"It is not unusual for an illusionist's abilities to take a sudden leap. Is that not so?" She looked up at Tallyroth, and he nodded.

"I have found it often to be the case," he said. "There comes a point when, after much fumbling, one suddenly understands how to grasp the light, to call it forth, and to shape it. It is as if, after lurching around in a darkened room, one's hand brushes a doork.n.o.b, and he thrusts the door open, letting light stream in."

"Yes, it was just like that!" Eldyn said, then was at once embarra.s.sed.

Madame Richelour returned her attention to him. "So how many houses have approached you so far?"

"Pardon me?"

"Come now, Mr. Garritt. There is no reason to withhold. I could hardly be cross. Every madam and master on the street is always looking to win the best new talent for their house. How many theaters have offered a position to you? One, two? Is it more, then?"

He was incredulous at this question. "But none at all have!"

"None, you say?" Her eyebrows rose in thin, perfect arcs above her eyes. "It seems Mr. Fanewerthy has concealed you well. How like a true Siltheri! I will have to give him my thanks for that. If I am the first to approach you, I hope I will also be the last."

Eldyn shook his head. "Approach me?"

The madam let out a rich laugh. "Mr. Garritt, you are the most delightful creature! You tease, yet with utter innocence. Any other young man would have gladly taken the most subtle suggestion, yet you make me speak in the plainest terms. Very well, let me be clear: I would have you work at my theater. As an understudy to begin, of course. There are many who have been here before you, and you have much to learn. Yet I have no doubt, should you accept, that you would soon become, like our own Mr. Fanewerthy, a prized member of our troupe at the Theater of the Moon."

At last Eldyn understood, and he was dumbfounded. Dercy had said the madam of the theater had noticed him, but he had merely ascribed it to Dercy's flattery and encouragement. Eldyn listened as she described the particulars of the offer, and his astonishment was renewed. The wage was over double what he presently earned. How quickly he would be able to save for his and Sashie's futures with such an income!

Madame Richelour looked up at the stage. "Well, what do you think, Master Tallyroth?"

"I think we would be very fortunate to have Mr. Garritt in our troupe. That is, if he is willing to work to improve his craft. While it is the goal for illusions to appear effortless, there is in fact a great deal of effort behind them, Mr. Garritt. I would have you understand that before you join us." it is the goal for illusions to appear effortless, there is in fact a great deal of effort behind them, Mr. Garritt. I would have you understand that before you join us."

"I have no worry on that account," Madame Richelour said. "Mr. Fanewerthy a.s.sures me that Mr. Garritt is the most industrious sort of being. You are currently a scrivener, is that not so?"

"Yes, at present. But I-" Eldyn swallowed the words that followed. He could not tell her what he intended, that it was his plan to be a priest.

"Do not fear, Mr. Garritt." Her voice grew low, and there was a gentleness in her blue eyes. "It is not my intention to force an answer from you this very moment. I know it is a great decision to choose to enter the theater. I ask only that you consider my offer ahead of any you might receive from the other houses on Durrow Street. Right now you should find your friends. Go on, then, before they've spent every last coin I gave them!"

Eldyn could do no more than nod and manage a weak thank-you. His mind was abuzz and his heart fluttered. A kind of fear had seized him, but it was not entirely unpleasant. He hurried to the front of the theater. However, just before he pa.s.sed through the curtain, he cast a glance back.

Madame Richelour had gone up on the stage. She stood beside Master Tallyroth, who sat in his chair again. He reached up a trembling hand, and she took it in her own, stroking it, stilling its spasms. She smiled at him, only there was a sorrow in the expression, and he gently shook his head.

Eldyn felt keenly that the tableau upon the stage was not for any audience to see. He turned and pa.s.sed through the curtain.

ELDYN LET THE shadows fall away from him just as he reached the Red Jester. The doorkeeper gave a start as Eldyn appeared abruptly in the circle of lamplight before the tavern, then he scowled and jerked a meaty thumb at the door. Eldyn should have cast off the shadows sooner; however, his mind was still consumed with what had happened at the theater.

He gave the doorkeeper an apologetic bow, then headed into the smoky interior of the tavern. The Red Jester was a frequent haunt of illusionists of the Theater of the Moon not because of its quality or character, but solely due to its proximity to the theater.

A flash of light and a burst of laughter let him know which direction to go, and he followed them to the back of the tavern. The other young men hailed his arrival with raised cups and a spray of multicolored streamers that burst from thin air. Eldyn could only laugh, and some of the tumult in his mind was eased as a cup of punch was placed in his hand.

He took a long swallow, but before he could take another Dercy had his arm and pulled him away into a dim corner. His eyes were alight.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" Eldyn said.

"Don't you you play coy with me, Eldyn Garritt. Your innocence is an illusion I know how to see through. Something went on after I left the theater. What did Madame Richelour say to you?" play coy with me, Eldyn Garritt. Your innocence is an illusion I know how to see through. Something went on after I left the theater. What did Madame Richelour say to you?"

There was no way to say it except plainly. "She offered me a position as understudy at the theater."

Dercy let out a great cry, like the war whoop of an aboriginal from the New Lands. He caught Eldyn in a fierce embrace. Energized by the punch and by the other's enthusiasm, Eldyn could only return it with all his might.

"I knew she was going to do it," Dercy said when at last they drew apart. "I just didn't know when. Madame Richelour has been watching you since the moment I brought you to the theater. I knew she was bound to want you, and Tallyroth, too. She wouldn't have made you an offer if he didn't agree. They're together on everything at the theater."

Eldyn thought of the moment he had witnessed, the way Madame Richelour had held Master Tallyroth's hand. He described what he had seen to Dercy. The other young man's mirth faded a bit.

"She loves him," he said. "We all know it. And he loves her, too. He always has-though of course not in the way she might have once wished for long ago. have once wished for long ago. That That sort of arrangement could never have happened between them. So she did the next best thing, and she married the theater instead." sort of arrangement could never have happened between them. So she did the next best thing, and she married the theater instead."

Eldyn thought he understood. Illusionists never took wives, at least not that he had seen, yet Madame Richelour and Master Tallyroth had found a way to be together. Only there was something more to what he had seen onstage and the way she had stilled his trembling hand. Before he could ask about it, Dercy's grin returned.

"So what did you tell her, then? What was your answer?"

"She didn't ask me for an answer tonight."

"What's there to think about? You'll accept, of course. You'll be a quick study, I have no doubt, now that you've gotten past whatever it was that was blocking you. Soon we'll be onstage together, and ours will be the finest illusion play on Durrow Street." He grasped Eldyn's shoulders. "Come, let's tell the others."

"Wait," Eldyn said, pulling back.

"Wait for what? There's no reason not to tell everyone. Giving Madame Richelour your answer is a mere formality."

Eldyn opened his mouth, then shut it again. The warmth of the rum vanished, and his dread returned.

Dercy's smile faded. "You are are going to accept her offer, aren't you?" going to accept her offer, aren't you?"

Eldyn shook his head. "I don't...that is, I haven't decided yet."

But that wasn't true. He had had decided, hadn't he? To be a Siltheri, to stand upon a stage and craft wonders while audiences gasped and applauded was an idea as intoxicating as the punch in his cup. Yet it was an illusion itself, wasn't it? For all the beauty they conjured, the Siltheri lived in an ugly world-one of ramshackle theaters and grimy taverns and men who would murder them for the simple fact of what they were. A life of squalor and violence was what his father had lived; Eldyn wanted something different for himself. decided, hadn't he? To be a Siltheri, to stand upon a stage and craft wonders while audiences gasped and applauded was an idea as intoxicating as the punch in his cup. Yet it was an illusion itself, wasn't it? For all the beauty they conjured, the Siltheri lived in an ugly world-one of ramshackle theaters and grimy taverns and men who would murder them for the simple fact of what they were. A life of squalor and violence was what his father had lived; Eldyn wanted something different for himself.

Dercy's eyes went wide. "By G.o.d, you're thinking about refusing. Are you mad, Eldyn? Don't tell me you want to be a scrivener all your life-hunched over your desk, eking out words and a meager living until your fingers are stained black and your mind is as gray as a piece of parchment that's been sanded clean too many times." meager living until your fingers are stained black and your mind is as gray as a piece of parchment that's been sanded clean too many times."

"No," Eldyn said. "No, that's not what I want."

"Then what's the matter? You should be leaping at this chance. You might not ever get another. You're already getting old for it, you know. Most have already been in the theater for years at your age."

Eldyn knew he should say the words. Did he not owe Dercy that much for all the other young man had done for him? I want to enter the Church. I want to pay off the debt of my father's sins, not compound upon them I want to enter the Church. I want to pay off the debt of my father's sins, not compound upon them. Only his jaw would not work; he could not utter the words.

Dercy's brow furrowed. "Well, then? If you have something to say, out with it."

Eldyn could only shake his head.

"What's wrong? Why can't you speak?" Dercy threw his cup on the moldy straw that covered the floor. It shattered. "Must I always tell you what to do, then, like the day I told you how to best that highwayman? You are a good man, Eldyn Garritt. But by G.o.d, sometimes you are so mild you drive me to fits. I know you have b.a.l.l.s in your trousers, so make use of them for once. Just because you're a Siltheri doesn't mean you have to be a weakling."

At once Dercy snapped his mouth shut. That he knew he had gone too far was clear upon his face. However, the effect of his words was sudden and complete. Eldyn was no longer tongue-tied.

"My father called me weak." He did not speak loudly, yet he knew as he uttered the words that there was a force to them. "So did Westen. But they were both of them wrong. As are you, Dercy. I may be soft, I do not deny it, but I am not weak. And I'm not a Siltheri either-not unless I choose to be. Nor do I need anyone to make that choice for me."

Regret shone in Dercy's eyes. "Eldyn, I'm sorry. I'm drunk and an idiot tonight. You have to forget what I said."

Eldyn shook his head. Despite what Dercy had claimed, his mind was no piece of vellum that could be sanded clean. He had had enough of run-down taverns and sour punch and illusionists. "I'm tired, Dercy. I'm going home. I must see to my sister." had enough of run-down taverns and sour punch and illusionists. "I'm tired, Dercy. I'm going home. I must see to my sister."

"No, Eldyn, don't go. Please, not like this."

Dercy reached out to grasp Eldyn's arm, but his fingers closed around empty air. A shadow flickered by the tavern door, then was gone.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

IT WAS THE morning of a middle lumenal, the day after Ivy had gone to Lady Marsdel's for tea, when a note from Mr. Barbridge arrived at The Seventh Swan. Something had been discovered at the house on Durrow Street that Sir and Lady Quent needed to see at once.

They proceeded to the house immediately following breakfast. All the way there, Ivy's imagination explored the most unwelcome possibilities. Had a series of faulty beams been uncovered, or a weakness in the foundation that would require further repairs and delay?

By the time Mr. Quent brought the cabriolet to a halt, Ivy was in a state of agitation. When they entered the house, she could not see anything that was an immediate source of concern. To her eye, the front hall was all but complete. The walls were smooth with fresh paint, and the marble fireplace at the far end had been restored to its original beauty, including the Dratham crest above the mantel.

The double staircase was also finished and formed a sweeping centerpiece to the hall. Though one side of it was new, it had been made to look as rich and detailed as the original. The only differences were the newel posts at the foot of the old staircase, each topped as ever with an orb carved into the shape of an eye. were the newel posts at the foot of the old staircase, each topped as ever with an orb carved into the shape of an eye.

Mr. Barbridge had taken seriously the command not to alter the unique and peculiar features of the house, even though it had cost him more than a few workers who became unsettled by such things. Those that stayed had evidently grown used to being observed by the house, for the eyes atop the posts were uncovered. They blinked open as Ivy and Mr. Quent proceeded upward, following the sounds of construction. The eyes glanced at them in a disinterested fashion, then snapped shut again.

The state of the second-floor gallery was hard to judge, as it was still draped in cloths. Sun streamed through the windows, which had been greatly expanded, igniting the flecks of dust that swirled upon the air. Mr. Barbridge saw them as they entered, and hurried over. The builder's coat was frosted with plaster dust.

"I am glad you have come, Sir Quent, Lady Quent. I was sure the moment we found it that you would want to see for yourselves."

Mr. Quent regarded him. "What is it you have found?"

"Something we should have discovered long ago, only the cracks were finer this time. It was not until yesterday that I noticed them. However, once I did, I knew it had to be there, and so I had the men tear down the wall."

"But what was it, Mr. Barbridge?" Ivy said, her alarm renewed by this discussion of cracks and walls being torn down.

"Come see for yourself, Lady Quent."

Ivy and Mr. Quent followed after Mr. Barbridge to the south end of the gallery. The dust grew thicker as they went. She started to ask him how long of a delay he thought this would cause.

Then she halted.

"I see," Mr. Quent said beside her. "So there is another."

"I fault myself for not realizing it sooner," Mr. Barbridge said. "But the plasterwork covering this one is somewhat newer, I think, and so the wall has not had as much time to develop signs of weakness. Indeed, the cracks were so fine that if the men had put another coat of paint on the wall, I might never have seen them. Well, Lady Quent, what do you think? Another piece to inspire conversation, wouldn't you say?" put another coat of paint on the wall, I might never have seen them. Well, Lady Quent, what do you think? Another piece to inspire conversation, wouldn't you say?"

Ivy's throat was too tight-from the dust, and from wonder-to reply. Instead, she moved closer to the wall to examine the thing the men had uncovered.

It was another door.

Like the first, it was fashioned of dark wood with a glossy coating of varnish. This one was not adorned with leaves like the other, on the north side of the gallery. Instead, carved upon the door was a shield and a sword. So intricately was the sword rendered that she could make out the grain of the leather binding on its hilt and fine marks along the edge of the blade as if it had been used in battle. The shield behind was adorned with a fanciful design made up of concentric and interlocking circles.

"It's exquisite," she murmured.

"I presume this one does not go through to the other side of the wall either?" Mr. Quent said.

The builder nodded. "Just like the other. That they are a matched pair, I have no doubt. Though as I said, from the differences in the plasterwork, I don't believe they were covered at the same time."

Ivy marveled that, despite the extent of the restorations, the house on Durrow Street still had secrets to reveal. She and Mr. Quent spent a little while more examining the door, fascinated by its beauty. Then, knowing they were in the way of the workmen, they bid Mr. Barbridge farewell.

As they left the gallery, Ivy glanced at the other door, the one all carved with leaves. She had not seen them tremble again, not since the day she had seen the man in the black mask. He had not shown himself to her since then, and she was beginning to hope that he had heard the words she had spoken in her mind, and that he had chosen to leave her alone.

"I said, Mrs. Quent, did you wish to proceed directly home, or was there somewhere else you wished to go now that we are out?"

Ivy blinked and realized that they stood by the cabriolet.

Mr. Quent's brown eyes grew concerned. "Are you well, Ivoleyn? You seem very distracted."

She managed a smile for him. "I was just thinking about how beautiful the old doors are, and wondering what other secrets we might yet discover in the house."

She said he could return her to the inn, for she knew he still had work to finish at the Citadel before his journey tomorrow. As he drove, Ivy brought up another topic that had been on her mind since yesterday. She described for Mr. Quent the impression she and Mr. Rafferdy had found in the study at Lady Marsdel's, and how she had seen a similar image at Heathcrest Hall.

"I am not surprised Lord Marsdel had a copy of that impression," Mr. Quent said, his hands steady on the reins as he guided the cabriolet through narrow streets. "Earl Rylend did, and I imagine Lord Rafferdy has one as well. The three of them met when they were young men in the army, in the years following the last war with the Empire. They were close friends after that."

"Do you know why they called themselves the Three Lords of Am-Anaru?"

Mr. Quent nodded. "Am-Anaru was a place where the three of them were stationed for a time. It was very remote, on the edge of the desert in the south of the continent, my father told me. He had gone there along with Earl Rylend and the others, you see. They were sent there with their companies to keep watch on the nomadic tribes that inhabited that region, to make sure they were abiding by the treaty between the Murgh Empire and Altania."

"Do you know if Earl Rylend ever brought anything back from the south? An artifact from the Empire, or any such thing?" Ivy described the sphinx she had seen at Lady Marsdel's, and how Rafferdy had said his father possessed a similar one.

"He may have. Though if so, I never saw it, and it is not at Heathcrest any longer. I would know if it was, for I made an inventory of the manor when it came into my possession."

It seemed strange Lord Marsdel and Lord Rafferdy would bring back souvenirs of the south, but not Earl Rylend. However, Ivy put the subject aside and asked another question that had been on her mind. Ivy put the subject aside and asked another question that had been on her mind.

"Lord Baydon said Mr. Bennick was often a visitor at Heathcrest Hall," she said. "Is that so?"

Mr. Quent gave her a sharp look. "You are very curious today."

"I am always very curious."

He smiled at her. "So you are, Mrs. Quent, and I would have you no other way." Then his expression grew more serious. "Earl Rylend had his own kind of curiosity, for he always had an interest in magick."

"Indeed?" Ivy was surprised by these words. It was only recently that the study of magick had become fashionable again among the magnates of Altania. A generation ago it would have been regarded more dubiously. But then, the critiques of society could hardly be felt the same out on the lonely West Country moors as in the city.

"Yes, he was very intrigued by magick, though I do not believe he displayed much of a talent for it himself. However, the Rylends could figure their lineage back to one of the seven Old Houses. Thus he had hopes for his only child, Lord Wilden, with regard to magick."

"Were those hopes fulfilled? Did Lord Wilden study magick?"