She was interrupted by a knock.

"Now what?" Kilisha said. Before she could object, Nissitha reached over.

Before Nissitha touched it, however, the latch sprang open of its own accord, and the door opened. Kilisha remembered that the latch, too, had been animated in the disaster. She would want to talk to it when she had a moment; it was being far too cooperative for its own good.

Right now, though, she looked to see who had knocked.

A stranger in a green and brown silk tunic stood outside. "I have an appointment with Ithanalin," he said.

"He's not here," Nissitha said; she started to close the door. Kilisha jumped to intervene, and caught the latch.

The handle wiggled under her grip, but she ignored it. "You must be the customer he mentioned!" she said.

"Yes?" the man said, tentatively.

"I'm his apprentice," Kilisha said quickly. "I'm afraid there's been an accident."

The customer was staring past Nissitha at Ithanalin, and Kilisha resolved to move her master away from the front door. "Is he-" the man began.

"He'll be fine," Kilisha said, pushing herself in front of Nissitha and blocking the customer's view of the wizard. "In a day or two. And I'm sure he'll finish your spell then. I'd do it myself, but I'm afraid I haven't learned all the necessary secrets yet. Could you tell me, please, where I can reach you when the master is himself again?"

"I live on Steep Street, near the corner of Hillside." He frowned. "What happened?"

Kilisha saw no reason to hide the truth. "A spriggan spilled the potion my master was preparing," she said. "It will need to be redone. I'm very sorry for the delay, and I'm sure my master will give you a discount for the inconvenience."

"I promised my wife-"

"I know, but really, there's nothing we can do. It should just be a couple of days."

"Who are these two?" the man asked, looking at Nissitha and Adagan.

"Just neighbors who stopped in," Kilisha said.

"That's my shop next door," Nissitha offered.

"And mine just beyond," Adagan added.

"Wizards?"

"No," Nissitha said.

"I'm a witch," Adagan said.

"Oh."

"I'll send you a message as soon as we know when the spell will be ready," Kilisha said.

The man looked uncertain. "You're sure-"

"Quite sure," Kilisha interrupted.

The man hesitated a second longer, then turned up a palm. "All right," he said. He tried to peer over her head, but Adagan shifted to block his view, and reluctantly the man turned and departed.

Kilisha released the door, and Nissitha slammed it. The latch clicked a few times, apparently annoyed, then settled into place.

"This is going to be bad for business," Kilisha said. "I'd hoped to fix things before word got out."

"You seem very certain you'll be able to fix them," Nissitha said.

"I am," Kilisha said.

This was not literally true. She was not certain she could fix the situation, but she was certain someone could. After all, there "were hundreds of wizards in Ethshar of the Rocks; surely one of them could reassemble Ithanalin. Javan's Restorative didn't look like that difficult a spell, and if that didn't work, some other spell would.

How hard could it be?

But it was definitely going to hurt business, turning away customers this way.

"I need to talk to Chorizel," she said, "but before I do, could you give me a hand? I want to move my master to the back, where people won't see what's happened to him."

Nissitha grimaced. "Arc you sure it's safe?"

"Oh, come on," Adagan said, stepping toward the motionless wizard.

Nissitha had fled once Ithanalin was moved, but Kilisha had left Adagan there, to help Yara and the children should anyone else turn up at the door.

She wished she could have stayed herself, but somebody had to talk to Chorizel, and she was the only wizard on hand. She was only an apprentice, but she was still a member of the Wizards' Guild.

The sun was low in the west, brushing the rooftops as she hurried along Wizard Street. The afternoon had slipped away in capturing the bowl and spoon and coatrack, explaining the situation to everyone, and sending away the confused customer. It was the middle of Harvest, and the days were getting shorter, but it was still dismaying to realize that she must have spent hours on all that.

The only good side she could see was that Chorizel would probably be at home, getting ready for supper, rather than out somewhere.

Unless, of course, he had an invitation to dine elsewhere. She picked up the pace, almost running.

Chorizel did not have an ordinary shop, with a signboard and front room; instead he had a house, and the only sign that it was a place of business was a small card set in one window that read simply:

CHORIZEL

WIZARDRY

Kilisha had passed by it any number of times in the five years she had lived on Wizard Street, but had never set foot inside. She had only spoken to Chorizel two or three times in her life, all of them when she and Ithanalin happened to encounter the Guild-master on the street and the two master wizards had made polite conversation. After the first such meeting Ithanalin had explained that Chorizel was the local Guildmaster, and their connection to the Guild hierarchy, but Kilisha had never been especially interested in Guild business, and she had never paid any particular attention to Chorizel.

Now, though, she took a moment to look over the Guild master's house, and to try to remember everything she could about him. It wasn't much. He was a plump old man with a ragged white beard and a tenor voice.

The house was three stories tall and unremarkable, with heavy black timbers crisscrossing their way up to a steep slate roof. The plaster filling between the beams was yellow, and decorated with finely painted red flowers surrounded by twining green vines. The windows were tall and narrow, the leading between panes simple. Because of the street's slope the front door was at the top of a stoop, two steps at one side, three steps at the other. The stone doorframe was carved into the likeness of two doglike creatures sitting on their haunches, facing one another, their impossibly tall ears supporting the lintel.

Kilisha mounted the steps, looked for a bell-pull or knocker, and seeing none she rapped on the door with her knuckles.

The carved dog-things opened their stone eyes and looked at her.

"What is your business here?" the left-hand creature asked, in a hissing, grating, and thoroughly inhuman voice.

Kilisha was mildly impressed; most of Ithanalin's creations couldn't speak that clearly, if they spoke at all, and stone was said to be hard to work with. "I need to speak to Guildmaster Chori-zel," she said. "There's been an accident."

"Who arc you?" the right-hand doorpost asked, in a deeper, grinding voice.

"Kilisha of Eastgate," she said. "Apprentice to Ithanalin the Wise."

"Enter, then," the left-hand creature said. The latch clicked, and the door swung open.

That, she supposed, was the Spell of the Obedient Object at work-it was probably triggered by the doorpost's voice saying "Enter." These things were usually set up to make animated objects seem far more intelligent and independent than they really were.

She stepped inside and looked around.

The entry hall was fair-sized, with a lovely thick carpet on the wooden floor, a couch against one wall, stairs leading up, and closed doors on either side. It was dim, lit only by a window at the top of the stairs, and the dark wood wainscotting made it seem even darker.

A black and brownish-red rune drawn on the wall at the foot of the stairs spoke in a pleasant tenor, saying, "Please wait here." Then the brownish-red part evaporated into thick, foul-smelling smoke.