Except he already knew the answer to that question. After all, he and Coulten had not seen Eubrey since he was admitted by the sages to the inner circle of the Arcane Society of the Virescent Blade-since he had pa.s.sed through the Door into the sanctum beneath the tavern. Coulten had gotten the news from him in a note before the party for the Miss Lockwells.

Coulten! A new dread welled up within Rafferdy. What was it Coulten had told him at a.s.sembly the other day?

Eubrey thinks that I am sure to be the next magician in the society to be invited through the Door....

Dread became a sudden panic. Gripping his cane, Rafferdy forced himself back into a run. He had to return to his house, get his carriage, and go warn Coulten that he was in the gravest danger-and that whatever he did, he must not go through the Door.

Minutes later he reached his house in Warwent Square, panting as he climbed the steps. Once inside he called for his man, then told him to have the carriage brought around, that he needed to go at once to Lord Coulten's abode in the New Quarter.

"Very well, sir," his man said. "Though you may care to read this first, as it just arrived. It is a note from Lord Coulten."

Rafferdy took the note, staring at it as his heart thudded in his chest. Then, as his man left the parlor, Rafferdy sank into a chair and opened the note. It was indeed from Coulten and was very brief.

I have but a moment to write this, yet I wanted you to know the excellent news! I received a missive from Eubrey. He tells me that the sages have an experiment for me to conduct, and that if I can successfully perform it, they will admit me to the inner circle of the society. I don't know what it involves yet-I'm to take direction from the magus himself-but Eubrey tells me it is of great importance to our alliance with another magickal order.

Do not be too envious, Rafferdy, for I am sure you will be the next in line to be admitted to the inner sanctum. I will tell you more when I have more to tell, but for now I must be off to receive my instructions. It's all very secret and exciting, don't you think? I feel positively notorious. Bid me luck!

-Coulten Again Rafferdy read the note, and his dread was renewed. What mission was it the sages were giving to Coulten? Rafferdy did not know what it might be, only that Coulten must not be allowed to perform whatever task it was.

His man returned to the parlor. "The carriage is being readied for you, sir. Do you still wish to go to the New Quarter?"

Rafferdy stared at the note. He had to warn Coulten that he was in grave peril. Only how could he do that when he had no idea where Coulten was off to? For a mad moment he considered trying to seek out the sages, to demand that they tell him where Coulten was going. Yet he had no idea who the sages really were, and even if he did, they were the ones who had condemned Eubrey to his awful fate. Rafferdy's mind was a fog of confusion; he could think of no way he could possibly find where Coulten was to go.

Then, by some magick he did not fully comprehend, the murk of fear in his mind was trans.m.u.ted into a clear and crystalline resolve. He folded the note and stood.

"Tell the driver to bring the carriage around at once," he said to his man. "I will go to the New Quarter as planned."

Only, he was not going there for a leisurely drive.

RAFFERDY DRUMMED HIS fingers against the bench of his carriage as it made its way up the Promenade. A compulsion came over him to pound with his cane upon the ceiling, to urge the driver to go faster, but he refrained. The broad, winding avenue was busy with people out for a drive or a stroll in the midday sun. The driver could go no faster.

And what if it didn't matter how swiftly he went? What if all Rafferdy accomplished here was to squander what little time he had? However, even as these doubts registered, he dismissed them. In his note, Coulten had written that the task the sages had for him involved an alliance with another magickal order. Rafferdy recalled the words the magus had spoken, at the last meeting of the society, regarding the Wyrdwood.

Know that we have many allies in this matter...very soon this subject will be brought up in a.s.sembly by members of one such order.

The matter of the Wyrdwood had indeed been brought up at a.s.sembly-by the Magisters. Rafferdy knew what magickal order many of them belonged to. What was more, he knew by name at least one member of that order.

The carriage came to a halt, and the driver climbed down to open the door.

"We have arrived at Lord Farrolbrook's abode, sir."

Rafferdy took up his hat and cane, then departed the carriage. "Wait here," he instructed the driver. "It is my hope I will not be long."

Gripping his cane, Rafferdy pa.s.sed through a large gate and walked up marble steps to the door of a grand house. It was an ostentatious structure, with a surfeit of columns, friezes, and winged cherubs that perched upon every available cornice and ledge like so many fat stone pigeons. It was gaudy and absurd-that is, precisely the sort of edifice he would have expected its occupant to dwell in.

He reached the front door and, eschewing the ornate knocker fashioned from a trio of bronze nymphs, used the handle of his cane to rap on the door. After a moment this was opened by a tall but rather stooped manservant. cane to rap on the door. After a moment this was opened by a tall but rather stooped manservant.

"I am sorry," he intoned in a dry voice before Rafferdy could utter a word, "but the master is not receiving visitors today." He started to shut the door.

Rafferdy wedged his cane in the gap, then used it as a lever to force the door back. He was not about to be delayed in his task by a haughty butler. "You will take me to Lord Farrolbrook at once," he said, and he raised his right hand so that the gem on his House ring flashed blue in the sunlight.

This action had an even greater effect on the man than Rafferdy had hoped it would, for his heretofore squinted eyes went wide, and he took a hasty step back from the door. Rafferdy seized the opportunity to cross the threshold.

"Thank you," he said pleasantly. "Now, show me to your master."

However, the man shook his head. "I told him I will not have any more dealings with your kind-not after the last time. If you wish to see him, then find him yourself!"

With that the manservant turned and hurried down a hallway, shooing a pair of maids-who had no doubt been eavesdropping-ahead of him. Rafferdy found this all very peculiar, but there was no time to wonder about it. He left the front hall in the opposite way the butler had gone, guessing from the man's reaction that this would be the most likely direction to find the master of the house.

His hypothesis soon proved correct. The first two doors he opened revealed empty rooms beyond, but the third, at the end of the corridor, led to a large parlor. It was hard at first to gauge the parlor's expanse, for the curtains had been drawn over the windows, shutting out most of the daylight.

Gradually Rafferdy's eyes adjusted to the gloom, and he became aware of a vast array of clutter that filled the parlor: tables littered with compa.s.ses and s.e.xtants and scales, large canvases resting upon easels, and half-finished sculptures that strained and contorted to free themselves from blocks of stone. All manner of books and tools were scattered about, along with numerous trays containing uneaten food and full cups of tea. There was a stale, rather unwholesome smell upon the air. books and tools were scattered about, along with numerous trays containing uneaten food and full cups of tea. There was a stale, rather unwholesome smell upon the air.

Rafferdy was about to shut the door when a silhouette, which he had taken to be a pale statue draped in black cloth, suddenly took a step toward him.

"Have you come to deprive me of my magick, then?" spoke a voice-one that for all its weariness had a clear timbre that carried across the parlor. "But you must know by now there is not much to take."

The figure took another step forward. It was not a statue, but rather a tall man with long, pale hair. He wore a black robe that was heavily decorated with frills and ruffs.

Despite the urgency of his business here, Rafferdy felt both pity and curiosity. It had seemed in a.s.sembly the other day that Farrolbrook was losing his wits, and now Rafferdy could only believe that was the case. He took a step into the room. As he did, he pa.s.sed one of the paintings that leaned upon an easel. It depicted a pastoral scene; or rather it had. Black splotches of paint had been spattered over the image of hills and meadows, as if a dark mold had eaten away at the canvas.

"I don't know a thing about taking anyone's magick, Lord Farrolbrook," Rafferdy said, keeping his tone brisk and light. "I only came here to ask you a question."

The other man lifted a hand to his brow, then moved into a thin beam of light that fell through a gap in the curtains.

"Lord Rafferdy, is that you?"

So he had not entirely lost his wits, then, to recall Rafferdy so well after only speaking to him once-and before Rafferdy was a lord, at that.

"Yes, that's right," he said.

"Did Lord Mertrand approach you, then? Did he invite you into the order?"

Rafferdy shook his head. "Lord Mertrand?" That was the magnate in a.s.sembly who had called out for the destruction of the Wyrdwood-the same one Lord Bastellon had warned about speaking treasonous things. "No, I've never even met him." Wyrdwood-the same one Lord Bastellon had warned about speaking treasonous things. "No, I've never even met him."

"Well, you can be glad of that," Farrolbrook said, then he let out a soft laugh. "But I should have known Mertrand didn't send you. After all, Lord Rafferdy, you aren't wearing gloves."

Rafferdy could only stare. What did Farrolbrook mean by that?

"Do forgive me, Lord Rafferdy. I have completely forgotten my manners. I'm afraid that I am...that is, I haven't been entirely myself lately." He picked up a cup from one of the trays littered about and held it out. "Would you care for some tea?"

Rafferdy managed to swallow. "That's very kind, but no thank you. As I said, I only came here to ask you something. I apologize for calling on you in such an unexpected fashion, but it is a matter of some urgency."

Farrolbrook took a sip from the cup. "Is it about the gray men?"

Rafferdy was so startled he was forced to put down his cane to keep from staggering. "You know about them?"

"Mertrand thinks that I don't. He thinks I have no idea what goes on at meetings of the High Order of the Golden Door after I leave. It is always his habit to flatter me as he sees me out for the evening, and to tell me all that is left to do is uninteresting rigmarole that is beneath me-that he and the sages will send for me at once if they are doing any magick of importance and my expertise is required. And I suppose I have always believed him. That is, at least until recently." He took another sip, then grimaced as he set down the teacup.

Despite the urgency of his mission, Rafferdy could only be fascinated, while at the same time he felt the hair on his neck stand on end. "So you think your order is doing something to its magicians-that it is making them into these gray men?"

Lord Farrolbrook moved to one of the paintings and picked up a brush and a palette. "I suppose I shouldn't tell you. It is all meant to be secret. Only lately they have begun to say things around me as if I am not there. I think they believe that I won't comprehend them." as if I am not there. I think they believe that I won't comprehend them."

Rafferdy understood. Their opinion of Lord Farrolbrook was clearly no higher than his own. They had simply been using his popularity in a.s.sembly to further their own ends, whatever those were.

"But they were wrong," Rafferdy said. "You did understand them."

Farrolbrook laughed at this. "Not so well as you might think! You see, I have come to realize that I am not much of a magician after all. You may have heard of all my famous exploits, Lord Rafferdy-how I called down lightning and made objects placed in a cabinet vanish. Well, I am convinced now that I achieved none of those things on my own. It was all their their doing, weaving enchantments behind my back. They simply made it look as if I were the one doing magick. Only I never was." He ran the brush over the canvas-an idyllic scene of a country cottage-staining it with black paint. doing, weaving enchantments behind my back. They simply made it look as if I were the one doing magick. Only I never was." He ran the brush over the canvas-an idyllic scene of a country cottage-staining it with black paint.

Rafferdy took a step closer to him. "Yet you are a magician."

"Do not try to flatter me as they did, Lord Rafferdy!"

"That is not what I mean. I only note that you wear a magician's ring."

Farrolbrook's brush ceased to move, then he raised his hand to regard it. The gem set in his House ring glinted red in the thin beam of sunlight that pa.s.sed between the curtains.

"I do not know," he said softly. "I am descended of magicians, for whatever that is worth. Anyway, I suppose it doesn't matter if I tell you about the gray men. Mertrand and the sages are already angry with me-they made that very clear the last time they were here. Besides, you're not the only one who suspects something. Lady Shayde has sent that hooligan of hers to speak to me more than once."

Rafferdy was astonished anew. "Moorkirk? What has he wanted with you?"

"Lady Shayde knows about the gray men," Lord Farrolbrook said, daubing his brush against the palette. "What's more, she's pieced together enough evidence to suspect that at least some of them belong to the same magickal order that I do. I haven't told her anything, though. Not yet, at any rate." He blotted out a cloud with black. "So why was she looking at you at a.s.sembly the other day?" pieced together enough evidence to suspect that at least some of them belong to the same magickal order that I do. I haven't told her anything, though. Not yet, at any rate." He blotted out a cloud with black. "So why was she looking at you at a.s.sembly the other day?"

Rafferdy could only wince. "I've had the unfortunate luck to encounter her and her man Moorkirk while they were in the process of investigating some of these gray men."

"Ah, that is ill luck indeed-though not as ill as that of the men whom Lady Shayde was investigating."

Rafferdy thought of Eubrey, the black symbol on his hand, and his throat grew tight. He could only nod.

"I fear more will be similarly unlucky," Farrolbrook went on, still working his brush. "Lord Mertrand has made some bargain with the magus of another order. Mertrand gave this other magus something of great value, and in return he gets more magicians to turn into gray men-something he needs, for our own order grows depleted, and he cannot recruit young men quickly enough to suit his purposes."

Rafferdy could only shudder at this abominable activity. "But what is his purpose? What are the gray men for?"

"I don't know. To ruin things, I think. And to sow disruption and suspicion in Altania. For so long I thought nothing about what the others in the order did-I cared only for my experiments, my paintings, and my speeches. Only ever since my father pa.s.sed, a feeling has been growing in me, stronger and stronger every day. It is..." He shook his head. "But I cannot explain it. Still, I fear they are doing something awful."

"Something awful?" Rafferdy thought of the words his father had said in their final conversation, how magicians were responsible for working great ill-perhaps the greatest ill ever done in all of history. "But what do they mean to accomplish?"

"I don't know." Lord Farrolbrook's brush went still, and he c.o.c.ked his head. "No, that's not true. I do do know. It has something to do with the Wyrdwood. They want to destroy it, to cut it all down and burn it up, only they must not be allowed to do so." know. It has something to do with the Wyrdwood. They want to destroy it, to cut it all down and burn it up, only they must not be allowed to do so."

"But why not?"

Farrolbrook pressed a hand to his temple. "I'm not certain. But if it is something they wish for, it cannot be good. And without doubt they are scheming to do it. I heard them talking as they left here. They said the magus of that other society-the one Lord Mertrand has a bargain with-is sending a magician to the wall to perform another experiment."

Again Rafferdy suffered a shock. "To the wall-you mean to Madiger's Wall?"

"Yes, Madiger's Wall, I'm sure of it. I'm not certain what this experiment involves. I believe I heard them say it has something to do with some door that was discovered there." Lord Farrolbrook turned away from the easel. "Only, I have forgotten my manners again. You said you came here to ask a question, Lord Rafferdy-what is it?"

Rafferdy stared past the tall lord at the painting. All traces of the country scene were gone now; the canvas was solid black.

"Nothing important," he said. "I am sorry to have disturbed you. I beg your leave, my lord."

He gave a swift bow, then turned to hurry from the parlor. As he reached the door, Rafferdy glanced back into the room. Farrolbrook had set down his brush, and he stood in the dimness of the room in his ruffled black robe. His lips moved silently as he turned the House ring around and around on his finger.

Rafferdy felt a peculiar compulsion to go back to him, to try to listen to what he was saying, but there was no time for that. The sages had sent Coulten back to the door in the wall. For what purpose, Rafferdy did not know, but it could not be for good. He rushed through the front hall, out the door, and down the steps to his carriage.

"I must leave the city," he said as his driver helped him inside and shut the door. "Drive me to Madiger's Wall at once."

The man appeared surprised by these directions, but he only nodded. He climbed back into his seat and snapped the reins, and the carriage rolled into motion. As it did, Rafferdy slumped back against the seat. It would take at least three hours to get to the wall. the carriage rolled into motion. As it did, Rafferdy slumped back against the seat. It would take at least three hours to get to the wall.

"Good G.o.d, Coulten," he said aloud. "Please try not to do anything foolish before I get there."

And he twisted his own House ring on his finger as first the city and then the countryside flickered by outside the window.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE.

IVY GLANCED IN a mirror, making sure her hair was pinned firmly in place, then took up her bonnet and parasol.

That morning at breakfast, quite to her surprise, Mr. Quent had asked her if she would like to take a drive in the country. Ivy was thrilled by this idea. All the same, she had tried to remain composed, and she said that while a drive sounded very nice, she wondered that he didn't have to go to the Citadel. However, he a.s.sured her that nothing could be more important than to take her on a drive, that it was long overdue. He had some correspondence to go through that morning, but come afternoon they would be off.

Now the sound of bells drifted through the window as the church down the street chimed the start of the third farthing. Ivy left her chamber and went downstairs, taking the steps at a swift pace. She could not think of anything more delightful than going out to the country with her husband. Nor did she have to worry about abandoning her sisters, for they had not one but two affairs to attend that day, and so would be well occupied. Her thoughts thus happily directed, she leaped off the last step into the front hall.

Mr. Quent was not there, as she had expected. She looked out the front door, wondering if he had already brought the cabriolet around, but the street beyond the gate was empty. She shut the door and went to his study off the north end of the hall.

And there he was, sitting at his desk, looking at a letter. He glanced up at the sound of her entrance.

"Forgive me, Sir Quent," she said, smiling at him. "I didn't realize you were still working at your correspondence. I will wait in the front hall while you finish."

He set down the letter and stood. "No, Ivoleyn, there is no need for you to wait for me."

At once her cheerful mood went dim. She clutched her parasol and bonnet, as if loath to let go of what they had represented. Only then, slowly, she set them down on a sideboard.

"You have to go to the Citadel after all," she said.

He gave a solemn nod. "I am sorry, dearest. A message just came for me. There was an...attack by rebels before the Halls of a.s.sembly a little while ago."

She felt a note of alarm. "An attack? Was someone harmed?"