause such that he was up on his knees upon it with his booted feet tucked under him, permitting him to lean up and forward on his knees when height or reach were required, but able to comfortably sit back upon his heels otherwise and dine at an equal eye level with all, otherwise.
            The array of food being presented more than once drew his appreciative eye and an eager inhalation and grin of gratitude to their hostess.
            "I know you must be curious as to why I've asked you here tonight, but let us leave business to the end of our meal. Let us make conversation and enjoy the food! I have heard such tales about you all! Would any of you care to recount them for our benefit?" Lady Vanderboren asked.
            "Though I've had the benefit of only a portion of an hour in conversation with most of my fellows, my dear, I might be bold enough to hazard few would be comfortable illuminating their accomplishments, so graciously invited. In the spirit of conversation, new friends, and fine food, I'm inspired to share prose of Poi'tellan..." Reginald rose up on his knees and drew a breath, gathering his thoughts and recollection, then intoning with due pace and inflection, "'Of jeweled seas in the dawn's light, of misty peaks of the ranges' might; of the emerald jungles drawing the day, of the parallel life of each night's play; beasts and peoples and growth abound, and the land itself rules all.'"
            Reg sank back down and returned to more of his own conversational voice. "Romantic and cautionary, both," he observed. "But what a place, to have drawn us all here."
            Lady Vanderboren clapped her hands, smiling warmly at the gnome. "A lovely sentiment, and well spoken!"
            Nobody had even reached for the rice yet. Loupin was just pulling back her hood; she registered that her mouth was slightly ajar. She sent Lillia a look which read, plainly enough: this evening may turn out even nuttier than we thought. The possibility amused and unnerved her in equal measure.
            Syd relaxed in a seat towards the far end of the table. He carefully selected some of the vegetables for his refreshment, leaving the meats to the others. He ate sparingly and simply watched the table for now. He wasn't one to blow his own horn, and honestly did not think his recent exploits were worthy of bragging about anyway.
            Lillia cast Loupin a give it time response with her eyes before she clapped her hands twice in polite delight and said, “Well intoned, Reginald! Well indeed, and a sparkling selection too.”
            Reginald gave Lillia a gracious nod for her cordial acknowledgment.
            Lillia turned to Lady Vanderboren and explained. “Reginald and I have had occasion to do business in the markets a bit, whenever he needed mending or the like. Oh, not magical mending, mind, just the usual needle and thread kind. I knew that words were his way in the world, but the chance to fancy them as such doesn’t come often in the day to day hustle and bustle.”
            Lillia offered him a smile of gratitude. Beverages and bites intermingled as she spoke, but she seemed content enough to fill the silence left by those around her who were a little more recalcitrant to share.
            "Hear, hear!" Reg offered in wholehearted agreement that such opportunities were to be appreciated, toasting the sentiment with a succulent piece of braised meat on his lifted fork, which happened to be in hand at that moment.
            “Which lead me to wonder about my invitation for tonight,” Lillia continued on. “I could imagine that it only has to do with that dreadful forgery business. Ugh,” she waved a hand. “I thought I had left that trouble behind me, but I don’t mind recounting the tale, as there isn’t much to it, truth be told.”
            A quick sip later, and Lillia said, motioning to Loupin, “Good Loupin here had asked my assistance in evaluating some documents that had a certain…odor about them. Not a real smell, although that sometimes can help, but just a misalignment of particulars that warranted closer inspection. Once the fact that they were forgeries came to light, it was just a matter of alerting the proper authority to track down the kidnappers and save the local girls that had been slated for the blackest of markets. Finding someone is usually just a matter of knowing where to ask, and who.”
            The line was delivered smoothly and without obvious agenda, but having engaged the hostess so thoroughly, Lillia was well positioned and attuned to read whatever reaction such a statement might elicit.
            "Knowledge is the greatest of powers," Lady Vanderboren agreed. If she thought anything odd about the claim, she gave no sign. "Its proper application can solve the ills of the world, if only we have the will to try."
            "Wit and insight, to be certain, to have an aptitude for noticing the unusual in documents others had thus far given only routine consideration," Reginald contributed. "Kudos to you both, and for your actions taken from your findings, to see the situation brought right."
            “I was just one cog in a much greater machine,” Lillia continued without a hitch. “But many folks deserve the credit. Either way, I cannot thank you enough for including me, us,” motioning toward Loupin, “here this evening.”
            Then Lillia continued her meal with simple, practical ease, waiting for another to take up the story mantle. For anyone with an exceptionally astute eye, the fact that the young girl had only eaten or imbibed something after someone else had tasted it first, might become apparent.
            "The honor of having you here is mine," Lady Vanderboren said, her face serious. "You all may be too modest to brag of the deeds you've done, but I believe in the wisdom of the masses to find the good in people... and, as you have surmised, it is that wisdom that spurred my invitation to all of you here tonight." She raised her fancifully carved goblet in a toast. "Well, if you will not speak of your heroism, at least let me acknowledge it! To kind deeds, quietly kept."
            Anyone who watched the Chultan as he silently sat himself at the table would have immediately recognized that the man was in surroundings uncomfortable to him, and that he made every effort to fit in. He watched how the other guests utilized the pointlessly complicated silverware before he awkwardly wielded the knife and fork himself. If the food made any impression upon him whatsoever, he showed no sign of it; he simply ate enough to be polite, looking back and forth between the speakers as they added to the flowing discussion.
            During a break in the conversation, Gbele offered to Lady Vanderboren , "I thank you for your gracious invitation, and for the generous offering of food that you have provided. You are a fine host, and I am honored to make your acquaintance." The speech was so wooden, and so obviously rehearsed, that he might as well had been reading it from a card. He then lapsed once again into his customary silence.
            Reginald complimented the man with a nod and a lift of his wineglass, "Well spoken, sir. Well spoken."
            "And I thank you for accepting my invitation," Lady Vanderboren told Baba Gbele with unfeigned respect. "All of you. It gives me great pleasure to meet such kind and generous people as yourselves." Perhaps noticing Baba's discomfort with the cutlery, she began to eat a thigh of chicken with her fingers.
            Acknowledgements, but silence or near-silence from Loupin, and Syd, and Gbele. Talib, Reginald anticipated, was just waiting for the right moment, for he was also one who had no qualms over sharing a flowing word or two with the curious ear.
            "Lady Vanderboren," Reginald inquired of their hostess, "your home's exterior gardens are particularly bountiful and well-cared-for. An exemplary array. Though the evening light may have dulled my sight, I do believe I saw a patch of Julian's Gossamer near the marbled rock fountain, just to the left of the entry path, did I not? A rare and vibrant flower, if it is so, and requiring such an utmost of care to tend, as I've heard said that it can be so sensitive to handling that even a strong wind can sunder the stems for a season. That you've such fortune in having it in full health and bloom speaks well of your gardener, or your own hand, if such is your passion and hobby."
            "I'm afraid I can't take credit for the garden," Lady Vanderboren demurred. "I believe it is Kora's passion that keeps it all blooming, happy and healthy. Her love for flowers has benefited our family for a long time; even as a child, I would walk among them and marvel at their beauty. Not tamed, simply given a home in the city, just as the city is given a home in the bosom of the wild."
            "They are very lovely," Loupin agreed, and drained her water glass. "So who were those four bozos who passed us outside your hall, your Ladyship? Because one of them suggested you desired to make drudges out of us, and while I don't think we believed him, exactly, his attitude fairly left an impression. Something tells me they are not your gardeners."
            Lady Vanderboren laughed, an infectious sound despite the wry tinge to it. "No, that they are not. They are the Jade Ravens. Our family has retained their services for some years. I imagine you spoke with Tolin Kientai. His humor can be... an acquired sensibility. Rest assured, I have no intention of setting you to drudge-work."
            She sighed, wiping her fingers on a napkin and setting her food aside. "Perhaps it was unfair of me to leash your curiosity until after dinner. Let me come to the point of this visit, then."
            "As you may have heard, I recently inherited my parents' estate. Along with this fine house, unfortunately, came a fine amount of debt owed the Dawn Council, the harbormaster," she nodded to Talib, "and quite a few guildhalls. It seems my parents, for all their success as adventurers, were not as skilled at finance as one might expect. If I'm to get these taxes paid, I'll need to access my family's vault under Stormwall Keep."
            "That's the problem, you see. The vaults are magically locked - keyed to special signet rings. Both of my parents had these rings; at least, until recently. My mother lost hers a few months ago. She arranged for a replacement, but it won't be done for another month or so, too late for me. Which leaves my father's ring. He never wore it - he had reservations about men wearing jewelry. He kept it hidden somewhere on his ship, the Blue Nixie. The problem there is that the harbormaster has seized the ship until someone pays for the last four months of mooring. I've paid the fines to the man the harbormaster has put in charge of my ship, a brute named Soller Vark. Yet when I went to claim my ship, Vark's men wouldn't let me board, claiming that I hadn't yet paid the fines. I spoke to Vark again, and he denied ever receiving my payment. My complaints to the harbormaster have fallen on deaf ears. He's... he trusts his man, and won't relent."
            "Vark and his men are up to something on my ship, I know it. What I need is to find out exactly what they're up to. Unfortunately, Vark isn't the type to react well to diplomacy or logic. I need someone who can make themselves understood to him... which is where you come in. If you can find out what he's using my ship for, or even better, recover the money I paid him, I'll pay each of you two hundred gold lions in return once I have access to my vault."
            Gbele seemed disappointed by the Lady's story. "Is this Vark an evil spirit, maybe?" Once he asked his question, the look on his face turned from disappointment to confusion, as if he felt he misunderstood something very basic about the situation. The look quickly faded, however, as he regained control of his expression.
            Lady Vanderboren seemed a bit nonplussed, either by Gbele's question or by his expressions. She glanced at the others arrayed along the table. "I... I don't believe he is..."
            "I think Baba wants to know why you're tapping us instead of the Jade Comedians," Loupin suggested, relaxing back in her chair. "For my part, I wouldn't mind knowing how much Vark misplaced, Milady, and why you think your money stops with him. It could be hard to collect, unless it's still in his pocket."
            Lady Vanderboren folded her hands on the table. "I've sent the Jade Ravens to Cauldron, to contact my aunt and uncle. As for Vark, I paid him one hundred platinum dragons. I imagine there aren't many places he could spend it all without raising questions as to his newfound wealth."
            Two hundred! That was six months of tailoring work. Lillia didn’t choke on the mouthful she was chewing, but she made sure to swallow it fully before entering the conversation. Was it any wonder folks sought the life of an adventurer?
            “You paid Vark directly, milady?” Lillia asked. “No in betweeners? You saw the coins go straight to his hands?” There wasn’t accusation in her tone, only confirmation of the exchange. If any type of a runner or handler was used, all manner of nefarious trickery could have been attempted during the handoff.
            The motivation for such a brazen theft was what irked Lillia the most. Certainly Vark knew it would draw attention. She didn’t think he was that stupid. Likely he had debts of his own. Or he’d hired on to serve a bigger fish.
            "From my hand to his," Lady Vanderboren affirmed. "I counted them into the pouch I gave him myself." Her hands clenched for a moment, as ire at the situation overtook her. "If the harbormaster would just-" She broke off, and gave Talib an apologetic look. "Of course, I know your father is ill, saer. This is just... very frustrating."
            “Two other thoughts leap to mind,” Lillia added. “How many people would you say know those signet rings unlock your vault? And how did your mother lose her ring?”
            Lady Vanderboren closed her eyes a moment, a flicker of grief crossing her face. Then she composed herself and spoke, her tone giving no hint of that moment of sorrow. "I'm not certain how my mother's ring was lost - I think maybe it was simply misplaced."
            She blew out a breath, puffing her cheeks as she thought. "Everyone in the family knew of the rings, obviously... certainly the ones who made and tend the vault... others who use the vault for similar purposes... perhaps a few others. I'm not certain who my parents confided in. It was no secret, though."
            "I'm not sure two hundred gold is going to cover this," Loupin suggested, with a brief glance at Syd. "You've had hard treatment, Milady, but you are talking about trusted officers of the city, and whatever you imagine about Vark's ability to personally spend your platinum, it isn't quite so easy to imagine that he's picked you, his first and only victim, at random. Something may make the Vanderborens a special target. And in any case, it will cost more than two hundred just to keep ourselves out of gaol, or even worse trouble -- to say nothing of the damage to our reputations -- if a single thing goes awry. Two hundred is welcome, to be sure, atop so much hospitality and solicitude; but we could all be risking something just by talking about this sort of work. No offense. You are very kind."
            "A target? If that were so, why? For what?" Lady Vanderboren spread her hands, confusion in her golden-brown eyes.
            Syd shrugged, "It depends on if it goes beyond Master Vark. This could all potentially be just a matter of," he air-quoted the next, "lost paperwork. A bit of... convincing may be all he needs to release the vessel in question. Then again, if it is a deeper conspiracy, then he may have the gaolers in his pocket. Or his bosses might." He swirled his beverage thoughtfully. "My point being, if it is a small problem, relatively speaking, then two hundred is more than enough to cover a standard assault bond. However, if it is a larger problem, then I fear the bond will always be just a little more than what is contained in our purse." His eyes lifted meaningfully, "To keep us from asking the wrong questions. Either way, a visit has to be made to the harbormaster anyway. We must gauge the situation at hand."
            "I did appeal to Lord Islaran, but he... seems firm in his belief that his man did no wrong." Lady Vanderboren sighed, aggravated, but shook her head in acknowledgement. "But I suppose a request from a third party might conceivably do some good."
            "That's right," Loupin agreed, wondering what had happened to collective bargaining. Who knew how much was in the family's vault? A thousand dragons might be nothing. "But I don't think we ought to be paying bonds or bribes out of our own purse. This money might have to last us a long time. All Vark has to say is that he doesn't have the money. Then what? Trespass, conspiracy and battery convictions galore. "
            Syd caught Loupin's look and realized where she was going. "Er, right," he added with the flourish of a fruit. "Odds are the latter is the case anyway." He sat back in his char and fell silent again.
            Lady Vanderboren set her jaw. "I ask that you do your best not to throw the first punch, should it come to a fight. But in the end, why would it come to a fight unless Vark and his men are up to no good? It's my ship, after all!"
            "As for paying for your expenses, I suppose that's fair." She nodded, folding her hands on the table again. "Three hundred lions each, then. That should cover any bonds or bribes you might need this time around. In the future, perhaps we'll make other arrangements."
            Talib had been rather reticent throughout the dinner. There had been a measure and a half of thoughts rummaging through his head, ever since the Jade Ravens had entered into the abode of the Vanderborens. Not such a strange sight at this manor, Talib supposed, though he never minded the sight of Zan. He wasn't quite sure if the cunning woman felt the same about him, however.
            The food and drink was well received, and Talib had been content to merely listen. He knew less than half of the gathered at the table, and no sailor ever made a living by opening his trap before he knew where the rutters lead him. They were an odd lot - some comfortable at the dinner table, others not, but that diversity was the beauty of Tashluta. When Lavinia finally set down to business, however, Talib's face dropped.
            His father was involved. Immediately it became apparent to Talib that he was not here because of some story of rescuing whalers from pirates, but because of the damnable name that tried to keep him tied down to that damnable lighthouse. The explanation of keys and lost vaults might as well have been tales of dragons and sunken treasure to Talib, for he knew at the end of the day that this would involve him actually having to face Keltar Islaran again, a man he had sailed far away from for many years.
            He wracked his mind for anything he could remember on Vark ... did he remember this man in his father's supposed employ? Talib thought he knew ever jack that worked the docks, but he had been away for some time: it was possible that this man was knew. Either that, or Talib merely hadn't had the misfortune of crossing him.
            The sailor shook his head, knowing that there was an easier way to handle this. Already there were talks of bribes and bonds and dealing with Vark directly, when an Islaran sat at the table - the family that had absolute control over the Harbor.
            " If I may, Your Ladyship," Talib finally spoke, wetting his tongue on wine before continuing, " The Vanderborens and Islarans have been friends for some time. Would it not benefit us all if I simply spoke to my father about these dealings with Vark, on your behalf? He may trust his worker, and that is a noble thing to do, but it would be most remiss if he trusted his worker over the word of his own son, especially a son bearing the good word of such a beautiful and gracious host as yourself."
            Granted, Talib spoke of a son that had done nearly anything to stay away from Tashluta for most of his natural born life to avoid the responsibility of Harbourmaster that he and his siblings were loathe to assume. But, he supposed a simple talk with his father would prove far more profitable than dealing with Vark directly. Why criticize the Boatswain when the Captain was accessible?
            "Wait, your father is -- ?" Loupin hadn't known enough about the harbor, or who ran it, to grasp immediately the significance of the Islaran name, or of Lavinia's earlier comment to Talib. Now it was obvious. She didn't express what she was thinking -- that tapping the harbormaster's son for this meeting might not be such a great idea if the harbormaster turned out to be complicit in the robbery -- or that if Talib could handle this by himself, there were suddenly five people at this table who were out three hundred gold. She wasn't sure how to feel about the possibility of losing out on it. The risks were greater than she liked, but part of her felt like these coincidental invitations were just too inexplicable to ignore, and that Fate, maybe, was pushing the six of them into something. Loupin believed in things like that. But whatever! Talib's solution was ironclad. If only he'd made it immediately.
            "I didn't want to ask... I know of your familial situation, of course," Lady Vanderboren hurried to say. "But I must admit, if you would be willing, it might be the fastest course of action to see my problems resolved." If it had occurred to her that the harbormaster might be complicit in whatever was going on, she showed no sign of it. She seemed relieved at Talib's offer, but held up a cautioning hand. "I fully understand if you don't wish to engage your father in this matter, however. Simply finding out what Vark wants with my ship - what he's using it for, and if possible, returning my money, will also do the job. I just want my ship back."
            " It would take a typhoon to put me in the same room as Keltar for any length of time, that is true," Talib admitted with a frown before quickly breaking into a wide grin. " But for you? I'd be honored."
            Lady Vanderboren tilted her head in a bow of acknowledgement, smiling. No doubt she had heard some measure of flattery before, being quite attractive in addition to her noble status, but her eyes twinkled in good humor at Talib's shameless flirting.
            Talib leaned back a bit in his seat, lifting his glass casually towards Loupin, amused at her outburst. " Yes - my father is Keltar Islaran, Harbourmaster and Keeper of The Lighthouse. One of the most respected men in Tashluta."
            He shrugged, downing the rest of his drink in a smooth motion. " But we have not spoken deeply in some time. Family matters."
            Talib grimaced subtly. It was little secret that the children of Keltar had a habit of disappearing on the man, with none of them eager to speak to the aging Islaran and most of them keen on avoiding the subject altogether. Even Talib struggled with it: Keltar was clearly in need, and yet none of his offspring were content on giving up their lives for his benefit. Marids might as well have been their mothers, for how quickly they flew to the sea when talk of duty or obligation arose in the Lighthouse.
            " But! A woman stands without her ship, and that is a crime no sailor could abide. I am sure if my father knew of what was going on, he would have put a stop to this. If he even had the time anymore ..."
            He stroked the beard around his full lips, pondering the state of the docks when he was last grounded.
            " Vark must've come on recently, I'd wager. My father and his men have enough to worry themselves with smugglers and scoundrels, contraband and corsairs, and Vark at least has a reputation of being able to crack a whip well enough to get a deckhand to move as if the Hells themselves were behind him. It's a cold day in our land when men like him are allowed into such a position, but there is a reason we have cloaks in our homes. I would not imagine he was in the confidence of an Islaran, but Vark is the type who would gladly take our silver if he knew his shoulders had no eyes on them. He's a parasite fattening himself on my family's stress."
            Talib's hand curled rather tightly around his empty glass, knuckles paling briefly before his grip released. Despite his own thoughts on being left to care for the Lighthouse, Talib, like all of Keltar's children, loved his father dearly. The notion that someone would abuse the old man's hospitality was quick to light a fire in the sailor's boots.
            " I cannot, with certainty, count on Keltar's assistance: A son who does not help haul fish cannot expect a plate at his father's table. But, he is a good man, and if he is made aware of this situation I don't doubt he would honor the friendship between my family and yours, Your Ladyship, in whatever way he can."
            He nodded solemnly, before giving Lavinia a cheeky smile and a wink.
            " But of course, you knew before you ever sent me an invitation that I wouldn't dare miss a chance to help you."
            Lady Vanderboren smiled, but shook her head. "While it's true that once I learned of your exploits, your family name did occur to me as a possible aid... it was your noble deed at sea that spurred my invitation. I would hire only the most decent and upstanding of people... and thus it is my fortune to have found so many of you. A cut above the rest." She toasted the table with her carved cup.
            Lillia watched the exchanges across the table with a blend of emotions. Such a diverse, wonderful tapestry splayed between them all. How it would further be woven plucked at colorful strings deep within Lillia’s chest.
            These she cut quickly and cleanly. Attachments were dangerous. Always. But that didn’t mean you didn’t form them when the circumstances warranted. She cast a warm, respectful smile and nod in Talib’s direction.
            “Family can be such a challenge, no matter the rank,” she said, her features then dipping into a wry smirk. “But your typhoon comment was laying it on a bit thick, even for a pirate like you, Talib. Wouldn’t you say?”
            " A man speaks of what he knows, jamila," Talib replied with a smile and a lift of his shoulders as if to ask 'You expected any less?", his tongue breezing over the Calishite language with practiced ease to flatter Lilia.
            " Though a pirate?" he asked, placing a hand over his chest and mocking the act of being struck there, " You wound me, Miss! I've a reputation as an honorable sort, I'll have you know." Talib pointed a finger across the table at Lilia to emphasize his point, even though he was well aware of the stories and tales that followed him across Tashluta.
            And frankly, many of them were quite true.
            After her playful jibe with the swashbuckler had played out, Lillia turned her attention to Lady Vanderboren.
            “In my experience, milady,” she said. “The more threads woven into a garment, the stronger it will become. Vark and the Nixie will also be looked into in a more direct fashion. Could you describe the signet ring we would be searching for?”
            The pirate could not help but stifle a small chuckle at hearing the seamstress stitch a silken metaphor into her address to their illustrious hope. Talib nodded knowingly to himself, feeling much better about working with these folks - Reginald and Lilia were certainly his kind of people.
            Lady Vanderboren described the signet ring in detail enough to recognize it - not too hard, as it included the family's crest.
            Baba Gbele's expression of confusion slowly melted into a placid version of his standard resting face - stern. He sat in comfortable silence for several moments, apparently satisfied that he understood about half of the conversation. What was important was that he understood the basic situation. There was one thing he needed to know, however, in order to clarify the interests at play. "Lady Van-der-bor-en, who becomes owner of your ship, if master of the harbor says that you have not paid?"
            "Lord Islaran, I would imagine - though it would no doubt pass on to other hands quickly. The harbormaster has little need of more ships of his own." Lady Vanderboren pursed her lips thoughtfully.
            Reginald harbored a museful grin behind steepled fingers as he waited, quiet, settled back to sit upon his heels on the chair’s seat. His eyes followed first one play about the table, then another, and then yet another, his eyes widening occasionally at one twist or turn or other, his fingers occasionally parting to drum the air into relaxed, curled fists before reopening with new thoughts.
            Truly, he held no regrets for accepting tonight’s invitation to this table.
            Mentally, he quickly recounted the framework of what had been presented. Lady Vanderboren was shy of liquid funds. The house, the estate, the ship the Blue Nixie, were now all in her name. The estate carried a burden of debt, to the Dawn Council, the harbormaster, and several guildhalls unnamed. She was heir to the family funds kept in a vault maintained under Stormwall Keep, but access to the vault required one of two signet rings. The first ring; her father’s; is rumored hidden about the Blue Nixie. The second ring was lost a few months back; location unknown; but a replacement has been commissioned, though it was a month away. Would it arrive able to open the vault, or would it be useless for that purpose without its original intended owner and a process to bond it to the vault? Soller Vark guards the Blue Nixie at the harbormaster’s (Lord Islaran, revealed to be Talib’s father) direction as impound until the harbor fees of one hundred platinum dragons are paid; Lady Vanderboren suspected Vark – an undiplomatic man -- was leveraging the Nixie for his own gain, somehow, and purports to have not received her payment of the fees. Separately, Lady Vanderboren had dispatched the Jade Ravens to Cauldron, to reach her aunt and uncle, for a potentially-unrelated cause.
            Lady Vanderboren’s measure of success; the task she put before them; was not gaining access to her vault, but only ascertaining what Vark was using her ship for – if her suspicions were grounded – or to recover the one hundred platinum dragons she reported having paid to Vark without proof or bond beyond her word versus his. Of course, gaining the information or the coin might warrant the reward of two hundred gold lions to each of them; now three hundred each; but Lady Vanderboren reported she could not pay those sums until she had access to the vault. Determining what Vark was using the ship for would not gain her access to the vault, in and of itself; nor would recovering one hundred platinum dragons from Vark.
            “Vark’s men,” Reginald mused aloud, his thoughts coalescing. “Vark may have the charm and manner of a burr, and ironclad cause to hold his tongue, but the men in his employ must maintain a watch and routine in their own lives. One of them, I hazard we can entice to speak with us.”
            “Four paths available, then, to reach either of two goals you propose – Vark himself, Vark’s men, the Harbormaster’s good will such as we may gain, and subterfuge to investigate the Blue Nixie. Either then leads to your own immediate goal of reclaiming your vessel, either by paying the outstanding fines in an indisputable manner, or by discrediting Vark in a way that unbalances his word against yours to the Harbormaster, who might if you are fortunate then conclude you had indeed already remitted the sum. An alternate option; leveraging other assets to pay a fresh one hundred platinum dragons to the Harbormaster, witnessed; would forfeit the sum Vark pocketed, to his illicit and most distasteful gain, but would still recover your vessel. I understand your hopes in that recovering the vessel will permit you to recover your father’s concealed signet ring, which will in turn permit you to access your family vault and funds.”
            Reginald smiled about the table, “Not only for mere merit of seeing where these enticing intrigues lead, but for the thrill of the chase of at least four paths of pursuit, and to be privileged in such company and friends, I count myself well and truly engaged.”
            The holy man frowned in thought for a long moment, then replied, "Interests of Elder Islaren are then...in conflict." He looked over to Talib, his expression carefully neutral. Gbele stroked his chin, leaned forward as if he might speak, then leaned back again when he thought better of it. He then turned back to Lady Vanderboren. "I will accept your generous offer, your Ladyship."
            "Splendid! Then, if the rest of you are also amenable, I will tell you where you can find the Blue Nixie, and we can enjoy our dinner and each other's company knowing our business has been arranged." Lady Vanderboren beamed at them, clearly relieved to have engaged their interest in her task.

            “The Nixie isn’t far from the Harbor markets,” Lillia offered as the group prepared to depart from the entryway of the Vanderboren estate. “I know a few folks who frequent that stretch that might know a bit of what’s going on.”
            “Presuming you won’t bug your dear papa until tomorrow,” she said to Talib, sidling up between him and Reginald. “Would either of you gentlemen care to help me this evening in finding out a bit about the heavies holding our ship?”
            " Spending an evening with a woman as lovely as yourself instead of my stubborn father? Hm, decisions, decisions," Talib jested, stroking the curls of his goatee with feigned indecisiveness
            " It pays to be informed," the sailor noted with more severity, " And we can probably learn more in the dark than the day: cockroaches like Vark tend to scatter in the light."
            Gbele walked along behind the rest of the group, in studied silence. The situation was clearly not developing as the holy man expected, and he seemed a bit disconnected from the proceedings. He realized that he would be worse than useless in an information gathering effort, so he left the more connected and sociable of their new team to discuss their next moves as he continued to think through the ramifications of the information they had just learned. After waiting patiently for a lull in the conversation, he finally said, "We are going to need a boat, I think."
            Syd followed the others as they began planning the next steps. "I am familiar with the area," he offered, "I can also assist with the information gathering. I am practiced in integrating within a crowd and listening in."
            "Maybe you and Lillia and Reginald could work on information," Loupin suggested to Syd. "Baba's probably right. He and I can go with Talib either to the harbormaster or to secure a boat or both. I don't think we should make Talib's involvement in our plot too obvious to the public just yet. He's a familiar face. The heavies might hear he's asking questions about the ship and realize they need to interfere. But also I don't suppose Baba and I ought to wander around the docks this late by ourselves. Somebody who knows the area can keep us two out of trouble."
            Syd nodded and suddenly cracked a smirk. "That sounds suspiciously like a plan, boss."
            " Far be it from me to complain about being passed from one lady to the next," Talib grinned, " But ... I suppose it does make more sense. If Vark catches my face before we're ready, he may do something rash, and the last thing we need is him acting without thinking ahead."
            Loupin's plan was solid, however: Talib was more than confident in Lilia, Reginald, and Syd being able to take care of themselves, and though Baba seemed the sort that wouldn't need an escort, Loupin astutely noted that the Azure District was not a safe place at night. Not with all the rumors of smugglers and their ilk trying to sneak illicit goods past the City Guard.
            " If we speak to Keltar, we may be able to get aid and a ship in the same talk," Talib reasoned, his features drooping a bit upon realizing that he probably was going to see his father this evening.
            " Though I've other ways of getting a ship if it comes to it. There are some folks that still owe me and my family a favor, though I can't promise it'll be as easy as that: I might as well be asking for someone's first-born."
            He clapped his hands together. " So! We've a plan, we've a goal, and we've a night ahead of us. If there's nothing further, I say we get a head start on our foes and hopefully get a few leagues ahead of them before they realize what we're up to."
            "We'll need to decide where to meet up again and when," Loupin reminded him. "But you and Syd can work it out on the way there, I suppose."