“Well, I feel a bit terrible, bringing up business in the middle of this lovely celebration,” Marliza Farim said, with an apologetic glance around the common room of the Bookman’s Inn. “But young Ser Korwin assured me that it would, in fact, be the best time for it. “

“Well, he does know us,” Draik chuckled, pouring more of the excellent Kadaran red into the lady’s still more than half-full glass. “And really, the party is winding down at this point. So please, how can we help you?”

“Yes, Korwin mentioned just a little bit about your dilemma, milady,” Vulk said, slipping into the empty chair on the other side of the gorgeous woman. “Before he passed out in the punch bowl. I’d be fascinated to know more…” He offered her a skewer of garlic shrimp from the platter he carried, before setting it on the table. Draik narrowed his eyes at his friend.

The day had been a very long one for most of the Hand of Fortune, who had been put through the wringer during their grueling examinations to attain the rank of Vendari, or Master, in their respective convocations. But for Draik and Vulk, with no such ambitions, the day had been spent in the quiet reading alcoves of the Great Library, perusing volumes on herb lore and Imperial heraldry.

As expected, but hardly assured, Mariala, Devrik, Toran, and Erol had all passed their respective examinations – some with more ease than others. Lord Kavyn himself had sat in on each of the sessions, having personally arranged for them to follow one another sequentially, rather than overlapping. Mariala, at least, had wondered if his intimidating presence had exerted any influence on the outcomes; but if the difficulty of her own examiners, and all the sweat they’d pulled from her, were any indication, probably not.

In the late afternoon, after congratulating each of them, the second most powerful man in the Empire had then accompanied the weary-but-happy new Vendari across the Causeway to the Bookman’s Inn. There they found that Korwin had rented out the entire common room of the up-scale and very popular establishment to host a party for his former teammates. A great crowd of friends and acquaintances, both old and new, cheered them as they entered, Vulk, Draik and Korwin in the vanguard.

The Imperial Myrmytron didn’t linger long, not wanting his presence to stifle the evenings merriment. Before he left, however, he found a private moment with each of the four new-made Vendari to give them two gifts – one from himself and one from the Emperor. The gifts which Lord Kavyn presented were clearly well thought out, and showed a surprising depth of understanding of each recipient’s needs and desires. The Emperor’s gifts, while perhaps not as uniquely chosen, were nonetheless generous – beautiful jorums containing the essence of the new convocation each of the four intended to pursue next, which would increase their chances of success immeasurably.

Once the intimidating Imperial presence had made his goodbyes and slipped into the night, the party had quickly become more animated and boisterous. But as midnight neared, the festivities began to quiet. Many of the guests departed, and the few that remained gathered in small groups, at that mellow stage of inebriation and full stomaches where confidences are shared and deep philosophies expounded.

As the evening wound down, most of the Hand, along with Dr. Ar’Hanol and Captain K’Jurol, found themselves at one table, talking quietly about future plans and possible itineraries. Vulk had just gone in search of more food when Korwin had arrived with a tall, very striking woman at his side.

“This is Madame Marliza Farim,” he’d said, enunciating slowly and clearly. He was obviously much the worse for drink, and his companion seemed cooly amused by him. “Shesh.. she’s… recently come into some money, and a bit of property, but has a dimelma… a dlim… a problem I think you guys could help with… right up your alley, you know? Now where’d Vulk get off to, he should hear this…”

He pulled out a chair for the woman before toddling off to find the cantor. Marliza Farim was a slender, elegant woman of maybe forty years, with piercing blue eyes and, despite her well-concealed embarrassment at Korwin’s introduction, a no-nonsense demeanor. She was dressed a long, flowing dress in deep jewel tones and her silver-blond hair was tied in a tight, elaborate bun.

“I’m happy to hear that our mutual friend was correct, then,“ she went on after Vulk had returned, politely waving away his proffered shrimp skewer. “I’ve heard some of the tales going around in the city, concerning your exploits, and I think you just may be what is needed to solve my dilemma.”

“I take it this dilemma involves this “bit of property” Korwin mentioned?” Mariala asked, sipping at her own glass of wine. She hadn’t drunken nearly as much as most of the others, and though she was bone-weary, it was easier to sit and listen than try to get up and go to the rooms Korwin had arranged for them all.

“Indeed it does,” Marliza nodded, clasping her hands together and tapping her fingers in a rapid staccato rhythm. “The Harlath Theatre is the very heart of the problem facing me. For you see, I wish to reopen it as a working theater, as my grandfather had always wished, but… the place is haunted!”

Several eyebrows went at this, but Devrik motioned for her to carry on, even as he and Mariala exchanged a glance. Marliza sighed and smiled wryly, not missing the by-play.

“I know it sounds rather silly, and I rather thought so myself, at first… but recent events have added to the weight of history, and I’ve become convinced that something terrible lurks within that old building. But perhaps it will make more sense if I give you the background…

“When it was constructed, some three hundred years ago, the Harlath Theater was a landmark on the Island of of Avantir, being the first permanent such structure built outside the City walls and designed specifically to entertain the non-noble people of the working suburbs.

“It was constructed in the suburb of Khuronton, halfway between the City and the University, but anyone who was anyone in the outlying villages of the island (or aspired to be) had attended on the Harlath at least once each season. Many of the merchant class were regulars at Harlath events, there to be “seen” as much as to be entertained. It is one of the enduring legends of the Harlath that an Emperor once attended a performance there… although which Emperor, exactly, is hotly debated. But thereafter it was not unheard of for an occasional member of the City’s nobility to be seen “slumming it” at the old Harlath.

“Working at the Harlath was almost as prestigious as regularly attending its performances, especially for up-and-coming playwrights, who saw the suburban theatre as a stepping-stone to the more prestigious theaters of the City proper. Several of the most celebrated playwrights of the last two centuries got their start writing for the Harlath, in fact.

“Some fifty years ago, with other theaters opening in other suburban areas of the island, the old girl was perhaps past her zenith, but was still considered the grande dame of suburban theaters, and even rivaled some of those in the City itself. Certainly my grandfather never wavered in his attendance… not until disaster struck, at least.

“At the time of the tragedy, the Harlath was maintained by a caretaker named Argus Rapling. They say he originally took the job hoping to use it as a stepping stone, as many others had before him — in his case, to gain a greater creative position within the company. Most of all, Argus wanted to become a playwright.

“As a patron, and one of the many investors in the theater, my grandfather knew the man, if only slightly. Well enough, though to know that before, during, and after his shifts, Argus would spend any time he could find working on a script. It was his hope to present to Zamarin Imgarhol, the theatre’s director, and thereby be elevated to the writer’s room. But apparently Zamarin didn’t take the man, or his aspirations, seriously. She brushed off Argus when he approached her about his script, more than once as my grandfather himself saw on at least two occasions. This increasingly frustrated Argus, but the man remained persistent.

“When he finally managed to badger Zamarin into reading his magnum opus, however, she was so annoyed by the caretaker’s relentless pestering that she did little more than skim it in the most cursory fashion, according to her assistant. Unimpressed by what little she saw, she openly laughed at and ridiculed Argus, saying his work was shoddy and a waste not only of her time, but his own.

“It’s said Argus returned to his office that day humiliated and angry, and there he festered and ruminated for a night and another day, until he could contain himself no longer. Red with fury and overcome by shame, Argus murdered Zamarin in broad daylight, on the main stage, during an open dress rehearsal. As the rest of the theatre staff and the small audience fled in horror, he then took his own life.

“When the authorities arrived to remove the bodies, however, they found only Zamarin’s corpse. A search of the building never turned up Argus’ body, and it was eventually decided that some friend or relative had removed it, to avoid further public scandal for his family. My grandfather always snorted at this, as the theory blithely skipped over the fact that the man had few friends and no family in the city.

“After a hiatus of several tendays, efforts to reopen the theater proved… difficult. They were hampered by reports of strange occurrences and a lack of staff willing to return. The size of the staff continued to diminish as more and more people became convinced that the building was now haunted. With other suburban theaters already flourishing, the Harlath was soon deemed to be more trouble than it was worth by most of its frustrated owners, who decided to cut their losses.

“Except for my grandfather. For over a decade, the building remained abandoned, and he eventually managed to buy out the last of his co-investors, gaining sole ownership of the property for a relative pittance. He had enjoyed the theatre since his youth… he confided in me in his latter years that he even wanted to tread the boards himself, before family pressure convinced him his dreams were otherwise.

“Old Jokul never attempted to reopen the theatre, however, nor did my father – he never shared Grandfather’s fascination with the stage. But I did, and with my own father’s passing last year I now possess the means to realize my grandfather’s dream. I plan to oversee a renaissance in suburban theatre, and intend to do so from the grand old Harlath Theater. I’m the only surviving child of my rather wealthy merchant family, but the sum I will have to spend to return the old girl to full operation is not insubstantial. I dare not risk any more money in the matter until any ghosts or other such… supernatural impediments… have been dealt with.

“Last month I hired a young group of self-proclaimed adventurers to enter the old building and resolve the issue. Their leader, a young man named Hakim Althar was a confident and competent-seeming fellow, despite his age. I had high hopes. But only three of the five who went in emerged alive, babbling hysterically about flying objects, whispering voices, murderous, ax-wielding ghosts and demonic, skeletal animals.

“I think my mistake was hiring inexperienced people for such an obviously dangerous job. But with your reputation… well, if you are willing to explore the theater thoroughly and confront — and most importantly put to rest — whatever may lurk within it… well, I’m prepared to offer you a 10% share in the company once I have it up and running again.

The Harlath was once a shining beacon of entertainment and erudition to the people, those not born to power and privilege, and I believe it can be again, with your help… and my money. What say you?”