A furious knock sounded at the door. “Mage!” cried the captain. “Meralda! Are you all right?”

“Come in,” cried Meralda. “I’m fine.”

The captain and the Bellringers spilled through the door. Meralda turned in her chair to face them.

“What the devil…?” began the captain.

“I wanted a word with the mage, Captain. Alone.”

The captain bit back his response. Tervis and Kervis exchanged glances, but took their hands off their sword hilts.

“He wasn’t rude to you, was he, ma’am?” asked Kervis.

“No more than I expected.” Meralda shook her head. “I am the mage to Tirlin,” she said. “I appreciate your concern. I do, really. But I’m neither helpless nor foolish.”

“No.” The captain took in a great breath. “Forgive me, Mage Ovis. You know what you’re doing.”

Meralda smiled. “You need not apologize for being concerned, Captain. I’m concerned too. Which is why I’ll ask you to assign as many keen eyed young men as you can spare to follow our Vonat friend about for the remainder of the Accords.”

The captain tilted his head. “You know of course that we’re already doing that.”

“I suspected as much. Have these young men of yours been seen?”

“Not once. They’re very good.”

“Then assign a few with less skill. Encourage them to keep a safe distance. Just make sure the Vonat knows his movements are being watched.”

The captain grinned. “Consider it done, Mage. Anything else?”

“Coffee. Lots of coffee.” Meralda sighed. “And bring me a proper dagger. Not fancy or ornamental. One that fits in a boot.”

The captain nodded, all humor gone. “At once. Tervis, fetch the mage her coffee. I’ll stand watch in your place.”

The captain winked, and the trio backed through the doors, closing them softly behind them.

The pot of coffee was empty when the Bellringers accompanied Fromarch through the laboratory doors.

The aging wizard bore a box of jelly filled pastries from Flayne’s and a moth eaten burlap bag.

“Ho, Mage,” he said, opening the box and offering the contents to Meralda. “Oh, go on, take one. You could use a bit of flesh on those skinny bones. Hello, houseplant. You’re looking as leafy as ever.”

Mug returned a mock salute. “Mage. Grey fur suits you.”

Fromarch chuckled and bowed toward Goboy’s glass. “Tower. I don’t believe we’ve met, formally.”

“Mage,” said the Tower. “Greetings.”

Fromarch nodded gravely. “After all these years. You could have said hello before, you know. I wouldn’t have charged off telling the papers.”

The Tower had no reply. Fromarch shrugged and grabbed a pastry. “Well, if you’re not going to eat them I will, Meralda. Cost me a bloody five pence, you know.”

Meralda rolled her eyes, but selected a cherry filled donut and bit into it.

She closed her eyes, savoring the flavor. “I had forgotten how good these are.”

“You’ve likely forgotten to eat at all today, I’ll wager,” muttered Fromarch. He wiped his lips on his sleeve. “But I’m not your mother. Came to fill this bag. Do you want to know what with?”

“Will knowing cause me to lose sleep?”

“Without a doubt. You said cause trouble. That’s what our daft Eryan friend and the old Hang gentleman intend to do. We need a few things from the shelves. Bad things.” The old wizard’s face split into a rare grin. “Bad, bad things.”

Meralda swallowed and raised her hands. “Take what you need. I don’t want to know.”

“Not even a hint?”

“Not even a hint.”

Fromarch nodded. “Well, you might want to release the wards on aisle eight,” he said. “Lots of bad things there.”

Aisle eight. The relics from the second century. The Vonat War. Meralda forced a nod and rose, heading for the ward sigils hidden behind a false stone to the left of the doors.

“Oh. The red crate on the north wall. I’ll want in that, too.”

Meralda spoke the words that revealed the row of hidden sigils, and then traced the release pattern on the aisle eight ward.

“The red crate? The one every mage since the two hundreds has been warned never to open?”

“Always wanted to see what was in that bugger,” said Fromarch. “If we don’t know, the Vonats certainly don’t. It feels like a night for surprises, don’t you agree?”

Meralda bit her lip. “Are you sure about this?”

“’Fraid so, Mage. We’re up against Hang magic we don’t understand. We need something they aren’t expecting.”

Meralda spoke the word and traced a glowing pattern in the air.

“Done,” she said. Another word hid the sigils. Meralda turned, but Fromarch was already disappearing among the shelves, humming a merry tune as he made for aisle eight.

“Good luck,” said Meralda. Fromarch shouted something unintelligible back in reply.

The Tower spoke. “The contents of the red crate are known to me,” it began.

“Will the contents wreak havoc on Tirlin and visit upon us widespread destruction this very night?”

“No. They are…”

Meralda made a motion for silence. “I don’t want to know, Tower. Unless you think the mages can’t control it.”

“Their combined skills should prove sufficient.”

“Then let’s get back to work. I have an idea about the damaged tethers. I need to know how they maintain their spacing, as they rotate.”

Meralda found her chair and sank back into it. The box of pastries sat on a corner of her desk, still open, the scent of fresh donuts wafting from it.

Meralda grabbed another and bit into it.

The Tower chuckled and began to speak, drawing symbols and equations in the glass as it did so.

Meralda counted chimes and stretched as four hundred and ninety-six timekeeping devices in the laboratory chimed out nine o’clock, all at once.

Nine o’clock. I must get a better chair, thought Meralda. Something with a cushion.

Above her came the faint sound of beating wings. Shadows flitted across the ceiling.

“One comes,” said the Tower. “Donchen. The Hang.”

“Is he perhaps pushing a silver cart?”

“Just so,” said the Tower. “I shall conceal myself.”

Meralda stood. “No. Not this time. He’s either a friend and ally, or he’s not. I believe he means no harm. Do you concur?”

Mug surprised Meralda by remaining quiet.

“As you wish, Mage Ovis.”

There came a knock at the door. “Supper,” called Kervis. “Smells good, ma’am.”

Meralda rose and opened the doors. Donchen, clad in his purloined kitchen garb, greeted her with a wide smile.

“Hungry, Mage?”

“Famished,” said Meralda. “Do come in.”

Donchen handed bags to the Bellringers, and then pushed his cart inside.

“Fascinating,” he said, peering into the glass as Tower caused a drawing of the tethers and the curseworks to spin and move. “And those have been there, deadly but unseen, for most of Tirlin’s history?”

Meralda nodded. Donchen’s meal, four courses, appetizers and a dessert, was making her eyes heavy. As if sensing her thoughts, Donchen rose nimbly to his feet, rummaged about in his serving cart, and finally withdrew a silver carafe and a pair of dainty white cups.

“Coffee?” asked Meralda.

“Coffee is sadly lacking compared to Hang beverages,” replied Donchen. “But I hope you will find this equally invigorating. We call it chai-see. It’s a tea, of sorts, made from the leaves of a plant with a variety of therapeutic properties.” He sat the cups down amid the remains of the meal and poured both nearly full.

“To your health, Mage Ovis.”

Meralda lifted her cup. The aroma from it was minty and sharp, reminding her of Shingvere’s sweet sticks melted and mixed with cinnamon.

Donchen drank, and Meralda sipped at hers before smiling and drinking half the cup in a single delicious gulp.

“I knew you’d like it.” Donchen’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll see that a tin or three makes its way to your door, Mage. I’ll be violating a number of export acts by doing so, of course.”