Micah, jerking a thumb at Raistlin, muttered in elven, "I don't much like this mage of yours, Cousin."

"Nobody's asking you to like him," Liam returned in elven, scowling. "Drink your wine and keep your mouth

shut. I do the talking."

Raistlin watched blandly, with the vacant expression of one who has no idea what is being said.

Liam shifted back to Common. "Now then, our plan is this: We enter the mage's house in the night, steal the

valuables from his shop, turn them into good, hard steel. That's where you come in. You'll know what's worth the

taking and what isn't, plus you'll know where to sell the goods and get us a fair price. You will receive your

share, of course."

Raistlin was scornful. "As it happens, sir, I have frequented the shop of this Lemuel, and I can tell you right

now that you are wasting your time. He has nothing of value. His entire collection is worth twenty steel at most,

hardly fit payment for your trouble."

Raistlin assumed that this would end the conversation, that he had discouraged the thieves from pursuing their

nefarious

scheme. At all events, he would warn Lemuel to take suitable precautions.

"If you gentlemen will excuse me ..."

Liam reached out, grabbed hold of Raistlin's wrist. Feeling the mage stiffen, Liam let go, though his strong, thinfingered

hand hovered near. He exchanged glances with his cousins, as if asking their agreement to proceed.

Reluctantly both nodded.

"You are right about the shop, sir," Liam admitted. "But perhaps you are not familiar with what the mage has

hidden in his cellar below the kitchen."

As far as Raistlin knew, Lemuel had nothing hidden in the cellar. "What does he have hidden?"

"Spellbooks," Liam answered.

"Lemuel once had a few spellbooks in his possession, but I know for a fact that he sold them."

"Not all of them!" Liam sunk his voice to beneath a whisper. "He has more. Many more. Ancient spellbooks from

back before the Cataclysm! Spellbooks that many thought were lost to this world! That is the true prize!"

Lemuel had never mentioned such books to Raistlin. He had, in fact, pretended that Raistlin had acquired all the

books in the older mage's possession. Raistlin felt betrayed.

"How do you know this?" he asked sharply.

Liam smiled unpleasantly. "You are not the only one with secrets, sir."

"Then, once more, I bid you good night."

"Oh, for the love of the Queen, tell him!" said one of the cousins in Qualinesti. "We are wasting time! Dracart

wants those spellbooks delivered within the fortnight!"

"Dracart forbade us-"

"Tell him part of the truth, then,"

Liam turned back to Raistlin. "Micah visited the shop on the pretext of buying herbs. If you know this Lemuel,

you know that he is stupid and naive, even by human standards. He left Micah alone in the shop while he went to

his garden. Micah made a wax impression of the key to the front door."

"How do you know of the existence of the spellbooks?" Raistlin persisted.

"I tell you again, that must be our secret," Liam said, a hard and dangerous edge to his voice.

Guessing that this Dracart, whoever he was, had knowledge of the books, Raistlin tried another question, asking

as innocently as he could, "And what do you intend to do with these spellbooks?"

"Sell them, of course. What possible use could they be to us?" Liam smiled. His cousins smiled. The elf's tone was

persuasive, he did not blink an almond eye.

Raistlin considered. He was angered that Lemuel had lied about the existence of such valuable spellbooks. But he

wanted no harm to come to the mage, for all that.

"I will not be party to murder," Raistlin said.

"Nor will we!" Liam stated emphatically. "This Lemuel has many friends in the elven lands, guest friends who

would feel obligated to avenge his death. The mage is not at home. He has left to visit these friends of his in

Qualinost. The house is empty. An hour's work and we will be rich men! As for you, you can either take your share in

magic artifacts or we will pay you in hard steel."