The first trumpet blew, and the waiters busied themselves with coffee urns and serving spoons. Soon after the north door opened again, and a small, black haired man darted through it.

At first, Meralda mistook him for a server. His shirt was plain, long-sleeved, off-white, with a button front and a plain circle collar, not unlike what the waiters wore. But then he turned to speak to someone behind him, and in that instant Meralda saw clearly his tawny skin and the upturned corners of his wide grey eyes.

Conversation in the Gold Room died in that same instant. The Hang in the doorway heard, and turned back to face the crowd while he held the door open.

“I present the House of Chentze,” he said, in perfect, unaccented New Kingdom. “Good is the guesting in the House of Yvin.”

Then he stepped forward, opened wide the north door, and held it open.

An even smaller, much older man stepped into the Gold Room, bright eyes peering around, small mouth growing into a smile. The older man wore a loose white robe belted at the waist with a thin golden braid. Soft black shoes peeked out from under his robes.

The Alon queen rose to her feet. “Let us rise in honor of our guests, who have come so far to grace us with their presence,” she said, in a voice that rang throughout the Gold Room. “Rise, and show them honor.”

People rose. Meralda lost sight of the Hang after that. They are a small people, she thought, amazed. Her last sight of the old man was of him smiling and reaching out to stroke the corner of a battered, time-worn King’s Table.

Three trumpet blasts rang out, and the west doors opened, and Yvin and Pellabine charged through. Yvin took a few hurried steps, saw that the Hang were en route to their seats, and halted, Pellabine at his side. They stood until the last of the Hang were seated.

Yvin motioned the court to sit, and he and Pellabine resumed their own march for their places at the head of the center King’s Table. Yvin seated his queen, and lifted his hands, turning toward the Hang.

“We bid you welcome, honored guests,” he said. “Will you do us the honor of breaking fast with us?”

Now that the court was seated, Meralda could see most of the Hang delegation. There were perhaps two dozen of them, all peering back at the court with smiles and nods.

The slight, almost frail man seated at the head of his table was certainly Que-long. Meralda stared until she realized what she was doing, and turned her gaze away. But, try as she might, she could find no hint of menace in the small man’s merry smile. His hair was close-cropped and white, his face round and smooth, his eyes large and dark, belying his age. When he smiled, his teeth were white, and perfect. Just before Meralda looked away, he poked his fork into a pancake and laughed.

Seated on Que-long’s right was a grim-faced man, clad in a plain red robe, who sat, hands at his side, eyes moving slowly about the room. Chezin, thought Meralda, surprised by the man’s size. He’s no bigger than Kervis.

Que-long’s wife sat to his left, primly regarding her sausages as though they might be something other than food. Her hair, too, was white, though long, and pulled back into a tight bun. Her robes were white and worked with gold fluting at the hems. She laughed at something her husband said, and laid her hand upon his shoulder, and then looked shyly up and about the room.

The Chezin rose. “It is you who do us honor, King of Tirlin,” he said, his voice even and surprisingly deep. “Let the meal begin.”

He sat. Que-long raised his fork high, stabbed a sausage, and brought it to his lips.

The court was suddenly full of clattering silverware and clinking glasses. Meralda ate, all the while stealing looks at the Hang, who seemed both amused and mildly embarrassed by all the attention.

Meralda tried to match faces at the table to names in the captain’s report. Que-long, his Chezin, Sopan, and her shings were easy enough to single out. But what of Tolong the Long Dragon ship captain, and Donchen, the may-be ambassador?

Meralda cut up her sausages and watched. She decided Captain Tolong was seated four places to the left of Que-long. Beardless and small, he was a shade darker and quite a bit more muscular than any of his fellows.

Meralda swallowed, and cast her gaze to the other end of the Hang table.

The man who had been first through the north door met her gaze, and smiled. He was Hang, but while the other Hang sat upright or stood straight or marched with purpose toward their seats, this man lounged with an air of easy grace. That must be Donchen, Meralda thought, mentally checking off all the other names on the list against other members of the Hang party.

Meralda looked away, and when she glanced back he was still regarding her from across the room, his fork loaded with scrambled eggs and halted halfway from his plate to his mouth.

He smiled, and mouthed the words “good morning.”

A waiter pushed a serving cart passed between them, and Meralda turned her gaze away, horrified that she might blush. Gawking like a farm girl, she chided herself. I do hope he’s not really an ambassador.

When Meralda next dared a glance, the man was talking merrily with his fellows, his plate nearly empty. He did not look her way again.

Soon, the serving carts were replaced with clearing carts, and the tables began to empty. Meralda waited until Yvin wasn’t looking, rose, and departed, hoping to reach the laboratory before the king or the captain could waste half of her day.

At the door, she turned for one last look at the Hang, who were being served coffee.

“They don’t look like monsters, do they?” said the captain.

Meralda started. The captain stood beside her, grinning, a cup of coffee in either hand. “Thought you might need this,” he said, handing her a cup. “You did seem to be in a bit of a hurry.”

Meralda glared, but took the cup.

“You’ll not be bothered until late today,” said the captain. “If then.”

Meralda let out her breath in a sigh. “Wonderful,” she said. The captain sipped his coffee and motioned toward the door. “Please, let’s walk,” he said. “Don’t want to slow you down.”

Meralda walked. The captain fell into step beside her. When they were well out of earshot of the guards and halfway down the empty hall, he spoke again, in a whisper.

“There were lights in the flat, last night,” he said, lifting a hand against Meralda’s protests. “I saw them myself, Thaumaturge,” he added, quickly. “Bright flashes. Hundreds of them. Some white, some red. Started at midnight. Exactly at midnight, with the last tolling of the Big Bell. Ended an hour later, to the minute.” The captain fell silent, as a harried trio of waiters bearing sugar bowls and a platter of sausages rushed past. “Any theories, aside from mischievous ghosts?”

Meralda slowed and studied the captain’s face. “Bright flashes,” she said.

“Bright flashes,” agreed the captain. He frowned and waggled a finger at Meralda. “You’re not about to suggest I saw reflections of airship running lights, are you?” he asked. “Because that’s what I told the papers, and a right lot of nonsense it was. Reflections. Bah. These were lights burning within the flat, Thaumaturge. Lights far brighter than any Alon lumber barge lamp, and certainly brighter than any reflection, of which, by the way, there weren’t any.” The captain lowered his hand and his voice. “You’ve said all along the Tower isn’t haunted, Mage,” he said. “Do you still hold to that? Really?”

Meralda frowned. Did she?

“I won’t stand here and tell you I understand what’s causing the disturbances inside the Tower, Captain,” she said. “But keep in mind that we’re seeing flashes of light. Nothing more, and I can think of a hundred things that might cause them, aside from restless spirits.”