In Which Avan and Saeed Encounter The Prince Lanchoni Problem

Saeed had reconciled in himself the knowledge that fighting alongside the most renowned warrior-mage in the history of Faerie would place him in some dangerous situations. Since they had first encountered one another they had fought orcs, lizard men and vampires, all in one evening. In addition they had uncovered the mechanisms of a conspiracy that may serve to plunge the Terra Draconis into some very deep trouble.

As Saeed knew that the time of the Vanishing was surely close at hand, the incident in which all traces of living dragons were removed from Faerie, possibly forever, the youthful thief had to wonder if this plan was the first echo of that momentous cataclysm. Saeed knew that time, chronology and history were somewhat malleable but riddled with what could best be understood as 'hard bits', bits you could not change, the structure of the world relied on certain events conforming to a certain shape. The Vanishing appeared to be one such event, so, really, if Miranda Felix and her employer were intent on unleashing such powerful magic upon the world then there was probably very little that Saeed could do about it.

Saeed enjoyed a self-image that included a healthy dose of humility. If he was facing the Vanishing then he was happy to admit that it would happen regardless of what he tried to do about it. He was, after all, a skilled thief who had begun his life as an Afsan street-urchin. How was he to save the world?

Prince Avan Weatherstrong, on the other hand, was the most heroic cultural hero in all the lands of Faerie. Of course, the Prince didn't know much about that, he was living his life, it was only those who came after him who would get the opportunity to turn him into a retrospective demi-god.

Prince Weatherstrong had a kind of humility himself. He was not particularly interested in being a celebrity. However, if you told him that a force of magic so powerful it could wipe an entire continent and species from the face of the world was about to be unleashed he would always attempt to put a stop to it. He would say that even if he couldn't succeed the knowledge he held meant he had to try. To Saeed that just sounded like a different way of believing that you could not fail.

But you could. Just because the consequences of failure would be dire did not make the prospect of success any more likely. Saeed had stayed alive for nearly a quarter of a century safe in that knowledge. Prince Weatherstrong had lived over ten times that his way, but then, well, when all was said and done he was Avan Weatherstrong with all the advantages that this identity implied.

In his life Avan Weatherstrong had fought wicked sorcerers, giant monsters and bloodthirsty warlords. Avan Weatherstrong was more than a man, he was a legend.

So when it came to the task of tracking and retrieving a small running animal it seemed obvious that of the two the humble thief should take the task. Running through the undergrowth outside the house on the edge of Dracopolis Saeed was aware that, although his life was not in danger, the prospect of losing his quarry was cutting cleanly into his sense of self-worth.

He was partnered up with a man who had bloodied the nose of tyrants and written the pages of history in his own hand, if Saeed could not fetch a small animal for this man what was it all for? They had gone to the house looking for one Prince Ystaban Lanchoni, a roguish ne'er do well who had been observed in a square adjacent to the Dracopolis jail house a couple of hours before an explosion opened a hole in the jail's western wall.

When they arrived at the house it had appeared abandoned and unoccupied until they had opened a door into a cellar room to find a small animal, probably a dog, as the sole occupant. The animal gave every indication that it had been waiting for someone to open the door, it dashed past the pair before they had much of an opportunity to see what was happening.

Saeed hadn't even bothered to say anything, he just took off in pursuit and hence the potentially embarrassing current situation. He had followed the bouncing white bundle of muscle and fur out into the forest and noted the disturbance of nesting birds and undergrowth. Saeed had attended closely to the almost indiscernable pounding of tiny paws along the forest floor.

Then it had all stopped. Saeed guessed that the little beast was somewhere close to Saeed's present location, hidden from view. Perhaps it was even waiting for Saeed to stop looking. That was strange behaviour for a small animal in panic. They didn't usually stop running until they knew they were safe. Saeed wasn't that slow.

A thin, depressed whine came from a bush to Saeed's left. Saeed went over to part the branches and observe the small, white dog doing one of the things well-trained small, white dogs do in bushes with a look of surprise, concern and indignation on its face.

It finished up and then looked up at Saeed, testing his pursuer for some hole in his resolve. Finding none the dog tried to dodge past Saeed but reckoned without Saeed's reflexes. The dog gave another, more panicked yelp as he was hauled into the air by the scruff of the neck. A short struggle followed but Saeed kept a tight hold on the little animal.

Before long the white dog was brought back into the presence of Prince Weatherstrong back at the house.

"I think your associate in the Eastgate Inn may have overstated their case," Saeed said holding up the yapping, grumpy beast for Avan's inspection.

The dog did its best to bark in a threatening manner at Avan, but the high pitched squeaks were more ridiculous than anything else. Seeming to be unhappy at the effect of barking the dog switched to a growl that sounded like the operation of a stable but broken clockwork motor.

"I'm going to have to guess that the Prince is not home," Avan said. "That's a setback I hadn't expected. I have to ask what the point of a safe house is if it isn't to keep someone safe after performing some heinous act of wrongdoing?"

"It is always a possibility that Miranda betrayed Prince Lanchoni the same way that she betrayed me," Saeed pointed out. "Without you to look out for him the prince may well be dead."

The dog craned its neck round to stare at Saeed. Saeed had never encountered a look from a dog that implied he was stupid before.

"I'm just talking about the possibility," Saeed said to the dog. "I'm sorry if it betrays your mental image of your master."

The dog just looked downcast, hanging limply over Saeed's right forearm.

"I don't think that's it," Avan said. "Please, could I?"

Avan held out his hand towards the dog. Saeed passed the miserable little beast over to his companion. Avan held the dog up to his face and looked into the dog's eyes.

"Mischief," Avan said. "a lot, hastily applied. The dog's soaked in it. He almost smells of mischief."

"So the dog is magic?" Saeed asked.

"No, I don't think so," Avan answered. "I think it's the result of magic, crudely applied, the kind of thing a wish fairy or similar might do."

"Someone made the dog out of magic?" Saeed asked. He still wasn't used to talking so much with an expert on magical things. Magic felt like its own world to Saeed, he always felt stupid for not understanding it right away.

"I think this animal isn't supposed to be this way," Avan said. "I think that this dog was something else and then the wish fairy, or other sprite, transformed it into a small dog."

"So..." Saeed looked at the dog's floppy ears and little paws. "You think this might be-?"

"If I were a sprite and a muscular royal wolf tried to threaten me," Avan said. "I think this might appear to be a suitable response, a reflexive defence, if you like."

"Oh, I see," Saeed said. "So, should we try to turn him back?"

"That's not the difficult part," Avan replied. "The difficult part is containing him when we do."

"Good point," Saeed agreed. "How do we do that?"

"I have just the thing in my saddlepack," Avan said. "Come on, let's get moving."

Avan took the dog and went outside to where they'd tethered their horses. Avan rummaged through the pack attached to the horse's saddle and pulled out a small metallic ball about the size of a fist. It appeared to have been made by tightly binding together twists of silver-black wire by twisting and looping. From the top of the ball emerged a thin strand of cord that Saeed recognised, spider silk.

Avan hung the ball off the stout branch of a nearby tree and fiddled with a catch in the ball's base. The ball suddenly sprang outward, twisting, unfolding and dropping until it was about nine feet long, no longer a tightly wound ball, now a long cigar-shaped mass of metallic twists reaching from the tree branch to the ground.

"That'll do," Avan said. He held the dog out towards the cage and the twists parted to allow the dog to be placed inside. When Avan withdrew his arm the dog skidded down inside the cage with a small yelp and the wire closed back over the gap. "Now, dispelling mischief, that's not a problem, I think I have a spray." He rummaged in a pocket in his belt and brought out a misting bottle. He sprayed a fine sparkling mist into the cage. A couple more squirts of the mister bulb and Avan took a step back.

Saeed had never seen mischief magic dispelled before, the experience was an unusual one that made him feel a little giddy. The dog in the cage didn't appear to expand or bulk out at all, rather it just seemed to shift around in the confines of the cage to find that there was simply more of it than could have been expected a few seconds before. This slow growth by discovery continued until the small dog was gone and in its place stood a wolf on it hind legs considerably bigger than the talking desert wolves Saeed had seen at home in Afsana.

Prince Lanchoni was similar in stature to the wolves of Sorrowblade, he guessed that they must share a common ancestor at least. This wolf was, if anything, even bigger than that. Its hateful eyes glittered dangerously in the low light of the forest. It regarded both Saeed and Avan with naked contempt.

"Let me out," Prince Lanchoni demanded. "You have no right to keep me here."

"I don't think you're particularly in a position to be making demands," Avan told the captive. "You cooperate and we might think about releasing you."

"What do you want?" Lanchoni growled, staring into Avan's eyes with an expression on his face that Saeed could read easily. If the wolf got out of the cage it would mean trouble for everybody, not least of all Avan.

"You were supposed to meet with Miranda Felix," Avan said. "Then, somehow, you appear to have become sidetracked."

The wolf snorted.

"I made the meeting," Lanchoni said. "Turns out I shouldn't have trusted Felix, she sent lizard men to kill me. She should have sent more."

"You set off the explosion that broke open the Dracopolis Jailhouse," Avan said not waiting for any denials, Lanchoni didn't bother objecting, he just shrugged. "So, what was in it for you? What did Felix promise you?"

"The Sword of Zanczasza," the wolf said. "She promised me she would take it from the Amethyst Treasure House and deliver it to me at the Castle in Serpenside in return for my assistance."

"What did you want that for?" Avan asked. "You realise the blade is cursed?"

"It shortens the life of the one who weilds it, yes," Lanchoni said. "In return it would have given me the power to take Onapica away from my brother."

"A magical coup," Avan nodded. "Not the world's noblest cause."

"What do I care what you think?" Lanchoni said. "My business is mine alone."

"What can you tell me about the lizard men who attacked you?" Avan asked. "Were they alone?"

"No," Lanchoni said. "They were being controlled by a draco, stocky dragon, one eye missing, covered with a patch. He was using some kind of crystal orb that made the lizard men obey his commands."

"A coldblood orb," Avan said. "Not common but available on the black market for a price. Well, thank you very much for your help, Prince Lanchoni, it will aid us in our efforts to track down Felix. I'll be sure to send her your regards."

"If you find her before I do," Lanchoni snarled. "Let me out of here."

"Oh, you'll be released," Avan said to the wolf. "When you're safe in a cell in the Dracopolis jailhouse."

"You said you would release me!" the wolf complained straining to break free of the wire metal prison.

"To be fair I said I'd think about it," Avan replied. "I have and I've come to the conclusion that it would be best to free you only once you're incarcerated for the crime that you have committed."

"So you're just going to leave me here?" Lanchoni complained. "If I get out of here before you arrive with help to get me to the prison I'll make sure you regret it."

"Who said we needed help?" Avan asked. "You might want to brace yourself this next bit can pinch a little."

As soon as those words left Avan's mouth he jumped up to grab a hold of the branch from which the cage-pod was suspended. He swung himself towards the top of the pod and wrapped his hand round the blunt cylinder attached to all of the pod's wires. Avan shifted his fingers across some sort of button or catch and the pod shrunk upwards swiftly.

Lanchoni cried out but as the wires spiralled in tight the cry was cut off. Avan picked the wire ball back off the tree. It was a little larger than it had been when it was empty but otherwise there were no signs that it contained a large, angry wolf.

Avan dropped down from the tree and hung the cage-ball from his belt.

"Is this how you deal with everyone who gets on the wrong side of you?" Saeed asked.

"No," Avan replied. "You I teamed up with, Felix.... well, I don't really know what I'm going to do with Felix when we catch her."

"I thought you intended to kill her," Saeed said.

"Is that what you would do?" Avan asked.

"I... am not sure," Saeed said, although he was sure that when he was a boy he would have revolted at the notion of murder. Somewhere along the line he had come to think of killing someone bad as an unpleasant necessity. Now, strangely, he found himself uncertain again.

"Then we shall both discover what we should do, when we get where we're going," Avan said.

"And where is that?" Saeed asked.

"First," Avan replied. "We are going to find Vasky Jantnor."

"Who's that?" Saeed asked.

"A Draco mercenary, last time we met I took one of his eyes."

And that is where they went, but what happened when they met him is a story for another day.

The First Eyrie

"Owls," James said, a word that seemed, to Lester, to be pretty much apropos of nothing.

"Where?" Lester said, making a guess that Lester was referring to some owls that might be somewhere nearby.

"Here," James said. "Or at least they used to be. I recognise this place from pictures. It's the First Eyrie."

"Oh," Lester said. "Good. So how far until we get somewhere less... remote? Ideally a place that is less imbued with feelings of lurking menace."

"James!" Rachel cried out running over to join the pair standing among the perches on the enormous stone slab. "You're safe."

"Yes, uh, yes Rachel, I am safe and well," James said. Lester believed that he detected a note of awkwardness in James's voice.

Without even saying 'hello' or 'how do you do' Rachel dipped her hand into Lester's pocket and fished the mouse out. She held James up to her face, wreathed in smiles.

"Well," she said. "This has been a fine adventure, but I think, perhaps, it is time we found our way home."

"I couldn't agree more," James said.

"Well, we'll wait for the gnome to wake up and I'll get him to take us home, or we can just get some directions," Rachel said.

"You meant the Skull Garden, didn't you?" James asked.

"Well, that's home," Rachel said. "I think we've been wandering around for too long now, although, to be fair, I mostly stayed in Bridgetown Market, it was you that travelled."

"Yes, I did," James said. "And I discovered a few things."

"Oh yes," Rachel said. "Like what?"

"Like..." James gave the sentence a short run up but it appeared to be a particularly tall sentence so it wasn't enough. The words sank back down into his throat as soon as they'd emerged.

Lester swapped a glance with Eos, who looked back at him with a cold gaze. He had to remind himself that he'd been the one who had played along with keeping her in captivity, if only for about three hours. Three hours was plenty to liberate an imprisoned mermaid. No one felt the sting of that more than Lester, well, possibly Eos did.

Right at this moment, however, there was one more pressing emotional concern. James had remembered, during his time with Lester, that he was Rachel's father, transformed into this rodent form, memory wiped and dumped into the Skull Garden. This was bound to be a charged moment, Lester could feel the air of anticipation like a low charge of plasma squirming across his skin.

"Well," James said, Lester recognised the music of that syllable, it was the lost, confused and helpless tone that Lester found so irritating in himself. "I remembered that... I don't come from the Skull Garden..."

"You don't?" Rachel said. "So where do you come from? Can we go and live there? Is there a giant bat where you come from?"

"Um, I don't think so," James said. "I just remembered that, and also, I used to be a man, not a mouse."

"A man? So how did you become a mouse?" Rachel asked.

"I don't really know, I don't remember everything yet," James said. Lester could now hear a sort of forlorn relief in James's voice and Lester imagined that he might know what that meant, although he couldn't quite believe it.

"Well we should definitely try to get you turned back," Rachel decided. "Then you could be like my big brother or something. Maybe you could take care of me, instead of the other way round."

"Yes," James said quietly. "Maybe."

And then he said nothing else, and neither did any of the others.

"Well," Eos said eventually. "I guess that we'd better have a look around this place, see if we can find an exit or something."

"Definitely," James said.

"What about the gnome?" Rachel asked. "He doesn't look very well."

Everyone turned their attention in the direction of the gnome who was laid out, unconscious under a perch about fifteen feet away from where they had gathered. They all moved over to examine the sprite.

"Is he breathing?" Lester asked Eos who was the first to reach the prone figure.

"I don't think sprites breathe," James said from Rachel's left shoulder. Lester found it both less annoying and a little sad not to hear the correction directly from his own left shoulder. Now that he had his daughter back Lester imagined James wouldn't want to hang out in Lester's pockets any more. That shouldn't have really meant anything to Lester, but he was confused to note that it did.

"How should we tell if he's alive then?" Eos asked, looking down at the gnome's bearded face.

"He exists," James said. "Technically I don't think you're supposed to be able to render them unconscious."

"So he's pretending then?" Lester asked.

"No," James said. "Magic: pure, coalesced, intelligent magic is a complex. What we're seeing is not an unconscious living being, we're seeing a translation of the state of the magic into our terms. So in our terms the thing that is the gnome is unconscious, unable to interact with us but still present and whole."

"So how do we wake him up?" Eos asked.

"That, unfortunately, I don't know," James said.

"You seem to know a lot more about everything than you did when I left you, though," Rachel said. "So that's a good thing."

"Is it?" James asked Rachel. "Sometimes I'm not so sure."

"Sometimes," Lester said, although even he couldn't quite figure out why. "What you remember is that you have, oh, I don't know, a huge secret or something."

Lester then got the opportunity to add 'pointed glare' to the number of facial expressions he had now seen first hand that probably had never been observed previously on a mouse.

"Yes, well," James said loudly before anyone could respond to Lester's comment with anything awkward or troubling. "We could have a look around for some smelling salts or something. That might help."

"I thought you said it couldn't breathe," Eos said. "How would smelling salts help it?"

"Like I said, it's magic translated into a physical being, sometimes the translation works both ways, it's a kind of interaction of archetypal metaphors."

James paused long enough to realise that no one had any idea what it was he had just said.

"Trust me," James said. "We can try smelling salts, they may work."

"You're much smarter than you used to be," Rachel said. "That's cute."

With that they all made a move away from the gnome to look for smelling salts.

"Wait!" Eos said before they could go four paces. "We really can't just wander off and leave the gnome by himself. I'll stay."

"You shouldn't stay alone," Lester said. "I'll just go and have a look for something, you all stay here."

"I should go with you," James said. "I might be able to spot useful things."

"I'm not leaving you," Rachel said. "I'll have to go too."

"But I already said," Lester said. "We shouldn't leave Eos to watch the gnome by herself."

"Then you stay," Rachel said. "I'll take James to look for the smelly things."

Although the logic appeared sound Lester didn't exactly relish being left alone with Eos at the moment.

"This is a strange place," Lester said. "A little girl and a mouse can't walk about it by themselves."

"We're adventurers," Rachel said, sticking out her bottom lip. "We can do what we like."

"Well, if you like to get eaten by monsters in strange castles that's certainly true," Lester said.

"Lester!" James said. "There's no need to be unpleasant. Okay, look, Rachel, I promise we are not going to be split up. I'll go with Lester and have a look around for some smelling salts, or anything else that might help the gnome wake up. Once we've revived the gnome we'll get out of here, together. I promise."

"But..." Rachel said, her bottom lip was now quivering, and her eyes shone with tears. "We've... we've only just found one another. What if there's another broom?"

"Lester," James said, "despite appearances to the contrary, is a smart cookie, he'd never been caught on a flying broom before but he never ever makes the same mistake twice. You're just going to have to trust us."

Rachel miserably acquiesced to this and passed James over to Lester. The two of them skirted the edge of the stone slab and, before too long, found a set of steps down on one side. The view around the other four edges of the slab told them that this perch was built high up near the top of a mountain on a small shelf of rock.

Underneath the slab was a single layer of domestic type rooms, a dormitory, a living area and a kitchen. Most of it was abandoned and bare but the kitchen still had some bits and pieces left in the cupboards and shelves.

"So," Lester said, as he gathered together all the items they had discovered onto a small table. "You didn't tell her."

"I don't want to talk about it," James said.

"Well, I do," Lester said. For some reason James's cowardice, as he saw it, had really upset him. Lester was not a man given to deep moods but in this instance he was certainly approaching something like anger on the topic. "Until now we've been in a very similar position, you lost your daughter, I lost my brother. Now you have your daughter and you begin the reunion by lying to her. I just... don't think it's the right thing to do, that's all."

"Well, what if I don't care about your opinion one way or another?" James asked.

"That's not the point," Lester said. "You can't agree or disagree with the right thing to do. In the end telling lies to someone you love is always the wrong thing to do."

"I'm not sure that's true," James said. "I think sometimes things are more complicated than they might first appear."

"Oh what nonsense!" Lester replied. "You think it's the best thing to lie to people? I don't. When Chester left on his great adventure he promised me that he would write to me every week. He promised me he would be home soon. He promised me that he knew what he was doing. All lies. I'm sure he would probably have said he was doing the right thing but it wasn't was it? Now he's disappeared and all I have left of my brother is this stupid bottle of - oh!"

As Lester fumbled in his breast pocket the vial of liquid flew from his grasp, spinning end over end through the air.

"Wurgh!" Lester cried out stepping forward, stretching out his arm to attempt a mid-air catch.

The first step turned into a second wobbling grasp as the vial remained enticingly out of reach. With the second step Lester's hand brushed the vial altering its trajectory. Trying to adjust course as he went Lester tangled his ankles and dove down at full strength, determined not to lose the only clue he had to his brother's whereabouts.

Lester heard James squeaking and felt the mouse's claws digging into his neck. The little mouse was clinging on for dear life as Lester crashed into the floor. The vial of liquid fell into Lester's outstretched palm and he curled his fingers, attempting to grasp the vial firmly. All he succeeded in doing was providing a ramp for the vial, powered by inertia, to run up before it flew a few more inches through the air to tap delicately against the stone floor of the kitchen.

The vial didn't shatter but a spider web of cracks spread out through its bottom half. The, now delicate, vial rolled to a stop, whole but not to be trusted, a few inches further on from Lester's position.

"Oh dear," James said.

"Not good," Lester said. "Really not good."

"Well, there is a small up side," James replied. "We are in a kitchen, however abandoned that kitchen may be. We should be able to locate some alternative vessel for the potion, if we're careful."

"Careful," Lester said, like the word tasted bad, "Right, careful."

Lester picked up the vial with a suitable amount of care and attention. He placed it, and James onto the nearby countertop.

"Hold on to this, very gently," Lester said. "I'm just going to find something to decant the potion into."

"Okay," James said, placing his paws onto the cracked surface of the vial. The cracks were so fine that even James could not really detect them by touch, only by looking at their gossamer white threads promising that, at any moment, the vial could shatter soaking its valuable contents into the wooden surface below.

"You know," James said, as Lester rooted through a cupboard filled with junk, "this could be the moment your brother referred to in his note, the one where you're supposed to drink the contents of the vial."

"You reckon?" Lester asked.

"Well, it would be one way to ensure that the contents would end up in their ultimate destination, i.e. your stomach," James pointed out.

"Don't you think that's a bit... arbitary?" Lester asked.

"To be honest," James said. "I find the whole business of gnomic prophecy to be a bit... eep."

"A bit eep?" Lester said. "I don't know that word. Is that another one of those terms from your place of origin, like interweb?"

James did not reply because James was looking into the shining, yellow, hungry eyes of the thing that had made him go eep. The shining, yellow, hungry eyes of a rugged looking tabby tom cat.

"Lester," James said, his voice low and urgent. "You might want to come and get the vial."

"Why?" Lester said standing up and seeing the unfolding drama of survival taking place on the nearby counter top.

"Because..." James said, as Lester hurried forward anticipating the probable impending second disaster, "I... think... I'm... about... to... have... to..."

Lester, showing a reflexive dexterity wholly absent from his last encounter with the forces of inertia and gravity, snatched the flying vial out of the air as James tossed it and scampered off toward the edge of the counter. Lester swiped out with his spare hand but it was just a little too slow to catch the, now energised, tom cat.

The stocky feline form exhibited surprising speed as it loped after James who was pelting hell for leather towards the end of the counter with no seeming plan for what to do when he reached his destination. Lester watched on in awe as James leapt from the end of the counter to dig his little rodent claws into the trailing edge of a dishrag which swung once forward and then once back before James hurled himself from the zenith of the rag's forward journey once more to land on the counter at the far end of the kitchen and lose himself in the pile of broken kitchen utensils someone had left there.

Undeterred the tomcat followed, keeping its eyes down and plodding amongst the twisted metal remains of pots, pans and various large utensils on its quest for fresh mouse.

"Keep moving, James," Lester said, trying to sneak up on the tom from behind. "Keep moving."

Lester could not see James, but then neither could the cat, as Lester came up behind the predatory beast. Lester attempted to pick the tom up by the scruff of the neck, but the cat was too fast for him. It wheeled around, eyes wide, mouth open, hissing and spitting at Lester. Lester, startled, recoiled from the creature's flashing white claws.

"Well," James cried, "here goes nothing."

Lester tore his attention away from the growling tom cat to see that James had reached an area near the wash basin. Stringing some dirty elastic between the exposed prongs of a ricer that had lost its head James had quickly improvised a kind of slingshot by wedging the ricer's handle into a slightly open drawer adjacent to the sink.

James pulled back on the elastic as far as he could before quickly spinning around in his 'seat' and being hurled from the counter all the way over to the opposite side of the room. He landed on top of a handle placed next to the hatch for some sort of dumb-waiter type device.

Despite the evident acrobatic impressiveness of this move the tom had since lost interest in James, continuing, as it did, to growl at Lester. James is safe, I guess, Lester thought, I'm not sure I am. No sooner had the thought formed than the aggressive feline launched itself at Lester's head, hissing and spitting. Lester braced himself for a face full of angry cat and was amazed when the animal failed to make contact.

"Oh," Lester heard James's voice filled with surprise. "Well, I guess that's okay then."

Lester opened his eyes, the tom was nowhere to be seen.

"Did it vanish?" Lester asked, somewhat befuddled.

"No, it's behind you," James said. "Just passed straight through your head."

"Passed straight..." Lester turned to see the cat sitting behind him, regarding him with naked, impotent hatred. "I don't understand," Lester said.

"I think it's dead," James said. "I think that's a ghost cat."

"A ghost cat?" Lester sounded shocked. "Can cats have ghosts?"

"Apparently they can here," James replied. "Oh, well, no harm, no foul, come get me and we'll... oh."

"No," Lester said. "Not, oh, we've had enough oh for today and I'm putting on an oh embargo. An embarg-oh, if you... oh."

"With a creaking, clanking slow inevitablity the lever next to the dumb waiter that Lester had landed on began to descend. Lester hurried over and scooped the mouse up before he could tumble off the end of the lever onto the floor. The lever, once it had started its journey, continued to move downwards until it had locked in the downward position.

"I guess that just brings the dumbwaiter up," Lester said. Examining the area around the device. "Probably nothing to... ah."

"Ah?" James said. "'Ah' is worse than 'oh', any man who says otherwise is a liar. What's the matter?"

Lester crossed to the dumb waiter and pressed a button next to the hatch immediately to the left of the lever that had just been activated. There was the slow and grinding noise of machinery operating behind the hatch. Eventually a broken bell sounded an off-key ping behind the hatch.

"I think that's the dumb waiter control," Lester said

"So what does that lever control then?" James asked.

Any answer was cut off by the sound of a low and eerie moan echoing up into the eyrie from some place far below thier feet.

"You had to ask, didn't you?" Lester said.

"I think, maybe," James answered. "It might be time for us to leave."

And so they did, but what happened after, and the tale of Saeed and Prince Weatherstrong catching the dastardly Miranda Felix, and the story of Phoebe September ridding herself of her burden and the answer to the question of how story books can change by themselves will all be told in another time and place, for the candle is low and it is, most assuredly, now time for bed.

END OF BOOK TWO

In Which Saeed Encounters A Masque In Jeopardy

Saeed was a young man who did not really look at the world in terms of security versus danger. Anyone outside of Saeed's life would have pointed out that by the time the young thief was old enough to appreciate security he was already living in a state of constant danger. This probably helped him to view dangerous situations with a cool and rational mind. To Saeed life was danger and vice versa. Not that he would say something so grandiose because only those people for whom life might not be danger would say them.

Saeed's phlegmatic attitude to sneaking around a cave network tracking a man in a dark cloak leading two muscular talking wolves carrying a pallet bearing a chest of dragon crystals was probably born of these life circumstances. Certainly Saeed did not resent Kalico for sending him on this mission, nor did he fear that he would be unable to return to the Patchwork Market with the intelligence that he had gained.

Did this make Saeed a hero? Or more of a fool? How large is the gap between these two states of being anyway? Saeed didn't bother himself too much with pontification on any of these topics. So you can if you want. In the meanwhile, however, Saeed continued to ease through the shadows following the man in the dark cloak and his consignment of mysterious Dragon Crystals.

After walking along a number of passageways, up various ramps carved into the rock and along winding extensive tunnel sections, Saeed decided that the party he was following were headed in roughly one direction and climbing upwards as they did so. They moved from the cold of the tunnels where they had arrived throughh the magic portal into an area that appeared to have more architecture.

They had not been walking too long before the man in the black cloak stopped outside a large wooden door. He opened the door with a key he retrieved from his belt and lead the wolves inside with the crystals. After a few minutes the man in the black cloak emerged alone, closed the door and locked it behind him. He continued on his way through the tunnel complex without the wolves or the dragon crystals.

Saeed had to make a split second decision, try to break into the cellar storage room to follow the crystals, or follow the man in the black cloak. He decided on the latter course of action because there was always a chance Saeed might be given the opportunity to steal the key from the man. Besides, Saeed knew the man had a wand that could open magic portals. Maybe he had just opened a portal back to Sorrowblade for the wolves inside that room.

What would Saeed do with a room full of dragon crystals? He didn't even know what dragon crystals were. The choice was really no choice. He must follow the man in the black cloak to find any further information on the situation.

The man soon came to a set of steps leading up out of the tunnel network. Saeed had to be careful now as the stairwell doubled back on itself every ten steps. Saeed could not allow himself to be seen but he didn't want to lose the man either. He had to stay two staircases behind and follow the footsteps.

At the top of the stairs there was a metal gate, the man unlocked it, passed through and locked it behind him. This was a disaster. Saeed had to stay out of sight one staircase down to evade detection. He heard the man lock the gate and walk away before he could hurry after. The gate was of the barred variety with three cross bars dividing the gate into fifteen narrow barred slits arranged in five colums of three gaps each.

Saeed could probably ease himself through, except for his head. His ears would probably cause a problem. He was sure he could best the slits eventually but what if he was discovered in the meanwhile? Saeed did not relish the thought of being captured. He would only come back here if he could not find another way out.

He returned down the stairwell to the bottom, where the cellar area was laid out. The passage stretched off for about three hundred paces in both directions. The way Saeed had come the passage terminated a ramp that curved away into the cave network, at the other in a blank wall. Doors were placed along the corridor at odd intervals. To the cave network end the doors were all blank stout wood. Towards the other end some had hatches at the height of an adult head.

Saeed recognised a prison cell when he saw one. He wondered if there were any prisoners down here. There was only one way to find out.

Saeed started with the cells at the far end of the passage and worked his way back towards the cell, knocking on each door as he went. After seven doors there had been no answer to his muted knocking. At the eighth he found what he had been looking for.

"Who's there?" came a voice.

"You are a prisoner of the man in the black cloak?" Saeed asked.

"Who are you?" the voice replied.

"My name is Saeed," Saeed said. "I am a thief from the streets of Old Araby. I have taken a vow to never again tell a lie and am seeking to reconcile the last untruth that crossed my lips with the spirit of my dead mother."

"Are you making some sort of a joke?" asked the voice. "Is this some sort of trap?"

"You are already in a trap my friend," Saeed replied. "Think seriously, would the man in the black cloak really try to play a trick on you concerning an honest thief addressing you through your cell door?"

"Cankerthorn is an odd duck, for certain," the voice responded. "Although he does not appear to have any whimsy about him. So, what are you doing here honest thief from a long vanished land?"

"This Cankerthorn," Saeed explained. "He is involved in business dealings with a certain knight at the Patchwork Market, I have been asked to find out the nature of these deals and report back to the Master of the Market."

"Sounds like the slimy toad who threw me in this room to die," the voice answered. "So why have you come here to disturb my long, silent captivity?"

"Cankerthorn has left this underground area via a staircase about two hundred paces hence. There is a locked gate at the head of the stairs and I am reluctant to attempt to bypass it without first assessing my options. You are my first option."

"What kind of an option is that, boy?" the voice asked. "I am no more than an old prisoner in a dank cell, lost and forgotten for centuries, in danger of coming undone at any moment and subliming into ether."

"Are you a djinn?" Saeed asked. He knew a little about beings of ether, djinn as they were called in Afsana.

"Ha, well, yes and no," the voice said. "I am of the primary order of sprite. I am a servant to my master, an agent of the great Wheel, as such my sub-species is actually referred to as a masque. Djinn are cousins of mine though."

"Well, as I understand it djinn have some power. Maybe we could assist one another. If I were to set you free, what could you do for me?"

"I do not think you will be able to set me free," the masque replied. "If you could then I would be able to return to my master's hands, he would be very grateful for my safe deliverance. I think this is a task that is too difficult for you."

"I am willing to try," Saeed said. "What is the harm."

"Ah, well, for that you will have to see my prison," the masque said. "Open the door to the cell, it is not locked. Have the utmost care as you do so, however, my life depends upon your stealth and dexterity."

Saeed smiled. "I flatter myself to believe that your health and well being could not be better entrusted to the stealth and dexterity of any other person," he said. "I shall open the door."

Taking heed of the masque's words Saeed carefully turned the handle of the door, lifting the latch and easing the door open on its heavy metal hinges. It complained and stuck a little but Saeed took care to open the door only as far as was necessary to slip inside.

Once he got into the cell, and his eyes adjusted to the gloomy interior of the chamber, Saeed understood the masque's concerns. A mirror was placed upon the floor of the cell and above it hung a sword suspended by a gossamer thread. Inside the body of the mirror Saeed could make out the sad face of the masque peering upwards at the sword hanging before it.

"Careful," the masque said. "The slightest disturbance and the thread may break, this isn't a mirror prison that can be opened by breaking the glass. In fact, if the glass is cracked I will be instantly constricted into the ether. It will take a great deal of magical energy to retrieve me then and, to be honest, I know of no magic worker that would ever bother."

"So how can I get you out?" Saeed asked, trying not to breathe in the direction of the sword.

"You need to turn the mirror upside down, that opens a portal into the tiny world inside the mirror. Do not try to pick up the mirror without first uncrewing it, it is held down. Do not attempt to pull down the sword, it is too heavy and has been enchanted to fall straight into the surface of the mirror at the slightest hint of interference."

"So I need to unscrew the mirror and slide it out from under the sword?" Saeed asked.

"You must remove all six screws that hold the mirror to the floor," the masque said. "Without the vibrations of the screws causing the sword to fall. It's an impossible task."

"Things that are tricky are not impossible," Saeed said. "That's why they call them tricky."

"I don't know," the masque said. "I think this is probably impossible."

"When I asked my mother," Saeed said, "what stopped the sorcerers from taking over Afsana and ruling the kingdoms of Araby with magic, she told me that magic was delicate and required a particular balance to work. Whenever an enchantment is cast there must always be some kind of an exception or loophole by which the enchantment may be undone. The powers that be do not permit the unchecked manipulation of magical forces."

"You talk of etheric philosophy with a sprite?" the masque complained. "I know this as well as anyone but I do not know the secret of Cankerthorn's enchantment."

"Maybe we do not need to," Saeed said. "I shall survey further the resources available and return with a solution."

"I'm glad you're so confident," the masque said, his lack of faith in Saeed showed through in every word.

Saeed didn't allow the misery to affect him. In Saeed's world you could either get something done or it was impossible, there was no sense in worrying about whether a task fell into one category or the other. He slipped out of the cell door again to make his way down the corridor, past the stairway and into the side of the passage lined with storage rooms rather than prison cells.

It didn't take him long to find an unlocked door. It appeared that the storage nearest the stairs was used to store the things that were most common. He found a maintenance room filled with mops, small towels, bottles of chemicals, rags, buckets and other ephemera associated with running a clean castle and dungeon. In here Saeed found a tool suitable for unscrewing the mirror from the floor. The only question was whether he could do all six without the sword falling and dispersing the masque.

Saeed did not think that he could specifically achieve this without some further assistance. So he continued to search the storage rooms. Four rooms further on he found an armory. He immediately took note when he saw that the items in the room all glowed with a soft blue-white light indicating that they were imbued with some sort of magic.

Saeed looked over a rack of buckler shields all of which shared the luminous property. Logically it did not seem that one would enchant a shield to weaken it. An idea began to form in Saeed's mind. Saeed took the screwdriver he had pulled out of the box in the maintenance room and tried to gouge or scuff the surface of one of the bucklers. The tip of the screwdriver could not even make the smallest scratch upon the shield's surface.

"I think that this will be an excellent solution," Saeed muttered under his breath, lifting the buckler from the rack.

He made his way back down the corridor to the masque's cell. He had to slide the buckler carefully through the door to rest against the wall before entering the room himself. As Saeed squeezed himself round the door he could hear the masque tutting and fretting to itself.

Once he was in Saeed crept forward to the edge of the mirror.

"I have a solution," he said to the masque in the hushed tone he had become used to when crouching near to the sword.

"What is it?" the masque asked, it did not sound happy but maybe there was an edge of hope in its voice.

"I have a magic buckler," Saeed explained. "It repels damage. I also have a screwdriver," he held up the tool so the masque could see it, "I will slide the magic buckler under the sword and attempt to unscrew the mirror. If the sword falls it will not strike the surface of the mirror. If you are not sure that this is adequate then I am afraid my only other option is to leave."

The masque thought this over for a moment, then it said:

"I have been trapped behind this glass for far too long, if I am dispersed then there is always some hope that a magician will pull me out of the ether one day. While I wait in here I have no such hope. Put the shield over my mirror and proceed with your plan."

Saeed did as he was told. He put the buckler carefully under the point of the sword before beginning to work out the screws that held the mirror down on the stone floor of the cell. He managed to unscrew four of the six without incident, the fifth he attempted turned out to have been caught on its thread. Swiftly he switched to the other remaining screw, undoing that one before returning to the one that had stuck.

He tried to bear down on the screw, pressing his weight onto the screwdriver head to give it more purchase. The screw slowly began to turn but as it did there was the merest vibration as part of the thread ground against the stone of the screwhole. The tiny quiver seemed to expand out through the stone walls of the cell and eventually reached the thread that suspended the sword over the buckler.

The blade of the sword sang the lightest, quietest high note you can imagine and then the thread snapped.

Saeed rolled back out of the way of the blade, hoping the buckler's magic would hold. It did hold, just but the point of the magic sword pierced the protective energy surrounding the shield resulting in a bright white flash as the magical energy dispelled. The sword fell to the floor, no longer a threat but the force of the magical discharge was sufficient to blow the shield into the air to spin above the mirror.

If the shield caught the glass the wrong way when it fell the glass would shatter. The sword had been enchanted to fall towards the mirror but the shield was not. Saeed leaped forward plucking the shield out of the air before it could strike the mirror's surface to land against the cell wall, breathing heavily, his heart hammering in his throat.

"So, have you finished?" came the voice of the masque.

Saeed nearly burst out laughing as the tension gripping his insides dispelled. He scrambled back to the last screw and quickly removed it.

"All done!" he announced. "Are you ready?"

"I can't believe that I am about to be freed," the masque rejoiced. "Please, quickly."

Saeed picked up the mirror and held it out in front of him. He flipped it round so that the surface was facing downwards. There was a feeling of movement from the bottom of the mirror and the masque dislodged itself from its prison.

The masque, that resembled a tiny goblin dressed in a fool's motley, jumped down onto the floor of the cell. It worked any kinks out of its muscles by doing a little jig.

"Oh yes!" it crowed. "Free! Free! Free at last! I can feel my powers returning." It turned to look up at Saeed as the young thief rested the mirror prison carefully against one wall. "I have been so long in that mirror that I will need a little time to rest and recharge," it said. "So I will leave you to receive appropriate thanks from my master. For my own part I can only assure you that you have rendered myself, and hence the forces of the wheel a great service on this day Saeed. I bid you farewell."

With that the little sprite reached up to fiddle with something behind his left ear. He unhooked something and pulled at the corner of his face. Saeed was amazed to see the spirit's face come away in his hand. The little sprite gripped at the freshly exposed edge and pulled his face right off.

Saeed didn't know by what mechanism a tiny little goblin in motley became the curled up figure of a tall, thin man dressed in a great coat, a tall hat proud upon his head, but the transformation happened. The man held a mask, moulded into the shape of the little sprite's face, in his left hand. This new figure filled the room with a great deal more presence than his servant.

Saeed did not know much about the nature of gods, or the difference between gods and powerful djinn, but he knew magical power when he saw it, ever since he had seen the shade of death standing over the body of his mother.

"Saeed ibn Abihi, an honour to make your direct acquaintance," the man in the tall hat said. He grinned a white and perfect grin that made Saeed want to go and pick a pocket, just to prove he could.

"You have the advantage of me, sir," Saeed said politely. "I am afraid that I do not know your name."

"Some days," the man in the tall hat said, "I can hardly remember my own name, so there's no shame in it escaping someone else. I must thank you for returning this little masque to me. Every one of my missing children is like a small shard of glass in my tender heart. Every one returned a blessed relief."

"I am happy to be of service, sir," Saeed said. "Your servant was of the opinion that you may wish to render me some assistance in return. If you could that would lighten the load on my heart, for I am far from home and a little lost."

"Indeed you are," the man in the tall hat said as if he knew every move that Saeed had ever made, and who was to say that he didn't? "So, where would you like to go? The souk?"

"Oh no, sir," Saeed said. "When I lost my mother in the souk it ceased to be my home. In truth I would like to be nowhere better than by her side again, so that I could apologise for the lie that I told her when she was alive."

"If I could send you straight there I would," the man in the tall hat said. "You have some more to do before that day comes."

"Then I should return to Kalico, the Master of the Patchwork Market," Saeed said. "It is for his sake that I have made my present journey and I have much to report to him."

"Kalico," the man in the tall hat said. "Like the Master of every Market I have had some occasion to cut a deal with that individual. He has a heart of stone but it burns in the centre like a furnace. I can take you back to the Master's Tower in the blink of an eye, if you're sure that's where you want to go."

"I made him a promise," Saeed said. "If I do not honour it then I will have gone against the vow I made to always be honest."

"I love a paradox!" the man in the tall hat crowed. "And you my little honest thief are one of life's golden nuggets in that regard. Now, I left a door round here somewhere. I tend to leave them wherever I go and Cankerthorn has certainly earned my attention in the past."

The man in the tall hat opened the door of the cell and, Saeed following along behind, walked down to the blank wall at the end of the passage. He reached out into the blank stone of the wall and undid a latch hidden, seemingly, inside the rock. He pulled open a wooden door that emerged from the dead end in a similar manner to the one in which a tiny goblin had turned into a thin man in a tall hat.

Saeed peered through the open doorway and was amazed to see Kalico, sat at his desk, his back to the door. The Master of the Market was mere feet away, working, oblivious to the man in the tall hat or Saeed.

"He won't hear you until you step through," the man explained. "It's the way my connecting doors work."

"Thank you, sir," Saeed said happily. "I am honoured to receive your assistance."

"Think nothing of it," the man in the tall hat replied. "If you were stuck here then how would it come that the weave would deliver you back to me at the appointed hour?"

"Am I to understand that we should meet again?" Saeed asked, choosing his words carefully.

Careful or not the man in the tall hat said nothing, just motioned for Saeed to step forward as the wide, white smile shone out of wide, thin-lipped mouth.


Saeed stepped forward without receiving an answer to his question, in the fullness of time he did meet with the man in the tall hat again, but that is a story for another time.

In Which Saeed Visits The City of Sorrowblade

Life, Saeed considered, is filled with hard lessons. The hard lesson that had occasioned this consideration was thus: Do not take the terms of a deal with the Master of the Patchwork Market lightly. Saeed had believed that the restoration of Princess Butterstone's brother, in reasonable health, from his place of captivity would satisfy the deal he had made with Kalico.

The Master of the Market had told Saeed upon his return to the Master's Tower that the agreement was null and void. If Saeed wanted a market seal he would have to do one more job. When Saeed had objected Kalico pointed out the clause in their verbal agreement that required the matter be handled 'with discretion'. Saeed took a moment to reflect and came to the conclusion that the explosion and resultant damage to Sir Vaskorn's plaza, not to mention the confrontation between Vaskorn's mercenaries and the Market Watch that had followed, could hardly be described as 'discreet'.

Saeed's only options were to get angry about the matter or to accept his own shortcomings. A thief Saeed was, hot tempered he was not. So Saeed had, with unspoken sadness and frustration, accepted the master's ruling.

"I knew you had wisdom," Kalico grinned, as he sat behind his large flat desk. The Master of the Market was relaxed, he exercised power with an air of great assurance. He smiled like a shark and had eyes like a snake. Underneath it all, Saeed believed, there was a heart that was, if not good, at least ethical. "Maybe the sting of my harsh ruling will be lessened if I tell you the nature of the job I wish you to do."

"Perhaps," Saeed said, although he could not imagine it.

"What if I told you that yesterday's little disturbance was not the first time that Sir Vaskorn's activities have attracted unwelcome attention?" Kalico asked, his tone smooth and measured.

Saeed could not help but lean forward a little. He had not liked the giant knight one little bit. Sir Vaskorn was a bully, filled with rage, who frightened people into obedience. Any chance Saeed was given to undermine a man like that was a chance to do good in the name of his mother.

Kalico's smile neither grew nor did it falter.

"A wise boy and an excellent thief," Kalico said. "I shall not be able to cut too many deals to my advantage with this one."

Only then did Kalico's facial expression change, it grew darker, the grin disappeared as Kalico sat forward over his desk.

"Before the close of market on Duesday," Kalico said, "One of Vaskorn's men has been observed leaving the market upon a certain bridge to one of the darker far off shadows. The same knight returns upon the following Stockday accompanied by two talking wolves pulling a cart of treasure, the treasure goes onto Vaskorn's plaza. At that point I lose track of it.

"I have, of course, performed routine inspections of Vaskorn's plaza, as I do all pitches in the market, in order to assess the dues to be paid for the upkeep of the market as a whole. My watch have never found evidence of the chests or their contents upon the plaza.

"Aside from the possible dues evasion issue," Kalico said, a new darkness settling into his tone at the mention of 'dues evasion', "there are other matters at hand. For a start nobody knows what is in the chest, nobody knows where the chest comes from and nobody knows what happens to the chest or its contents after it disappears onto Vaskorn's plaza.

"As you have already observed all confrontations between Vaskorn's men and my watch have the potential to turn ugly. It would not be the right play for me to directly confront a dues paying merchant when I do not know what the outcome will be for the market or its other patrons. The Patchwork Market has long held a reputation as being not only the biggest and best market in the lands of Faerie but also a far safer place to bring your coin purse than many smaller establishments. A street war is not something that anyone wants.

"The particulars of market lore prevent me from hiring a retinue of intelligencers but they say nothing about how I choose to reclaim the debt of a thief that I have found causing a disturbance on the plazas. So you see, as much as I may wish to dispense you a seal and send you upon your way, right now I need your particular skills more than I need to be praised for my benevolent generosity.

"Besides, I think I would be right in saying that you are not overly displeased to be offered an opportunity to redress the power balance problem I have with one of my wealthiest patrons."

Saeed could feel the beginnings of a smile start upon his own lips. Kalico's judgement was stern but it could not be argued against.

"Indeed you would not be wrong, Master," Saeed said. "I would be happy to provide you with this service, but I cannot, a second time, allow you the opportunity of a loophole. I am as keen as anyone to see Vaskorn properly hemmed in, but I am more concerned about the progress of my journey towards my mother. If I cannot be assured that I will secure the seal by the performance of this latest task I will have to leave the market and find another road upon my journey. I am sure that, as this would mean that everybody loses, no one here wants this to be the case."

"You argue eloquently," Kalico said. "Be assured that if I find out where the chest comes from, what it contains and where the contents end up, I shall happily furnish you with the seal you require. Discretion in this matter is obviously vital. If Vaskorn catches you I don't have to tell you how badly things would go for you. I also have to inform you that I will not be able to vouch for you if he brings you to me. This matter cannot be sensibly resolved if Vaskorn knows what I have been up to."

"I understand," Saeed said. "As I will not be encumbered by either a weakened prince in a state of confusion or a requirement to make noise it shall be just as if I am not there at all."

"Let us hope for all our sakes that you are neither proud nor boastful," Kalico said.

By the following Duesday Saeed had been given a good three nights to consider the extent of his own arrogance. He had come to the conclusion that a little arrogance was required of a thief, therefore he could only hope that his own was not excessive.

Vaskorn's knight appeared before the noon bell, heading out along the bridge that the Market Watch had pointed out to him. The bridge lead out through the rainbow mists to a shadow called Sorrowblade. This was not a land that Saeed was keen to visit again once he had left this time.

A large city sprawled up the sides of a valley directly upon the far side of the bridge. The sky here was a strange reddish purple. Upon the horizon Saeed could make out the tall stacks of vast chimneys constructed from dark mud bricks.

The same bricks were used to build everything in Sorrowblade, the walls, the roads, the buildings. There was no sign of nature excepting small walled beds of black earth from which there sprung coils of sickly white creeping plants with no leaves. The wind that blew through the valley was warm and dry, it filled Saeed's nose and mouth, drying his throat and leaving a taste like baked bricks and vinegar.

The domain of Sorrowblade was a sad place indeed, buried in bricks and steeped in wickedness.

Thankfully the city streets were a natural home to shadows and the rooftops were high. Saeed did not find it a challenge to follow along behind Vaskorn's agent unseen. The citizens of Sorrowblade all appeared to be talking animals of the ferocious variety. Many were wolves but there were bears and foxes alongside tall rodentine men who obviously had ancenstry among rats, mice, ferrets and weasels. There were also a fair few of the more evolved lizard men living and working in the city.

Saeed recognised the way that the people of Sorrowblade were divided as being very similar to the social divisions of the souk in Afsana. Many of the wolves, bears and foxes were well dressed, they treated the rodents and lizards with contempt, shouting at them and ordering them about. Saeed couldn't help feeling a little sorry for some of them, particularly those who resembled white-furred mice who were not just smaller than their lupine and ursine fellows but also a good deal meeker. In much the same manner as the meek souk residents had been regularly bullied and abused by the palace guards of Afsana so these little fellows were the butt of cruel practical jokes or bore the brunt of horrible abuse from the ferocious bears and wolves.

Saeed followed Vaskorn's knight along a number of streets and over a gigantic square. In the centre of the square was an enormous statue of a jackal sitting upon a throne. The statue's eyes glowered down upon the throng of Sorrowblade citizenry with suspicion.

Vaskorn's knight headed into an alley and down a set of steps into a cellar building. At the door of the cellar the knight's identity was confirmed before he was allowed entry. After he had gone inside the door was locked behind the knight.

He moved from the shadows where he was standing back to the corner of the alleyway. Thankfully there was a low building, two stories high not far away from which he could look at the cellar in the alley and also the front of the same building. That way he would be able to see if the knight returned to continue his journey before evening. Saeed scaled a drainpipe at the side of the building and took up a position at the edge of the roof.

It didn't take long until Saeed began to feel that he was being watched. The entire oppressive atmosphere of Sorrowblade was enough to generate a certain level of paranoia but Saeed began to feel that this was not all there was to his feelings. He surveyed the rooftop and it did not take him long to spot a pair of sleek black cats regarding him with almost total disinterest from the opposite side of the roof.

Upon making eye contact one of the cats stood up, stretched and slunk over to sit beside Saeed on the roof ledge.

"Monkey two legs," the cat said. "Not often we see one of your kind on our streets, let alone within the kingdom of the cats."

"Apologies for my intrusion," Saeed said. "I was not aware that this vantage point belonged to anyone. I promise I will be no trouble and I will be gone soon."

"I am not overly concerned about your presence here, monkey two legs," the cat said. "I barely care enough even to be having this conversation with you. Still, you are strange in my world and I do have a little time for strange things. Would you care to tell me why you come to Sorrowblade? This city is so hostile to your people that you have to hide away in the Cat Kingdom lest you be savaged by a wolf or bear."

"There is another man here," Saeed said. "He comes from the Patchwork Market of Bridgetown and soon he will return there bearing a chest. I just wished to know where the chest came from, and now I do."

"Why do you care?" the cat asked. "What is in the chest?"

"I don't know, this is something else that I need to find out."

"That building is one that has a hot roof," the cat said. "It is not part of the Cat Kingdom. A mischief worker plies his trade inside those walls. A cat goes in, it never comes out."

"What does the mischief worker do?" asked Saeed.

"Works mischief," the cat said in a tone of voice that communicated just how stupid it considered Saeed to be. "All kinds, many kinds fatal. The mischief man has a book of monkey markings, even though he is descended from the play food. We stay away."

"Thank you," Saeed said. "That is very helpful."

"It was not intended to be helpful," the cat said. "And I do not care for your thanks, they are neither soft to sleep on, nor good to eat. I am bored now."

The cat turned and walked away to its companion. After a brief conversation the two of them hopped off the edge of the roof and retreated away from Saeed's position.

The afternoon wore on, the stalls in the square began to close up, a lizard man swept up in front of a stall that advertised itself as a barber's. Saeed assumed the lizard was not the barber, after all who would trust a barber with scales instead of hair? Satisfied that the knight was not going to leave that day and keen not to be caught in Sorrowblade after dark Saeed returned to the Patchwork Market to report his findings to Kalico.

The following Stockday Saeed was waiting by the Sorrowblade Bridge as the knight, accompanied by two wolves on their hind legs, dressed in relatively fine clothes and pulling a cart behind them, returned to Bridgetown.

By the time they arrived the evening bell had rung and the streets of the market were mostly dark and silent. A few of the plazas, particularly those that offered food, entertainment and lodgings (all gathered into the cosmopolitan quarter), were still operating. The knight and the wolves avoided these plazas, sticking instead to the mercantile plazas, all of which were closed for business.

They were even careful to avoid the all night tobacconist stands and appeared to be on a constant lookout for the watch.

Not needing to gain access to Vaskorn's basement area this time, and having already located his prize, Saeed skipped along the beams of the roof tops, only coming down when he needed to cross a bridge behind the knight and the wolves.

Before long they reached Vaskorn's plaza. Saeed took the opportunity to quickly circle the high walls of the area checking for weak spots. This time, the urgency of his mission having decreased as no one's life was on the line, Saeed found a small hole which allowed access for plumbing pipes, gas works and ventilation ducts. Vaskorn's plaza was well defended but it did take advantage of some things that could only be distributed through the market network.

Saeed squeezed through this hole and found himself in the rafters above the plaza, looking down upon the neatly cobbled streets of Vaskorn's domain.

The knight, wolves and their cargo were admitted via the main portcullis and crossed into the small square where Vaskorn and Kalico had confronted one another the previous Longday. A scaffold had been erected over the covered ramp that Prince Butterstone had blown apart, the stocks that Vaskorn had vandalised remained broken.

The knight crossed the square and entered the main building on the plaza via a stout wooden door. After a few minutes the knight returned with another man Saeed did not recognize. The man wore a long dark cloak made of a rich material. He also wore a broad brimmed hat topped with s single green feather stuck into a silk band that was held in place by a jewelled buckle at the front. The quality of the man's attire lead Saeed to believe he was royalty.

"I don't like doing this in the square," the man complained as they crossed to the cart. "It's too exposed."

"Unfortunately the basement rooms are not safe at present, after our accident with the detonating powder," the knight said.

"I hope that teaches you to be more careful with explosives in the future," the man said. "I always thought that Vaskorn was too cavalier in such matters."

"Indeed," the knight said. "Would you care to inspect the shipment?"

"Of course," the man said. "The second thing they teach you growing up in the House of Mossdark is never to trust a Sorrowblader, no offence," he said to the wolves with no hint of sincerity. The wolves didn't appear to be paying much attention anyway.

Vaskorn's knight took a key from a chain about his neck and opened up the chest a little way. A sliver of white-green light spilled out from inside. Before Saeed could get a good look at the contents the man in the cloak held up a hand.

"Not too far," he said. "You can still see the light of dragon crystals from an open plaza, even if you can't see the plaza."

Dragon crystals, Saeed noted. He didn't know what dragon crystals were, but he noted the name for Kalico anyway.

The man in the cloak squinted past the light into the chest and, after a few moments, waved for the chest to be closed. Once that was done he pulled a purse of coin from his cloak and handed it to Vaskorn's knight. Then he produced a stubby stout wooden wand and waved it vaguely in the air in front of the treasure wagon.

A glittering portal opened up in the square and the wolves, who seemed unimpressed by all of the proceedings, followed the man in the dark cloak through the portal which immediately began to shrink and close.

Panic gripped Saeed's heart. He had seen where the chest had come from and he had discovered what was inside. All he knew of where the crystals went was that a man in a dark cloak took them through a magical portal.

Vaskorn's knight was already halfway across the plaza, his back to the closing hole in reality behind him. Thankfully the void had to be big enough to allow a cart pulled by two large man-wolves to pass through it. Without thinking too hard on the decision Saeed jumped down from the rafters sped across the square and dove through the closing portal before it had quite disappeared.

Saeed landed roughly upon a cold stone floor in a broad passageway. There were no windows and it was both damp and cold. Saeed guessed he must be somewhere underground. Up ahead some distance he could see the back of the cart as the wolves pulled it onwards. Once they had delivered the cargo Saeed reasoned they must be allowed to return to Vaskorn's plaza. Only the chest disappeared from view.

Saeed's only option was to follow on behind and hope he could get through the second portal to return him on his way. In the meantime he had to find out who the man in the black cloak was and, if at all possible, what he was doing with chest after chest of dragon crystals. This he did, and returned to the market with news for Kalico, but the ins and outs of the situation are a tale for another day.

A Bad Night In Bridgetown

"Told you Patchwork Jack would show you the way," said the ghost urchin. "Course the business has changed but this is definitely the place the Rainbow Grease stall used to be."

Lester was almost relieved to see his former pitch occupied by another trader. He did not believe himself to be cut out for the life of a goblin merchant. He would never have  taken on the job if it hadn't been for the sales patter of that mysterious man in the top hat.

"Things seem interesting," said a voice behind him as he looked at the newly erected stall. A pest control service that stood upon the pitch where 'Neptune & Sons Rainbow Grease Emporium' had once plied its trade. "Even if they haven't worked out quite the way you planned."

Lester turned to see the grinning man in the top hat, his eyes just as vulpine as they were upon their last meeting. His teeth shone a dazzling white that made Lester giddy whenever he focused upon them.

"You," Lester said. "you told me that if I took on that stall then I would start on the journey to find my brother."

"Who says you haven't?" the man asked.

"Do you know this man?" James piped up from Lester's shoulder.

"Know me?" the man said. "Who really knows me, James Rummage?"

"My name," James said. "You know my name."

"You never told me you had a surname," Lester said. He was annoyed that James had not shared this with him but he couldn't exactly say why that should be.

"I had forgotten, until he said it," James explained. His amazement at the recovered memory appeared to render him incapable of being irritable for a moment.

"Destiny has big things in store, Lester and James," the man said. "Right now, in order to set you on the right path, I think you might need this."

The man reached into the folds of his greatcoat and pulled out a tiny metal dragon. The man flipped the beast over and moved a switch on its belly. The toy pulled itself back upright. It looked about as if surprised to be on a man's palm in the heart of the Patchwork Market and flexed its wings experimentally.

Appearing happy with its initial movements the dragon flicked its wings faster and took off into the air. It buzzed around the man's head before swooping over to land on Lester's right shoulder.

"There we go Master Topping," the man said. "I have brought a sense of balance. If not to your life, at least to your shoulders."

Lester turned his head to look at the tiny metal dragon. The dragon looked up at him with tiny, inquisitive eyes made out of turquoise beads. On his left shoulder James made a tiny, wet popping noise.

"What is it with all the dragons?" Lester asked. "And who are you anyw-"

As Lester raised his head to look in the direction of the man once more he could not help but notice that the man was no longer there.

"Where did he go?" Lester asked.

"I don't know," James said. "I sneezed, that made me blink, when I opened my eyes he'd gone."

"I'm beginning to think there's more to that man than first meets the eye," Lester said.

"Really, what was your first clue?" James asked.

"We've talked about this sarcasm issue before," Lester said.

"Yes, and the conclusion was that it was your problem, not mine," James replied. Lester was sure the insufferable rodent was smiling. A mouse's face, being what it was, James remained relatively inscrutable.

Lester could hear the mechanical dragon ticking gently on his shoulder. He turned his head and studied it again. The blank, turquoise eyes stared back.

"What do you supposed he gave me this for?" Lester asked.

"If the last couple of days have told me anything," James replied, "it is that all things become plain in their own time. Shall we see how everyone else is getting along?"

"Oh, yes, no problem," Lester said, focusing back upon the wider space around him. They headed through the crowds, towards the sign for "Riseandshine & Titsadaisy". As they approached the stall the sound of voices came floating out from the interior.

"They will have gone along the trade routes, and if they haven't then they'll probably be lost. Tabarnas only knows the trade routes," said an old, female voice, scratchy but strident. Lester didn't recognise it.

"Do you have a map of the trade routes?" Sir Cobb, Lester couldn't help a slight sneering twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"I think I do have one, but only one, in stock. Very detailed, no more than four decades old," the old woman said. "I could part with it for something in the region of a half crown."

"Would three florins be region enough," a female voice that made Lester's heart flutter in his chest, Phoebe.

Lester reached the flap at the entrance to the merchant's stall to see the vignette of trade laid out. Sir Cobb and Phoebe were stood on one side of a counter top looking up at a wizened old goblin woman. The goblin clutched a rolled up document in her hand. The princess was poking around in a pile of junk in the far corner, looking extremely bored.

"They forgot the first rule again," James said in Lester's ear. "Always keep two eyes on the princess."

Lester slid into the stall and crossed the space between Sir Cobb and Phoebe to stand behind Princess Anabyl. He cleared his throat. Princess Anabyl's head whipped round, her brow knitted, there was a dark expression on her face.

"Maybe we could try to find James's friend without causing any kind of an incident," Lester said quietly.

"Where's the fun in that?" the Princess asked darkly.

"Come on you three," said Phoebe's voice behind them, all business. "We've got to get the princess to the Master's Tower."

"Where's Rachel?" James asked, Lester identified a note of worry in his voice.

"Ah, well, about that," Sir Cobb said, looking sheepish.

"She's not here, is she?" James wailed. "Where's she gone?"

"As it happens," Phoebe explained, "to look for you."

"Don't worry," Sir Cobb said. "She's with Tabarnas, they'll stick to the trade routes."

"Lester," Phoebe asked, "What's that on your other shoulder?" It was a game attempt to divert the conversation away from James's separation anxiety

"It's a dragon, um, a mechanical one," Lester replied.

"Why have you got a tiny, mechanical dragon on your shoulder," Phoebe asked.

"Can I have a look?" the princess asked before anyone else could speak up. Although the words were organised like a question they sounded like a demand.

"Er, well, the man in the top hat gave me this," Lester said. "I think I might need it to find my brother."

"Really?" Phoebe asked. "A man in a top hat gave you a mechanical dragon and told you it would help you find your brother?"

"Well, not in so many words but..."

The dragon, possibly sensitive to being discussed started to whirr and click. Lester craned his neck round to see the little creature buzz up into the air of the tent, spiralling and wheeling.

"Oh, no!" Lester said. "Quick, catch it!"

"Any damage must be paid for!" the old woman behind the counter cried out. The dragon swooped past the decrepit goblin, nearly catching her nose and then shot out of the flap into the market place.

"After it!" Lester cried out and chased the dragon out into the crowds of the Patchwork Market.

Before they knew it all five of them were following the tiny sparkling sliver shape of the dragon as it buzzed over Master's Quarter. The dragon whizzed forward, above the heads of the jostling crowd. It appeared bent upon some unknown purpose, not caring at all about the small party attempting to follow on behind.

The dragon lead them across several bridges, through numerous plazas. It was always too fast for them to catch it but never fast enough to give them a slip. Before long they found themselves running over a broad crossing place. They were all heading towards a portcullis leading onto a strange, dark plaza.

The dragon flitted through a hole in the portcullis and was gone.

"Oh! Oh no!" Lester shouted. "What's going on? I don't understand any of this."

"Come on, old chap," Sir Cobb said coming to stand beside him. "We'll just knock on the door and ask if we can come in to look for our mechancal..."

The end of Sir Cobb's sentence was rendered incomprehensible. A mighty explosion shook the plaza and those surrounding it. Everyone looked in the direction of the portcullis.

"What the hell was that?" Phoebe asked, her voice sounded as if it was coming through a cotton wool blanket.

The princess was already heading for the portcullis a look of unholy glee on her face.

"Oh, no, seriously, not again," James said from Lester's shoulder.

"My life has become so much more complicated ever since I..." Lester was trying to remember when his life had not been so complicated but he drew a blank. He looked about for something that could be used to safely restrain a psychotic young noble. All he could really register in his survey was the cylinder of a top hat.

"Hey, you!" Lester called racing towards the owner of the top hat. "Your dragon! Is that what caused this explosion?"

"What dragon?" came back the response, not male, not smooth and also not the person who had given Lester the mechanical toy.

"Who are you?" Lester asked the pretty young woman in black pyjamas, wearing an incongruous top hat.

"I am Princess Lilith Butterstone," replied the young woman. "Who are you?"

"Another princess," James said. "Just what we needed."

The excitement on the plaza beyond the portcullis had not abated. There was the sound of a mighty roar of anger and then a cracking, splintering noise.

"That doesn't sound like fun," Sir Cobb said.

"My brother!" Princess Butterstone cried out. She raced past Lester in the direction of the portcullis. She didn't get all the way as Phoebe caught the young woman by the arm as she came past. "What are you doing," screamed the Princess. "Get off me!"

"If you want to stand a chance of rescuing your brother," Phoebe said. "You'll do exactly as I say. Right now I say stand back." Phoebe turned her attention to the other rogue princess in the area. "Anabyl," she said. "Come over here, right now."

"Are you going to do what I think you're going to do?" Anabyl asked, delighted.

"I don't know..." Phoebe said, raising her right arm as Anabyl drew in close. A huge ball of pink-red plasma blasted a hole in the portcullis. "Were you expecting that?"

"I think, to be honest," James said. "We were all expecting that."

The party ran up towards the hole. Sir Cobb ran through first, drawing his sword (which babbled away to its owner excitedly). He was followed by Princess Butterstone, Phoebe and Princess Anabyl. Lester and James brought up the rear, being of limited value in the midst of a battle.

"Lester, what do you think you're doing?" James asked as they stepped through the still smouldering hole in the gate.

Lester paused and peered through the smoke beyond the gate. he was in time to see a gigantic knight bring a gigantic piece of wood down on top of someone lying on the floor. Various other knights stood around the plaza, weapons drawn. Smoke billowed from a hatch on the far side of the square.

Some more plasma, light blue this time, incinerated the end of the wooden pole before it could crush the skull of the man on the ground.

"That's it!" Phoebe called. "I'm out until I've had a good meal, a nap and, if possible a hot bath."

"Raaaargh!" the giant knight roared at the intruders, furious beyond sense. "Grarrgh! Arrrgh!"

Sir Cobb was closest. He swung his silver sword at the knight's armoured arm. It did not look as if he was trying to kill the giant, just to pull his attention away from the man on the floor. The giant stepped out of the way of the swing and hit Sir Cobb full in the face with the heel of the opposite palm.

The blow picked Sir Cobb up off his feet. It sent him flying backwards across the plaza, arms flopping like a rag doll.

"Vaskorn!" Princess Butterworth called out to the knight. "Leave these people alone and face me!"

The giant knight, Vaskorn, turned to look at Princess Butterstone. The princess was holding two fighting daggers and looked as if she meant business. She had planted her feet wide and set her shoulders ready for combat. Lester felt his heart twitch the way it had the first time he'd seen Phoebe September.

Lester knew he was a nice boy, a hopeless romantic, and also prone to fickleness in his affections. It was probably a good job that none of the women who caught his eye even gave him a second glance.

Vaskorn's brow knit, the giant turned his huge body to face the little girl threatening him with two tiny little daggers. He threw back his head and bellowed with laughter.

"Oh... oh no," he shouted, his voice filled with mockery. "The little girl has come to defend her half-starved, deafened and confused brother. Not only that, she's brought with her a witch who's run out of magic and an idiot with a silver toothpick. Not to mention the girl even smaller than her, the carnival barker and the mouse. What am I supposed to do armed only with legendary strength and a personal guard of twenty highly armed mercenaries? Well? Any suggestions?"

A silence descended over the plaza.

"I'm a _talking_ mouse." shouted James. For once, everyone was listening.

The comment dropped into an even deeper, longer silence. Then Vaskorn threw back his head a second time and laughed some more. When the fit of hilarity had passed Vaskorn's face turned grim.

"Guards," he commanded. "Round up these prisoners."

"Prisoners no more!" cried a tiny voice from the gloom above the plaza. "Onwards! To freedom!"

Vaskorn looked up, unsure how to feel about strange voices issuing from the darkness. A gnome fell out of the sky, trailing rainbow colours behind it. It hit Vaskorn in the face, bouncing off the gigantic knight to land on the plaza floor a few feet distant. Before Vaskorn could react a second gnome fell out of the sky and a third, a fourth. There followed a tumultuous shower of tiny earth sprites. Many of these hit Vaskorn full in his dark expression of consternation and confusion.

Before too long a few hundred gnomes had completely buried the knight. They scrambled and scampered away from him to leave the red-faced and fuming knight beside himself with fury.

"Kill them!" he screamed. "Kill them all!"

"Nobody will be killing anybody in the Patchwork Market today!" called out a clear voice imbued with an undeniable natural authority. The voice came from right behind Lester's now dragonless right shoulder.

Lester turned to see a tall, richly dressed, bald man with coffee-coloured skin stride past him. Behind the man followed rank upon rank of guards dressed in black and grey uniforms. Lester recognised these as the Market Watch.

"Master Kalico," thundered Vaskorn, "you do not understand. These are trespassers upon my plaza! They have damaged my property, injured my men... they have brought with them... gnomes, look at all the gnomes."

"You think this gives you the right to bring murder to the plazas of the Patchwork Market, Vaskorn?" Master Kalico asked the knight. His gaze did not waver at Vaskorn's fury.

"I demand justice!" Vaskorn cried.

"Then you shall have market justice!" Kalico matched the knight's fury with quiet intensity. "If that does not suffice you are free to move on."

"What do you propose?" Vaskorn asked. It was clear the knight was barely holding on to his temper.

"These people must make reparation for the damage to your facilities. Until then they will be wards of the market," Kalico said. "That is all."

"That is nothing!" Vaskorn bellowed. "An insult."

"As I said," Kalico replied, swift as a snake. "If you do not like merchant's law then you are free to move on. I'm sure there are many benefits to taking a pitch in a lesser market place. Somewhere your business dealings will attract a higher degree of visibility than they do here."

"Do what you will," Sir Vaskorn said. "I will remember this."

"As will I, Sir Vaskorn," Master Kalico said. He turned his attention away from the knight at last. "Anyone who does not wish to remain a guest of Sir Vaskorn, report to a member of the Market Watch directly."

Lester did not need to be told twice, it was the keenest he'd ever been to be arrested for something. Before long all of the party assembled in a cell beneath the Master's Tower.

"Another day, another hellish mess of chaotic incident and accident," James remarked.

"And I'm no closer to finding my brother than I was before any of this began," Lester said.

"Well, I am no closer to being reunited with Rachel," James said.

"At least the princess rescued her brother," Lester noted. Prince and Princess Butterstone were conversing intensely in the opposite corner. "I like Princess Butterstone's hair," he added.

"Grow up," James sighed. "She's just another one who would rip out your heart and use it for tennis practice."

"What's tennis?" Lester asked the odd little mouse.

The question was never answered. The door to the cell opened and in came Princess Anabyl. Following her was a man bearing the world weary expression of one who had dealt with the little tearaway many times before.

"Good news, everyone!" the princess announced. "The kingdom of Spireshine will pay for all the repairs to the mean knight's plaza. We're all free to go!"

The gnomes, in particular, found this news to be most exciting. A cheer went up. As the vast bulk of the gnomes fell to dancing and singing one detached from the rest and sidled over to where Lester was sat.

"So where's the girl?" the gnome asked James.

"You should know, it was your stupid wish magic that landed us in this mess in the first place," James said.

"Yes," the gnome said. "It was. While I was in that mine where my gnomish brothers were enslaved I found this. I thought I should probably bring it back with me."

The gnome opened his shirt and pulled out a face mask that was far too big for the tiny man's face. He held it out and Lester took it. The mask depicted a delicate female clown face. The mask was white. The eyes were picked out in delicate black triangles, red lips and small winding curls of hair around the brow and cheeks.

"What's this?" Lester asked.

"Turn it over, so James can see," the gnome said.

Lester turned the mask over. Inside the mask was written: "COLUMBINA: Property of Rebecca Rummage"

"Nice try," Lester said. "But the little girl's name is Rachel, not Rebecca."

"Rebecca is my wife," James said, his voice distant.

"Really?" Lester said. "This mask belongs to your wife?"

"So it would seem," James said.

"Let me guess," Lester said. "You don't remember anything."

"No," James said, his voice small but steady. "But I intend to find out."

And indeed he did, but not until he was reunited with Rachel. She, in her turn, had many adventures with her new friends Tabarnas, Eos and Micras upon the merchant roads. Indeed James, Lester, Sir Cobb, and Phoebe all had adventures of their own upon the way to reunite James and Rachel. Saeed went upon his own way within the market continuing to search for the soul of his mother. These are all stories that I will share with you, but for now the hour is late, so I must tell them to you another time.

END OF BOOK ONE

In Which Saeed Rescues A Prince

In his short time among the plazas of the Patchwork Market Saeed had found himself remarkably comfortable. Despite its eccentricities it reminded Saeed of the place where he had grown up. A short time ago he would have thought about the souk as 'home', now he could not apply that concept to its dusty alleys and faded awnings. Saeed realised that his home had been with Yesha, his mother, when death had come for her his attachment to the souk had ended.

So now Saeed was a little thief without a proper home, seeking one last act of humility. An act that stood a chance of setting him upon the course to redemption. In the mean time...

In the mean time it seemed that he had to wander through a world of strange and wonderful things, and that was not such a bad fate. Sometimes, however, he had to endure the company of tedious people. Sometimes he had to perform tasks that caused him moments of fearful concern. Still, he reasoned, everything worth having has a price attached; a thief should know this better than anyone.

"So, you are really a princess?" Saeed asked the tedious person to whom he was currently attached. It was the morning after their first acquaintance.

"Technically," the rude young woman in dark juggler's garb replied. Her brow appeared to be continuously knit, her lips pinched, her manner terse.

"I have never met a technical princess," Saeed grinned. "There again, my experience of princesses, as a whole, is not extensive."

"You amaze me," the girl replied.

"Princess... Butterstone," Saeed said, testing the water. "As your brother is Prince Butterstone."

"I see why Kalico likes you," Princess Butterstone said drily. "You're a bright boy."

"So, where is your brother?" Saeed asked. "And how may we return him to you unharmed."

"My brother," Princess Butterstone said, fixing her gaze across the gap between the plaza on which they stood and the next. "Is in there. How you and I are going to get in, rescue him and get away unharmed by the time of the closing bell this evening... Well, that's, apparently your part of the plan."

Saeed turned his own attention to the adjacent platform. Unlike all the other plazas that he had seen this one did not bristle with a profusion of coloured pennants and awnings. There were a few market stalls but the awnings above these stalls were all a uniform muddy green-grey. It was impossible, from this distance, to make out what these stalls sold.

The platform was also unusual in that a number of permanent structures obscured the view of its centre. Although each platform tended to be crowded with shop fronts the stalls were often restricted in height. This allowed clear visibility of the high hanging pennants of stalls right the way across the plaza.

Saeed knew that the design of a souk was not as accidental and chaotic as it might appear. Traders came to a complicated number of agreements concerning acceptable behaviour and fair-play. He did not doubt that the reason for the high visibility across platforms was out of one of these arrangements. The inhabitants of this plaza did not adhere to the general rule. Saeed guessed that the only reason for this could be that one person controlled the entire plaza.

"What is that place?" Saeed asked the princess.

"That is Sir Vaskorn's plaza," Princess Butterstone told him. "He has innovated in market trading. He offers the wealthy patrons of the Patchwork Market the sale of military services."

"Military services?" Saeed asked, not sure that he understood.

"If an ambitious noble has more wealth than available manpower he can hire an army from Vaskorn. The soldiers will work until a campaign is complete, or until the money runs out."

"Hire an army?" Saeed was not an expert in military strategy but he did not like the sound of an army available  in exchange for money one little bit.

"I told you Vaskorn was an innovator," the princess said. "I never said anything about scrupulous."

"So he controls that entire plaza?" Saeed asked.

"The place is a fortress," the princess said. "He has reception rooms for his clientele, facilities for his scouts. He commands a personal guard of highly trained and dedicated knights. He also has his cellar."

The princess coloured the word 'cellar' darkly, Saeed believed that he understood the inflection.

"The cellar," he said. "Is that where he is keeping your brother?"

"It is," Princess Butterstone said.

"So, if he is keeping your brother in the cellar beneath the plaza why not just report him to Kalico?" Saeed asked.

"I reported my brother's abduction to the Master-Sergeant of the watch," Princess Butterstone replied. "There's nothing they can do. Vaskorn has no interest in threatening trade in Bridgetown. For the Watch to attack the plaza of a fee-paying merchant would be, as they put it, 'bad for business'."

"So Vaskorn wished you to assassinate that mermaid in exchange for your brother's life?" Saeed asked.

"That was the deal," the princess said. Her tone of voice was tight again, the matter of Saeed foiling her attempt was clearly still an open wound.

"Princess, I am aware that I am nothing but a dirty thief. I am not even worthy to breathe air within your presence, but I flatter myself that I know something of men like this Vaskorn," Saeed said. "I believe with all my heart that once a man like this has you within his power he will not honour the terms of a fair agreement."

The princess sighed, her head hung down. For the first time she wore a look upon her face that was not any variety of anger. She looked, rather, sad, even defeated.

"Saeed," she said. "I fear that you may be correct."

"Princess," Saeed said, trying his hardest to sound like a man of purpose, even though he did not believe himself to be more than a boy. "Please have faith in me when I say that it is more than merely my desire to see you reunited with your brother. Indeed, it is required if I should find peace within my own soul, for my own reasons. So, with the skills and resources that I was taught in the place of my birth, I vow, I will return your brother to your side."

"You speak elegantly, for a street thief," Princess Butterstone said. "However, I do not see any way for you to complete this task."

"Pardon me if I speak out of turn," Saeed said. "But as far as I can tell the most difficult part of this task will be to gain entry to Vaskorn's cellar. If we can gain entry I believe we may well stand a chance of escaping together with your brother. Men like Vaskorn are proud and pride breeds arrogance. He is so confident that nothing can get into his domain that all his defences will be turned to that end."

"You may be right," the princess said. "It doesn't really matter. I have surveyed every way in and out of the plaza, it is impenetrable."

A recent memory shifted in Saeed's head, something Patchwork Jack had said when the ghostly guide had given Saeed the tour.

"That may be true here in Bridgetown," Saeed said. "Is it also true on the other side of the crossway?"

"The other side of the-" Princess Butterstone faltered to a stop, a look of puzzlement on her face. "You mean, the world of mortal man? Don't be ridiculous, we can't go there."

"Why not?" Saeed asked.

"The mortals are dangerous, we cannot risk allowing them to gain access to Bridgetown. Any doorway we could open goes both ways, that is basic magic."

"I know little of magic, Princess," Saeed replied. "I do know of one person who might be able to help us, as long as we find him before he returns home."

Saeed went looking for a guide. Before long he met up once more with Patchwork Jack who was happy to lead Saeed and the Princess to Joshua. They found him in front of a stall belonging to alchemical sundries supplier. The alchemist examined various jars of powder, picking them from a rack to lift them into the light.

"Saeed," Joshua said as the pair approached him. "I had not expected to see you again so soon. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Mister Joshua," Saeed said. "I am sorry to disturb you again this day but we are in urgent need of magical assistance, a man's life is at stake."

"This sounds serious," Joshua said. "You had best tell me all about it."

Saeed related Princess Butterstone's problem. He showed Joshua the vantage point where Saeed had studied Vaskorn's Plaza earlier. Joshua listened carefully to Saeed's thoughts.

"The princess is not wrong about the mortal world," Joshua told Saeed. "Even a short visit would be risky. I do, however, see the merit in your plan. I'm going to guess that this Sir Vaskorn has some basic magical detection devices. It is even possible he has his own sorcerer, alchemist or warlock on the payroll. You will need to carry out your plan with utmost caution."

"I am used to treading carefully," Saeed said. "The rooftops of Afsana are not built to the highest standards."

Joshua put his bag down on the floor and undid the clasp. After a moment's rummaging he pulled out a small hourglass held in a carved frame of wood held together with stout brass screws.

"This," Joshua said, holding out the hourglass to Saeed. "Is a Static Transdimensional Chronotranslator, or, in a less alchemical tongue, a Shadow Timer. Use it when you step through a crossway, the timer lasts for five minutes. No matter where you are when the final grain of sand falls you will be transported back to the opposite side of the crossway."

"What is a crossway?" Saeed asked.

"A crossway is a portal between Faerie and another world," Joshua replied. "In Bridgetown the crossways link up to a mortal world. I've been there myself. It will be a challenging environment so you must be cautious during your time there."

"I have never seen such a thing Mister Joshua," Saeed said. Now that he had the means to travel between worlds he felt a small whisper of worry and doubt tugging in his gut.

"I can show you one nearby," Joshua said. "I have, in my time, made extensive study of crossways, thankfully the Patchwork Market is full of them."

"Can I go with Saeed?" asked the princess, who had remained silent until now.

"I'm afraid not, my lady," Joshua replied. "The magic of the Shadow Timer will only work for one person."

"Then I should be the one to go," the princess said.

"Indeed, princess," Saeed said. "Are you intending to interfere with my promise to Kalico? I must rescue your brother. Without wishing to appear rude I would also like to point out that when it comes to stealth I have proven myself your superior."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Princess Butterstone asked, fire in her voice. "Stand around outside and wait?"

"If I might be permitted, my lady," Joshua said. "It appears unlikely to me that Saeed will get all the way in and all the way out without being discovered. At some point, and I trust this will be upon the point of the daring escape, he will probably require use of a lucky distraction."

Saeed thought of objecting at Joshua's certainty that he would be discovered. Then he realised that it was not the doing of the deed that would slow him down. Rather, it was the escape with a confused and frightened prince in tow. The tug in his guts grew stronger as he understood that Joshua was probably right.

Joshua reached inside his bag and pulled out something that looked like a black circle. With a flick of the wrist the circle popped, turning into a tall hat.

"This," Joshua said. "Is not one of mine, it is a sorcerous acquisition. Saeed, if you are unfortunate enough to be discovered about your business please try to make things as noisy as you can. My lady, when you hear the hue and cry, put the top hat on your head, cross your fingers and wish as hard as you can for some luck."

He held the hat out to Princess Butterstone. The princess took the hat gingerly, as if she thought it may bite her hand off.

"And that," said Joshua with an air of finality, "is all I have to offer."

"Mister Joshua," Saeed replied. "I cannot begin to tell you how much your assistance will mean to myself and the princess."

"Nonsense, Saeed," Joshua smiled. "You returned this bag to me, without which I would  not have been able to offer my help at all. Also, I think it is always a good thing to find yourself in the favour of a royal line." Joshua turned to the princess and tipped a flowing, elegant bow. "My lady," he said, "it was my greatest pleasure to make your acquaintance." He turned to Saeed. "Come now, Saeed, we have business to attend to. Let's rescue this prince before night comes to the Patchwork Market."

Joshua lead Saeed across three bridges. They crossed two plazas round to the main bridge crossing to Vaskorn's platform and then one plaza away from that. The plaza on which they found themselves was a huddled flea market that reminded Saeed of the darker corners of the Afsana Bazaar.

Joshua entered the back of a low stall selling various items of houseware. Most were in need of repair or, it appeared, abandonment.

"Gimlet?" Joshua called. "Are you there?"

"Joshua?" came back a voice. "Is that you? Have you come for tea?"

A tiny, ancient goblin appeared from the mounds of broken pots, kettles, lamps and other sundries.

"I can stay for a cup," Joshua said, but I have a young man here who requires the use of the staircase, if that would be agreeable."

"What's anyone want to go down there for in daylight hours," Gimlet complained. "I only use 'em myself but once a month now. The people on the mortal side don't throw away nothing useful hardly ever any more."

"He has a chore to take care of," Joshua replied. "A tedious business, I will not bore you with details."

"No. Details are always most tiresome," Gimlet agreed. "Very well, this way."

Gimlet moved into the back of his low stall. In the far corner, hidden away behind stacks of junk, was the end of a spiral staircase. It lead downwards, after one turn the stairs were obscured with shadows. The head of the stairs was hung across with a grimy faded red velvet rope.

Gimlet unhooked the rope and motioned for Saeed to descend the stairs. Before he could take a step, however, Joshua put his hand on Saeed's shoulder.

"Turn the Shadow Timer over as you step from the lowest step. Vaskorn's platform will be in roughly the same location on the mortal side of the crossway as it is here. Do you know which way to run?"

"I do, Mister Joshua," Saeed answered. "I have a good sense of direction."

"I don't doubt it. Good luck Saeed, you will have to let me know how this endeavour worked out."

"Mister Joshua," Saeed said, "I am forever in your debt."

"Then you can repay me," Joshua said, "By rescuing that prince from Vaskorn's prison."

With those words Saeed descended down the cold metal staircase, into the gloom below the Patchwork Market. The further down Saeed went the colder the air became. At the foot of the stairs the light from above was very dim. Only a single shaft of light filtered down from Gimlet's stall far above. The shaft of light showed that the ground at the bottom of the stairs was bare earth. There were no clues as to whether the surroundings were a room or a cave. There was no sign that Saeed was standing at a crossway.

Bracing himself Saeed stepped from the stairway, at the same time he flipped the Shadow Timer.

Everything changed.

The floor Saeed stepped onto was not earth, but paved. Light flooded the scene, bright enough to make Saeed blink but not so bright that it blinded him. Saeed looked behind him to note that he appeared to have stepped down from a pair of stone steps barred by a metal gate. To Saeed's left the alley into which he had stepped terminated in a cluster of tight doorways. To his right the path opened out onto a brightly lit street.

Cautiously Saeed walked down the alley to reach the street. He could see strangely dressed people walking back and forth. There was nothing in their physical appearance to indicate that they were not regular folk. Before stepping out Saeed peeked around the corner of the alley way.

He was greeted by a low rumbling noise. A gigantic metal carriage rounded a corner up ahead. It growled and rolled quickly towards Saeed's location. Some form of magic powered the carriage because it had no animals drawing it forward. It was a weird looking thing, low to the ground, shining like a beetle. Saeed could see a mortal inside the carriage looking out of a single long window.

Saeed guessed that the magic powering the carriage had to be very potent, the carriage moved with incredible speed. It passed Saeed on his right side, the driver ignored him.

Once the metal carriage had disappeared from view Saeed took a second to get his bearings. If he headed in the direction the carriage had come from he should be nearer the location of Vaskorn's platform in Bridgetown.

Before moving Saeed checked the shadow timer, the sands were nearly halfway through. He hurried up the street. Up ahead of him a tall, grey building came into view. The design of the front entrance was not dissimlar to that of the Master's Tower back in the Patchwork Market. This building was much wider and more imposing.

On the far edge of the building was an open gate, steps lead down into a cellar area. Saeed slipped through the gate and started descending the steps.

"Hey! You! Excuse me!" a voice called out from down the street behind him.

Saeed turned to see who had addressed him. A man dressed in the manner of many of the more well-to-do patrons of Bridgetown hurried up behind him. He was red in the face from anger and puzzlement.

"You can't go down there," the man said. "That's not for members of the public."

"Many apologies, esteemed sir," Saeed said, grinning his most charming grin. "I do not think I am a member of the public. I am just a humble thief who has foresworn dishonesty. I am on a quest to rescue a prince and I must gain access to this area with much swiftness."

"Look, son," the man said. "If you want to see the exhibition then you have to come in the front way like everyone else. What's going on with your outfit? It's a bit cold not to be wearing a jacket."

"Alas, sir," Saeed replied. "Fate has not seen fit to furnish me with more appropriate garments. I would dearly love to enter this place by your desired entry point. Unfortunately the circumstances of my mission dictate that it is not to be." Saeed cast an eye down to the shadow timer, the last few grains of sand were running through. "I promise, I will not be in anyone's way, at least, not for very long."

With that Saeed turned, skipped down the last few steps and hurried through a door marked "staff only". He slipped inside the cellar of the building.

"Hoy!" the red-faced man called after him. "Stop! I said you can't go in there."

There was the sound of the door behind Saeed banging open as the man gave chase. Then, dark and eerie silence as the light in the area extinguished in a single moment. Saeed looked once more at the shadow timer. All the sands now lay still in the bottom bulb. The first part of the plan was over.

Saeed looked about himself trying to get his bearings. He was halfway along a dark corridor, lit with oil lamps spaced so far apart that they struggled to cut through the gloom. The way that Saeed had come was now a dead end, in the left hand wall by the end of the passage was a stout wooden door. A hatch was fixed over a small window cut into the door a head above Saeed's eye level.

"I know the look of a jail cell," Saeed muttered under his breath. He walked down the corridor and approached the door. He reached up and opened the hatch in the door. The meagre light spilling through the hatch roused a low moan from inside the cell.

"Prince Butterstone?" Saeed asked.

"Who's there?" said a voice from inside. The prince did not sound to be in the best of sorts.

"My name is Saeed," Saeed said. "I have been sent by your sister to aid in your escape."

"Are you invisible?" Prince Butterstone asked. "I cannot see you."

"I'm afraid not," Saeed replied. "Wait just a moment, I'll open the door."

The bolt for the cell was a stout iron bar shoved through a loop, locking down a metal shaft that extended three feet from the door's edge. Only the most supple of fakirs would have stood a chance of reaching out through the bars to pluck the bolt from its position.

Saeed, being outside the cell, walked over to the fitting and pulled the bolt out of the hole. The door swung open easily.

There was the sound of slow and painful movement from inside the cell. Prince Butterstone appeared at the doorway.

"Is this a joke?" he asked, his voice was weak but his irritation was clear.

Prince Butterstone did not look to be in the best of health. He had an ill-kempt tangled and matted beard that looked to be about a month's growth. He was painfully thin and his skin was sallow and shiny. He had to support his own weight by leaning on the jamb of the door.

"No joke, noble prince," Saeed said. "My size and stature belie my abilities. I flatter myself to think that I have skills in stealth. I am also known for my athletic dexterity."

"All of which would be great news if we needed someone to juggle knives," the prince complained. "I have to worry how we're going to deal with Sir Vaskorn."

"There are reinforcements waiting, sir," Saeed replied. "We must only ensure that any encounter with Sir Vaskorn or his agents produces a great deal of noise."

"Well," the prince said. "That certainly shouldn't be a problem. I hope your reinforcements are prepared for the fight of their lives."

"I am confident that this will be the case," Saeed said. He thought it wise not to mention that all he knew about these reinforcements was that they would be 'lucky'. The prince appeared to have had a hard few weeks. Saeed reasoned that the royal youth didn't need further concerns to add to his already extensive catalogue.

With the prince, if not happy, at least past caring about what would happen next Saeed lead him away from the cell through the cellar. Saeed, scouting ahead, got the impression that they were deep beneath the floor level of the platform. The first level was a 'C' shaped corridor with cell doors at all the corners. at the far end, opposite the cell door, was a stairwell.

The first two cellar levels were not guarded heavily. Saeed and the prince managed to get through them without too many difficulties. Saeed wasn't certain but he believed that the third cellar level was the one below ground level.

Unfortunately during the space of time it took for Saeed to scout ahead two men in armour had come down the stairs. They engaged in a lengthy bout of complaint at the stern demeanour of their employer.

Workplace gossip, fascinating as it was, did not indicate that these men would turn on the man who paid their livelihood. The way was blocked, the longer Saeed and the prince stayed still the greater their chance of discovery.

"We will have to find another way," Saeed whispered. "This is unfortunate, but I will get us through."

"You said you needed lots of noise?" the prince asked.

"Indeed, we must signal to your sister, who is in charge of the reinforcements," Saeed explained.

"I think I might be able to help," the prince said. "Follow me."

With the chance to taste freedom Prince Butterstone was coming back to his senses. He even looked a little like he was enjoying his new adventure, despite the evidence of his exhaustion. The prince led Saeed back the way they had come. They took a couple of corners that Saeed had identified as dead ends and went down a short flight of stairs. A passage at the foot of the stairs led round into a storage area piled high with crates, boxes and barrels.

"This will definitely be noisy," the prince said. "I hope your reinforcments are prepared to deal with an enraged Vaskorn."

The prince examined the outside of a few crates, picked one and opened it. He rolled a barrel to the foot of a ramp ending in a large pair of thick wooden doors. The doors were set at a slant to the roof indicating that they probably opened onto a service yard.

Then, using a crowbar that he found on a table to one side of the room, he opened the top of the barrel. Inside the barrel was full of black powder. The prince laid a trail of the black powder coming back to the doorway, round the corner and back to the bottom of the stairs.

"This could get messy," the prince said. "So we're going to have to be prepared. Maybe the whole place will come down on our heads. Are you ready?"

"What do you mean?" Saeed asked. He had never seen this black powder before and could not guess what it might be used for.

"Just..." the prince said, exasperated, "just... brace yourself."

The prince pulled a small, flat metal box from his breeches. Heopened the box and pulled out a tiny stick of wood, the end of the wood was coated in something black. Prince Butterstone drew the black stick roughly against the outside surface of the box. Saeed was amazed to see it burst into flame.

The prince touched the flame to the black powder. After a couple of seconds a stream of sparks lit up winding its way along the powder trail back to the storage area. The prince jammed his fingers hard into his ears and waggled his elbows, pointedly glaring at Saeed.

Saeed copied the prince. No amount of fingers rammed into ears could possibly have muted the explosion that erupted a second later. For a moment after the sound that rattled his organs Saeed could not move. His head was ringing, his brain had lost all ability to process information.

Prince Butterstone slapped Saeed's shoulder hard enough that the bottleneck of the senses cleared.

"Come on," the prince said. "Let's see how far we can get." The prince's voice appeared to be calling to Saeed from a great distance away, even though the man was stood right next to him. Saeed had no time for confusion, as the prince turned back to the storage cellar Saeed forced himself to follow.

The cellar room was a mess, splintered wood littered the floor. A cloud of shifting dust and smoke made it hard to see much. A brightly glowing patch of light spilled in through the door at the top of the ramp. The surface was tantalising feet away.

The escapees hurried across the space and scrambled up the smooth surface of the ramp. They emerged in the main courtyard of Vaskorn's plaza. Once Saeed could see past the cloud of dust and smoke rising from the storage room the sight that greeted him made his stomach drop.

Surrounding the exit were six heavily armed knights, lead by the imposing figure of Sir Vaskorn himself. The plaza's owner was six and a half feet tall, clad in a combination of plate and chain mail. His head appeared to be too small for his enormous neck. He did not appear, to Saeed's eyes, to be a man of cool temperament. Having a hole blown in his plaza had done nothing to soothe his spiky demeanour.

"Butterstoooooone!" Vaskorn cried. The knight was so beside himself with rage that he plucked one of his own men off the ground from beside him. Vaskorn threw the unfortunate mercenary towards the prince and Saeed.

Saeed ducked out of the way and the soldier flew past, screaming as he fell into the smoky cellar room below. Vaskorn's other men moved out of the reach of their furious master. Saeed looked up to see the prince, skirting the outside of the plaza, trying to dodge past a couple of Vaskorn's men.

Saeed wanted to help, he scrabbled on the floor and picked up a rock. Taking aim he threw it at the head of one of the guards attempting to block Prince Butterstone's escape route. Saeed didn't have many offensive tricks in his arsenal. His skill at pitching stones was no more than a desperate distraction measure. In this case the tactic paid off. The stone hit the mercenary on the right temple forcing him to cry out and close his eyes.

There was a loud cracking, splintering noise from nearby. Saeed turned to look in the direction of the sound. Vaskorn had torn a stake out of the ground. The pole was part of a set of stocks installed on one side of the plaza square. The enormous knight kicked some debris off the end and scooped up the five foot long wooden post to swing it like a bat.

The post caught the fleeing Prince Butterstone in the stomach. The blow sent the unfortunate youth flying into the air. The prince landed on his back a few feet away, winded and unable to move. Vaskorn took a great stride forward to swing his club down and kill the prince.

Princess, Saeed thought, where is the luck that we so sorely need?

The wooden post did not kill Prince Butterstone. Luck, being what it is, chose that precise moment to come into operation. For the how and the what, however, we will have to wait until next time.