The Trefoil Manuscripts

5: Sight and Sound

Patience -- Prudence -- Stealth -- Memories -- Eavesdropping -- A Way In
The walls have ears -- Below stairs -- Opinions -- Cloaked

~oOo~

Tiago wakes with a start. From the sunlight streaming through the curtains, he blearily deduces that the morning is already well advanced and realises that he has only the vaguest recollection of the previous evening's events.

He remembers escorting Amelyn home in the afternoon and a shared moment of amusement en route, as they listened to Mendrik's ill-fated attempts to engage her resolutely silent maid in conversation. He remembers bidding her farewell and making a vague arrangement to see her again, the details of which completely elude him. After that everything seems progressively more hazy. He does seem to recall that one or more taverns were involved, however, and his pounding head attests to this detail...

The sound of someone hammering on the front door tells him what it was that woke him before. Iracema is still sleeping soundly, so he is careful not to disturb her as he climbs groggily from bed. Gathering up his carelessly discarded clothes and pulling them on, he heads slowly down the stairs as the insistent knocking continues. "All right, all right. I'm coming," he mutters.

He opens the door to find a small, neatly dressed woman waiting on the step. "Yes? What do you want?" he snaps, irritated. His tone softens a little when he recognises her as Amelyn's taciturn maid from the previous day. "Oh, it's you. What is it? Do you have a message for me from your mistress?"

She says nothing, but looks him up and down disapprovingly and rolls her eyes heavenwards, before holding out a folded piece of paper. It is a hastily written note in a hand that, although he has never seen it before, he instinctively recognises as Amelyn's. It reads:

Meeting R at noon. Return with Patience. Observe only! A

On first reading, he fails to notice the capital P of Patience and wonders why Amelyn is instructing him to be patient. Then, realising his mistake, he glances down at the maid, who is tapping her foot and frowning at him. He struggles to think of a less appropriate name for her (Garrulous, perhaps?) and cannot resist testing this supposed virtue a little further.

"Wait here," he tells her, closing the door quickly to shut out the withering look that she gives him. By the time he returns she is scowling. Squinting at the face of the great clock-tower in Newmarket Square, he sees why: it is almost noon already!

"Well, why didn't you say something?" he demands in response to the maid's accusatory expression. "Come on then - we'll have to run!"

Tiago meekly follows Amelyn's maid, finding himself, in his stupor, focussing on her backside rather more than he should as she rushes before him. As they eventually near the destination, having made good time, he insists that she pause for him to collect his thoughts. Turning towards an alley, he fumbles at a couple of pendants and mutters an incantation or two, then turns back, his head slightly clearer, and nods at her to proceed.

~oOo~

Rotheric had also been disturbed that morning by an unexpected visitor knocking on his door. Rage gave way to surprise when he found Girolamo - his regular sparring partner and perhaps the closest thing he had to a friend - standing there looking abashed. The anger returned, however, when he was told the reason for this visit: a gentleman was waiting to speak to him at the fencing school. That damnable Sarken again, no doubt. Must that man plague him every single day?

He had returned from his meeting in Glassmakers the previous night in a foul temper, but the sight of Sigeric, sleeping peacefully once again, had soon sweetened his mood. Next morning, the simple pleasure of taking a leisurely and civilised breakfast with his brother had lifted all cares from his shoulders - until a knock at the door sent Sigeric into a panic and Rotheric into a rage.

He couldn't blame Giro, of course - although the poor fellow had been turned quite pale at the sight of him in the throes of wrath.

"I'm dreadful sorry, Master Rotheric," he had said, white as a sheet. "But the gentleman wou'n't take no f'r'n answer, an' when I owned I knew where you lived, 'e was most insistent, like. Gentle spoken, mind - but most insistent."

After a hasty attempt to calm his brother, Rotheric had stormed down to the school, determined to give the Apparitor General another piece of his mind. When they arrived, however, there was another surprise - it was a man he'd never seen before, a servant to judge by his manners. Before he could vent his anger on this unsuspecting stranger, the fellow had introduced himself and produced one of Rotheric's own cards.

"My lady sent me, sir," he explained, quietly. "She would very much like to continue the discussion that you began earlier in the week, this time in somewhat more salubrious circumstances."

Now, accompanying this Alasdair to Hightown, Rotheric finds his initial surprise tending towards deep suspicion. Can it be a happy accident that he has been invited to a luncheon by the very same lady that he is supposed to murder - the so-called 'sword' that Damplestone's friends would have him knock from their enemy's hand? Granted, when he had last encountered her she had spoken of her desire to meet with him again, but... no, no this was just too damnably neat for his liking.

He must keep his head, he tells himself, and remember one of the cardinal rules of the duellist's art: prudence is the best defence. "Always let your opponent come to you," as his fencing master, Dom Jaime, was fond of saying. "And never let your guard down."

As they walk, Rotheric looks around him, trying to see if anyone is following them. He notices nothing suspicious, however, and allows himself to relax a little. The house that Alasdair leads him to is in a much-favoured part of Hightown. To the discerning eye, it is an impressive building, but it does not draw attention to itself. Entering through the front door, the servant ushers him into a tastefully-appointed room and asks him to wait. He gestures towards a tray of glasses and several dusty bottles.

"If you would like to help yourself to a drink, sir, I shall return with my lady directly."

A cursory examination of the room tells him little about the Heligans. The furniture is old, but seems to be of a good quality, and the rugs on the floor are opulent, if a little worn. The walls are panelled with stained wood and adorned with portraits of serious-looking men and women. The drinks tray contains some fine bottles of brandy and a couple of decanters containing fortified wine, but the crystal is outmoded and a number of the glasses are chipped or cracked. A bookcase on one wall might hold more interest for him if he had ever learnt to read, but the books look large and old to his inexpert eye. Apart from the door through which he came, there are only two other exits: another door in the far corner and a large window, draped with heavy velvet curtains.

Rotheric is, as usual, dressed in the height of fashion. His boots are shiny and jangly, his trousers fashionably cut and his shirt and coat a tailor's dream in fripperies and subtle details. He carries his sword and dagger, a modest amount of gold and the strange disc he got from Bastian. He is also still wearing the scarf he got from Iracema.

He draws back the curtain over the window and tests the other door, checking for possible escape routes. It is too early in the morning for him to drink.

~oOo~

The maid Patience leads Tiago into the Heligan mansion by a back door, placing a finger on her lips to warn him to be quiet. He follows her through a confusing series of doors and passages, past curious servants and through a variety of rooms, until they arrive in a small room that looks like a study. As Tiago is glancing around to try to catch his bearings, he hears a soft click and sees a section of the wood-panelled wall swinging open. He just has time to see Patience turning away from a small cabinet, which must house some mechanism for the hidden door, before she ushers him through into the dark and confined space beyond.

He can hear muffled voices coming from up ahead; as they draw nearer, he recognises the distinctive cadences of Amelyn's voice amongst them. He doesn't notice that Patience has stopped until he bumps into her, but remembers to keep quiet just before uttering an apology. A tiny source of light then appears, bringing just enough illumination into the narrow corridor for him to see Patience motioning him to move towards it. Placing his eye to the hole, he finds himself looking into a room, where Amelyn and Rotheric are talking.

Patience tugs at his sleeve and signals that she is leaving him here. He nods mutely and then returns his attention to the room beyond...

~oOo~

Time passes and Rotheric grows steadily more restless. He is glad that he had eaten a good breakfast with Sigeric, because it is nearly lunchtime when Amelyn finally makes an appearance, entering the room through the door in the far corner. His first impressions of the woman, formed in the ill-favoured circumstances of a pitched battle in a dirty alley, had been understandably mixed. Inspecting her now he cannot deny that she is a fine figure of a woman; he feels a twinge of regret when he remembers that he has agreed to kill her.

"Welcome, master rapier," she begins companionably, apparently oblivious to his wolfish gaze. "And my apologies for making you wait. Please do not blame Alasdair - he did come to fetch me directly, but I am afraid that I have been unavoidably detained until now. I have asked him to bring us some light refreshments. Please," she says, gesturing towards a chair. "Take a seat and let us begin."

"Now," she continues, once they have settled themselves. "I asked you here today for two reasons. Firstly, as I'm sure you recall, I was intrigued by your contribution to the... ah, impromptu discussion that we had earlier in the week. I would like to take that conversation a little further, if I may. Secondly, I may be interested in securing your professional services..."

A female servant interrupts at this point, bringing in a tray of food and carefully depositing it on a small table. She blushes at Rotheric's frank appraisal of her youthful charms, bobs a curtsy to her mistress and then hurriedly departs.

Rotheric picks distractedly at the food as Amelyn speaks, only half- listening to her talk of this and that prophecy and the various possible interpretations of the balderdash that he'd first heard earlier in the week. Feeling almost embarrassed when she asks him to repeat the words about the Twelve Seekers that he'd blurted out on that occasion, encouraging him to remember more if he can. He watches somewhat contemptuously as she takes notes. What does she think is so important about this nursery rhyme?

Casting his mind back to his childhood evokes a mixture of emotions as always. He has a very strong image of the nanny who had taught him the rhyme: a warm and pleasantly plump woman with a genuine affection for her two charges. His early memories of his mother are less distinct, largely overshadowed by images of her shortly before her death: a spiteful and distracted woman, unable to comprehend or accept the poverty into which she and her family had so unexpectedly descended. As for his father...

He has only one image of the man who sired him: a tall and rather frightening figure in a long black coat, commenting: "So this is our boy, then? Odd little fellow, isn't he?" This remark was directed at his mother before he before he took her away, as he did every evening, and left him alone with Nanny. He could not remember seeing his father again, not even when Sigeric was born.

His mother had told Rotheric and Sigeric that their father was a powerful and important man from a good family, but whoever he was he had never acknowledged her, nor the two sons that she had borne him. Oh, he had provided well enough for them while he was alive, ensuring that the boys grew up expecting to have anything and everything that they wanted and granting them a sense of superiority that convinced them that they deserved this privilege.

When he died, however, they were all left out in the cold. Rotheric's mother came from a very minor noble family, with little wealth of its own and no interest in their wayward daughter. Becoming a hapless victim of her life of privilege, once the wealth that granted it was taken away, she found the task of caring for her young family more burdensome than she could ever have imagined. Angry and embittered, she died within the year, leaving young master Rotheric to bring up his brother alone. She never thought to tell them who their father had been.

"Wouldn't you agree, Sir Rotheric?" Amelyn asks.

The question snaps him out of his reverie, but he realises that he hasn't really been listening to what she was saying for some time. It had been something about the rhyme, something to do with figuring out who these 'seekers' are and trying to gather them together. It had all sounded rather unlikely.

"Ah, yes?" he responds, rather uncertainly.

She frowns. "You do not sound convinced. Perhaps you are right to be cautious - this prophecy may yet prove to be a colossal waste of time. Very well. Let us move on to our second piece of business. On our first encounter, you asked me to bear you in mind if I had 'any future jobs to do'. As it happens, I do have need of a man with your particular skills. Are you still willing to place yourself at my disposal? For the right fee, of course..."

Rotheric listens to Amelyn as he studies her face and swan-like neck. How easy it would be to snap it right here and be done with the whole deal. He stands up and starts to pace the room as she talks. Doing the job now would probably mean less complications later, but then again, a lot of people have seen him enter the building and know he is here. It would probably be better to get closer to this woman and let her drop her guard. A lot closer...

Rotheric smiles to himself as he frankly studies her cleavage, half listening to her offer. He picks up an apple from the tray and as he stands behind her, he slowly draws his dagger...

~oOo~

Tiago, meanwhile, has been watching and listening to the conversation with interest and some trepidation. The subject of the prophecy still evokes a feeling of low-level panic in him, but he forces himself to listen.

From Amelyn's questions and frequent, rambling digressions, he learns that this so-called Opert Prophecy is an ancient text, supposedly dating from the time of the Autarchy. In its original form the text was a transcription of the words of an unnamed prophet, as recorded by a foreign scholar, but this complete version seems to have been lost. A number of fragments and different - sometimes conflicting - translations of the original are known to exist, however, but recent attempts to compile a definitive version have been hampered by the adversarial relationships between the agencies that control the various pieces of the prophecy.

House Heligan has long been in possession of one such fragment, containing a passage about "the heirs of the spreading tree", which they have taken to refer to themselves, and a "glass city", which all modern interpreters agree refers to Syran. Amelyn implies that Heligan's attempts to acquire other fragments has met with success and frustration in equal measure, but she does not elaborate. One of the agencies that does certainly control a number of fragments is the Order of St Errolan, but they are notoriously reluctant to share this knowledge with anyone else.

She seems very excited about the rhyme that Rotheric had shared with them all in the alley, which is apparently the first time that any clue has been unearthed regarding the identity of the "twelve seekers" referred to in one passage of the prophecy. The duellist can only tell her that he heard it as a child and that it had been sung to him by his nanny. Amelyn is anxious to speak to this nanny, but Rotheric is very reluctant to talk about this and grudgingly admits that he doesn't know whether the woman is still alive.

Pressing him further, she does manage to coax a couple of other pieces of information out of him. The nanny, it seems, had been a local woman, but not originally from the city itself. He confirms that she was unquestionably a Commoner, which has Amelyn talking excitedly to herself about "oral tradition" and "folk memory". Rotheric also recalls that she came from a small village on the river, called Whiteferry. He also remembers that she had a different name for the song, but he has always known it as The Twelve Seekers.

After a while, Tiago notices that Rotheric is paying little attention to the discussion and seems to have his mind on other things. This becomes more obvious when the duellist begins pacing around the room in evident agitation. Amelyn seems to be oblivious to this, however, being too intent on her speculations about the prophecy. When the duellist moves behind her and draws his dagger, Tiago's eyes widen in alarm, but his experience with knife-fighting and magically augmeented senses inform him that the blade is about to be used for peeling an apple, and not to attack Amelyn. He is still suspicious of Rotheric's intentions, however, and resolves to watch him more closely. Although what he could actually do to intervene from behind a wall is not clear.

Suddenly the door in the corner of the room bursts open and a woman rushes in, making deliberately and very rapidly towards the two occupants. Rotheric starts in alarm and turns instinctively towards the unexpected intrustion, an apple in one hand and his dagger in the other. Amelyn is also startled, half-rising from her seat and turning to see the source of the disturbance.

Tiago, whose spyhole fortuitously faces in the right direction, sees the intruder before either of the people in the room have time to turn. He just manages to recognise her as Amelyn's maid, Patience, before she slows her headlong rush and visibly tries to compose herself. The fierce expression on her face as she enters, which Tiago glimpses for only an instant, is very different to the placid and innocently anxious one that swiftly replaces it.

"Oh! Err... I'm so sorry, ma'am," she stammers. "I... ah.. I didn't mean to alarm you or... the gentleman. I thought... that is... there's an urgent matter that I had to bring to your attention, " she finishes, with a little more confidence. Tiago sees her eyes flick briefly towards Rotheric who looks a little bemused.

Frowning, Amelyn says. "I see. Very well then."

Turning to Rotheric, she says. "If you would excuse me for a moment?" and then follows Patience out of the room, leaving the duellist alone with his thoughts and an unseen observer.

~oOo~

Touchstone had not wasted any time in locating and scouting out the Heligan residence, but he learnt little from his initial foray. Gaining a more intimate perspective was going to require a more prolonged period of surveillance and perhaps a bit of judicious snooping if he had the opportunity.

As ever, the enterprising middleman is quick to exploit the advantages afforded by both his professional connections and his own particular talents. A casual remark to one of his henchmen had soon resulted in a meeting with an unsophisticated but enthusiastic young businessman, who had a variety of recently-acquired goods that he was anxious to turn into more liquid assets. Touchstone had used his instinct for identifying a treasured possession to pick out some promising objects and made sure that his new acquaintance was appropriately remunerated.

Studying the assorted items at his leisure, he had found himself drawn to a finely made pocket knife, with an enamelled hilt and a delicately rendered monogram. This item, he had been told, was latterly the property of a well- to-do servant, who had no doubt been very unhappy to have misplaced it. This, and the strong image of a spreading oak that he had seen when he brushed the knife with his fingertips, had convinced him that this was just the ticket.

Touchstone sits with the knife in his hand and concentrates, trying to form a mental image of the owner. He begins with a frustratingly vague vision of greying temples and a face obscured by grey mist, but then he corrects his initial impression: it is smoke, rather than mist. Sniffing the small object thoughtfully, he now detects the distinctive aroma adhering to it and immediately knows where he should begin looking.

The recreational use of smoke-weed, its combustion and inhalation normally facilitated by the use of a clay or bone pipe, is generally quite rare in the West. In Syran, however, the practice has a small but devoted following amongst the more prosperous sections of the lower orders and a few disreputable members of their social superiors. Looked upon with distaste by the nobility and deep suspicion by the clergy, it is not a public habit, being all-too-easily associated with the abuse of more powerful and dangerous mind-altering substances, which is rife in the city's underbelly.

There are, however, a number of taverns and private clubs in the city that are known for their permissive attitude towards pipe-smokers and Touchstone is familiar with many of them. He finds his quarry, as expected, in one of the most exclusive of these establishments, The Fragrant Leaf. He has no trouble identifying the fellow, who is only too pleased to reward his benefactor for the return of the precious knife. He wastes no time in employing the instrument to clean out the bowl of his pipe.

Touchstone realises that he has, in fact, encountered this Alasdair fellow before and conducted some business with him in the past. The servant had, on that occasion, been seeking to obtain a missing item on behalf of his mistress - a book, if he remembers correctly, which had regrettably found its way into the wrong hands. Touchstone had happily acquired and delivered the item, for a tidy profit. Reminding the man of this past association, he is gratified by the fellow's response.

"Yes, I do remember you, sir," Alasdair comments, studying Touchstone's face thoughtfully as he puffs contentedly on his pipe. "And I also recall that my mistress was very pleased with the service that you rendered to the House. In fact, your... ah, thoughtful action today may prove doubly fortuitous. My lady has once again tasked me with obtaining something for her and it may be that you are able to assist. If you would care to pay me a visit tomorrow, below-stairs at the Heligan residence in Hightown, then I shall furnish you with the details..."

~oOo~

Rotheric slices a bite off the apple and chews it as he slowly inspects the area around the door. He is well acquainted with the practice of spy holes and is looking for one now. That silly girl was obviously watching him and thought he was going to stab her Mistress there and then. Not bad-looking though...

He uses the tip of his dagger to tap at various suspicious-looking areas of the wall. "Hmmm..." he thinks to himself. "It needn't actually be on this particular wall. Maybe here instead?"

He is soon convinced that the panelling on both of the walls has been designed to conceal a narrow gallery behind, but he does not notice any obvious spy-holes. It seems most likely that any such device will be concealed behind one of the many portraits that adorn these walls, but a cursory inspection of the most likely candidates fails to turn up any holes in the canvas.

Hearing the sound of footsteps approaching, he is unable to continue his hunt by lifting the paintings to inspect the walls behind. The use of the paintings to conceal the spy-holes does have a disadvantage though, he realises. Any observer will necessarily find it difficult to observe a subject in close proximity to their wall, unless he is directly in front of them.

"Hmmm..." muses Rotheric. "So, assuming that there are spy-holes in both walls, that would mean there is a blind spot over... here."

~oOo~

Tiago holds his breath as the duellist approaches his spyhole, but the expression on the man's face reassures him that the hole is invisible from the other side. Only now does he notice the slight distortion in the image and realise that he is looking through a thin piece of glass. Marvelling at the ingenuity of this device, he recalls hearing of the Houses commissioning portraits painted on glass and suddenly understands why this should be so desirable.

Returning his attention to the room, he notes with dismay that Rotheric has moved out of view. Then the door to the left opens and Amelyn re-enters the room.

Rotheric gives a small, polite bow as Amelyn enters again. "I trust everything is in order?" he smiles.

Having decided earlier against killing his target here and now, the duelist is resolved to learn more about what she wants.

"You were asking if I was willing to place myself at your disposal, yes? Pray continue..."

Rotheric walks slowly around the room as Amelyn talks, still looking suspiciously at the walls.

The tall noblewoman gestures at their vacated seats by the window.

"Please, let us be seated, Sir Rotheric. I apologise for the earlier interruption. My maid," she adds, glaring at the offending servant, who is now standing in the corner of the room. "Seems to be remarkably ignorant of the correct way to enter a room."

She smiles at her guest as he reluctantly sits.

"But enough distractions. I have an matter of some urgency to resolve and I am hoping that you will help me to do so. My little brother Everard, you see, has challenged some other idiot to a duel on the morrow and there is nothing that I can do to dissuade him from going through with it. Oh, I do not doubt that Everard can best his opponent - he makes up with ferocity what he lacks in skill - but two troublesome outcomes present themselves."

"The first is that my darling brother might actually manage to kill his opponent, which would be a cause of much embarassment, to say the least. Our relations with House Gavon are somewhat... delicate at present, so the death of Lord Gavon's heir at this juncture could prove... inconvenient. My second fear is that the nitwit my brother has challenged might have bought himself a proxy, in which case the duel could fall ill for Everard."

"That is where you come in, sir. I suggest that we might avoid both of these outcomes if you will stand proxy for Everard. I think that I can persuade him that this is a sensible and honourable course. If he agrees to this, can I rely upon you to avoid killing Lord Elmar, while still satisfying my brother's boyish lust for blood?"

Rotheric feels the colour drain from his face as she mentions the name of her brother's opponent. He has already been paid to act as Lord Elmar's proxy in this duel...

"But you seem troubled by my request," Amelyn observes. "Is there a problem?"

Rotheric grins at the irony of the situation. "You might say that, m'lady. You see, I am the proxy that your brother will be fighting!"

The duelist leans back in the chair, savouring the look of confusion on Amelyn's face.

"I was hired earlier by Lord Elmar to be his proxy. Which means that I cannot be hired by anyone else. Your brother is out of luck, I'm afraid."

Rotheric smiles as an idea hits him.

"Unless..."

Amelyn is not so amused by this revelation.

"Unless I pay you to lose, Sir Rotheric," she says, stony-faced. "Or - since I have no interest whatsoever in the dispute that prompted this duel - to win without causing any lasting harm to my brother. Either way, you will collect two payments for one duel."

"I was actually thinking of something else," Rotheric says.

"I know of another duellist for hire, which might be interested in being the proxy for your brother. Let's just say that him and I go back a while. If you hire him, I will fight him - he will die, your brother will live and we will all be happy..."

"His name is Holwar and he lives not far from here."

Rotheric gives an address of a nearby mansion, where Sir Holwar lives. The two were fierce rivals in duelling school and Sir Holwar is sometimes even better dressed than Rotheric!

Amelyn appears to consider this suggestion for some time, staring out of the window, her expression unreadable. Eventually she nods her head.

"Very well," she says evenly. "I shall contact this Holwar and attempt to procure his services; then I shall attempt to persuade my brother to accept him as a proxy. What if I should fail, though? What if Holwar declines, or Everard insists on fighting the duel himself, foolish boy that he is? Is there no inducement that I can offer you to ensure that my brother will come to no harm?"

"Just mention to Holwar who he will be fighting," smiles Rotheric. "He will not hesitate after that."

"And if your brother insists on fighting, well then..." A shrug of the shoulders. "Just make sure he has his affairs in order..."

Amelyn seems to take great exception to this remark and immediately rises to her feet, her teeth clenched and her eyes narrowing.

"Indeed I shall, sir," she says shortly. "And now I must ask you to leave, for I have other business that demands my attention. I regret that you feel so tightly bound by your prior obligations to Lord Elmar that you cannot consider a sister's plea for aid. Perhaps, if you had a sibling of your own, you might understand my desire to protect a foolish brother from the peril in which he finds himself. I trust that you can see yourself out?" she concludes, looking pointedly at the door through which he had first entered the room.

Rotheric bows with a slight smirk and strides out of the room. He sees the maid, Patience, holding the door open for him.

He pauses as he approaches her, squeezes her behind and whispers: "Meet me at ten tonight, at 'The Old Dog'."

The maid's initial response - a mischievous grin - is hastily replaced by an expression of righteous indignation and studied contempt as she realises that her mistress is watching. As she closes the door behind him, however, the young woman gives Rotheric a sly wink and flashes that grin again.

Rotheric catches the grin and winks back at her, then leaves the house, whistling as he goes.

~oOo~

Meanwhile, Tiago, who doesn't like one little bit being in this situation, softly moves over to the entrance to the chamber in which he finds himself, so as to work out the exit.

Having seen Rotheric and Amelyn seating themself back by the window, and noting that the maid, Patience, is now standing in the corner of the room watching them, Tiago reasons that he can slip away without attracting too much attention. Feeling his way cautiously along the narrow gallery, he finds what appears to be a lever and fumbles with it for a few moments before hearing a satisfying clunk.

Blinking as he emerges into the light, he is astonished to see Patience standing there and scowling at him. Hadn't he just seen her in the other room? The maidservant gestures angrily at him, silently indicating that he should return to the secret passage.

~oOo~

Touchstone arrives at the Heligan mansion as arranged and is eventually admitted via the servant entrance at the rear. A barrel-shaped, red-faced woman with a hearty voice instructs him to wait in a small anteroom beside the kitchen entrance. "Master Alasdair will be t'rough wit' you in a moment," she tells him sternly. "Don't you go movin' a muscle now!"

Alasdair arrives few minutes later, his gentle smile a welcome contrast to the woman's ill-concealed look of mistrust. "Come this way, come this way, my friend," he tells Touchstone. "Don't mind Martha - she can't abide the thought of strangers entering her domain. We'll repair to somewhere more private where your presence will be less... troubling to the staff."

Ushering the middleman through the kitchen, the servant leads him along a corridor and into a small room adjacent to a flight of stairs leading up. The room is plain and sparsely furnished, but seems comfortable in its own humble - if rather careworn - way. Seating himself at a small desk, Alasdair gestures at another chair.

"Now to business," he begins, his expression serious and tone measured, but his voice betraying a little excitement. "As I believe I mentioned at the Leaf yesterday, the mistress has asked me to make some... enquiries about a certain 'missing item', if you catch my drift. The article in question is a cloak, notable for its unusual lining, which my lady described as 'iridescent'. You understand what she means by that, I hope?"

He glances at Touchstone, who nods.

"Excellent. Oh, one more thing. On this occasion, I believe that my lady is more interested in learning the whereabouts and present *possessor* of this item than she is in obtaining the article itself. Is that likely to present a problem?"

"Well that would depend in part on what your lady would do with that information. After all, in my line of work I have to appear to be impartial."

"But my Lady!" twitters Alasdair.

"Don't worry," interrupts Touchstone. "Me and this house go back a ways, I will do what I can. Though if I did know what her intentions in this were it would make my life easier and perhaps a little longer, if you catch my drift. And if you don't know, then perhaps you could ask her?"

Alasdair sighs, looking a little uncomfortable.

"Very well. Milady said that you might ask about the person who has the cloak now, but I'm afraid she has no further information. She told me to tell you that this fellow either means her ill or - more likely - is connected to another who means her ill. Her main interest is in discovering his identity, therefore - the article itself is of little consequence. As to her intentions, well... I do not think that she means to invite this person to tea, but - since she hopes that he will lead us to her enemies - neither would she want an unfortunate accident to befall him."

"Does that satisfy you? My lady has other business to attend to at present, so I'm loath to disturb her, but if you have further questions I can certainly relay her answers to you. Do you think that you will be able to find this cloak, and more importantly its wearer?"

"No, it would not do to disturb the Lady without good reason. Very well, I will endeavour to find out who has the cloak. And as you do not want me to try and recover the item the cost will only be my usual commission and your future gratitude."

With that, Touchstone takes his leave and sets out to discover the current possessor of the cloak.

~oOo~

Tiago stares at Patience for the briefest moment before returning.

Back in his hideyhole, he ponders Patience. Was that the same Patience or are there two of them?

After a few moments examining the maidservant, who is now miraculously back in the corner of the room with Amelyn and Rotheric, Tiago is completely certain. The two women not only look identical, they are also dressed alike and exhibit exactly the same mannerisms. They must be one and the same.

There is only one explanation: someone, perhaps even the maid herself, must be magically projecting an illusory image of her in the corner of the room, presumably to make the duellist think twice about trying any funny business. As he stares at the maid in fascination, Tiago even fancies that he can see the image wavering slightly. Still, he cannot help but be impressed by this magical feat. A remarkable illusion!

Only one thing puzzles him: why does Patience insist on giving him the impression that she is mute, only to blurt out that apology to her mistress when she had burst in earlier?

His attention is drawn back to the room, where he sees that Amelyn - who seems furious for some reason - is mouthing a strained farewell to the duellist, who looks unaccountably pleased with himself as he bows and departs. Wondering what he has missed, Tiago suppresses a start of surprise when Amelyn turns to look directly at him, her face composed, but her dark eyes flashing with anger. Without saying a word, she beckons him with a long, slender finger...

Patience is waiting for him at the door to the passageway, meeting his curious gaze with sullen silence. She leads him into the room with Amelyn, then bobs a quick curtsy and departs. Tiago only has time to glance to the corner - verifying that the maid's simulacrum has now disappeared - before Amelyn arrests his attention once more.

"Did you hear what that arrogant little... Oh!" she exclaims, almost shaking with rage. "I should have wiped that smile off his damned face! 'Sir' Rotheric. Pah! He's no more noble blood in him than you have," she sneers. "Ah, but the audacity of the man! It beggars belief, it really does..."

Once again, Tiago is struck by the way that her features, which are undeniably exquisite when at rest, seem grossly and even alarmingly distorted when animated with emotion. But they are still somehow... compelling, perhaps even beautiful - in the same way that a savage beast can be beautiful in its own...

"Well?" she snaps at him, shaking him out of his reverie. "What did you make of him? And what did you make of this rhyme of his? And the nanny..."

Although aware that he has missed most of what transpired between Lady Amelyn and the duellist, Tiago is far from surprised that the scoundrel has caused offence. Her comment about his low birth just adds to the panic rising within him. He is so far out of his depth that he just does not know what to do.

"Milady," he bows his head before her in the fashion which common people have always employed to deflect the anger of their superiors as they collect their thoughts. "I'm not sure what you expected?" Lifting his head, he sees Patience giving him a knowing glance, perhaps even sympathetic, as if she has been in this situation herself.

Struggling to keep the tremor from his voice, and likely failing, he tries to think of the best way out of this predicament. "Might I enquire what your purpose was in having me observe this?"

"You saw what that infuriating man is like! I had hoped to learn more about this rhyme that he remembers from childhood, but he seemed almost completely uninterested. The only thing that did seem to interest him was his own sense of importance. Whenever I meet someone like that, all self-important bravado, it makes me wonder at the secret face that must lurks beneath such a carefully-constructed mask. I hoped that our friend the duellist might drop the mask when he thought that no-one was watching. That is why I asked you to observe him, unseen."

She frowns, not even looking at Tiago.

"However, I imagine that, after my over-zealous maid Prudence burst in on us, he would be unlikely to drop his guard. He surely must have suspected that she had been observing him through a spyhole."

Tiago murmurs his agreement. "He did seem to be looking for spyholes while you were out of the room, yes."

"Yes, I bet he did, curse him!" she exclaims. "And then there was the matter of the blasted duel. Did you see how much that amused him? Odious man! I do believe that he will take some kind of perverse pleasure in killing my idiot brother tomorrow! Well, we shall see about that..."

She breaks off, suddenly seeming to remember that Tiago is there.

"Ah, but I must apologise, Tiago. You must be quite thoroughly bemused by all of this. Rude of me to drag you into my personal affairs without so much as a by-your-leave... What did you make of Sir Rotheric, though? Did he betray any hint of an agenda, or, for that matter, any trace of humanity?"

"Eminently human, milady. The mask he maintains is the most obvious proof of this."

"And the rhyme that he shared with us? Does it mean anything to you? I don't suppose the nanny can be found now, but perhaps we might find out more regarding the origins of the verse in the village she hailed from. Whiteferry, wasn't it? I'm still convinced that the Prophecy is important!"

"The rhyme means little to me", says Tiago, "´though it may be worth further investigation."

"My thanks for your observations. I don't suppose that your man has learned anything else about my cousin Kenelm since last we spoke? No? Well, I have begun enquiries of my own into the identity of your golden-voiced mystery man. Perhaps his identity will shed more light on this web of intrigue."

The smile that she turns on him looks somewhat forced.

"But I must ask you to excuse me now," she says. "I have a brother's foolish life to save before dawn, it seems. We shall speak again on the morrow. At your studio, after lunch? If I am unavoidably detained I shall send Patience with word."

~oOo~

Touchstone knows that his chances of finding his quarry by conventional means - drawing upon his extensive web of acquaintances and making discreet personal enquiries - will take far too long if he relies on diligent foot-, ear- and eye-work alone. No, what he needs is a shortcut and this is where his special talents really come into their own. He isn't sure that his magic will work in this instance, since he normally has an actual object to act as a focus, but it's certainly worth a try.

Returning to his modest digs, he slips into a light trance and tries to conjure up an image of the cloak that Alasdair had described. The familiar sensation that accompanies his gift, which feels very much like déjà vu, soon begins to kick in, but disappointingly it never quite manages to coalesce into a concrete image. Discouraged, Touchstone frowns and wonders how he should proceed.

The sense of déjà vu persists, however, and gradually it dawns on him: he has seen this cloak before. But where and when? The image that lurks in the back of his mind is tantalising, but it remains stubbornly out of reach. Come on, Touchstone, he thinks to himself. Heligan needs you! Where have I seen that cloak before? Did it grace the shoulders of a client, perhaps? Or a contact? Maybe even one of his anonymous Faculty colleagues?

He shuts his eyes tightly, the image of the cloak's shimmering lining dancing provocatively in his mind's eye. Shimmering, shimmering, blue and green, dancing colour, like light playing on... water! That's it! The wearer of the cloak was standing beside a fountain... the fountain in the middle of Summit Court in Hightown. He had been talking to a client, who was thanking him for the return of some trinket or other. A noble... one of the Adamarl heirs. Hugo? No, the other one: Niccolo. And the man with Niccolo - the one wearing the cloak - had been pretending not to pay attention, but he kept sneaking a glance at them now and then. Touchstone had noticed this and asked Niccolo who he was. And Niccolo said that he was...

Touchstone's flight of memory stops abruptly . He shakes his head. This feels very odd, he thinks. Everything else about this memory is clear - or at least, as clear as any memory can be - but for some reason a fog seems to have descended at this point. He finds himself shivering uncontrollably. It's as if someone has tiptoed into his mind and smeared the memory away...

"Damn!"

If there is one thing Touchstone hates that is someone playing with his mind. Now this is getting personal, but for now he is stumped on how to proceed. Still, the information that he has gained may be of some use so he should probably head back to the house Heligan to make a report. Perhaps the house itself has magical resources which can overcome this block.

First, however, Sheri and Touchstone have an unofficial appointment to ensure the son of Heligan does not actually get himself killed (wounded is OK - it might teach him something) in another silly duel...