“Ooo, Yvin will have a fit.”

“If he wishes.” Meralda put down her fork and found her coffee. “He can always ask for my robe back. Another night in this chair and I may give it to him anyway.”

“Now you sound like Fromarch.”

“Hush, Mug.”

“Now you really sound like Fromarch.”

Meralda shrugged and sipped coffee until her mind was clear again.

“You put a ribbon in your hair,” said Mug.

Meralda regarded the park from atop the nearly completed spectator’s bleachers which now lay full in the Tower’s long shadow.

The park was full. Two dozen dirt smeared Alons charged and bellowed and ran, and a crowd of several hundred spectators gathered about them, all hooting or jeering or shoving each other for a better look at the running mob of Alons. Food sellers wandered, hawking their wares in strident tones. Minstrels played and sang, often so close to one another their songs were little more than shouting matches.

“It’s a red ribbon,” added Mug. “In case anyone asks.”

“I know perfectly well what color it is. I did, after all, put it there. It’s just a ribbon. I often wear hair ribbons.”

“Seen Donchen yet?”

“I have no idea where he might be.”

“Well, keep looking, he’s bound to turn up.”

“I’m not looking!”

“No, of course not, you were just pointing your eyes toward the crowd, my mistake.”

Kervis came charging up the wooden stair. “Ma’am,” he began, breathless. “I told-the foreman-he’ll blow a whistle-when everyone is clear.”

Meralda smiled. “Thank you, Kervis. Please make sure no one ascends the stair after the whistle is blown.”

Kervis nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I didn’t see Mr. Donchen, by the way.”

Mug snickered.

Meralda turned, and Kervis stamped away down the stairs.

“Mistress,” said Mug, all humor gone. “Look west. By the ice cream vendor. Tall man in a black hood.”

Meralda didn’t look. “Is it him?”

Mug’s eyes swiveled and bunched.

“Yes. Just standing there. Arms folded. Can’t see either of his hands.”

“He wouldn’t dare attack me openly here.”

“No, that would be rash.” Mug shook his leaves. “Sorry. No, I don’t think so either. But let’s get this done, mistress. I’d feel safer with a few feet of solid stone between me and Ugly, if you don’t mind.”

Meralda reached into her right pocket and withdrew the Hang magic detector. She opened it, and watched as the needle swung around to point south, toward the Hang ships still moored at the harbor.

She laid the device down. The needle never moved, and the rings never spun.

“Keep one eye on that, if you please.”

Mug aimed a bright blue eye at the dial.

From the base of the Tower, a whistle blew. Meralda could see a ring of curious workmen gather in the shade, mopping their brows and watching her. One waved.

“It’s time,” said Meralda. She found her long copper latch, broke the silver thread she’d strung through its open ends earlier, and spoke a long, soft word.

“Sight,” she whispered.

The Tower flared to life, now glowing with a flickering corona that clung to it like sheets of pale, bluish flames.

The copper tube grew warm in her hands. Meralda spoke the word that released the new latch, and the tube leaped in her hands as the first part of the shadow spell flew toward the Tower.

Even with her Sight, even knowing where to look and what to look for, Meralda couldn’t see any hint of the Tower’s subtle actions as it accepted the new spell and gently latched it in place.

If Humindorus Nam is watching, thought Meralda, let him spend the rest of his life wondering just how I managed to latch that.

The copper tube in her hand grew cool. The ends began to rime, and Meralda laid it down next to her notes.

“Ugly is leaving,” said Mug. “He try anything, mistress?”

“Not that I could tell.” Satisfied that the latch was firmly in place, Meralda let her sight fall. “Still, he walked all the way out here for some reason.”

“Probably just curious about the Tower,” said Mug. “I’d bet a pound of good mulch Shingvere and Fromarch aren’t far. Might have ruined his plans, if he had any.”

“Possibly.” Meralda began packing her bag with her various implements and her wind whipped notebook.

“Back to the flat?” asked Mug. His voice fell to a whisper. “Won’t you at least take the captain and a dozen guards, this time?”

Meralda shook her head. “Why? Tower means me no harm. There’s no ghost.”

“It’s not Tower I’m worried about. What if Ugly sneaks in, somehow? What if that’s his plan, to catch you on the stair alone?”

Meralda hefted her bag. “I won’t be alone.”

“Mistress, the lads mean well, and I’m sure they’d be handy in a fight against irate middle-schoolers, but this could turn deadly.”

“And if I summon the captain and a platoon of pikemen, what does that say about the Mage of Tirlin, Mug?”

“It says she’s surrounded by large men with sharp pointy things.”

“It tells the world I’m afraid. It tells the world I can’t go about without relying on soldiers. No, Mug. I’ll take the Bellringers, but no more.”

Mug flung his vines. “Can you at least tell if you-know-who and you-know-what are nearby?”

Meralda shrugged. “I have no idea. And I can’t wait until I do. Please, Mug, don’t worry.” Meralda grinned and patted her bag. “I’ve taken extra precautions.”

Mug grunted. “Well. I’ll just stay here and keep watch.”

Meralda patted his topmost leaves. “Thank you, Mug. I’ll be back soon. You’ll see.”

Meralda turned and mounted the stairs. The Bellringers looked up, squinting into the sun.

“To the Tower, ma’am?”

“To the Tower. Please make sure someone watches the stairs. I don’t want Mug disturbed.”

Kervis darted off, grabbing a pair of idling palace guards by their bright red shirts and ushering them toward the stairs.

Meralda waited until the bewildered guards were in place, and then she led the Bellringers on the short walk to the Tower.

The Tower was as dark as ever, as silent as ever, and as empty as ever.

Meralda felt none of the dread she’d come to associate with her previous trips up the winding stair, though. Yes, I know I am being watched. Yes, I know the shadows hide an ancient and powerful being.

But Tower now has a name, of sorts, and I can’t feel threatened by him, even if he is the handiwork of Otrinvion the Black, himself.

Meralda smiled up at Kervis, whose wide-eyed gaze and sweaty face belied anything but calm. Tervis, too, was pale and wary, his hand continually darting to touch the hilt of his sword.

Meralda watched the shadows at the edge of her magelamp for any tell-tale sign of Nameless or Faceless. She listened between the scrape of boots on stone for any hint of wings. But she saw only darkness, and heard only echoes and silence.

Perhaps the staves are being discreet because of the Bellringers, she thought.

Or perhaps they simply aren’t here at all.

The stair wound up and up and up, vanishing in the dark above and swallowed by the dark below. Meralda counted steps until she reached nine hundred and forty, and then she called the Bellringers to rest.

Both put their backs to the wall and eyed the shadows warily. Meralda fumbled with her bag and then withdrew a glass sphere held at the end of a long brass funnel by a net of faintly luminous gold wires.

She handed the magelamp to Tervis. “Hold this please,” she said. “This will only take a moment.”

Tervis played the light over Meralda and nodded wordlessly.

Meralda turned away from the Bellringers and forced herself to stare out into the chasm just beyond the tips of her boots.

The Vonat spell should have latched here, she thought. It should still be here, even though Tower has pulled its teeth.

Time to see just what Humindorus Nam had planned for the Accords.