"Catch me, Master!" squeaked the mouse in terror as it fell, tiny limbs flailing vainly in the air.

The wizard gurgled and lurched awkwardly, throwing out one hand in a herculean effort. Incredibly, Iphegor managed to catch his tumbling familiar in the palm of his hand before collapsing on his back in the muddy street, spread-eagled. His face was a distinct shade of blue, but he finally managed to draw a great rattling gasp. Passersby glanced at each other, then carefully stepped around the prostrate mage and continued on their way.

"I… I think I'm all right," the mouse piped. "Oh, thank you, Master! Thank-"And that was all, for at that moment the wheel of a passing cart rolled right over mouse and wizard's hand both, crushing each beyond hope of repair. Bones crunched and blood ran; Iphegor, eyes bulging, let out one hideous strangled cry, sat bolt upright for a moment, and then fell back into the mud like a black banner pulled down in battle.

Jack checked his pouch to make sure the loot was still there and then trotted off down the street. He had to hurry if he was going to make it to the Fleetwood estate in time to escort Illyth to the Orange Lord's ball.

Two hours later, Jack and Illyth stood on a terrace overlooking the sea, listening to the gentle strains of music drifting out from inside the white palace behind them. It was sunset. For a few minutes at the end of the day the red sun seemed to hang below the heavy overcast sky and above the slate sea, painting both sky and city with fiery scarlet and brilliant gold. The Game attendants must have marked the masks of the previous session, since Illyth was once again Lady Crane and Jack stood resplendently dressed as Lord Fox.

"We must have twenty clues here, not counting the hearsay, and I still don't feel as if I'm any closer to solving this puzzle," Illyth complained. She scratched notes into a small journal, thoughtfully studying the pieces she and Jack had accumulated so far. "If only some of the clues told you something in the affirmative, instead of the negative!"

"That would be far too easy," Jack pointed out, "and the organizers would quickly exhaust their store of clues. If you provide a clue that so-and-so is the Red Lord, why, you eliminate six of seven possibilities, but if you instead hint that so-and-so is not the Red Lord, you have only eliminated one of seven possibilities. It's annoyingly clever."

Illyth sniffed. "And what of this one? The Black Lord is the brother of Geciras. What are we supposed to make of that?"

Jack smiled. "First of all, it's another way of saying that Geciras is not the Black Lord. You should mark it as such. Secondly, it might be a clue-and-a-half, so to speak. When we find a clue that says Geciras has but one brother, and he is king in Septun, then we'd know that the Black Lord rules Septun."

"We need a lot of clues," the noblewoman muttered. Jack started to reply, but she poked him in the chest with her forefinger. "Oh, no. No more stealing tokens, Jack. I'll win fairly or not at all."

Jack grimaced. "Very well, although I think it likely that others may not feel constrained by your sense of fair play."

"Then I suppose we shall have to try harder."

Illyth finished writing and slipped the notebook into a small purse at her side. Jack had noticed many players similarly equipped tonight. Illyth might not want him to steal anymore tokens, but borrowing someone's journal might be very useful. Or, for that matter, filling a journal with false clues and then leaving it someplace where an unscrupulous player would rifle through it might also be useful. Illyth interrupted his scheming by grasping his hand and dragging him suddenly toward the ballroom inside.

"Come on, Jack! Let's have a dance. I want you right where I can see you."

They joined a sea of gracious, swirling figures gliding across the marble floor, arm in arm as they paced through the measured steps of a stately quadrille. Jack didn't know the steps, but he watched the noblemen around him and picked it up fast. He'd always had a knack for dances, even if his tastes ran more to reels and kicks. And it made Illyth happy; she laughed in delight at each turn and pirouette. Jack shrugged to himself. There were worse things that making Illyth happy, even if she had too much money to court honestly and too much sense to seduce dishonestly. But for a short time he could imagine that he belonged among a shining company like this with a beautiful noble lass like Illyth on his arm.

"So did you find what you were looking for?" she asked him suddenly as they promenaded across the floor.

"I beg your pardon?"

"About Iphegor, Durezil, and Gerard. The play you're working on."

"Oh! Of course." Jack thought of the Sarkonagael, currently hidden in a very secure spot with several spells of concealment on it. He wasn't supposed to meet Elana for two nights yet, but the book ought to be safe enough. "I am very close to finishing the script," he laughed, "and I expect a very handsome fee when I deliver it to the person who commissioned my work, a very handsome fee, indeed."

Illyth offered a wry smile. "And I thought you worked only for the love of the art. All right, Jack. The curiosity is driving me insane. What are you really up to? There's no play, is there?"

"If I told you that I am at this very instant furiously plotting the last scene, would you believe me?"

"Probably not," Illyth admitted.

"Then I had better not tell you that," Jack replied. The dance ended, to a spontaneous patter of applause from the dancers. Jack and Illyth clapped politely as the musicians bowed and set down their instruments. "The terrace again? It's warm in here."

"In a moment," Illyth said. "I must visit the powder room first."

"I'll be outside," Jack said.

He strolled back out to the terrace and looked out over the city. The palace was located in the Foreign District, a fine ambassador's house that was virtually a fortress within the city's walls. Orange flickers of light danced along the streets below as lamplighters made their rounds in the shadowed streets. He leaned on the balustrade, listening to the sounds of the city settling in for the evening-the distant clatter of dishes, a carriage passing along the cobbled streets nearby, a dog barking a short way off. Absently he paced the length of the terrace, down to a small private garden where smooth stone benches rested in a bower of green ivy.

Voices murmured ahead of him. "Indiscretion engenders opportunity," Jack said softly to himself. And Illyth had said that she wished for more clues, hadn't she? Eavesdropping was certainly less questionable than pickpocketing. Jack stealthily glided closer, straining his ears to listen.

"-that be enough?"

"Few will be armed. We can determine which of them are carrying weapons early in the evening, and perhaps drug their wine before we move. It shouldn't prove difficult to place our own men among the serving staff." Jack heard a man's voice, low and confident.

"What of the Watch? We'll need at least half an hour to be thorough, and we won't be able to afford any interruptions." A woman, her voice as sharp as a shard of glass.

"We'll create a distraction, a tavern brawl on the other side of town, or perhaps a riot. Yes, a riot. That would be an effective diversion."

"I hope you understand the risks I am taking," the woman said. "We will get only one chance. If we fail, all our heads will roll."

"Such is the price of failure, my lady. We must-"

"Jack! Where are you?" Illyth called from the terrace nearby. Jack quickly retreated toward her, holding up his hand to warn her, but she didn't notice. "Oh, there you are. Where have you been hiding?"

Someone moved behind him. Jack whirled; from the shelter of the high green hedges a man and a woman appeared, their features covered by the illusory masks of the Game. The man wore the orange and black stripes of a tiger, while the woman wore an elegant emerald shimmer that was reminiscent of a mantis. They regarded him coldly for a long moment, and then walked away, retreating back into the crowded ballroom as he watched them go. Illyth moved up beside him, and set her hand on his arm.