4 Agras 3020

It was days before the local authorities were, more-or-less, satisfied with their investigation into what happened in the Hammerhead District on 29 Metisto. During the extremely thorough investigation the Hand of Fortune was kept constantly on call for whichever Imperial functionary might be currently running the show. Now finally, five days after the bizarre invasion of Savage Mountain gülvini via an inexplicable portal which opened in a nearby park, the investigators had grudgingly delivered a verdict of “unknown causes,” and declared everyone involved free to leave the island.

In fact, despite not a shred of evidence linking them to the event, beyond proximity and the rumors of recent events elsewhere, suspicion apparently remained in some minds. The Hand was not-all-that-subtly made aware that their departure from Thorkin, and especially the city of Thermexold, would be viewed with relief, and the sooner the better. Unfortunately, Master Alvador had several more days before the cargo he’d secured for the ship would be ready, leaving them all at loose ends for awhile.

He had sold the bulk of their remaining alien cargo, for a very nice sum, and everyone was flush for the moment. Vulk, more than most of the others, remained keenly aware of how expensive it was to run a ship in the Empire, but for the moment they were good, and he had a growing confidence in their merchant factotum’s skill in such matters. He was just sealing the latest letter he’d penned to his cousin Dugos (one of his uncle Hain’s eight children), describing the various inns and bathhouses he’d visit in his travels, and their varied amenities, when Mariala knocked on the door to his room.

“Korwin has invited us all to a celebratory meal in the common room,” she said after he’d bid her enter. “Apparently he’s learned that this place does a particularly fine version of something called a “Lubber’s Lunch,” a speciality of his homeland he insists we’ll all enjoy, and it’s his treat.”

“Well, he was certainly right about those “bear claw” pastries he introduced Toran to in Tishton,” he replied enthusiastically, stowing his writing tools and standing up. “I was able to track down a recipe before we sailed, from a friendly baker, and I think my aunt will love it… I included a separate copy in my latest letter to my cousin, to pass on to her.” He waved said letter jauntily as he locked his door and they headed for the stairs down to the common room.

Today it was just the core group, as Jeb and Therok were enjoying a rare day entirely to themselves, the doctor was making rounds to check on several recovering patients she’d treated for injuries in the aftermath of the attack, and both the captain and Master Alvador remained busy back at the Wind of Kasira. Aldari was running a slight fever and being a bit fussy, so Raven had opted to stay in their room with him. Taking what had by now become “their” table in the great window bay overlooking the sea, they ordered drinks and eagerly awaited the promised repast.

“I think you’ll all really like this,” Korwin enthused, clearly delighted to share a favorite treat with his friends. “Some variation of the ‘Lubber’s Lunch can be found almost everywhere in the Empire, and even along the coastal regions of Kunya-Kesh and the Wild Coast. The variations range from the basic and simple dish of working fishermen to the elegant, even sublime, interpretations of the upper classes.

“According to the seminal tome on dining in the empire, Taverns, Inns and Disreputable Shacks by the legendary epicurean Guyon Fiarius, the meal’s roots lie in the western islands of the Archipelago, some 600 years or more in the past. Sailors plying the great trade lanes of the Empire, but most especially those working the months-long kraken-hunting voyages out into the Western Ocean, longed for fresh food. The men would talk on deck of the feasts they imagined the landlubbers were enjoying back home, as they themselves gnawed on the last of the salted mutton and hard tack biscuit.

“Legend has it that the meal came about as a result of the efforts of the great kraken hunter, Captain Orto Canava, on the return of his hunting fleet from its greatest voyage. After almost two years at sea, the surviving three ships carried the largest haul of kraken oil, meat and azurgris ever seen, before or since. It made every man aboard wealthy… and Canava himself rich beyond the dreams of avarice!

“As a reward to his loyal crews, he sent word ahead, ordering a great feast prepared for their arrival, consisting of all the things he knew they’d dreamed and talked about over the long, long voyage. Tables were set up along the docks, lights were strung, and the larders of every inn and tavern in the city were emptied to prepare the meal, they say. A great many dishes–“

“So, what city did this event happen in?” Erol suddenly broke in. “Maybe we should go there, you know, for the really authentic version.”

“Well, that’s the thing, of course,” Korwin laughed, for once seemingly unperturbed at an interruption. “And why it’s considered legendary, of course… I know of at least six cities in the Western Reach that claim to be the home of Canava’s Landfall, and I’m sure there are others. Actually, Thermexold is one of the claimants for the title, so it’s possible that we’re already there.

“Anyway, as I was saying, there were an incredible number of dishes made for that first feast, but what stuck with the sailors and survived the centuries, were the simple dishes involving fresh greens, lamb, and goat cheeses. These western islands have long been famous for the variety and quality of their sheep and goats, and their amazing cheeses… as well as some of the most succulent lamb in the Empire. Over the years the idea of a homecoming meal for those long at sea became a tradition throughout the Archipelago, and beyond.

“The ’Lubber’s Lunch basically consists of cold roasted lamb, a selection of cheeses and lamb a’jus, often served with delicate greens and preserved fish on the side. It is said to invoke the very idea of the Empire – wrapping the thinly sliced lamb around the cheese represents the Archipelago surrounding the heart of the realm, Avantir, all of it floating in a sea of salty a’jus. That first, legendary, feast included smoked and pickled fish along with fresh greens, and in later tradition, sailors would brine, salt, smoke or pickle fresh fish the night before sailing, as a symbolic gesture of faith in their return. Additionally the last of the ships supply of pickled vegetables would be brought ashore for the salad, to be enjoyed by all – one possible reason for the belief that eating the last pickle aboard ship will bring bad luck to a vessel.”

“Indeed, the young Master is very knowledgable in the history of our cuisine,” their proprietor said, arriving at their table arms laden with plates and bowls. Quoran’s daughter Bethda stood behind him, with more dishes piled onto a large tray, and the two began quickly laying out the food. “But it’s no mere rumor that Thermexold was the location of Canava’s Feast, and the port to which he first brought his riches – it’s the simple truth! One of my own ancestors was a sailor aboard the Golden Fleet… indeed, ’twas he who founded our family fortune with his pay from that single voyage!

“Now, on Thorkin we are renowned across the Empire for our cave-aged blue sheep’s milk cheese and aged goat cheese, which you’ll note Bethda has there, while Thermexold itself is known especially for our own semi-hard aged cheese called kafylteri, as well as a beautiful smokey goat cheddar.” He set a large platter of cheeses down in the center of the table.

“We’re also well known for our salmon runs, of course, as our mountains provide many wide, cold streams for the fish. Here we have smoked salmon combined with fresh goat cheese and my own wife’s legendary tomato vinaigrette, on a bed of delicate field greens.” As he finished speaking he set the final bowls of salad down and stepped back, beaming in pleasure at his guests.

Vulk smiled to himself, noticing that the man had managed to lay out the entire meal without coming anywhere near Devrik, who seemed oblivious to the innkeeper’s obvious nervousness around him. Although, if you were that afraid of a man who could turn to living flame (fair enough, even if he had saved your life and those of your entire family), it seemed a bit cowardly then to let your daughter lean in between him and Mariala to lay down cutlery and drinks. But the smell of roast lamb quickly drove the thought away, and he dug in hungrily to the food.

The meal proved to be every bit as delightful as Korwin had promised, and no one was feeling much ambition to rise from the table afterward. They took their time, enjoying the astringent lemon tea and slowly nibble on the brillberry-rhubarb tarts Goodwive Helmün had sent out for afters, content to watch the waves crashing on the cliffs below and the gulls wheeling in the clear blue summer sky above.

“I do beg your pardon, learned ser,” Quoran Heldmün spoke sotto voce in Vulk’s ear, startling him from his comfortable reverie. “Would it be possible to have a bit of a private word with you, if it’s not too much of a bother?”

Not particularly wanting to get up, but suddenly curious at the usually bluff and friendly man’s worried look, Vulk nodded and stepped away with him to stand near the smaller fireplace. It was early afternoon, in the middle of the tenday, and the common room was sparsely populated just then… a private enough spot if they spoke quietly.

“What can I do for you, Quoran?” the cantor asked amiably, with his best professional smile of sympathetic curiosity in place. If having half a dozen wizards in his establishment had finally broken the man, and he was preparing to ask them to cease any and all supernatural activity and return forthwith to their place of origin or to the nearest convenient parallel dimension, Vulk had no intention of making it easy on the fellow.

“I hope this isn’t too much of an imposition on your learned person, and on your friends,” the innkeeper began anxiously. “But I was hoping you might be willing to look into a matter for me, something here at the inn… “ Vulk gave him an encouraging nod, and the man rushed on gratefully. “You see, one of my other guests, an itinerant book buyer named Velkin Maribold, a regular patron whenever he is in town, has not been seen in six days… not since before the, the incident…” he faltered for a moment, and his eyes darted from side to side, as if expecting gülvini to suddenly leap out from some unseen ambuscade.

“Do you fear he was caught up in the attack, perhaps killed or injured?” Vulk asked. “Have you checked with the authorities, the local houses of healing–“

“Oh no, no, it’s nothing like that,” Quoran said hastily, pulling himself together again with a visible effort. “No, you see, he went up to his room… ’twas the day before the attack… and retired for the evening. Bethda delivered his supper to him, as was his preference, not being one for the common room much… a bookish sort of fellow, though he hardly looked the part – almost a tall as you, domus, if considerably wider in the beam – but anyway, my girl was the last to see anything of the man. In the confusion the next day, I confess I clean forgot about him, and since… well I never gave it a thought until yesterday, when he was scheduled to depart.

“I tried for hours, knocking on the door and watching for his return in the common room – I’d assumed he was out, when there was no reply – but nary a sign of him. At last I became worried he might’ve been killed by those– those– things, and I used my master key to let myself in. But there was no sign of the man! His own key was in the door, meaning it had been locked from the inside.”

“I know he gave you repeat custom but… how to put this delicately… could he have, er, simply snuck out on the bill?”

“Oh, Not really, domus, no. He’d paid upfront, as is my usual practice, and all his belongings are still there in the room – a powerful lot of valuable books, or at least I assume they’re valuable, all left behind, along with his clothes and other personal items… and to make it truly uncanny, all the windows were closed and locked! That’s the thing that brings me to you, cantor – I know you folk are, um, skilled in these sorts of matters, and I was hoping you might be able to figure out what’s happened to the poor fellow!”

Vulk had to admit, he was intrigued. Assuming the man’s information was correct, it was a classic locked room mystery… would melted ice come into it somehow, he wondered? He agreed to speak to the others about the matter, and a turn of the glass later the entire Hand was gathered in the hallway outside the missing man’s second floor room as Quoran Helmünd unlocked the door once again. After the fabulous meal everyone was in a mellow mood and ready for what promised to be an intriguing, if ultimately minor, mystery… a pleasant post-prandial diversion.

“Wait out here,” Devrik growled as he passed the innkeeper, and the man shrank back, plastering himself against the hallway wall and turning pale. Mariala patted his arm sympathetically as she went by and gave him a smile, which he returned weakly. Wiping his sweating brow with a large bar cloth, he wondered if he’d done the right thing after all…

The room was spacious, near twin to the one that Domus Bizwyk occupied directly below, if not as large as the Imperial suite Mariala was currently renting. On the desk against the far wall, under a modest window, a large leather-bound book lay open, face-up atop a sea of scattered papers and pens. The remains of a half-eaten meal moldered on a brass tray in one corner of the large desk, and two valises full of books of various sizes, shapes and conditions stood half-opened next to it on the right.

More scattered papers, along with a few pieces of obviously male clothing, lay spread across the large bed and spilled onto the floor. Like those on the desk they were covered in notes, diagrams, formulae and lists, almost all in the same spidery, scrawling hand and an unusual red-brown ink. At Devrik’s macabre suggestion that this might be dried blood, Korwin shook his head regretfully.

“Nothing so outré, I’m afraid. This sort of ink, which was designed to look like blood, was all the rage amongst the Imperial nobility about a century ago. The fad eventually burned itself out, and these days it’s mainly popular only with the most hide-bound old noble fossils, pretentious scholars, and certain antiquarian historians, writers, and the like.”

In the margins of the large open book Mariala found other notes in a more elegant, and probably feminine, hand. After a brief examination of the visible text and the marginalia she flipped the book closed. Erol jumped, looking like he’d expected the thing to explode, or bite her hand off, or something similarly nasty, then shrugged sheepishly. Until he saw the cover, and then he discreetly took several steps back…

Bound in beautiful, thick red-brown leather, with a heavy locking clasp set with a large red carbuncle, the cover was heavily tooled with the likeness of a compelling bald man with a goatee and, even in bas relief, piercing amber eyes. The title of the volume was “The Joys of Extradimensional Spaces,” and Mariala’s eyes widened in surprise.

The tome was one of the more obscure works by the famed grey mage Darolithukan (dahr-oh-LEE-thoo-khan), the man best known for his creation, almost three hundred years ago, of the incredibly useful magical artifact type commonly called a “bag of holding.” He had been a prolific and inventive creator of practical artifacts and devices, and was perhaps even better known today then he had been during his own lifetime. Mariala had heard of this particular volume, considered one of his more difficult and cryptic works, but it being relatively rare had never seen a copy. She recognized his face, of course, which tended to be similarly attached to most of his works, one way or another – besides a genius polymath, the man had been a shameless self-promoter.

Now really intrigued, Mariala began shifting through the various papers and the marginalia in the book again, muttering to herself as she sank into her research trance, so familiar from her student days. The others recognized her deep concentration, and left her to it, variously studying the room for other clues. Toran searched carefully for any hidden doors or mechanical devices, while Vulk (after directing Korwin to stand near the door and keep his hands in his pockets) performed the ritual to invoke Kasira’s Key. Erol and Devrik undertook a more mundane physical examination of the room and its contents.

Toran’s search proved fruitless, as he’d expected – but of course you never find 100% of the hidden doors you don’t look for. Vulk found himself with a pounding headache when his ritual to search for dimensional rifts resulted in a sudden backlash of searing, violet psychic light, invisible to everyone but himself but extremely painful, nonetheless. The physical search yielded a few hints about the personality of the missing man, but nothing to indicate where he might have gone, or how.

“Actually, I may have an idea on the how, at least,” Mariala said in a distracted tone, when Erol mentioned the latter point. She started to read one of the notes in her hand aloud, then noticed the innkeeper still hovering in the open doorway. With a pointed look and a nod of her head at Korwin, who stood closest, the water mage deftly shooed the curious man away.

“I’m sure you have much to do, Quoran, and you can be confident we’ll report to you as soon as we find anything definitive,” he assured the man. He began to swing the door shut, then paused. “Oh, and if you hear anything… unusual… or see any unexpected lights, say, or smell something odd… well, don’t worry about it, it’s all part of the process!” The door snicked shut on the innkeepers worried face, and Korwin turned the key in the lock.

Once the Hand were alone Mariala continued, gathering up several papers from around the room and laying them on the desk about the re-opened tome. “I think the book contains clues to the location – or maybe the creation, it’s not entirely clear to me yet – of an extradimensional “refuge” of some sort… I think whomever wrote in the margins of the book figured it out, and from those clues, it seems that Master Maribold may have deciphered the puzzle as well…”

“So you think this bookseller opened up a portal to some weird dimension and simply stepped through?” Erol asked.

“Hmmm, stepped through or perhaps pulled through, it’s hard to say for sure,” Mariala replied, frowning in thought. “I do think, whatever this is about, it’s tied to the book itself, however.”

“Can you reopen this portal, or gateway, or whatever?” Devrik asked, eying the book dubiously.

“I think so,” Mariala said after a moments thought. “With their groundwork to build on, I think I’ve solved the clues myself now, and I believe I know the operant phrase required…”

“Well, if there’s a chance this guy got sucked into whatever he might’ve opened,” Vulk said, still rubbing his temples and looking a bit peeved, “should we be repeating his mistakes?”

“No, of course not,” Mariala said, somewhat cavalierly he felt. “I doubt very much he was actually forced through against his will, although I can’t rule it out completely, of course. But we’ll prepare ourselves, so hopefully we won’t be taken by any surprises. But really, if we’re going to rescue the poor man, we don’t have much choice, do we?”

A few minutes later, with everyone firmly anchored in various spots about the room, just in case, Mariala closed the book again and centered it on the cleared surface of the desk, clicking the jeweled clasp firmly into place. Then she picked up the scrap of paper she’d jotted down the operant phrase onto, and spoke the words aloud, in a strong, firm voice.

“Klevnartank Vorsoon!”

For a second nothing happened… and then a beam of brilliant red light shot out from the great carbuncle affixed to the clasp of the book, spreading wide to form a red, glowing-edged portal in the center of the room, between the bed and the door. Within its shifting, luminescent bounds two ironbound old oak doors seemed to be set. The magical portal hovered just centimeters off the old wooden floor, and nearly scraped the plaster ceiling overhead.

“Well, in for a copper, in for a crown,” Vulk sighed, and reached out with Toran to pull open the doors, weapons drawn. Immediately behind were Devrik and Erol, weapons at the ready, with Mariala and Korwin bringing up the rear as they all stepped through the gateway…

••••••

They found themselves in what appeared to be a grand foyer, about seven meters square. The floor was made of polished tiles of black and white marble, set in a pattern of alternating diamonds. The walls were of a dark green stone, carved in elegant geometric patterns to form a kind of wainscoting, but without visible seam or join — as if carved from a single piece of dark jade. The ceiling was five meters overhead and deeply coffered in rich, dark mahogany. Oak-and-bronze cloak pegs were set along either side wall, ready to receive any outer garments the visitors might wish to divest themselves of. Behind the group the two tall, iron-bound doors of dark oak stood open, revealing the room they’d just left, the image slightly dimmed by a pale red haze.

To either side corridors of similar materials and design stretched away, like the foyer lit by indirect light of uncertain origin… it almost seemed as it if the walls themselves exuded a soft, directionless glow, although a closer examination revealed it just wasn’t so. The light simply… was.

Directly ahead, and slightly to the left, a bronze-bound oak door, already slightly ajar, suddenly swung wide. In the doorway, warm candlelight flickering in the room behind him, stood a tall, heavyset man in wrinkled blue-gray robes and a black cloak-vest. He possessed a thick mane of gray hair, shot through with a few remaining streaks of black, and a thick gray beard that tumbled down his chest halfway to his belt. His brown eyes were rather bloodshot, and he looked both tired and extremely surprised to see a sudden gang of people.

“Bookseller Velkin Maribold, I pressume?” Toran inquired, setting the head of his axe on the marble floor with a musical ‘tink’ and leaning casually on the handle. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Oh! Er, who are you people? How did you get in here?” the man said, clearly trying to catch up with events and eying the heavily armed strangers with some alarm. Devrik slid his sword into its sheath, and the others stood down as well.

“We are known as the Hand of Fortune,” Vulk said, in his best Herald’s voice, stepping forward, “and our mutual landlord at the Inn at Hammerhead, Goodman Helmünd, was concerned by your mysterious disappearance. He asked us to come find you, as we have some small skill in solving these sorts of mysteries.

“Ah, yes, well… that is uncommonly decent of him, I suppose. I know I’ve been gone a few days, but I am paid up through he middle of the tenday… still, still, it was very thoughtful of him to send help.” His doubtful expression rather undercut his words, unfortunately, and Devrik narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“Well, you have been gone for six days,” Vulk explained patiently. “You were to check out today… either that or renew your lodgings, I suppose… which is what drew us in, at the landlord’s request.”

“Six days?!” Velkin looked genuinely stunned. “That’s… that’s just impossible! It couldn’t be more than two, I’d swear it on by parents’ cenotaph! Why, those little beasts only fed me… well, no more than three times, I’m certain of that… no, wait, it was four. I’ve been so engrossed in the books, you know, but I’m not even hungry – it can’t be six days!”

The Hand assured him that it could be, and that it really had been, and after a moment he shrugged in resignation. “Well, this is a fascinating place, and I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised if time runs differently in here.”

“Um, yes, about that,” Mariala said eagerly. “Where exactly is “here”? I followed your notes, and the other’s, which is how we came to open the gate, but I’m still not entirely clear on the specifics…”

“Oh, yes, well this is an extradimensional space, a tiny pocket universe if you will, tucked away in the folds of our own greater reality… at least, I’m fairly certain it is. Karavina of Samokara was convinced of it, if I read her notes aright in the margin’s of Darolithkuan’s magnus opus. It was, after all, she who created this space in the first place.

“And then I believe she built this mansion within it, her own unbreachable, inviolate sanctum, a veritable fortress of solitude, if you will, to which she could retire at need to study and safely practice her art. And she did all this based off what she gleaned from the old master’s cryptical work.”

Devrik noticed that the older man kept conspicuously not looking at the open doorway behind the group, and the sight of his old room beyond it. And why did he continue to seem so very nervous? It might just be his nature, of course, and they were an intimidating bunch en masse, to be sure. Still… he continued to watch the man warily without actually looking directly at him, much as the fellow himself watched the doorway without ever looking right at it.

“This is truly the most amazing place,” Maribold was going on. “Indeed it is! I’ve barely had time to scratch the surface… six days you say? Astounding! But still so little time… and so much to discover! For instance, look at this carving. The detail is astonishing, the craftsmanship superb… I plan to take it back to see if the art or history experts at the University can identify its style and era.”

The object he pulled from a breast pocket of his vest cloak was a statuette, about 8 cm (3”) tall, of some kind of demonic creature. The craftsmanship was truly stunning in its detail and precision. It had the twisted, leering features one would expect on a Chaos creature, and its large bat-like wings were half unfurled, its legs bent, its claws outstretched as if leaping to the attack. It was carved from a glossy black material, perhaps onyx or obsidian.

“You work for the University, then?” Korwin asked, looking closely at the proffered totem before handing it back.

“Yes and no. I am technically a purveyor of books to the Unseen Library, but that gives me a certain entré with the University as well… I travel the world, seeking out rare and valuable tomes, as well as more mundane but still unique works, and provide them to the scholars… they are always hungry for new and fascinating works, and it pays for my own studies at the University and amongst the stacks… yes, I fancy myself something of a scholar as well… though perhaps with a more practical bent than those who make their home in the Great Library?

“But this trinket, while beautiful, is the least of the treasures here! Why, just step into the study, you’ll never believe the books, the sheer volume of knowledge –“ He turned to gesture back into the roomed from which he’d emerged, but hesitated when no one moved to follow him. With an annoyed frown he reached up to grasp something hanging on a chain around his neck…

Devrik’s suspicious mind saved him from being blinded by the sudden white-out sheet of light that enveloped everyone in the foyer… but the tremendous clap of thunder that accompanied it still left him momentarily deafened and lightly stunned. He reached to grab at Maribold as the man bulled through the others, knocking Toran aside and Mariala on her ass… a fraction of a second too slow. His fingers grazed the edge of the vest cloak, but he failed to get a grasp, and the man was through the doors and back in the inn in an instant.

Devrik dashed forward through his milling, blinded companions, but the tall doors began to swing rapidly shut as soon as the bookseller was through them. They slammed shut with a heavy boom just as he reached them. But in the instant before they came together completely everyone in the foyer heard Maribold’s mocking, relieved laughter turn into a scream of fear, followed by a sudden gurgling wetness… a sound itself quickly cut off as the doors boomed shut.

“Well, blast!” Devrik said into the sudden silence.

••••••

As soon as the others had regained enough of their dazzled eyesight to let them function again, Devrik and Toran had pushed against the entry doors while Erol stood at the ready with his trident. The portal had yielded with surprising ease, but what met their shocked gaze beyond was not the upstairs room at the Inn at Hammerhead. Instead a swirling, formless void of roiling violet… nothingness… stretched into an unknowable distance. Five meters or 10,000 kilometers, with no reference point beyond the faint whorls and streamers it was impossible to tell.

They stared into that void, and with a crawling sense of dread it soon felt as if the void might be staring back. They quickly closed the doors again, and Mariala attempted to invoke the operant phrase once more, but to not avail – when the doors were pushed open once more, all that could be seen was the violet void…

“Well, I suppose we’d better start searching this place,” Toran sighed, sheathing his axe and really taking a look around their temporary (he hoped) prison. “There has to be away out.”

“I suppose the place to start is that study the old bastard came out of,” Devrik agreed. The aroma of roasting meat wafting down the right-hand corridor, from somewhere beyond the staircase to an upper floor, might have been more tempting if they weren’t all still replete from their ‘Lubber’s Lunch.

The door to the door to the Study still stood wide open, and Toran cautiously led the way in. The room was dominated by bookcases at the far end, running the full 5 meters from marble floors to coffered wooden ceiling. Made of dark mahogany, with ebony trim and inlay, the shelves were crammed with books and more than a few scroll cases. While even more books were scattered around the room piled upon chairs and tables, the large central desk was free of clutter. The only thing on its malachite stone surface, aside from standard desk accessories, a picture, and a small candelabra, was a very fine mandolin.

Flickering light from wall sconces and candles scattered about the room warmed the cooler diffuse ambient light of the hallway and entry, and an attached ladder on wheels gave access to the room’s higher reaches of shelves. Two large paintings occupied the little wall space not taken up by bookshelves – a landscape on the “east” wall, depicting a green dragon emerging from a grove of pine trees; and a study of a winged horse in flight on the “west” wall. A third painting, a small portrait of a young girl standing next to a unicorn in a wooded glade, sat in a gilt frame on the desk.

A fluffy black cat was curled up asleep in the armchair behind the door, but woke and yawned, stretching languidly, at the sudden influx of strangers. After staring at them for a moment it mewed plaintively then hopped down and strolled toward the group, twinning between their legs. Most of the Hand ignored the beast, but Erol crouched down to stroke it, making it purr. He then fed it a couple of the ferret treats he carried for Grover, and the purring became a happy rumble.

“Why did you do that?” Mariala sighed in exasperation. “Now the thing’s going to follows around forever.”

At almost the same moment Toran said almost the same thing to Vulk, who had made a beeline for the beautiful mandolin. He’d picked it up and begun strumming a few chords, carefully adjusting the pegs, and Toran had been horrified.

“Why would you do that?” he’d exclaimed in amazement. “We’re in a bloody magic mansion in some bloody magical pocket dimension – how do you know that’s not some sort of cursed instrument, or a damn mimic, or some other damn dangerous thing?”

“Toran, my friend, you read too many children’s stories,” Vulk laughed, playing a short melody once he had the instrument tuned to his liking. The sound was as pleasing to the ear as the instrument itself was to the eye.

“And you obviously don’t read enough of them,” the Dwarf muttered darkly, turning back to his examination of the desk’s drawers with a shake of his head.

Korwin, searching through the pile of books stacked on a table below the dragon painting, managed to resist his sticky-fingered impulses, if barely… but he was the first to notice that the flames in the room, whether on candle or sconce, gave off no heat at all, only light. Devrik was fascinated by the phenomenon when it was pointed out, for they were more than mere illusion, and yet were not ethereal flame, either. he quickly fell to trying to figure out how that had been achieved…

For a full turn of the glass they searched the room, and in the end pieced togther some idea of what the place was. Almost all the books in the study were written by the same person, a grey mage named Karavina. As well as being a powerful mage she was also a consecrated cantor of Shala, and was most famously linked with the free-city of Samokara, on the Wild Coast.

“But didn’t she go missing a couple years ago?” Vulk asked, trying to recall what he’d heard on the subject.”And isn’t she generally presumed dead?”

“Yes, it was around the time Devrik and I took that fool Ardath back to Lothkir for his trial in the mess surrounding Baylora’s Island… two years ago I suppose it’s been now. Her vanishment, and presumed death, was probably the next-most-talked-about topic during the trial, after our revelations about Baylora’s fate, as I recall.”Devrik nodded in agreement.

“We heard about it in the monestary, as well,” Toran recalled. “She had been an occasional visitor, apparently, and was generally well-liked i believe. But I never met her myself, her last visit was a few years before my time there.”

“That’s right, I remember now,” Vulk said. “That was when Draik and I were down south in Tekolo, in the Theocracy, getting drawn into that whole mess with the one-armed priest, the apple seller and the courtesan… not to mention the sewers and the giant rats. I’m afraid I didn’t have much time for random news just then, but I do recall hearing something about it.”

“Well, according to some of these journal entries,” Toran went on, reading from a large black leather-bound book, “she credits her piousness, along with her work in expanding universal education to all, as the the reason that Shala “gifted” her with the understanding and insight to decipher Darolithukan’s cryptic work on extradimensional spaces. “

“Ah, that tallies with what I read in another journal,” Korwin said, sifting through a pile of books and pulling out a smaller red, leather-bound volume. “It was that insight which allowed her to eventually create a permanent link between her copy of his book “The Joys of Extradimensional Spaces” and a pocket dimension she’d managed to create, wherein she “…constructed a refuge for my studies, free from the distractions and dangers of the greater world at large.”

“Well, we know where we are then, more-or-less, and how she accessed her pocket dimension from the real world,” Devrik rumbled. “But how did she mange to get back, once she was ready to return?”

Erol looked up from a third journal, bound in green leather, that he’d been skimming. “She does seem to have been open to visitors, close friends and professional colleagues, and it looks like she worried that a guest might become trapped in the mansion… but she also worried about potential invaders and thieves, and had no desire to make escape easy for them. This entry says that Karavina hid the key to opening the portal back to her linking book “…on the spines of seven books, placed variously about the mansion.”

This set off a flurry of searching about the room, but with nothing else to go on, it was difficult to know what to look for. There were hundreds of books, at least, in a bewildering variety of styles, sizes and shapes, and hardly any two had the same spine treatment – some bore the book title, embossed or in gilt, some were blank, others bore designs or patterns, some simple and others complex, yet others had initials in different configurations.

In the end it was agreed they’d need to search further if they were going to unravel Karavina’s puzzle, and they decamped back into the foyer. Toran, Vulk and Erol decided to go down the left-hand “western” hallway, while Devrik, Mariala and Korwin took the “eastern” right-hand passage. They agreed not to head upstairs until they were together again, and to meet back in the foyer in any case no later than two turns of the glass hence.

The next room to the “west” of the Study appeared to be some kind of exercise space, and after a brief look around Toran dubbed it the Training Room. It was lit by the violet-tinted light of the Void streaming through a large window opposite the door, mostly washing out the usual ambient glow of the mansion. It was a sparsely furnished chamber, containing a battered wooden mannequin, one weapons rack holding staves and daggers, and another housing cross-bows. An archery butt was set up in the far corner of the space from the cross-bow rack, while two target boards were mounted on the “east” wall opposite the dagger rack, apparently for knife and dart throwing. Several diagrams and charts showing the humanoid body, attack and defense positions for staff and dagger fighting, and tables and text on ranged weapons were displayed in several places on the walls. Several tatami mats softened the marble floor, but both mats and stone were variously stained and scorched, as by blood and fire. A large bullwhip lay curled up on the nearest mat.

Most unusually, at the far end of the room a broom hovered in the air to the right of the window, methodically sweeping the floor, seemingly under its own power! Casting a cantrip, Erol concluded there was no invisible charwoman wielding the implement, just some sort of animation spell. Keeping a wary eye on the artifact, the three men spread out to examine the room, although it seemed singularly devoid of books.

All the weapons in the room proved to be of purely mundane manufacture, if of the very highest quality and craftsmanship. The first rack contained four fine daggers, three quarterstaffs (a fourth lay on the floor near it), and twenty darts in a fine leather bandolier hanging from it. Three taburi throwing knives were embedded in one of the boards, and Toran took all three, along with the bandolier of darts. If they stumbled across the owner, he could always return them, and if not, well it was a same for them to go to waste…

Vulk quickly became engrossed in studying the detailed information about staff fighting to be found on the wall diagrams and instructions. It was all incredibly well organized and presented in such a clear and lucid manner that he felt his confidence in his own quarterstaff skills rise as he studied. Erol likewise found the knife-fighting diagrams informative and deeply educational.

With the others engrossed in their reading, Toran stepped closer to better examine the animated broom. He briefly wondered what would happen if he grabbed it, recalling childhood tales of mountain hags and their flying broomsticks – the power of flight would be amazing! He then remembered his earlier criticism of Vulk and his careless playing of the mandolin, and with a sigh he stepped away from the industrious broom, leaving it to go about its business unmolested.

••••••

Down the “eastern” hallway, past the staircase, the others quickly found the Kitchen. The smell of mouthwatering cooking aromas wafting through the entry foyer became stronger as they approached, no doubt because the door was propped open with a wooden wedge. A large iron stove took up half the far wall, while the rest of the room was filled with large tables and racks lined with hanging pots, pans, and cooking utensils. Everything was sparkling clean, and at first glance the room appeared to be empty, despite the two steaks searing on a side grill of the stove.

Then the sound of flapping wings near the large table to the right of the door drew their attention. It took a moment for the sight to register, but two small humanoid forms flitted about, eventually coming down to land amidst the food and utensils on the table. They bowed low to their guests and in piping, squeaky voices greeted them with great enthusiasm.

“How can we be of help to our honored guests? Cooking? Cleaning? Mending your clothes, perhaps? We are at your service!” burbled the blue-tinted one.

“A guest is a jewel on the cushion of hospitality, most honored visitors!” piped the rose-tinted creature. “Please let us serve you to the best of our meager abilities!”

The three mages stared in open-mouthed amazement for a moment, before gathering their wits and bowing low in return to the charming little beings. They all recognized homunculi, of course, but what was so startling was the fact of their speech. Most such artificial creations of any T’ara Kul skilled enough to manage it, while able to understand their master’s speech, very seldom had voices themselves. It wasn’t impossible, but it was very rare, and to find two such…

Actually, that was another surprising thing… no mage could have more than one living homunculus at a time. That had long ago been proved to be quite impossible – any mage with an existing homunculus invariably found that all attempts at another such creation ended in failure. Yet here were two, nearly identical creatures… had Karavina somehow managed the impossible and broken the Homunculus Barrier?

“Greetings to you, worthy servitors,” Devrik responded gravely, in the prescribed forms for such conversation. He introduced himself and his companions, then asked after their own names.

“I am Cumin,” squeaked the blue homunculus proudly, standing up to its full 25 cm (10”) height. The rose one added equally proudly, “And I am Coriander.” It flapped its wings with a jaunty snap.

“Are you both the, um, servitors of Karavina,” Mariala asked, fascinated by the little creatures. She’d often day-dreamed about making her own, as a young student at the chantry, but of course it had been far beyond her skills then. Was now too, almost certainly, she thought wryly.

“Oh no,” tittered Cumin, obviously vastly amused at such a silly idea. “Lady Karavina is my maker, not Coriander’s!”

“My maker is Lord Elyoiat (el-YO-ee-aht),” Coriander added, also laughing. “Can we make you something to eat? We have steaks cooking, but we can make you anything you might desire.”

“Oh yes, please, may we cook for you?” Cumin piped. “Or maybe wash your clothes? Do you have any mending you need done? We’ve only had the cats and the faerie dragons to cook and take care of for such a long time, and they’re so boring! Now, to have four new guests so close together…”

“Four new guests?” Korwin queried.

“Yes, you three and Master Velkin… those are his steaks cooking, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind sharing. Actually, he hardly notices the food we prepare in any case, so if you’d like them intead…” Coriander squeaked suggestively.

“Ah, yes, well, we’ve just had a large meal, so we don’t really –“ Korwin started to explain, and the little creatures’ smiles vanished into looks of dejection, their wings drooping noticeably. Devrik interrupted quickly, giving his friend the stink eye.

“Actually, most worthy homunculi, I am feeling a bit peckish, now that I think on it. Might you manage some dal maharani, if you please, favored homunculi?” He named the most exotic dish he could thing of off the top of his head, just to see what would happen, and to give the little beasts a challenge, which they clearly loved. Indeed, they immediately perked right up, wings fluttering excitedly.

“Of course, venerated guest, at once! And for you, most lovely and charming of ladies? May we not prepare something for you as well?”

Following Devrik’s lead, Mariala smiled and nodded. “Well, I suppose a nice turkey and cranberry sandwhich might be just the thing right now. And is that berry pie there on the table? Perhaps a slice of that as well?”

In a thrill of excitement, the two tiny creatures began fluttering around the kitchen, darting into the pantry, grabbing ingredients, implements and crockery from shelves and racks, and firing up the stove. The humans tried to follow what they were doing, but in the blur of motion and non-stop chattering it was difficult to keep track of everything… in less than ten minutes, however, the homunculi were laying out the requested food for their guests on the kitchen table.

Devrik had never actually had dal maharani, only heard the name from Master Vetaris once in a discussion of favorite foreign cuisines, so he had no idea if this was a good example or not. But if it wasn’t, he really looked forward to trying the real thing someday, because this was amazing! And so spicy! He loved it.

Mariala was perfectly familiar with turkey, bread, cranberry sauce and pie, and she could categorically state that this was some of the best she’d ever had of each! She wondered where they could possibly be getting the fresh ingredients (there was no way any of this stuff had been dried, salted, smoked or otherwise preserved). And maybe that would prove to be a clue to getting back to the real world…

Korwin had been wondering the same thing, and while the cooking frenzy had been in full swing he had checked out the pantry. The small room was set behind the stove, its door just to the left, and inside were all the things one might expect to find in a well-stocked manor house’s stores. And yet there was something about them… a close look revealed that almost everything was a generic sort of item – starches, flours, grains, meats, spices, fruits – but he had a hard time identifying any specific foods… he suspected magic was at work here…

Stepping back out into the kitchen he could see that his friends were enjoying their snack, if slowly so as not to exploded from over-eating, and how pleased the homunculi were at serving them. He decided he’d better repair his accidental faux pas from earlier, and clearing his throat he caught the attention of Cumin.

“My pardon, favored servitor,” he said. “Could you tell me what polish you might recommend for my boots? As you can see, they’re looking a bit scuffed, and I –“

“Oh yes, absolutely, honored guest,” the creature fluted enthusiastically. “We have the very best here, of course, the Mistress and Master insist on it — Old Minster’s Leather Boot Polish and Dessert Toping! Here, let us take care of that for you, at once!”

Before he knew quite what was happening the two tiny beings had his boots off and were industriously buffing away at them with something from a can one had pulled from somewhere on a shelf. The stuff was dark and thick, and smelled like both leather and clotted cream… something that should have been nauseating he thought, yet wasn’t.

With the tiny servants happily busy, the humans were able to question them a bit. It was slow going, as the creatures were flighty and not very bright about some things – time for instance. They seemed not to have a strong concept of the passage of time, so when they said their masters had been gone “a long time” it was impossible to determine if they meant a month or a decade.

Their spatial acuity seemed better, and they were able to affirm that the house had “always” been the same size it was now, that the violet void had not been slowly encroaching on it. Although they had no idea what the void actually was, and seemed surprised at the question – perhaps even confused by it.

One thing they were very clear on, however, was their creators’ instructions concerning the books and artifacts in the mansion – the strict command that they were never to move or even touch any books that had single letters on their spines. They had no idea why, and it had never occurred to them to wonder. Their domain was mainly the kitchen and the adjoining dining room, and they seldom visited any of the other rooms in the mansion, beyond occasional maintenance or cleaning (or to free a cat, if a door got closed somehow).

“Something keeps dumping books into the middle of the floor in the Library, and making piles of them” Coriander said crossly. “It is very annoying to have to keep re-shelving them!”

“Yes,” agreed Cumin vigorously. “I’d think it was that terrible little imp the Mistress summoned that time – it caused ever so much trouble – but she gave it a proper time-out, and it hasn’t been a problem since!”

“You mentioned earlier that you only had the cats and the, um, faerie dragons to care for, since Karavina and Elyoiat went away,” Mariala said. “What are those, exaclty, and how many of them are there?”

“Oh just Krasinda and Methora,” Cumin said diffidently, with a flick of its wings. “They’re silly things, and they always want to play… it’s not like they have work to do, is it?! They always want to wrestle, even when we don’t have time!”

“But they don’t mean any harm,” Coriander piped in, clearly more fond of the creatures, whatever exactly they were, than its companion was. “Their mischievous though, so it’s just best for big folk to stay out of their way, I guess.”

“Easy to say,” sniffed Cumin, “when they’re –“

This flow of information was interrupted when the black cat who had befriended Erol (or vice versa) in the Study sauntered into the Kitchen and meowed imperiously. The homuncluli immediatly flitted away to scoop food into one of the four bowls set on the floor near the stove, where a second cat, a gray and white one with a crooked tail, appeared from seemingly nowhere. The two cats daintily began to eat, and the two homunculi cooed and petted them – however boring they found taking care of the cats, they clearly loved them.

It took awhile to get the homunculi to answer questions again, and somehow that effort turned into the little beings giving Devrik cooking lessons, while Mariala sipped a very nice cider and looked on in mixed amusement and horror. Korwin, growing bored, decided to check out the dining room, to the “east” of the Kitchen, and perhaps the Arboretum, which Mariala (who’d stuck her head in to briefly check out the room when they’d arrived in the Kitchen) had mentioned lay beyond it…

••••••

After exhausting the learning (and looting) possibilities of the Training Room, Erol, Toran and Vulk moved on to the final door along the “western” hallway, which proved to lead to what was obviously the Library. The large room was lit, like the hallways, with the cool, mysterious, indirect light, although her the soft white radiance was more like sunlight through heavily frosted glass, diffuse and pleasing to (and easy on) the eye… perfect for reading. Shelves of books lined the walls, and twin sets of double-sided shelves ran down the center of the space. Several rich, dark red carpets, with a strangely pleasing silver geometric patterns interwoven, helped soften the cold white marble floor. The 5 meter high ceiling was groin vaulted in carved arches of a deep red-brown wood, highly polished and, despite the universal light, slightly shadowed.

Four small reading desks, one in each corner, were paired with cozy scarlet chairs, and stacks of books overflowed the shelves in several places around the room. Toward the “north” end of the central aisle it appeared that one or more of these stacks may have been knocked over, with books scattered in a wide drift across the floor.

The three men began a methodical search of the books, although they still weren’t really sure what they were looking for. Erol started on the “west” wall, for the moment ignoring the bronze double-door that lead… who knew where?… to focus on the shelves. Toran took the reading desks along the “south” side, while Vulk headed “north” up the central aisle, scanning the shelves to either side, looking for a clue.

He was almost on the pile of toppled books, and just considering how to navigate them without stepping on or damaging any, when there was an almost subliminal hummmm – and the scores of fallen books suddenly levitated upward, swirly madly around as if caught in a cyclone, rising up to tower over the shocked cantor. Before he had a chance to gather his wits a “pseudopod” of books lashed out from the swarm, aiming for his head!

Vulk dodged under the blow, screaming for the others to beware, and trying to knock the conglomeration apart with his Staff. The books simply parted around his blow, however, like water, and he barely dodged a second blow, this one aimed at his legs. The third blow caught him squarely in the chest and he flew back down the aisle to collapse on the carpet, the breath knocked out of him. As he gasped and struggled to pull air into his shocked lungs Vulk was unfavorably reminded of being wapped across the back with a very heavy grammar book by a tutor when he was 12 years old. He’d been caught staring out the window at the sweating gardner boy instead of conjugating his verbs… The book swarm moved menacingly toward him, and he pulled his mind back to the present…

Erol and Toran appeared at the “north” and “south” ends of the central aisle respectively just in time to see Vulk stagger back to his feet, raggedly sucking air into his lungs and leaning on his Staff. Erol cast a Dispell at the obviously arcane construct, but it seemed to have no effect… obviously a powerful spell must be animating the thing! Toran fired a blast of Stavin’s Arrow into the heart of the swarm, but the swirling volumes simply opened up around the translucent energy blade, forcing Erol to dodge aside as it sailed through unhindered to splash uselessly against the “northern” bookcase.

“Erol, can you throw a net over it?” Toran called through the cyclonic thutter of the books, pulling his battle axe from his back.

“Excellent suggestion, Toran,” the ex-gladiator called back. “Maybe I could start a collection… unfortunately, I didn’t bring my net to lunch today.”

Just then the swarm lashed out again, just as Vulk was preparing to unleash a spurt of Weaver’s Web at the biblioarcanic maelstrom… three “arms” struck out, and Vulk dodged one, only to have the second knock his Staff out of his grasp and the third slam into the side of his head. Stunned and confused, he dropped semiconscious to the floor once more as the swarm reared up and prepared to descend on him like giant locust…

Toran leaped forward to stand over his friend, and swung Ergonkïr in an overhand blow, the shelves too close for the roundhouse cut he’d have preferred. But perhaps it was for the best, as he clove two books clean in half, and sent another half-dozen dropping, inert, to the floor around them. The book swarm reared back, as if suddenly wary… and Erol drove his trident into the heart of the mass. He’d been watching the thing closely, sped up in his temporal bubble of slowed time, and had noticed a massive red leather-covered tome, deeply tooled with a leering demonic face, that appeared to always orbit in approximately the same high circle, with the face always pointed outward. The “brain” of the construct perhaps?

His trident drove two tines through the back of the book and clean out the face of it, and instantly the swarm stopped its mad dervish whirling as every book dropped to the floor in a series of dull thuds. All save the one impaled on Erols trident, and he placed his foot on it, tugging the blades out.

“I think some of these might need new spines,” he said as he stomped over the inert pile to where Toran was helping Vulk to his feet.

“As long as you don’t expect me to shelve them!” the Khundari replied, looking around at the carnage. “So many paper cuts,,,”

“Thanks for the help,” Vulk said, winching at his now severely multiplied headache. “Now let’s get out of here and rejoin the others, it must be close to time.”

“I think we should see whats on the other side of that door,” Toran disagreed, moving towards the large bronze panels. Vulk ignored the throbbing in his head to get in front of his friend and hold his Staff across his torso to block the way.

“No! I think we’ve seen that this place is dangerous enough the it’s no longer a great idea to split the party. Let’s go back, regroup, and we can hit this again later.”

“We also haven’t made much of a dent in the books in here, though,” Erol said. “Pun intended. We should look for these keys a while longer, don’t you think?”

“No,” Vulk replied emphatically. “Who knows how many more of those book swarm things might be waiting to come to life in here? Better to come back in force…”

“Well, perhaps your right,” Toran agreed turning away form the door, and Erol shrugged. With relief Vulk lead the way out of the Library and down the hall. “You’ll see, this will work out better, really…”

In the Library Toran glanced at Erol with a shke of his head. “How long do you think it will take him to realize we’re not behind him?”

“Well, he took a pretty bad blow to the head, so… a minute of two, anyway.”

Toran pulled open the bronze double doors, letting a cascade of shifting violet light flood into the room, while Erol went back to examining the bookshelves, if a little more warily. It actually didn’t take long. On the top shelf of the “western” bookcase, his eye was caught by a medium-sized volume, bound in black leather, laying on its side. A gold foil-stamped ”R” was set vertically at the top of the spine… he’d seen something similar back in the study, he realized. He picked it up and read the title on the cover: “Back to the Madding Crowd,” by Tomas Arday. But what did the letter “R” have to to with either title or author, he wondered… and suddenly the light went off.

Tucking the book under his arm, he stepped out the bronze doors to join Toran on what turned out to be the Patio, and for a moment his clever insight was driven from his thoughts by the sight. The swirling violet light of the void stretched overhead, on either side, and out beyond the stone balustrade of the semicircular terrace that occupied the “western” end of the mansion. It was mesmerizing… and more than a little unsettling.

“Mesmerizing, isn’t it?” Toran’s deep baritone brought him back to himself with a start. “If you can pull your eyes away from the void, take a look at these statues, though. Exquisite stonework!”

On either side of the terrace where two large likenesses in gray stone – to the “north” was a representation of Shala, Immortal Patron of Knowledge, in Her classic cross-legged pose, reading a scroll (from Mariala, Erol knew that more modern interpretations tended to portray Her reading a book, instead). On the “south” side of the terrace stood a statue of her husband, Brindar, Immortal Patron of Music and the Arts, also in one of His classic poses.

“Beautiful craftsmanship,” he agreed, then waved the book he carried. “But I think I’ve figured out what we need to look for to get out of this place.” At once Toran’s interest in the stonework evaporated, and he listened intently as his sort-of Telnori friend explained his reasoning.

“Yes, I think I noticed that book you’re speaking of in the study myself,” he agreed. “Come, we’d better grab that one as well, and then find the others!”

Passing Vulk, who’d just been coming back to the Library when he’d realized no one was following him, Erol waved the book again and cried, “Come on man, there’s no time for dawdling! We know what we’re looking for now!”

“Yeah, come on Vulk, stop playing around,” Toran added with a grin as he sailed past, and the cantor’s eyes narrowed in annoyance… one of these days…

As they passed the Study, Erol darted inside and quickly found the volume he’d noted earlier — a large green leather-bound book titled “Freedom from the Expectations of Others”. Set vertically on it’s spine was tooled a large, dark green letter “I”, alone and unadorned. Now they had two of the seven keys…

••••••

They had little trouble finding Devrik and Mariala in the kitchen, and after a brief introduction to the house’s homunculi, Erol shared his theory about the books with single-letter spines. Any doubt that might have lingered was dispelled when Cumin piped up, saying “Oh yes, those are the books we’re not allowed to touch or move. Honored guests are allowd, of course,” it concluded graciously. “Are you fellows hungry? Can we fix you something to eat? You look like you could use an analgesic, domus…”

While Vulk took the creature up on the offer of a headache tablet, Toran inquired as to the whereabouts of Korwin.

“Oh, he wandered off a little while ago, during the cooking lessons,” Mariala replied, taking a big gulp of cider. She’d used the diversion of their friend’s arrival to discreetly spit the bite of Devrik’s cooking she’d bravely sampled into a napkin, which Coriander equally discreetly whisked away.

“I thought he was just going to check out the dining room,” Devrik grumbled, not having missed the byplay but refusing to dignify it with a reaction. To be fair, he’d have spit out his own taste if he’d been able to do it without losing face. “He should be back by now.”

“Perhaps we’d better go find him,” Vulk suggested, swallowing the two tablets Cumin handed him along with a small glass of the cider. “This place is not as benign as it appears, these charming little fellow notwithstanding, and he might be in danger!”

••••••

WTF happened to the rest of the story?