"I don't know yet, but I'm sure I'll think of something," Gerard said. "Maybe you have some ideas of your own in that regard. But right now, I want you to come with me. I have some questions that need answering."

The man stood abruptly, pushing away from the table and revealing a cudgel in his hand. The other four men shoved back. One darted away, heading toward the door at the rear of the tavern. Gerard noted his flight, but kept his attention riveted on Copper Mustache.

"Don't seem fair," drawled Copper Mustache, as he stood there, ominously fingering his cudgel. "You with a sword and all."

Gerard made a point of unbuckling his sword and laying it on the table. With his eyes, he warned the other three remaining men to move farther away, and they promptly backed off.

"The polite thing for you to do now would be to put your weapon down as well, sir," he said to Copper Mustache. "What is your name anyway?"

"I'll tell you one thing my name isn't-it's not STUPID!" cried the man. He lunged at Gerard. Gerard deftly sidestepped the man's cudgel, grabbed up a stool, and brought it down on Copper Mustache's head as he hurtled past. The man dropped to the slimy rushes, his cudgel flying from his hand. Gerard leaped to place a knee on the man's back and quickly lashed his hands together behind him. He dragged Copper Mustache to his feet, retrieved his sword, and, with the sword drawn now and held out before him to ward off any attempted rescue of his prisoner, he backed from the room, pulling the still-stunned Copper Mustache after him.

Out front, Blair and Vercleese were already waiting with another struggling prisoner, the man who had attempted to flee the gaming table out through the back door of The Trough.

"Everything went all right?" Vercleese asked, sounding as anxious as a mother hen.

Gerard nodded. "Just fine."

"Shall we take them off to jail?" Vercleese asked when Gerard made no movement in that direction.

"Let's wait a minute," Gerard said. He guided the group away from the door of the tavern and seated them beneath a tree, where he gagged the two prisoners so they couldn't speak.

"Why-?" Blair asked.

"Shh," Gerard warned.

They waited in silence a few moments then Gerard spoke. "Wait here," he whispered and made his way back to The Trough. He repeated his previous grand entrance, letting the door crack loudly against the front wall. The room had emptied some, the back exit evidently having become quite busy after he left. Those who remained looked to be the hard cases.

With everyone watching him, Gerard strode up to the counter, where his mug still sat waiting. Casually, he let his eyes drift around the room, until they came to rest on the empty peg on the back wall where the dun-colored cowled robe had hung. Only two men remained at the gaming table. Gerard matched their faces against those memorized from his previous visit.

That allowed him to recall the face of the missing man, the one who had left wearing the cowled robe.

Oh, yes, he'd know that face well enough next time he saw it.

"Forgot something," he announced loudly to the room. With everyone watching, he downed his ale, belched magnificently, and departed, letting the door stand open.

CHAPTER 18

Gerard sent Blair off for the wagon and horses that, earlier, Gerard had arranged to have tethered nearby. "Is everything ready?" Gerard asked Vercleese when Blair was gone.

"Yeah," said Vercleese, sounding none too happy about it. He started to say something else but was interrupted by the rattle of the wagon and the clop of approaching hooves. Blair drew up in front of the little group and hopped down from the driver's bench. The three pulled their prisoners to their feet and hustled them into the back of the wagon, where they bound their feet.

"Now where?" Blair asked.

"To the jail, of course," Gerard replied.

"And who's going to stand guard all night?" Blair asked sullenly. "Me?"

"Not necessarily," Gerard said, tugging on his beard as he mulled the matter over. "You've worked hard tonight and could probably do with a good night's sleep. No, I think we could probably find a citizen willing to volunteer his services, guarding these prisoners tonight."

"A volunteer?" Blair said. "Isn't that a little, er, unusual?"

"That's right," Gerard said, as he and Vercleese untethered their horses from behind the wagon and mounted. "However, this is an unusual case, calling for unusual measures." When he gave directions to Blair, however, it was Vercleese who exploded. "Are you out of your mind?

Why don't you just stick your hand into a hornets' nest and get it over with!"

"Nevertheless," Gerard said, "that's where we're going. Get him up, Blair."

Blair flicked the reins and clucked to the draft animal pulling the wagon, who slowly bestirred himself. The wheels rattled over the cobbles, and the bound prisoners grunted as every violent jolt tossed them about on the hard, rough boards of the wagon bed. With Blair leading in the wagon, Gerard and Vercleese followed at a leisurely pace on their horses, watching to make sure the pair didn't try to escape.

They went through the heart of town, passing the Town Square, the smithy, and the stables. The traffic had thinned by now, though many people were still out on foot. On some street corners, clerics exhorted folk to observe the forthcoming temple dedication with more propriety. But the citizens of Solace were proud of their new temple, which promised to be one of the preeminent structures in all Ansalon, and they were determined to celebrate the occasion.

At the Town Square, Blair veered onto a well-to-do residential street running westward, toward Crystalmir Lake. He drew up to one imposing edifice. Behind him, Gerard and Vercleese reined in.

"Are you sure this is such a good idea?" Vercleese muttered.

"Oh, I think it's an ideal solution," Gerard said with a grin. "Wait here." He tossed his reins to his deputy and dismounted. He stepped briskly up the gravel walk to the front door, where he pounded hard enough, with the pommel of his sword, to rouse the heaviest sleeper. After a few minutes, a bleary-eyed butler opened the door. "Yes, who is it?" the servant demanded imperiously. "Who dares to wake the household at such an hour?"

Gerard moved so that the light from the man's candle shone on his face. "It's Gerard uth Mondar, the sheriff of Solace. And I have urgent need of Nyland's services for the night."

"The young master is asleep," the butler droned. "As is anyone," he added with a scornful look, "not engaged in scurrilous endeavors of one sort or another."

"You'd best hope I overlook your disrespectful comments," Gerard warned. "Now go wake up Nyland and bring him here, before I come in and roust him out of bed myself."

"You wouldn't dare," the butler said, although a slight tremor in his voice betrayed his uncertainty.

"Try me."

The butler tried to stare Gerard down but failed abjectly. "Hmph! I'll go see what I can do," he muttered at last. "Please wait here." He started to shut the door.

Gerard stuck his booted foot in the doorway. "I think I'll wait inside, if it's all the same to you."

The butler's glare told Gerard that it wasn't all the same, but he acquiesced to the inevitable with poor grace and stepped aside. "If this is suitable," the butler said with a mocking tone, indicating the entry way, "I'll leave you here while I go rouse the young master.

Gerard nodded and the man marched off with a stiff, unhurried gait.

When someone appeared a few minutes later, it wasn't Nyland at all, but Lady Drebble. "What's the meaning of this?" she demanded. "What are you doing, banging on doors in the middle of the night and demanding that solid, upstanding citizens be rousted from their beds?"