Rooming with Ontrodes was clearly out. The sage had formerly commanded room to spare in his tower, but that was clearly no longer an option. Jack was hesitant to return to his apartment. Fortunately, he'd made plans for an emergency of this nature. Despite the late hour, he retraced his steps westwards on Riverview to Sindle, cut north one block to Thavverdasz, and followed the road to the point across from the Ladyrock. There he hired a boatman waiting on late fares to ferry him over to the island-neighborhood for the exorbitant price of two silver talons. After a short scull of perhaps two hundred yards, he climbed out of the ferry onto the wharves of the Ladyrock in the middle of the river mouth.
Several months ago Jack had discovered that one of the smugglers living on the island was dead, and that no one else was likely to know that he was dead, and that no one in particular was likely even to miss the departed. He left a cottage of three rooms, sited very near a small paper mill that created a perpetual miasma of stench in this portion of the islet. The cottage itself was not in particularly good condition, with walls that didn't run true and a roof covered in wooden shakes that curled up at the edges like dried old leaves, admitting an unfortunate amount of weather and vermin into the place, but it was otherwise a good place for Jack Ravenwild to drop out of sight for a time. He made up the bed, trying not to pay attention to the heavy scent of mildew from the straw-stuffed mattress, and built a small fire in the hearth to warm the place and dry it out a bit. Then he stretched out on the damp, cold pallet and drifted off to blissful sleep.
The next day, the beginning of Tarsakh, was windy and bright, although the cool, damp air of spring still left an unpleasant chill in the shade. Jack stocked his new residence with nonperishable hardtack, dried sausage, cheeses, and jerky, just in case he might have to stay out of sight for a few days. Then he dressed as an adventuring swordsman in a shirt of fine mail and spent most of the afternoon making inquiries across the city regarding the whereabouts of a short, wiry fellow dressed in black with an impudent manner and a marked predilection toward chaos, mayhem, and murder. He spoke to innkeepers by the score, tavernmasters restaurateurs, fences and (carefully) city watchmen, harlots, strumpets and fishwives. He soon discovered that while a person answering to that general description had been seen in half a dozen places throughout the city, no one knew the dastard's whereabouts. So Jack's investigations were checked for the day. As the sun vanished behind the late afternoon fog banks rolling in from the Inner Sea, he returned to the Ladyrock in order to prepare for the Green Lord's banquet.
"I will surely apprehend that villainous duplicate, that duplicitous villain, at my earliest convenience tomorrow," he muttered angrily, dressing for the Game. "I simply have more important business to attend at the moment than dealing with the likes of him. The charming Lady Illyth awaits, and I cannot disappoint her."
He caught the public ferry departing the isle a half hour before sunset and hired a carriage on the Bitterstone wharves to take him out to Woodenhall. The six-mile trip was becoming quite familiar by now, and Jack had long since tired of watching the scenery. Still, he bounced out of the coach with a lively step and donned his most charming grin when they arrived at the manor to pick up Illyth for the evening.
"My dear Illyth!" he cried. "I presume no uncouth blackguards have troubled you today?"
Illyth climbed up into the coach, taking Jack's hand, and settled in the plush seat. She was dressed in a beautiful dress of green brocade, trimmed with white lace at collar and cuff.
"Your ill-mannered twin hasn't shown himself in three days," she said. Then she reached behind her back and drew out a slender wand of dark wood, tipped with burnished brass. "But, just in case, Father bought me a wand charged with a dozen lightning spells. I hope the rascal shows himself again!"
"I didn't know you had any talent for wizardry, my dear." The coach rolled off across the cobblestones and into the humid night.
"Very little, I'm afraid, but I know enough to discharge this wand. There are a couple of elm trees in the woods behind our house that are somewhat the worse for my practicing." Illyth returned the device to whatever hidden pocket she'd removed it from and then turned her dark, serious gaze on the rogue. "So, what have you been up to for the last three days, Jack? Have you learned anything more about the shadow, or the doings of Tiger and Mantis?"
Jack shrugged, choosing his words with care. "A fruitless investigation into the nature of my enemy," he said, which was not entirely untrue. "I didn't learn much." He cobbled together a largely fictional account of the last several days, emphasizing the frustrating and hopeless search for his shadow-copy. It was not his best work, but Illyth skeptically accepted it, until the coach clattered up to the Raven's Glory. "Excellent!" said Jack. "And look, we are here."
The Green Lord's banquet was to take place in the pretentious restaurant, ballroom, and tavern known as the Raven's Glory. Three stories high, the establishment had been rented out in its entirety to the Game of Masks for the evening, no doubt enriching the fat coffers of the equally fat Veldarno Khalabari even more than hundreds of patrons engaged in a wild evening of expensive dinners, free-flowing wine, and festive dancing would have done. Jack and Illyth were helped down from the coach at the front door of the banquet hall by two manservants in pristine livery and walked inside to robe for the Game.
Masked as Lord Fox and Lady Crane, they moved on into the great room. The floor was crowded with several dozen Game-goers in their magical masks, a splendid sight. The proprietor Khalabari, short and sweaty, dashed from place to place like a lump of butter on a hot skillet, hardly tending to one task before another caught his attention and whisked him away in a flutter of unctuous courtesy.
Jack and Illyth climbed up to the balcony overlooking the dance floor, keeping their eyes open for Tiger and Mantis. The conspirators had not yet made their appearance, which unnerved Jack greatly. If the two plotters simply didn't show, he would have no way to find out whether they were surprised to see Illyth and him together at the revel. Beyond that, he lacked any more sophisticated plan.
"I am afraid that I am considering this whole affair to the point of distraction," he said aloud.
"Murder? Kidnapping? Impersonators and shadow wizards?" Illyth shook her head. "Jack, I do not see how you can possibly give the matter too much attention. What shall we do when Mantis and Tiger show up?"
Jack thought on that for a moment. "They've been careful to cover their identities so far. What if we simply unmask them and discover who they are?"
"We would be disqualified at once," Illyth pointed out.
"Perhaps we could lure one or both somewhere out of sight, where we could quickly identify our antagonist without revealing our own identities?"
"All we might do is start a scuffle, in which we are as likely to be unmasked as they. And if Tiger and Mantis report that we have unmasked them, we might be disqualified anyway."
"Why, then it should be their word against ours, and that rarely carries the day in any dispute," Jack replied.
"You mean we would blatantly deny having anything to do with them?" Illyth seemed honestly repelled by the idea.
"Correct, my dear. Besides, I may have a trick or two to ensure that no scuffle ensues." Jack scanned the crowd again but did not spy the familiar masks. "I see no sign of them yet. Do you perchance have your Game journal with you?"