Jack took another bite and picked up a small book and a quill, thoughtfully transcribing a few more Game clues into the journal. Every clue rang of authenticity; Jack had seen dozens of official clues now, so he knew exactly how they were worded. In fact, the journal he was creating featured half a dozen accurate hints, just to add a patina of truth to the utter fabrication of the rest of the clues. The trick of it was losing the notebook at the right moment of the next Game gathering, without making it look like it had been lost on purpose. With any luck, a few participants would knock themselves out of the Game with Jack's forgeries.

That task attended to, Jack blew on the page to dry the ink and then put the book away in his vest pocket. The Game was attended to; Elana was not prepared to meet with him yet; that left Zandria and her riddle as the next item of business on Jack's agenda.

"And that means I'll need to speak to Tharzon," he said.

He finished his apple and tossed the core into the water, then scrambled to his feet-only to find a hulking figure in a dark hooded cloak standing over him. "Not so fast, friend Jack. I'd like a word with you."

"Anders?" Jack peered under the hood. "Please announce your presence next time with a Northman's drinking song or perhaps a wild war-whoop. You frightened me out of my wits, creeping up on me like that."

"Someone's looking for you, then?"

"My talents are widely sought. Failing that, so is my head. Back from Tantras already?"

Anders nodded. "A pair of bandits waylaid me, but I discouraged them from pressing an attack. They did manage to lame my horse by stringing a rope across the road, so I had to walk the poor beast the rest of way there and back."

Jack glanced around the busy docks, but no one seemed to be paying any special attention to the two of them. "And the ruby? How did you fare?"

Anders offered a gap-toothed grin and held up a small purse. "Better than expected. I fenced it for eight hundred and fifty gold crowns."

"Excellent! So my share would be four hundred and twenty-five, then."

"I think your recollection is faulty, friend Jack. We agreed on a sixty-forty split in my favor. To spare you the trouble of figuring it, I have already done so; it's five hundred ten for me, and three hundred forty for you."

Jack scowled. "That's hardly fair."

"You agreed to it. I don't consider it fair that I was hounded across the city by a ten-foot-tall demon and now seem to be held responsible for a robbery we committed together while you walk about free and clear." Anders dropped the purse into Jack's hands. "Your share. Count it if you like."

"Later," Jack replied. "Regarding those bandits: by discourage, do you mean chased off or discouraged in a more permanent manner?"

"Chased off, I'm afraid, although one will walk with a limp for the rest of his days.'' Anders frowned and looked down at Jack. "You didn't hire someone to waylay me, did you, Jack?"

"No, of course not," the rogue said quickly, holding up his hands. "It's very bad business to betray one's partners, after all. Word gets out, and then no one wants to work with you." He could see that the Northman was not entirely convinced, which stung Jack to no small degree. Making a show of another glance around the wharves, he reached up to put his arm around Anders's shoulder and said in a low voice, "I consider you to be one of the most trustworthy cutthroats I know. And, since I know that you feel that I have been less than forthright in my dealings with you of late, I earnestly desire the opportunity to win back some of your trust. What would you say if I told you I had another prospect that could prove very, very promising?"

Anders regarded him suspiciously. "Such as?"

"The opportunity to loot one of the most famous of Sarbreen's hidden vaults? A potential king's ransom, waiting just beneath our feet?"

"And the opposition?"

"Not opposition per se, but rather rivals seeking to beat us to the prize."

"Based upon my previous associations with you, I interpret those statements to mean that you've learned of a hitherto unnoticed pile of dwarven coppers for which we must strive against an army of angry demons conjured by ill-tempered Thayvians."

"Nothing quite so bad as that. And we have an advantage; the competition doesn't know that what we intend or what we know."

Chewing his mustache thoughtfully, the Northman watched the longshoremen and sailors thronging the wharves, hard at work. "What's the prize again?"

"The Guilder's Vault, a crypt in which the masters of ancient Sarbreen entombed Cedrizarun, the master distiller and a leader of the city." Anders appeared to waver so Jack decided to set the hook. "Come with me, and I'm sure Tharzon can answer your questions."

"The dwarf tunneler? Are you cutting him in, too?"

"The very same. And yes, I intend to take him on as an equal partner. Can you think of anyone more knowledgeable in the ways of Sarbreen's passages and vaults?"

The Northman shook his head. "No, Tharzon would probably know more than anyone. Very well, I admit that I'm interested."

"Follow me, then," Jack said and set off at once.

The two rogues hurried up Cove Street and took a left on Nightlamp, following the road to DeVillars Ride and turning right again. Two blocks brought them to Rhabie Promenade, and then they turned left again onto Manycoins Way and followed that road the length of the Temple District, through the Market District, and on into the neighborhood of Torchtown. Hidden in the back alley off of Vesper Way they found the Smoke Wyrm, a small taphouse in the solid stone cellars under a merchant's office. The place was favored by many of the dwarf craftsmen who lived and worked in Torchtown, and featured some of the best beer in the city.

In the middle of the day, the place was virtually empty; no self-respecting dwarf would consider drinking when there was work to be done. The only occupants were a couple of Sembians engaged in hard drinking despite the hour, and a sturdy dwarf barkeep-Tharzon.

"Jack Ravenwild," the dwarf rumbled. "I hold you responsible for a lack of sleep of late. That puzzle you gave me has me tied in knots. Anders Aricssen, good to see you again."

"I had hoped that you might have solved my riddle by now," Jack said. "Draw us two mugs of Old Smokey, friend Tharzon; we've much to discuss."

Tharzon eyed him balefully but complied, filling a pair of clay mugs from one of the numerous casks behind the bar. He set it on the worn wooden bar but didn't slide it toward Jack until the rogue rolled his eyes and set a silver talon on the table. Jack blew the foam off the draft and took a cautious sip; Old Smokey was good dwarf-work, and it would fuddle a man's wits in two mugs, if not one.

"Did you have any luck at all with it?" Jack asked.

"Some," Tharzon admitted. He nodded at Anders with a look at Jack, but Jack waved him on. With a shrug, the dwarf reached into his leather apron and pulled out a folded piece of paper, carefully unfurling it with his thick fingers. "I won't know whether I've solved it or not until I stand in the Guilder's Tomb. Here it is again:

"Other hands must take up my work

Other eyes my works behold

At the center of all the thirty-seventh

Girdled by the leaves of autumn

Mark carefully the summer staircase and climb it clockwise thrice

Order emerges from chaos; the answer made clear."

"A rather obtuse riddle," Anders remarked.

"Hmmph. Well, whoever translated this from Dwarven missed a couple of words. Instead of 'girdled,' it means 'encircled,' and instead of 'the leaves of autumn,' it could be read, these leaves of autumn."' The dwarf shook his head. "And where it says 'mark,' you should probably think of it as 'measure.' Hasty work, poorly done."