"In fact," he said, "I was hoping you could help me on the matter of the play."

"Help you? But how?" Illyth asked.

"I know that last year you became interested in the topic of heroes, adventurers, and freebooters who'd made their homes in Raven's Bluff," Jack began. "I've got an idea for a smashing production based on the deeds of one of these adventurous sorts, but I'd like to verify the details of the story and make sure that I get it all right. Historical accuracy is very important to me."

"I'm glad to hear it!" Illyth exclaimed. "I can't tell you how much it annoys me when a playwright doesn't even bother to do a bit of research. Who did you have in mind?"

"A mage named Gerard. As I understand it, he passed through the city and mysteriously vanished about six to ten years ago. Have you ever heard of him?"

She frowned prettily. "Hmmm… no, I don't believe so, but I've got hundreds of names recorded in my papers. If not there, then I might dig up some information at the Wizard's Guild, or at the Ministry of Art. What did Gerard supposedly do?"

Jack realized that he'd better tread carefully. He had to give Illyth a good reason for why he wanted to know about Gerard, one that would match his cover story. "I'm not really sure. My play is actually about a rival of his, and I wanted to cast Gerard as a villain. Supposedly, he owned a book called the Sarkonagael," he said. "Can you look into it for me?"

Illyth thought about it for a moment, and then nodded her head. "I'd be happy to, Jack, on one condition."

"Oh?"

"I need a partner in the new Game of Masks. It's going to start in just three days, and they say that the prize is a real Dragon's Tear! You're clever, and you've worked as a player before. I think you could be very good at it, if you just gave it a try!"

"The Game of Masks?" Jack tried not to wince. The Game was a noble diversion, an ongoing series of playacting events wherein the participants took on various roles and tried to solve puzzles, stumble through a plot, or play at great deeds. He supposed it was fun… but it would take a lot of time, probably one evening in every three or four for the next couple of months. More than that, if he played seriously, and Illyth would demand no less than a serious effort on his part. It would also cost a lot of money to stay in the game, more money than he could put his hands on.

Unless Anders came through with his share of the Kuldath ruby.

Or he and Illyth actually won the Game prize. A Dragon's Tear would compensate him quite nicely for his time and trouble. And how hard could it be, really? Most of their competition would consist of foppish noblemen and bored ladies groping their way through a stale plot of some kind. Jack, on the other hand, was a professional. He lied, cheated, stole, and played at being someone he was not as a way of life. He'd cut through their silly Game like a shark in a barrel of codfish.

He looked up at Illyth, a little breathless, a little too fond of her books, but a charming and pretty girl who thought he was romantic, tragic, and entertaining all at the same time. If playing at the Game made her happy, why not?

"All right," Jack said. "When do we start?"

As it turned out, the Game was not scheduled to begin until the following night. Jack promised to pick up Illyth at sunset (yet another expensive carriage ride! he lamented), then returned to the city and dined at the Cracked Tankard. Following that, he called on Ontrodes to see if the sage had made any progress in the Sarkonagael riddle, but the old sot hadn't even started to look into it yet- he was too busy working on Zandria's dwarven runes. When Jack complained, Ontrodes pointed out that she paid him in real coin, while Jack simply promised a flask of brandy and would undoubtedly deliver the cheapest and most miserable brew he could pour into a nice-looking flask. So Jack returned to his rooms in Burnt Gables and went to bed.

The next morning brought a cool, steady wind off the Inner Sea and a gentle rain that promised to last all day. Jack foraged through his larder for something to eat, discovering a wheel of cheese and a small barrel half full of last fall's apples, now sweet and wrinkled. While he ate, he considered his next move. He decided to press forward with his investigations on Elana's behalf. This time, he would go straight to the source.

When he finished his breakfast, Jack turned his attention to his closets. His rooms comprised half of the loft of a warehouse stocking sail canvas, barrels of pitch, great reels of rope, and dozens of other items useful to the Ravenaar shipyards and provisioners. It was an odd arrangement; Jack paid nothing for the space, and in return he was obligated to guard the warehouse from others of his profession. Since no self-respecting thief would try to carry off loot such as planks or ballast stones, he didn't have to work too hard to protect the place. Jack had furnished a fairly comfortable and well-appointed apartment in the building's upper story, and if the place was stiflingly hot in the summertime and intolerably drafty in winter, it was free.

The warehouse offered one other virtue Jack enjoyed-it provided ample storage for anything he stole and wanted to keep. He had almost a dozen closets stuffed full of various knickknacks and odds and ends he'd pilfered. Jack systematically searched through his closets for attire suitable for a visit to the Wizards' Guild, and found a heavy rune-embroidered robe of dark blue brocade over fine cotton. He pulled the robe on over a pair of baggy red breeches and pointed Calimshite slippers, adding a simple red fez to complete the outfit.

"I need a dangerous-looking staff," he muttered, critically examining his appearance in the mirror.

He settled for an iron rod about two feet in length, capped by a serpent's head of copper. He formed a simple spell and placed an invisible rune on the serpent rod, so that it would seem to be magically enchanted if examined by anyone who could detect such things. Then, with one more adjustment to his fez, he trotted down the rickety stairs out into the streets.

"I am a formidable wizard," he said aloud. "I have urgent business at the High House of the guild. Delay me at your peril!" No one was close enough to note his words. Adopting an expression of stern determination, he stomped off toward the Uptown district.

The High House of Magic was a large building of black stone, designed to resemble a castle in strength and majesty despite its surroundings. It was simply a well-made hall with false turrets and a decorative parapet, but the structure loomed over its neighboring buildings, a stodgy old gaffer knee-deep in disrespectful children. Without hesitation, Jack bounded up the short flight of steps leading to the front door, taking them two at a time. Then he hammered his iron rod against the door in the most imperious fashion he could imagine.

"Open up at once!" he cried. "The Dread Delgath demands admittance this very instant!"

The door opened slowly, with a monotonous creaking of wood. A wizened old porter stood there, squinting up at him (quite a feat, considering Jack's own modest stature). "Eh? What do you want here?"

"The Dread Delgath has come to grace your impoverished fellowship with a mage of the highest caliber and most impressive credentials," Jack said.

"And who would that be?" said the old man.

Jack glared at the doorman. "Why, me, of course! Whom else could I possibly be referring to?"

"Ah, I see," said the doorman. "Well, why don't you come in, and I'll summon Master Meritheus to discuss your potential for membership."

" 'Potential for membership', indeed! Why, the Dread Delgath should-"

"Right this way, sir," the old man said.