“He might as well whistle them a dancing tune,” snapped Mug. “Murder sells papers.”

“Bribes seal lips,” mused the captain. “Especially very large royal bribes, which are usually accompanied by subtle hints of royal mayhem.”

“So the papers won’t print a story of an assassination attempt on the steps of the castle.”

“Not this time.” The captain turned to face the Bellringers. “You two. Charging that fiend, knocking him down. Rare good sense, that. I don’t have access to the royal purse, but will put in a word for both of you. End of summer might see you lads promoted.”

The Bellringers exchanged grins. “Thank you, sir,” said Kervis.

The captain rose, groaned, and turned toward the door.

“Got to get back out there,” he said. “I’ll be back around later. You two see that the thaumaturge doesn’t run into any more vanishing Alons.”

The Bellringers nodded.

Mug tossed his leaves in disgust. “So that’s it? The king bribes the papers, and you just go about your day as though nothing happened?”

“Kervis. Tervis. Take your posts, please. We won’t be leaving for a while.”

The Bellringers leaped to their feet.

“And thank you. You were both very brave out there.”

The brothers blushed in identical shades of crimson and bolted for the door.

Meralda waited for the door to slam before rising and pulling the scrap of tarp off Goboy’s glass.

The Wizard’s Flat was there, lit by horizontal shafts of early morning sun. Nameless and Faceless were gone.

“Good morning,” said Meralda.

“I assume your remark is rhetorical in nature.” The image in the glass wavered a bit, then stabilized. “Yes. An informal greeting. Forgive me. I have not carried on a conversation in nearly a millennia.”

“The mage was attacked not an hour ago, Tower,” snapped Mug. “Attacked by a man who appeared from nowhere and vanished in broad daylight. Your famous sticks of lumber didn’t so much as say boo.” The dandyleaf shot an accusatory vine toward the glass. “I thought you said we could expect a bit of help from that lot.”

“Attacked? By whom?”

Meralda waved her hand at Mug for silence. “By someone posing as an Alon,” she said. “Someone with magical assistance. I do not believe he simply slipped away on a busy street with half the guard out looking for him”

“Interesting. I, too, was the subject of an attack at approximately that time.”

“You? Attacked?” Mug snorted. “With what, battering rams and pick-axes?”

“Someone attempted to latch a moderately complicated spellwork to my main structure. I deflected it, of course, but the construction of the spell was most unusual.”

“Unusual how?”

“I have maintained an intimate familiarity with every arcane practice in all of the Realms,” replied the Tower. “Vonat, Phendelit, Eryan, Alon. I am expert in them all.”

“Your wooden friends do a lot of traveling, don’t they?”

“Mug.” Meralda rose and began to pace. “And this was something new?”

“It was.”

“Do you know who sent it?”

“Not yet. I know the general area from which it originated. The spell caster was careful to maintain a considerable distance and employ a number of obfuscatory measures.”

“Dorleigh and Ventham,” said Mug. “Somewhere between those two streets, wasn’t it?”

The Tower’s tone took on a hint of bemusement. “Just so, construct,” it said. “Just so.”

Meralda frowned. Mug turned a trio of eyes toward her.

“I may be just a lowly construct, mistress, but I do read the Post. The Vonats rented out a couple of rooming houses in that neighborhood. They always do that, since they throw the kind of parties King Yvin won’t stand for.”

“I dispatched Nameless and Faceless to that area as soon as I detected the intrusion,” said the Tower. “Their absence during your difficulty was thus my fault. I apologize.”

“Well. Finally.” Mug tossed his fronds. “Was that so hard?”

“The staves.” Meralda thought for a moment. “Have they returned?”

“No. I can attempt to recall them now, if you wish. Though I cannot guarantee their timely obedience.”

Meralda paused in her pacing. “No. Let them be. Though I would like to hear what they found, when they return.”

“As you wish.” The Tower fell silent for a moment. “Have you considered the matter of the curseworks, Mage Ovis?”

As if I’ve considered anything else, thought Meralda. “I have. Tower, a question. This unique new magic you encountered, could it be Hang magic?”

“I have considered that. I simply have no knowledge of the Hang or their arcane traditions. But given the presence of the Hang, it seems likely. You suspect collusion between Hang and Vonath?”

“I suspect a few rogue elements within the Hang may be involved. And all of Vonath, including the rats, the crows and the crickets.”

The Tower hesitated.

“Humor.”

Meralda chuckled. “An attempt. But if we face Hang magic, we need to know something about it. And who knows? There might be something in the Hang traditions that can help repair the spokes.”

“A possibility.”

There came a knock at the door. The image in the glass shook, and became nothing but a simple refection of Meralda and Mug.

Kervis stuck his head in the door.

“Ma’am,” he called. “It’s Mr. Donchen. He says he doesn’t have an appointment, but he needs to see you.” Kervis grinned. “He’s brought more food, too. They have two kinds of breakfast over there, and he’s brought both.”

Meralda pushed back her hair, wished she’d had time to comb it, and forced a smile.

“Well, show him right in,” she called. “He’s just the man I wanted to see.”

“That was excellent,” said Meralda, pushing away her empty plate.

Donchen smiled and made a little bow with his head. Meralda caught herself staring again, trying to guess his age. There were no wrinkles at the corners of his almond-shaped grey eyes. His short-cropped hair was a uniform inky black. His teeth were perfect, and a brilliant white.

He grinned back, and Meralda blushed.

“I am glad you enjoyed it,” he said. “Though I must confess, I did not prepare any of this. Chef Inglee did all the work. I merely stole the serving cart.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. I’ve had nothing but coffee in ages.”

Donchen nodded. “You are a busy woman, Mage Ovis. Dining with possibly nefarious foreigners. Being attacked on the palace steps by vanishing Alons. It’s a wonder you ever dine at all.”

Mug bunched his eyes.

“You know about that.”

“I was there.”

“Didn’t see you rushing to anyone’s aid,” muttered Mug.

“I was too far away,” replied Donchen, nonplussed. “But not so far away that I couldn’t confirm the use of a very familiar charm. I did in fact make an effort to track your assailant, Mage Ovis. I fear I failed in that effort, shortly after commencing it.”

“Was he heading south, when last you saw him?”

Donchen nodded. “He was. This is significant?”

Meralda shrugged. “It’s suggestive. The Vonats have rented a pair of boarding houses south of the palace.”

“Hmm. I see.” Meralda watched the man’s face. He kept it blank, but she didn’t need Sight to see his mind working behind his eyes.

“You said I could ask you anything, yesterday,” she said. “Did you mean that?”

“I did.”

Meralda leaned forward. “All right. Then I have a question. Who are you?”

“And none of that friendly cook business, either,” added Mug. “You know what she means.”

Donchen smiled. “I do. I will answer, though you may find it troubling at first. I am a ghost.”

Mug snorted. “You eat a lot for a specter.”

“That’s not what he means,” said Meralda. “Is it?”

“No. It is customary, you see, for persons of my position and background to spend a certain number of years as a sohata. A ghost. As a sohata, I may walk where I will, speak as I will, act as I will. No one of the House of Chentze sees or hears me. Thus, I am a ghost.”