His trembling worsened, and the punch churned in his stomach. What else had Mouse said?

A kiss is downright perilous between illusionists ... ...

"No," he said aloud, though the word was drowned out in the laughter of the others. "No, Dercy, say that you didn't...."

Eldyn swallowed the sour bile in his throat, then heaved himself to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Mouse said, frowning at him. "The night's just begun."

"Back," he said. It was all he could manage without spilling all the punch he had drunk onto the straw that covered the floor. Before Mouse or the others could protest, he lurched to the door and out into the night.

Once outside, Eldyn turned about dizzily, unsure which way to go. Then the cool night air cleared his head somewhat, and he stumbled down the lane. He started to weave the shadows around himself, then stopped. Whose light was he using to craft the illusion? Was it even his own?

He left the shadows where they were, and went naked through the night.

ELDYN WOKE TO brilliant light.

"Dercy!" he cried out, sitting up in bed, blinking against the gold glare that had dispelled the darkness.

Then his vision cleared, and he saw it was not an illusory light that filled the little room above the theater; rather, it was the radiance of dawn. Last night, when he returned to the theater, he had found the room empty. He had meant only to rest on the bed for a little while as he waited for Dercy to return, but he must have fallen asleep as he lay there. Now the lumenal had come, though it had not brought Dercy with it.

Eldyn started to stand, then groaned and sank back to the bed, holding a hand to his temple. His head throbbed from the aftereffects of punch. Or was it the awful knowledge he had drunk in at the tavern last night that had induced the pain? holding a hand to his temple. His head throbbed from the aftereffects of punch. Or was it the awful knowledge he had drunk in at the tavern last night that had induced the pain?

He looked down at his hands. How pleased he had been with himself, how astonished at his newfound ability to conjure illusions. Only all this time, they hadn't been his own. None of them were.

Well, he could not give back what he had taken without knowing, but he would never again conjure phantasms. Today he would tell Madame Richelour that he was quitting the Theater of the Moon. Nor would this greatly delay his plans for himself and his sister. His wages at the theater had been so generous recently that he had ama.s.sed nearly enough to pay for both of their portions. There was only one more thing he needed to do here.

The theater was quiet as Eldyn went downstairs, for it was not a habit of illusionists to rise early. Mrs. Murnlout was moving about in the little kitchen, and he asked the cook if she had seen Dercy.

She hadn't, but Dercy would have to return to the theater eventually. He might skip a rehearsal, but he would never miss a performance. Besides, Eldyn would have to come back later himself, to speak with Madame Richelour. For now he drank a cup of coffee that the cook gave him, then left the theater and went out into the morning.

The brilliant light of morning did nothing to improve the appearance of Durrow Street, but rather laid bare its grime and squalor. The theaters, which appeared so mysterious and enticing by moonlight, were exposed by the beams of the sun for what they really were: shabby old buildings with sagging facades, their foundations riddled with rat holes. Eldyn squinted against the morning glare, then made his way down the street.

He was brought up short as a boy dashed before him, holding up fresh copies of The Swift Arrow The Swift Arrow for sale. Eldyn started to wave the boy aside, only then the fragment of a headline caught his eye, and a bolt of fear stuck him. for sale. Eldyn started to wave the boy aside, only then the fragment of a headline caught his eye, and a bolt of fear stuck him.

"Here, I'll take a copy!" he called out.

The boy shifted from foot to foot as Eldyn fumbled for a penny in his pocket. The urchin s.n.a.t.c.hed the coin as soon as it was produced, thrust a broadsheet at Eldyn, then ran down the street. A sick feeling churned in Eldyn's stomach as he raised the newspaper.

ONE I ILLUSIONIST N NOT S SO E EASILY D DISPATCHED, read the headline in the middle of the page. Quickly, Eldyn scanned the article below. It described how another body of a young man had been dredged from the waters of the Anbyrn, his eyes missing just like those of the others. Only this corpse had differed in one regard, for much to the surprise of those who pulled it from the river, it had begun to move, and then even attempted to speak.

For an awful moment, Eldyn feared that it was Dercy, and this was the reason he had been missing. Only as he read the article, it was clear from the description of the body that it was not Dercy. Nor could it be anyone from the Theater of the Moon, as this had all occurred yesterday evening, and no one besides Dercy had been missing at rehearsal.

Though it was awful another illusionist had met an ill fate, Eldyn could only feel relief that it had not been Dercy or one of the players at the Theater of the Moon. However, his relief vanished as he read the remainder of the article. In its place, a dread came over him.

It had to be a coincidence; such a connection was impossible. Only it seemed so strange, and even as he folded up the broadsheet, he could not stop thinking about it. There was only one way he could be certain.

He had to get to Graychurch at once.

THE SUN WAS rising slowly that morning, and Father Gadby must have been following suit, for when Eldyn tried the door of the rector's office he found it locked. At that moment the verger came tottering down the stairs, and after Eldyn helped the old man to safely climb down the last few steps, he was more than willing to open the door with a key.

Once inside, Eldyn went to the cabinet where he kept those receipts that he had already entered in the ledger. He pulled out a drawer, then began looking through slips of paper.

It didn't take him long to find what he wanted. He went to the table where he worked and set down a receipt. Then he pulled the copy of The Swift Arrow The Swift Arrow from his pocket and unfolded it on the table. Once again, he read the final words of the article on the front page. from his pocket and unfolded it on the table. Once again, he read the final words of the article on the front page.

We are as surprised as anyone that such a soft and mincing creature as an illusionist should prove so startlingly resilient, the author wrote. However, to endure after being beaten, blinded, and heaved into the river suggests that at least this particular Siltheri had some strength in him. In the end, though, it was not enough, and an hour after he was taken from the river he expired. Nor, for all that he tried to speak, was anything intelligible gotten out of him, and the only words he uttered that could be made out were something about "red curtains below the crypt." Yet perhaps that was a fitting epitaph. For does not the fall of a crimson curtain signal the end of every illusion play on Durrow Street? And shortly after he spoke those words, this player's final performance was at its end, and it was off to the crypt for him. Bravo! However, to endure after being beaten, blinded, and heaved into the river suggests that at least this particular Siltheri had some strength in him. In the end, though, it was not enough, and an hour after he was taken from the river he expired. Nor, for all that he tried to speak, was anything intelligible gotten out of him, and the only words he uttered that could be made out were something about "red curtains below the crypt." Yet perhaps that was a fitting epitaph. For does not the fall of a crimson curtain signal the end of every illusion play on Durrow Street? And shortly after he spoke those words, this player's final performance was at its end, and it was off to the crypt for him. Bravo!

Again Eldyn felt a dread that was not simply due to the unfortunate illusionist's fate. He set down the broadsheet and picked up the slip of paper he had taken from the drawer. It was a receipt for a set of red curtains, dated just a few days ago, and was signed by Archdeacon Lemarck himself.

Eldyn had entered at least a half-dozen other receipts like it in the ledger. He had always supposed the curtains were meant for some cardinal or bishop with ostentatious taste. But what if the curtains had some other purpose? He recalled what Dercy had told him once, how only the color red could fully block the light of illusions...

"Mr. Garritt! What are you doing here already?"

Hastily, Eldyn slipped the receipt in between two pages of the broadsheet.

"Good morning, Father Gadby," he said, affecting a cheerful expression. "The verger was kind enough to let me get an early start. I need to...that is, I have an errand I need to go do, and I didn't want to fall behind on my work." start. I need to...that is, I have an errand I need to go do, and I didn't want to fall behind on my work."

The portly rector smiled. "That is very diligent of you, Mr. Garritt. Well, go on, then, see to this errand of yours, whatever it is. But don't be too long. I'm sure there is much more for you to do today."

Eldyn promised he would not be long. He folded the broadsheet over, put it in his coat pocket, and hurried from the office below the church.

A QUARTER HOUR later, Eldyn came to a halt before a prosperous-looking stone building a short way off of Marble Street. He read the number painted on the corner of the building, then pulled the slip of paper from his pocket to check it. The receipt had been made out to Profram and Sons, Number 7 Weaver's Row. This was the place. QUARTER HOUR later, Eldyn came to a halt before a prosperous-looking stone building a short way off of Marble Street. He read the number painted on the corner of the building, then pulled the slip of paper from his pocket to check it. The receipt had been made out to Profram and Sons, Number 7 Weaver's Row. This was the place.

Eldyn drew a breath to gather his will, then went in through the door of the building. At once he was approached by a young man he took to be one of the proprietor's sons. Dercy had told Eldyn that he was not a good liar, and it was likely so. All the same, he did his best to hold his voice steady as he explained how he wished to check on an order for curtains, and he produced the receipt from his pocket.

The young man took the receipt, then compared it against a ledger on the counter. "Ah, yes," he said. "Another set of red curtains commissioned by the Church. They are not finished yet, but they should be done lumenal after next. I a.s.sume we are still to deliver them to the usual place?"

Eldyn blinked. "The usual place?"

"Yes, the old chapel in High Holy. I confess, I did not think that church was still in use. But I can only suppose it is being refurbished."

Eldyn could do no more than give a mute nod.

"Very good," the young man said cheerfully. "We will deliver the curtains as soon as they are ready. But if you don't mind my asking, where is the priest who usually manages the orders? I trust he is well." asking, where is the priest who usually manages the orders? I trust he is well."

"The priest?" Eldyn said stupidly.

"Yes, the tall fellow with the sharp blue eyes. I've never gotten his name-I confess, I speak with him little, for he's rather imposing-but he always wears a crimson ca.s.sock."

Eldyn could not breathe. It felt as if he had been dealt a blow in the gut. "He is not..." He shook his head. "That is, I'm sorry, but I must go."

Before the other man could say anything more, Eldyn turned and hurried out the door. The morning light was warm, but he was shivering all the same. As quickly as his legs would carry him, he walked down the lane, his mind a confusion of thoughts and awful notions. Only, as he went, the facts began to align themselves into a comprehensible order. Red curtains below the crypt-the final words uttered by a dying illusionist. The old chapel at High Holy, where another one of the murdered illusionists had been found. And a blue-eyed priest in a red ca.s.sock...

It was impossible. It had had to be. to be.

Yet Eldyn above anyone knew that figures could not mislead; if summed correctly, they always led to the same result, whether one cared for the final total or not. In his mind, he made the tally again. Donnebric had last been seen going to a magnate's house in the company of a priest in a red ca.s.sock. And Father Gadby had described how Archdeacon Lemarck sometimes went about dressed as a priest-no doubt in crimson, a striking contrast to his sharp blue eyes. Over and over as Eldyn walked, he went over everything that he knew.

Over and over, the sum was the same.

Eldyn came to a sudden halt, and he was startled to find that it was not the hulking edifice of Graychurch he stood before, but rather the ramshackle building that housed the Theater of the Moon. Sweat ran down his sides, and he was breathing hard from his labors walking here. All the same, he still felt cold inside.

He went through the door and headed up to the little room above the theater. Dercy was still not there, but Eldyn knew he could not wait, that Father Gadby would be expecting him. He went to a little table, rummaged in a drawer, and there found pen, ink, and paper to write upon. Forcing his hand to stay steady, he penned a note to Dercy. could not wait, that Father Gadby would be expecting him. He went to a little table, rummaged in a drawer, and there found pen, ink, and paper to write upon. Forcing his hand to stay steady, he penned a note to Dercy.

My dearest friend and companion, you were right, he wrote. I fear that the Church is not what I thought it was. Nor, if what I suspect is true, is the archdeacon the great man I had believed. I have reason to think he is scheming some awful thing beneath the old chapel in High Holy. I intend to know more, and when I do I will tell you everything. Until then, I beg of you-have nothing to do with any priest who may approach you, especially one in red! I fear that the Church is not what I thought it was. Nor, if what I suspect is true, is the archdeacon the great man I had believed. I have reason to think he is scheming some awful thing beneath the old chapel in High Holy. I intend to know more, and when I do I will tell you everything. Until then, I beg of you-have nothing to do with any priest who may approach you, especially one in red!

He signed the note and set it on the bed. Then he departed the room and went back outside into the morning.

It was time to go to work.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT.

A LUMENAL Pa.s.sED, then an umbral, and still there was no word from Coulten or Eubrey. Now, as morning light fell into the parlor at Warwent Square, Rafferdy took the black book from the drawer of his writing table. He spoke the runes of unbinding, then opened it. LUMENAL Pa.s.sED, then an umbral, and still there was no word from Coulten or Eubrey. Now, as morning light fell into the parlor at Warwent Square, Rafferdy took the black book from the drawer of his writing table. He spoke the runes of unbinding, then opened it.

No new message had appeared upon its pages; there would not be a meeting of the Arcane Society of the Virescent Blade that night. Whether he was disappointed or relieved he could not say. He was curious to learn what Eubrey had been up to since being admitted to the inner circle, yet he had no desire to hear more calls for the ruination of the Wyrdwood, given the peculiar feeling such discussions stirred in him.

Thinking of the wood brought Mrs. Quent to mind. As he returned the book to the drawer, he recalled that he had intended to send her a note to tell her what he had learned from Eubrey at the party for the Miss Lockwells. He had no idea why the topic of the Sword and Leaf was of such interest to Mrs. Quent. However, given her curiosity on the matter, he thought she might like to know that the tavern was indeed located off of Durrow Street-if one counted the magickal door that led directly from the street to the meeting room beneath the tavern. the book to the drawer, he recalled that he had intended to send her a note to tell her what he had learned from Eubrey at the party for the Miss Lockwells. He had no idea why the topic of the Sword and Leaf was of such interest to Mrs. Quent. However, given her curiosity on the matter, he thought she might like to know that the tavern was indeed located off of Durrow Street-if one counted the magickal door that led directly from the street to the meeting room beneath the tavern.

Rafferdy sat at the table, took out paper and ink, and penned a brief note to this effect. He signed the note, began to fold it, then opened it back up and scrawled a hasty postscript.

I hope we might have an occasion to take a walk together soon.

He folded the note and sealed it, then gave it to his man with instructions for it to be delivered at once. After that he put on his coat and hat, and took up his cane. Even if he had looked at the almanac, there would be no way to be certain how much longer the lumenal would last, and he wished to take in some sun before it was gone for the day.

With this purpose he set out from Warwent Square. He went not upward in the direction of the New Quarter, but rather down toward the Old City. It felt good to stroll along the street, and he swung his cane in a jaunty fashion as he went. Soon a plan began to form in his mind; he would proceed to his club, he thought, and take a brandy while he pretended to read the latest edition of The Comet The Comet, while in fact eavesdropping on the conversations of others. Pleased with this idea, he altered his course and turned onto Coronet Street.

And there, on the other side of the street, was Lord Eubrey.

He was unmistakable, cutting a fine figure in a wine-colored coat as he walked with what seemed great purpose down the street. For days Rafferdy had been left in a state of suspense, wondering how Eubrey was faring in his new status within the society. Now here he was barely a stone's throw from Warwent Square, and he had not even bothered to call on Rafferdy! At once annoyed and delighted, Rafferdy hailed his friend.

Eubrey kept walking along the street, moving with swift strides, his gaze fixed forward.

Rafferdy called out again, but still Eubrey did not stop. Had he not heard Rafferdy's call? Surely it had been loud enough, and Coronet Street was not at all noisy or busy. Vexed now, Rafferdy hurried after him.

Catching up to his quarry was no easy task, as Eubrey continued to move at a rapid pace, and soon Rafferdy's heart kept time to his swift steps. However, just as Coronet Street ran into the north end of Marble Street, several carriages went clattering by. Eubrey was forced to stop short to avoid them, and this gave Rafferdy the opportunity to at last draw near.

"Ho, there, Eubrey!" he said breathlessly as he approached the other young man. "I've caught you at last, you scoundrel."

Still Eubrey gave no indication that he had heard Rafferdy, though he was no more than five paces away. Instead, with deliberate motions, he reached into his coat pocket and took out a pair of kidskin gloves.

By now Rafferdy had become greatly perturbed. "I say, Eubrey, I'm right here behind-"

The words caught in his throat as his feet and his heart both came to a sudden halt. Moving slowly, mechanically, Eubrey put on his gloves. As he did this, Rafferdy glimpsed the sharp, dark lines that formed a rune on Eubrey's right hand.

The symbol disappeared from view as Eubrey finished putting on his gloves. He turned his head, glancing around, and for a moment his gaze pa.s.sed over Rafferdy. A horror descended, and Rafferdy froze, now fearing Eubrey would see him. However, there was no glint of recognition in Eubrey's eyes. Rather, they were darker than Rafferdy recalled them being, with no glint of light or life in them.

All at once Eubrey tilted his head, as if he heard some sound or voice, though what it might be Rafferdy could not tell. Then, as the last of the carriages pa.s.sed by, Eubrey sprang forward, dashing down the length of Marble Street at a full run.

Rafferdy tried to call out, but the only thing he could give voice to was a wordless sound of despair. He still tried to comprehend what he had seen, only he knew what it signified, didn't he? A convulsion of understanding and dread shuddered through him. Yes, he knew now what it was that Eubrey had been up to these last days...

"G.o.ds, no, Eubrey," he at last managed to speak in a whisper.

Then he was running down Marble Street himself, weaving in and out among the people and horses, wielding his cane before him to clear a path. The spires of a.s.sembly loomed before him as he went.

A lorry bore down on him, and Rafferdy narrowly dodged to one side to avoid being crushed. He caught a glimpse of wine-colored velvet ahead, and despite the pain in his lungs he ran in that direction. By now he was nearly even with the Halls of a.s.sembly. A group of several men were walking down the broad swath of marble steps. One of them was short and thickset, wearing a yellowed wig and old-fashioned yet lordly attire.

A four-in-hand thundered before Rafferdy, and he was forced to stop short lest he be trampled. When the way was clear he saw that the lord in the wig had reached the bottom of the steps. It was, he realized, Lord Bastellon. The door of a black carriage opened, and the old Stout climbed inside. At the same moment a figure in a wine-colored coat appeared from out of the throng on the street and moved toward the carriage.

Rafferdy propelled himself forward through the crowd. "No!" he shouted at loudly as he could. "Stop!"

Only his words were lost in the clatter of wheels and the pounding of hooves against cobbles. Twenty paces away, the door of the black carriage shut. At the same moment the figure in the wine-colored coat-not Eubrey, the thing could no longer be called Eubrey-approached the carriage.

"Get out!" Rafferdy shouted, only his throat was raw, his voice hoa.r.s.e. "Get out of the-"

A gloved hand touched the side of the carriage. There was a brilliant flash, as from a bolt of lightning, followed by a deafening noise. A moment later a column of blue fire leaped up toward the sky from the very spot where the carriage was parked before the steps. noise. A moment later a column of blue fire leaped up toward the sky from the very spot where the carriage was parked before the steps.

Rafferdy staggered, thrown back by the force of the conflagration along with dozens of others. Shouts and cries sounded all around him, as well as the terrible screams of horses. The latter were cut short as the livid flames quickly consumed the black carriage, far more swiftly than any mundane fire could have done. Smoke climbed into the sky in a black pillar, forming a shadowed mirror to the spires that crowned a.s.sembly.

An acrid scent spread upon the air, making Rafferdy's eyes smart and water. He took a halting step forward, but there was no use. The flames collapsed back on themselves, dwindled, and died out. Where the carriage had stood there was little more than a smoldering black heap on the cobbles.

There was no sign of a man in a wine-colored coat.

More shouts rang out. Soldiers were marching rapidly down the street. Several more were coming down the steps before a.s.sembly. At their fore was a large, hulking figure dressed all in gray.

A glint of blue caught Rafferdy's eye. He glanced down and saw that the gem in his House ring was glittering. A fresh dread came upon him. He looked up and saw that the brutish man in gray had nearly reached the bottom of the steps. The last thing Rafferdy wanted now was to be caught by Moorkirk, not a dozen paces from the remains of Lord Bastellon's carriage, his magician's ring blazing in echo to the arcane energies that had just been unleashed.

Moorkirk shouted something to the soldiers. The redcrests rushed toward the crowd-to begin accosting people, Rafferdy supposed, though he did not wait to find out. He turned and, pushing his way through the confusion, ran back down the length of Marble Street.

He did not stop running until he reached Coronet Street. Then he was forced to walk, for his lungs and heart would bear no more. Though his body moved more slowly now, his mind continued to race. There was no doubting what he had witnessed, but still it was difficult for his mind to fully grasp it. Why had Eubrey done this thing? still it was difficult for his mind to fully grasp it. Why had Eubrey done this thing?

Only it wasn't Eubrey who had done it. It was a thing wearing Eubrey's face and skin-a thing that, had it not been burned up and destroyed in the magickal fire, would have bled not blood but a gray oozing fluid when the soldiers brought it down with their rifles.

Though he sweated inside his coat, he shivered; his skin was clammy, and he felt a sickness churning in his stomach. How had this happened to Eubrey? When had this horrible deed been done to him?