Chapter 18

He wasn't entirely sure just exactly when he lost control of his own shop, but somewhere, somehow, that was exactly what happened. And he didn't lose it to Clover… he lost it to Patches.

The little red panda was in her element, and she was in heaven. She took command of them all the morning after they moved in, sleeping on their bedrolls on dusty floors. She made out a list of cleaning supplies they'd need–showing off her new ability to read and write, taught to her by Firetail over the winter–and pushed Kyven out the door almost before he could even get his pants on and get his illusion settled around him. It was a rainy late spring morning when she hustled him out to go buy her brooms, mops, dust rags, scrubbing brushes, buckets, and some basic tools, implements, and utensils that any home needed, such as a pots, pans, dishes, silverware, and a hammer, for example, and he found it very challenging, once again, to make his illusion appear wet. It was probably his proudest achievement, he mused after he got home, that he could put that much detail into his illusion that it looked totally real dripping wet. Once he got home with everything Patches wanted, she drafted all of them and ordered them around like a little general as she took command of the situation. She split them up and set them to cleaning, and Kyven thought that all of them, even Lightfoot, were too startled by her sudden boldness to put up much of a fight. Clover did as Patches said because she saw the practicality and efficiency in Patches' plan to clean the building, and Kyven didn't much care. He was no maid, and Patches knew what she was doing.

Because the shop was the first priority, getting it cleaned was their immediate mission. Kyven did skive off cleaning here and there to go get food, and also to start buying furniture for those rooms that were cleaned. Room by room, the empty building was filled with furniture, starting in the apartment above and working down into the shop proper, as Patches cleaned from a top to bottom pattern. The apartment above was the private space of the five of them, and it was done in Arcan fashion. There were three rooms up there, and it was decided that they would create two bedrooms and a common room. Kyven's room looked like the room of a working shopkeeper, functional and practical and also an illusion to keep up the appearance that he was human should anyone come to visit, but he never really slept alone, so there would almost always be someone with him. The other bedroom was the room for the others, and Patches had had him buy two beds, both of which were large enough to hold three people. Because of the size of the beds, wardrobes were sitting in the common room to hold clothes, sitting behind two chairs and a sofa that formed a square with the hearth in the common room.

Once the first floor began to get cleaned, the shop started to take shape. Kyven bought work benches for Patches and Tweak and set up his own bench, taken from Atan, near the door to the office, which would be where he'd manage the shop's dealings… as well as some other things. He set up the work stations with all the tools a cutter needed, and then bought a desk, chair, cabinets, and a shelf for the office once that room was cleaned out. Kyven had to hire a carpenter once the customer lobby was cleaned to convert the hooks and racks that had once held rope to shelves that would display crystals behind glass panes, to show off Kyven's skill as a cutter to prospective clients. A simple counter would cut off the entry to the shop behind the door from the front door, which the carpenter assured would be easy to put in place. The storeroom was swept out and the carpenter was also contracted to convert the musty room to a kitchen, a kitchen that would require the use of an alchemical stove since the room had no fireplace and hearth. The stoves were simple iron boxes that had a crystal in them that generated heat on the surface above, and also heated an interior cavity used for baking. A slider bar on the side adjusted the heat given off by the device, allowing for a slow simmer or a searing sauté of the food prepared on it. The stoves were fairly common, as were metal boxes with two doors, with crystals that made it cold inside to store perishable foods, aptly named coldboxes. One side of the big thing was merely very cold, but the other side froze whatever was placed inside it. They were common enough not to be out of place in a kitchen, but they weren't cheap, so one didn't see a coldbox in the houses of the poor. But Kyven saw it was more economical to buy it and save on wasted food in the long run, since they could chill what they didn't eat to make it last longer. Besides, Patches' old home had one, and she wanted one for their house… and he wouldn't deny her that luxury.

By the time Patches had overseen the thorough cleaning of the cellar and the attic, including getting rid of some old rope making supplies that had been forgotten and some old barrels and an empty trunk, the carpenters had completed the counters and table of the new kitchen, and Kyven had bought the stove and coldbox and had them delivered, then spent a hell of a lot of money outfitting Patches' new kitchen. But when he was done, when the carpenters were done, and when Clover had went out and bought all the food that Patches demanded to do real cooking, Kyven couldn't deny that the little panda had a point. Her kitchen had more tools than the workshop; knives of all kinds, pans, pots, kettles, baking sheets, cutting boards, graters, racks, everything a professional cook could ever want. And it was all bought and intended mainly for vegetables. Patches was omnivorous by nature but was herbivorous by breed, and most of the kitchen was designed around the preparation of meals that involved vegetables as well as meat. Some of the meat would be cooked, mostly in dishes that called for it, but for the most part the meat would be eaten raw. All of that kitchen was for the vegetables and the occasional prepared cooked meat dish, such as stew or pot pies.

After everything Patches had gone through before coming to Haven, Kyven felt that her little luxury was the least he could give her. Patches had done the cooking, but had rarely if ever been allowed to eat the fruits of her labor. That they would make her cook food she would be beaten for eating and then make her eat twigs and leaves just to survive was the epitomy of cruelty… but nothing about Patches former owners was anything but cruel. They were monsters, total monsters, and Kyven would loved to have had the opportunity to teach them the error of their ways. But they were dead now, killed by Patches herself when she found her collar wasn't working, probably the first time the meek little panda had ever done anything brave. It was just an example of the strength hidden inside the little Arcan, for she had found the strength to strike back at her tormentors, and had killed her master and mistress for all the torment they had perpetrated against her.

The carpenters had done a little more for him than just remodel his customer lobby and kitchen. They built a proper stairway and opened the floor in the corner so the cellar would serve as the pantry for the kitchen. Kyven then hired a stonemason to build a wall to bisect the cellar, and had a blacksmith install a stout steel door to form the new strongroom. The carpenters then came back and built a wooden wall against that stone one so Patches could hang things off of it, and also to conceal the strongroom door, which was hidden behind a wooden panel. The strongroom was huge, and it was going to hold more than just crystals very soon. It was going to hold information.

Kyven bought another desk, and another cabinet, and another set of shelves, and they were down in that strongroom, as well as a single alchemical lamp. That was his other office, and that office was directly underneath his official office. It was a separation of the front from the real action.

About ten days after Kyven bought the building, the place was clean and already felt cozy, the benches were ready, and there was even a sign hanging outside of his front door proclaiming that the building was a crystalcutter's shop, just one of many in Avannar. It was perfectly anonymous, a little shop on a little out-of-the-way street, the perfect way to sink himself into the city with all the justification and cover he needed to hide the truth. Everything was ready. The shop was ready, the apartment was furnished and they'd already settled in.

So, once the cleaning was done, how exactly did Patches wrest control of the shop from him? He sat in his office and mused about that with a rueful grin on his face. She had control of the place because she was the cook, he realized. She controlled the food, and just about everyone in the place liked their dinners.

But the cleaning was also never done. Every morning, she had fallen into the habit of cleaning the whole building from top to bottom, even going so far as to scrub the landing of the door and the flagstones of the street just outside the shop, the only time she ever left the shop. Kyven had Lightfoot keep an eye on her, not because someone might try to steal her, but because she might panic when she realized she was standing out among humans, surrounded by people who frightened her. She was very timid out there, but in here, she ruled the roost. She was the one who decided when they ate and what they ate, she was the one that knew where everything was, she was the one who kept everything neat and orderly, she was the one that sent Clover out on errands and to buy her groceries, and that gave her an unspoken authority. It was an authority Kyven realized Patches didn't even know she had, which amused him. She was controlling the shop without knowing she was doing it.

Eh, it was good for her. Taking control and running things gave her something to do and kept her from worrying too much about being in Avannar instead of back home in Haven.

Kyven had other concerns. Earlier that day, he'd sent official notice to the guild that he was opening for business tomorrow, and paid the last of the fees required by the guild for his licensing and the new shop fees; the guild didn't take a percentage of a cutter's profits, they instead kept in operation with fees for some services, such as their help in getting him set up in business in Avannar, and yearly dues on top of those fees. Every year, he paid a small amount to the guild as an apprentice, but in return he received the guild's support. Now that he was an artisan, those dues were larger, but in return he also received more help, as well as official status as an artisan, which had certain weight in cities and towns in the Free Territories. In Atan, artisans were land-owning citizens, with a voice in village matters, and Kyven had been a member of the city council by proxy, since it was Holm's shop which had that seat. Whoever controlled Holm's shop owned that seat. It had been Kyven, but now it was Timble. Here in Avannar, there were an onslaught of artisans of many different crafts and trades, so they didn't have the same prestige as they did in Atan. But, the fact that he was an artisan did make him a shop owner, a land owner and a businessman, a rung above the people who would work for him.

Tomorrow, he would open his doors and begin being a crystalcutter again.

But there was much more going on, and that was why he was in his office. Kyven was a crystalcutter by trade, and like alchemists and many other trades, it was a craft that required planning and a methodical approach. Now that he was being a cutter again, he tackled his other work here with that same practical, methodical approach. He had a job to do here, and since it was an unusual job, it required him to sit down and carefully consider what had to be done.

The first step was to define exactly what he was here to do. What was he here to do? The short simple answer was that he was here to spy on the Loremasters. But the true objective he had here was simpler; he was here to gather information. That was his purpose. So, now that he had that defined, he went so far as to define just what information was. What was information? It was… well, information. News, rumors, lore, facts and gossip, all of them were information. The writing in books was information. The picture painted on the side of a shop's wall was information. Two drunks telling old war stories in a tavern were trading information. A toddler lying about not breaking a vase was information. He was here to gather information.

So, in what ways would he find that information? Where would he look for it? He used an illusion before him to make a list, so he had a visible means of keeping his thoughts ordered without putting anything down on writing someone else may find and read. He marked down books, reports, and papers as his first entry. Those were written records, letters, communications, and other archived data that he could plunder from the Loremasters' building. Below that, the words people appeared. People often knew things about what they'd seen, heard, or read, and they were a means of getting at that information. The Circle, the council of Loremasters, would know all the things he wanted to know, but he might be able to find some groom or maid that overheard this, and some page that overheard that, then put it all together and build a complete picture of the information he was after. Below that, he put a single word, alchemy. The Loremasters used some alchemical devices to communicate between offices the Loremasters kept in the various cities, towns, and villages. One way to gather information would be to find some way to intercept those communications between the alchemical communication devices. The Loremasters used the same kinds of ones the guilds did, so it would be a matter of stealing one, getting to the person who used it, or building their own that could intercept those communications. Below that, he put rumor. Rumor wasn't exactly the same as people, since people knew information, where rumor was pure information shaded by the people who passed it. But rumors could be useful, especially in what the Masked was doing this summer. Rumors of what was going on may reach him, and that would be useful information. Below that, he put others. There was other information out there, and Kyven certainly couldn't be the only person who made a personal mission out of gathering it. One established network that was already there and would help him was the network of the Masked here in Avannar. They had a small but efficient organization here, several laborers, a couple of shop owners, and even a single low-level functionary that worked for the Loremasters as a contracted lawyer. He wasn't a member of the Loremasters, but he worked for them. That existing network would help him by providing him with information, and Clover had already made contact with them and let them know that a Shaman was in the city and would be here for a while. He was fairly sure that Shario was also well connected and knew what was going on, or he wouldn't be a very good criminal. If he could tap other intelligence-gathering networks for what they knew that interested him, he could learn things without having to do the work himself. Kyven had basically an unlimited budget at his disposal, since Clover could make all the money he needed… he could buy that information from them.

That was a lot of ground to cover, he realized. And there was a lot of information he had to go through. He made a list of that, as well. First on his list was Operation Auction. His primary, short-term mission was to make sure Haven knew exactly what the Loremasters knew about the Arcan exodus under the guise of buying the Arcans. Underneath that, he put the word Haven. He also wanted to find out if the Loremasters had any inkling of just what was hidden far to the northwest of Noraam's human settlements. Below that, he put Crystals. He wanted to find out exactly what the Loremasters knew about the crystal situation, and what plans they had to deal with the crisis. Under that, he put Shaman. He wanted to know exactly how much the Loremasters knew about Shaman, because if they knew what their enemies knew about them, that would help them maneuver around them. Under that, he put the word Arcans. He wanted to uncover any plans the Loremasters had about the Arcans, which was related to their plans for dealing with the crystal shortage, but may be parts of other plans. If the Loremasters started buying Arcans for a construction project, and he knew nothing of that project, then he might find out about it because he was paying attention to how the Loremasters dealt with or used Arcans.

And below that, he put a single word. War. War would be the inevitable result when people realized the crystals were running out. He wanted to know what the Loremasters knew about that, and what their plans were about it. Would they take sides? Would they try to prevent war? Or would they perpetrate war in some way to keep control of Noraam, manipulating some of the kingdoms into war with others? What would they do to protect the Free Territories, where they both had their headquarters and also was the last area with any significant amount of crystal deposits? Would they try to prevent wars, or would they send all the various kingdom and city-state armies against some other nation, like Balton, Bron, Cheston, Flaur, or Phion? If Haven knew what was going to happen, they could make plans and take steps.

Any of those were possible. The Loremasters didn't officially run Noraam, but unofficially, they did. It was a very clever setup, Kyven could admire it. They just advised the various kingdoms and provided communications to maintain the loose coalition between the various kingdoms and city states, and the Loreguard was the subtle enforcement arm of their unofficial power. Danna told them that the Loreguard existed as a free-standing army that kept the different factions of Noraam at peace, for it was a non-aligned army that would be sent to help defend any kingdom or city-state that was invaded, without caring who it was or why it started. They only defended, did not attack, to make it all but impossible for the invading power to conquer the invaded power. The inability to solve conflicts by war made the various factions of Noraam negotiate, and it was the Loremasters who officiated those negotiations.

The information that Danna gave him also factored into what he was planning. Danna gave him names of officers, of Loremasters who were chatty and friendly, and of many of the more important workers and servants within the headquarters and in the Loreguard thinking that Kyven might be able to tap some of them for information, the ones she thought might be most apt to leaking information of interest to Haven.

Danna. He created an illusion of her that was the size of a doll, on his desk, one of the memories he had of her when she was naked, and just stared at it with a distant smile. She was just so gorgeous, so perfect. He'd never seen a body like that, not among humans, not among Arcans, and staring at that little illusion was sparking a reaction under the desk that made him inclined to go hunt down one of the females. It was too bad that they just couldn't seem to get along. Well, they did get along, the problem was Kyven's state as an Arcan. She couldn't handle it. She wouldn't touch him while he was an Arcan, but their mutual attraction and his desire to be human again kept her lurking in the background.

The door opened without him noticing it, and a chuckle broke him out of his reverie and caused him to dismiss all his illusions, in a bit of a start, except for the illusion of his human self. Clover was leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed beneath her breasts. "I'm not sure that little image on the desk matched with the others you had in front of you," she said with a little smile.

"I was daydreaming," he said dismissively. "What is it?"

"Patches wants me to go out and get some things. I need a little money."

Kyven laughed. "Just when did she take over my shop?" he asked, a little plaintively.

"When we let her," Clover grinned in reply. "Do you need anything?"

"What I need is in Haven," he sighed.

"Oh? Did just looking at that little image get you that bandy?"

"It never fails to," he said honestly, reaching into the desk and taking out a small purse. "Here," he said, tossing it to her. "You can buy a few things for me."

"What?"

"I need a couple of empty ledgers. According to Brin, the chandler down the street, there's a bookmaker on Sun Street that sells ledger books. That's just the next street over, so it shouldn't be hard to find. Buy me two, and some pens and ink."

"I'll find it," she assured him. "I'll leave you to your, ah, work," she added with a wicked little grin, then closed the door.

He made a face at the door, though it was hidden behind the unchanging expression of his illusion, and went back to his pondering. He barely had his thoughts reorganized when the door opened again, and he saw Lightfoot pad in. She said nothing, simply closed the door and then pointedly took off her leather belt. She only took off that belt for two reasons, and the act of seeing that belt come off instantly got him in the mood. "Clover sent me," she said in her usual abrupt manner, stalking up to the desk.

"I'm glad she did," he replied, standing up and dismissing the illusion, then starting to unbuckle his own belt.

Lightfoot was always very serious and intense, even when it came to sex. She didn't like to play or touch or caress like most females did. When she wanted sex, that was exactly what she wanted, sex, right then and right there. She would touch and caress during sex, but she didn't want it as a precursor to sex. Where he had to engage in a little foreplay with Patches and Clover to get them ready, Lightfoot was ready almost on demand, which was a little surprising and strangely erotic. In her normal pattern, she was ready as soon as she closed the door, and all Kyven had to do was shed his own clothes. She looked down at his erect penis and raised a brow, nearly smiling. "Let's go," she declared in a voice that would almost sound like they were still moving furniture, or cleaning. She leaned over the desk and raised her tail, and that was all the invitation Kyven needed. She was tolerant of his own quirks, and was still and receptive when he leaned over her and clamped his jaws on the back of her neck, holding her still as he mounted her. "Don't gouge my desk with your claws," he grunted as he fully penetrated her, holding onto her hips, then he set about relieving the sexual tension he'd created in himself by lusting after Danna.

Danna would consider it cheating on her, but Kyven didn't care. He was worked up, and he released that energy on Lightfoot, who certainly didn't seem to mind. She panted and growled in her throat as Kyven thrust into her, then he pulled her up so her back was against him and pawed at her small breasts. Of course, that would be the perfect moment to be interrupted, so Kyven wasn't entirely surprised to see the door open, and Tweak appeared. He took one look at them and laughed, then leaned against the doorframe much the same way Clover did. "Breaking in the new desk, I see," he said with a clever smile. "How is it?"

"What do you want, Tweak? I'm busy," Kyven grunted, trying to keep Lightfoot from reaching back and grabbing hold of his hair. She always pulled it, and that wasn't entirely pleasant.

"There's someone in the customer room," he said. "He said he wants to talk to you about cutting crystals."

"Go back and tell him that I'm not ready to start cutting crystals yet, and I'm really busy right now, but I'll be open for business tomorrow. He can come back then," he answered. "But ask him who sent him to me before he goes. Nobody should be coming yet."

Tweak watched them with a slow smile. "You know, I've always wondered how you two do that without cutting each other up," he noted. "I'm just surprised Lightfoot's enjoying it. I thought she wasn't capable of enjoying anything." Kyven pointedly pinched both of Lightfoot's pert little nipples with his fingers in reply, not drawing a drop of blood despite his hooked claws, which made Tweak chuckle even as it made Lightfoot growl in pleasure.

"Keep it down, or the human will start wondering why you're busy," Tweak grinned, then he closed the door.

"Little rat," Lightfoot groaned. "I'll get him."

"Later," Kyven told her as he hooked his arm around her stomach.

Arcans didn't view sex as a private activity. It was private in that it was practiced between only two, but it wasn't something they hid from the world. So it was entirely natural for Tweak to return moments later, just as Kyven and Lightfoot were working up to climax, and was forced to wait to report until after they finished, and Kyven pulled Lightfoot down into his chair with him, enjoying the last afterglow of their climax. Lightfoot just leaned back against him and panted to recover her breath, and Kyven wrapped his arms around her in contentment. "Now that I've enjoyed the show," Tweak grinned, "the human was named Veraad, and he's an alchemist, the one just down the street. He wanted to talk to you about cutting some crystals for him, since you're so close to his shop. He gave me this note," he said, holding up a scrap of parchment.

"What does it say?"

"It says, umm, hold on, his handwriting isn't that good. Uh, okay: 'Greetings. I'm Veraad, the alchemist who owns the shop on the corner with Star Street. Since you're the closest cutter to my shop, I'd like to talk to you and inspect some of your work to see if we can do business, since it will be much easier and cheaper for me to deal with a cutter that's just a few doors down. I'll come to call tomorrow morning when your shop is officially open. Thank you.' He signed it."

"I'll talk to him tomorrow," Kyven hummed, rubbing Lightfoot's taut, muscled belly and licking the side of her face.

"Aww, so cute," Tweak teased. "The widdle kitty likes to have her tummy rubbed, doesn't she?" he said in an insultingly cooing manner. "Though after watching that, maybe I'll go hunt down Patches and see if she'll do a little cleaning for me. I have a little something in my pants she can polish," he said crudely.

Lightfoot patted his arms to make him let go, and she got off of his lap and rounded the desk. Tweak didn't pay her much mind, at least until she grabbed him by the back of his peasant smock and started dragging him towards the door. "Let's see if I enjoy it," she told him over his protests.

"Kyven! Kyv, she'll skin me alive! Kyv, don't–let go! Stop!" Tweak protested as she dragged him from the office.

"And that's why you don't annoy Lightfoot," Kyven chuckled as he heard the cat drag Tweak upstairs.

Tweak's howls from upstairs were like music that accompanied Kyven's further pondering of the problem, then he went out to the workshop, sat down and started cutting some milk crystals to shake off the rust. Soon he'd be doing this for a living again, and he had to make sure he could do it after nearly a year without picking up a hammer and cutting chisel, and with claws on his fingers now. But after cutting his third milk crystal and both having no problems with his claws and making his cuts clean and perfectly angled, he moved on to one of Clover's created crystals, a fairly large irregularly shaped red crystal with several internal flaws, a crystal she made for him that would be very hard to cut, just so he could ensure he still knew what he was doing. He inspected the crystal for nearly half an hour, feeling it in his hand, looking into the crystal with his innate sense that made him so good at what he used to do for a living. He guessed his status as a Shaman was why he could feel the power of the crystal, and that sense of it let him know innately, instinctively just how to cut it to bring out its maximum power. The sound of steel against crystal chimed in the shop like a tinkling bell as he got to work on it, carefully keeping the chips in the shallow box over which the crystal hung by a cutting clamp, since the chips themselves were valuable. By the time Tweak came down, blood staining his ruddy brown fur on his sides and a pink patch over each collarbone where Lightfoot sank her claws into him, he was nearly done, cutting in a very challenging cleft between two protrusions of the irregular crystal to cleave into a natural fault–or an intentionally placed fault, since this crystal was made by Clover specifically to challenge his cutting skills–and balance its energy. "You look wrung out," Kyven said with a slight smile, his tail swishing behind him as he returned his concentration to his work.

"She–she did that on purpose!" he accused. "She dug her claws in me in all kinds of places! Look at my butt!" he raged, turning around and showing Kyven some bloodstained roughed-up patches of brown fur on his backside. "She was an animal!"

Lightfoot padded down the stairs silently behind him, and he jumped in surprise when she tapped him on the shoulder. "An animal?" she asked in a deceptively mild voice, then she gripped his shoulder, making sure to dig her claws into his skin.

"Uh, I meant that in a nice way," he said, looking over his shoulder back at her, then he hissed in pain when she drove her claws in just a little deeper.

"Really?" she asked in a mild yet dangerous tone.

"Uhhh, sure," he said, the mask of brown fur over his eyes seeming to tighten as he tried to put a good face on, to save his hide. His face became nervous when she extended the small yet razor-sharp claw on her fingers on her other hand and reached it around him, sliding the tip of her index finger claw down the cleft of his chest, then down over his slim stomach. He almost squirmed when the tip of that claw came to rest at the base of his penis, exerting a very light but absolutely unignorable pressure in a very sensitive area. "L–Lightfoot? What are you doing?" he asked, a little fearfully.

"Thinking," she answered in her usual mild, calm voice, tapping that claw into his skin pointedly.

"About?"

"What to do to you."

That about did it. He squirmed out of her grip, which had to be painful with that clawed hold she had on his shoulder, then ran, which made Lightfoot smile a smug little smile. Kyven just chuckled and gave Lightfoot a grin. "How was it?"

"Bloody," she answered in her curt manner, licking little red spots off the tips of her claws, which made Kyven explode into laughter.


Since the shop was mandatory for hiding him and his future activities, Kyven invested his undivided attention into it the next morning. Kyven put the cut red crystal in his display case; that he could cut a crystal that irregular was all the testament that Kyven needed to display his skill in cutting crystals, and he really didn't need to put anything else in it… but he would, and that was what he was working on that morning. He was just glad Clover made the crystal red. That crystal was worth about four hundred chits, but if it were green or blue, it would be worth a few thousand, and that might be tempting to a thief. Then again, a thief might be tempted by that crystal too, but Kyven was comfortable displaying it. Then, without much fanfare, he unlocked the front door to his shop, and was officially open for business.

Since he had no business yet, he decided to cut the crystals that he brought from Atan and a few others Clover made for him to add to the display case, to demonstrate different cuts to further advertise his skills. He needed to get the shop established before he could start snooping, and besides, he couldn't do that snooping right now. He did it in his human illusion, finding it challenging to hold the illusion while concentrating on his work, and left the door between the workroom and the customer lobby open in case anyone came in. Kyven ignored the bustling about, as Patches scrubbed the workshop floor with a brush, Clover was out buying groceries for their lunch, Tweak was reading a book that Kyven gave him that explained the basic theories of cutting crystals–though he did that well out of sight of the door, since Arcans weren't supposed to be able to read–and Lightfoot stood silently nearby, her belt around her waist but not carrying any weapons. He had convinced her to just keep them concealed nearby rather than wear them, since it was too warm for her to wear that deep cloak. She still refused to wear clothes, but here in Avannar, that wasn't much of an issue. And besides, Lightfoot had a sexy body, and it was nice to admire her whenever he looked up. If she wanted to go naked and show off that body, he wasn't going to argue in any way at all.

He finished a square cut on a nine point red crystal and was in the act of putting it in the display case when the door opened. A swarthy-skinned, square-jawed man of middle years wearing a burn-spotted leather apron over a bare chest and a pair of rugged canvas breeches entered. He was one of the dark-skinned people that were rumored to have originally come from Eusica, but had lived in Noraam for so long that they were native now. He was huge, easily seven rods tall, so tall he almost had to duck to get in through Kyven's door, and he was heavily corded with muscle, which wasn't unusual for an alchemist that worked with metal. Alchemists and blacksmiths shared the job requirement of hammering on hot metal much of the day, and that made them well muscled. His hair was typical for his people, very curly and black as pitch, but he kept his face clean shaven, showing off a wide, serious nose and dark, pensive lips. "So, you're open today?" he asked in a strong voice.

"I am, my first day," Kyven answered. "I'm Kyven Steelhammer, the shop master. You are Veraad?"

"I am," he answered, closing the front door. "I own and run the alchemy shop down on the corner. I wanted to see what kind of work you do, and if it's good, I'd like to contract with you on a few crystals… get you started."

"My work is right here," he said. He took out the irregular crystal from the case he had open, which was on Kyven's side of the counter, and handed it to the large, burly man. Veraad turned it over in his hands, inspecting it, then he nodded in appreciation.

"A difficult crystal to cut, and you cut it well," the man said. "I think we can do some business, Master Kyven, on a few small crystals to start. Once I get a feel for your work, we'll see about increasing our business."

"Always prudent, my friend. Back in my home village, we didn't often worry about such things because everyone knew everyone, but here in the city, it's only wise to be cautious. I'll do your orders, and if you like my work, you can keep coming back."

"I'll send over an apprentice with the crystals. What fee do you charge?"

"It depends on the crystal, but I differ from the guild's standard fee structure, master Veraad. I don't charge extra for different crystal types. A crystal is a crystal, if it's milk or white. But I hold to the guild's standard guidelines on weight and the type of cut. The larger or more difficult the cut, the higher the fee, because it means more work."

"That is different," Veraad mused. "Which village did you come from?"

"Atan," he answered.

Kyven discussed his fees and other things with the huge alchemist for the better part of an hour, and then drifted into gossip, as tradesmen often were inclined to do. Kyven used his newness to Avannar to subtly pump Veraad for information, and he learned a great deal in that hour. He learned all about his neighbors, learned the names and basic personalities of the tradesmen who own the shops along Moon Street, Sun Street, and the intersecting Star Street, which were considered the local neighborhood. There were quite a few of them, since the area into which he'd moved was a trades district. The laundry, chandler, and whorehouse that were immediate neighbors shared the neighborhood with Veraad's alchemy shop, a smithy, a gunsmith, a cooper, a greengrocer–which had to be where Clover was buying their food–a butcher, a glassmaker, a tailor, an apothecary, two taverns, and a festhall. One of the taverns was considered classy, the other seedy. Luckily, at least to Kyven, there was no furrier or kennel in the neighborhood, though odds were the butcher probably dealt with Arcan meat. Most butchers did.

Clover returned as Kyven and Veraad were leaning on his counter, and immediately assumed a submissive demeanor. She was carrying a large pliable handled basket that could fold closed, her grocery basket, and Kyven opened the leaf in the counter to let her by and into the back area of the shop. "You let your Arcan shop?" Veraad asked, with a bit of surprise.

"She's smarter than most men," Kyven answered, patting Clover on the shoulder as she came in. "She's my errand-girl, Veraad. She goes and does the little things I'd usually have an apprentice do."

"Ah, you have no apprentices?"

"I just opened after moving from another town. I decided not to bring any apprentices from the other shop, and I don't have time to find and train any here until I get to where I can't handle the work by myself anymore," Kyven told him. "But, I also need help keeping this place going, so I have Arcans for that. They do the cooking and cleaning, and my little coyote is smart and independent enough to be able to handle the chores on the other side of my front door. That frees me up to focus on keeping us all fed and housed."

"A curious approach. Does it work?"

"We'll find out."

"Indeed you will," Veraad chuckled. "I'm just surprised your Arcan can get the shopkeepers to even take her seriously. If an Arcan came into my shop and ordered something, I'd chase it off."

"She has money, Veraad. They may not take her seriously, but they take it seriously. Now, if that Arcan came in and told you her master wanted something, then held up a handful of chits, would you listen to her?"

Veraad's face turned thoughtful, then he laughed. "I guess I would," he admitted. "And you're a brave man, giving an Arcan money. If she doesn't run to a blacksmith to see if he'll take a bribe to cut off her collar, she'd be mugged on the street by ruffians when they realize she's got it."

Kyven just smiled a chilling little smile. "They can certainly try," he said. "My collars don't stop my Arcans from protecting themselves, Veraad, but they do protect my Arcans. Any brigand that takes a shot at my coyote will be in for quite a shock. Literally."

Veraad gave him a look, then laughed. "I've never thought of that!" he said. "Collars that defend the Arcan from attack? I would almost beg to have you lend me one of those collars so I can study it!"

"Just send a message to an alchemist named Virren, in Atan. They're one of his inventions. I'm sure you and he could come to some kind of business arrangement for you to produce his design."

"How exactly does it work?"

"I couldn't tell you that, I'm not an alchemist. I just know it works. You'll have to write to Virren to get that kind of detail."

"I think I might do that," Veraad chuckled. "Dear me, I've been here too long. I'll send an apprentice over with the crystals I'd like cut, so have your bond ready for them."

"I have enough on hand as long as you don't bring me anything huge," Kyven told him.

"Alright, expect my apprentice in a little bit. Good day, Master Kyven."

"Good day, Master Veraad," Kyven returned, and the huge man ambled out of his shop.

Clover came out and leaned on the counter, looking over at him. "What was that about?"

"The seeds are sown, Clover," Kyven chuckled, glancing at her. "Now you can feel free to zap anyone who accosts you. After all, it's just your collar protecting you."

Clover's eyes narrowed, then she chuckled. "Devious," she said in appreciation. "I'm not sure how Virren will react when he receives a letter asking for a design of a collar he's never made."

"We'll make sure our letter gets to him first," Kyven grinned. "Then he'll have at least a few days to invent something."

Clover laughed. "I'll go write it. I'll take it to our friends here in Avannar, they'll get it to him quickly. And I'll make sure to warn Virren his design has to look like this," she said, tapping the fake collar around her neck.

"He's going to love us," Kyven noted dryly, then both of them began to laugh.

The crystals that Veraad wanted cut were small ones, basic red crystals, and the bond wasn't much. In the shop in Atan, they never bothered with a bond in Holm's shop, but this wasn't Atan and Kyven's shop didn't have the impeccable reputation and trust that Holm had gained over the years. The bond was the fair value worth of the crystals in cash that Kyven gave to the apprentice, after Kyven appraised them and the apprentice agreed with his assessment. Kyven was, in effect, buying the crystals he was going to cut, and then he would sell them back to the alchemist's shop once he was done at a price that was the original bond added to his fee for the service. If Kyven messed up the cuts, then it was his loss, not the client's.

Kyven put Lightfoot to watching the counter, closed the door, and then introduced Patches and Tweak to the business of crystalcutting. He wanted to wait for a real client before doing this, so they could see the real thing, not milk crystals. It was a psychological thing to Kyven, let them get their first exposure to real cutting involving real crystals and with real money on the line… the shop's money. Patches had already read the book Tweak was reading, but he went over it again, explaining the very basics of cutting crystals as the two phases of cutting. Assessing, and then cutting. Kyven evaluated the crystals, explained what he was looking for, explained why he selected the basic cutting patterns but stressing that every cut was unique, a paradox that Patches noticed immediately.

"How can each cut be unique, yet you're going to teach us cutting patterns that are standard enough to describe in a book?"

"Because of the crystals themselves," he answered. "Though every cut is unique to the properties of the crystal, there are some basic cutting styles, patterns, that are based on the natural shape and internal structure of the crystal. And those are fairly common. Most crystals are shaped like this," he said, holding up the roughly round crystal before him. "The type of cut we give them depends on the internal structure, which tends to be similar. The arrangement of its structure and the presence of internal flaws are what dictates the basic pattern. You follow that basic pattern, but each cut is unique to the crystal. That's the art of cutting, and why you can't learn it from a book, you can only increase your practical knowledge from books." He motioned at the five crystals in front of him. "That's why the square cut, the princess cut, the oval cut, and the octal cut are the most common cutting patterns. But there are many cuts, some of which you may never see, because the crystals that need them are either very large or very rare. Larger crystals are more irregularly shaped, and so you use different cuts. But the smaller they are, the more predictable they are. And there are some differences in the different types of crystals. A red crystal that you'd cut in a princess cut may need a different cut if it's blue or green or yellow, because the energy in them flows differently. And that's what it's all about, apprentices, unlocking the full potential of the crystal's power.

"Why don't they cut the crystals we get back home in our alchemy shop?" Tweak asked.

"Because they're made to be all but perfect, and a crystal like that doesn't necessarily have to be cut to power alchemy. But if you cut it, it would be much stronger, because the cutting maximizes the power in the crystal."

"Oh, I get it."

Patches and Tweak watched as he began to cut the crystal after placing it in a little device that looked like a steel crab, with pincers and legs that served to hold the crystal still and allowed him to rotate it. Using a magnifying glass big enough for all three of them to look through it, a trainer's glass, he pointed out the flaws and natural faultplanes in the crystal, and explained how one went about doing the cuts, with a scalpel-like chisel and a tiny hammer. "Those fault planes are the key to the cuts," he told them. "Those have to be removed as much as possible, and if there are more of them too deeply in the crystal to remove, you have to cut in such a way that the angles of the surface reflect internally away from those faults, so the harmony of the crystal works around its internal flaws."

"What if it has no faults at all?" Patches asked.

"Then it's easy to cut, you basically just shave off the rough exterior," Kyven answered. "Remember also that the size of the crystal is a direct proportion to its power. Our job is to maximize its power while taking the absolute minimum away from it. The more you cut away, the weaker the crystal becomes. That's why not just anyone can cut a crystal. That's why your assessment and planning to make your cuts is so critical. You have to cut away the flaws and reduce the impact of internal flaws while removing as little of the crystal as you can."

They watched him cut the crystal, then polish it with a crystal blanket and set it aside. "And there you go, a square cut five point red crystal. Odds are, it'll go into some little trinket or toy, or maybe an alchemical lamp. It doesn't have the power to do anything really major."

"Cool!" Tweak said, picking up the crystal and looking at it. "I've never seen one cut before, the Shaman just brought us little round crystals that looked like balls."

"Well, the Shaman can make the crystal any way they want," Kyven said as Clover came back downstairs, holding a parchment.

"I'm finished. I'll take this over to our friends and have it sent off. It should be in Virren's hands by tomorrow morning."

"That fast?"

"They use an alchemical device, the same one the guilds use to send letters back and forth. Virren has one of his own, as do most alchemists, though Virren's is linked to one here rather than the guild. Virren is the contact between Atan and Avannar," she explained to Tweak's blank look. "It won't send the letter, it will instead cause a device in Virren's office to trace the words on the letter they put in the device they have here. What Virren will get will be a copy of my letter, even in my own handwriting."

"And Virren uses something like that to get in touch with you?"

She shook her head. "An Arcan in Atan calls a Shaman when they need us, using a spell placed on them that allows the one who placed it to hear their words."

"I think it might be time to think about revealing our little secret to the Masked, Clover," Kyven said. "Because soon, I think they're going to know about it anyway, and besides, that would make it much more efficient for messages to get back and forth."

"That's not our decision to make, my friend," she told him simply. "Besides, you have me, and I can get a message to our brothers and sisters immediately."

"I know, but I'm thinking longer term," he grunted. "I want to have the people here feed me as much information as they can get, you know."

"Yes, you told me that, and I passed it on to our friends here."

"Well, information isn't worth much if those who need it don't have it or can't get it. We'll need some way to communicate."

"That's my job," she smiled.

"But I–"

"You have another job to do here, Kyven," she said seriously. "Let me worry about those things. You focus on your task."

"Alright," he grunted. "Let's get the rest of this done."

It took most of the morning to cut the rest of the crystals, though they were such an easy job, he could have done it in two hours. He went slow to show Tweak and Patches, then, after lunch, he put the crystals in a small leather pouch, double-checked his illusion, then headed over to Veraad's shop to deliver them. Veraad's shop was small, much like Kyven's was small, with the big alchemist and three apprentices. An apprentice hurried into the lobby that showed various alchemical gadgets sitting on shelves, from a little iron soldier that would probably walk around thanks to the crystal, to Arcan collars, to lamps, to one device Kyven hadn't seen for a while that chilled the air around it, which allowed it to cool off a hot home in the summer. There were others that warmed the air, which allowed a house to go without buying firewood, but Veraad wouldn't have those out on display with spring about to yield to summer.

Kyven made a mental note that buying a couple of those cooling devices might be a good idea.

The apprentice called out Veraad, who examined the crystals one by one, holding them up to the light pouring through his windows. "Well done. I think we'll be doing business quite a bit, Master Kyven, though I'm surprised it took so long."

Kyven chuckled. "It took about two hours, but I had some problems. I thought I had everything all set up and worked out, but it seemed that my workbench didn't like being brought from Atan in a wagon, and I didn't check it as carefully as I probably should have. It almost fell apart on me when I sat down to work."

Veraad laughed. "I can imagine. Did you fix it?"

"Yeah, it's stable. I had to pound a few nails in it, but it's good now. I don't think either of us would want me to be cutting crystals on a wobbling work bench."

"No, that wouldn't be very good," Veraad chuckled. "I'll go get your bond and your fee, my friend. I have no other crystals for you to cut today, but I will recommend you to some of my more friendly rivals."

"I'd appreciate that."

Kyven returned to his own shop carrying a small leather pouch and feeling… content. His first day open, he turns a modest profit–as long as one ignores all the money he spent to get his shop ready. That gave him a very strange feeling of accomplishment, even though the shop was only a cover for what he was really doing. Despite the seriousness of what was going on and what he was and what he was doing, there was still a part of him that was a cutter, and the cutter in him was quite proud of what he'd built and the profit he'd made that day.

His shop wasn't a success yet, but today gave him hope that it would sustain itself without having to rely on Clover's crystals for its money.

Besides, in a way, it was nice to do what he was trained over half his life to do. He was a cutter, and he was a good cutter. It was the achievement of a dream to run his own shop, even if that shop was nothing but a cover for his real activities, and that gave him a measure of happiness to bolster himself against the ugliness he knew was coming. When the time came that he left Avannar, he would mourn leaving behind his shop, but he'd enjoy it while he had it.


The shop was the shop, but it was also a front for what was really going on. That night, Clover went out, then returned with a large box that was obviously heavy. Clover carried it down into the cellar without a word, and then set it down and started opening the strongroom. Kyven helped her when Tweak told him that she was back, and they carried the box into the strongroom. "What is this?" he asked as they set it on the floor near his desk.

"Your first day on the other job," she said with a sly little smile. "Our friends donated this to us."

"What is it?"

"Remember that alchemical device I told you about that sent my letter to Virren?"

"Yeah."

"This is another one. Our friends in the Masked agreed that they need a way to send us information without me having to go back and forth. They bought another pair. They have one, we have the other. It's fairly simple. Just open the lid and put a piece of blank paper or parchment in it, make sure it fits. When they send us a message, it will burn the words into this paper exactly as they appear on the one they used. To send one, just open this lid here and set it face down on the pewter plate. As soon as you close the device and press this button, it sends the message to the other device. Just keep a piece of paper in it all the time, brother. If you have no paper in it when they send us a message, we won't get it."

"Clever. Hmm, can't the Loremasters pick these things up?"

"Theoretically, but no one has yet managed it, else we would have total access to the Loremasters' own network of communication devices."

"Have the Shaman tried?"

"We've been trying for years," she grunted. "But it is a mystery. We can sense the magic they use, even hear it, but we can't understand it. And to make things more curious, the same alchemist has to build devices that communicate with each other. Something about the alchemist makes it impossible to eavesdrop on these devices. It's actually quite interesting. So long as they keep possession of all the devices, their communications are secure."

"So, any device an alchemist makes can hear any other device he makes?"

"Yes and no. Let me explain," she said as they pulled out the device. It was a squat little rectangle, about a half a rod tall and a rod wide. "It has to be built knowing in advance how many devices it's going to be able to contact. Every one he builds after that he links to the first using an alchemist's trick, and something those in the trade don't discuss outside their craft. But, only the alchemist who made it can link them together, just as only devices made by the same alchemist can be linked together. This device can only contact one other device, and that belongs to our friends, that is how they were set up. The first device was built with only one other device able to be connected to it, then the alchemist connected them when he built the second. They are exclusive. The alchemist who made them can't even build a third device to intercept messages between them, because they were built exclusively as a pair. But some of these devices can talk to dozens of other devices, like the large networks that the guilds and the Loremasters use. Those devices can be set to talk to just one other device, or all of them. That's how the guild sends their messages to all their satellite offices."

"Do all of them work like that? Like the ones that transmit voices from device to device?"

She nodded. "They can only work between devices built by the same alchemist, and that alchemist is usually very busy if he's won a contract to build many of them for a large organization. This device will let our friends pass along any pertinent information they gather, and we'll never have to meet. That protects both of us."

"It sounds so. As long as the Loremasters can't pinpoint our location using the device."

"They could, if they were aware of the other device. But that's the risk we take to reduce the even greater risk of our friends getting constant visits from an Arcan. That raises eyebrows, whether I'm wearing a collar or not."

"So, you could find one device if you had the other?"

"Easily."

"Hmm," he mused. "That might be useful at some point."

"I have another device for you," she said, taking the other device out of the box, that looked like a metal tablet. "Put paper on this surface, and speak into this device here, and your words are burned into the paper as neatly as any pen and ink. This will let you quickly make notes and compose letters. It's fairly simple. A very short pause makes it add a comma, a short pause makes it end the sentence, and a long pause begins a new paragraph. You'll get the hang of it after you play with it for a while. It can be useful."

"Not if I want to put it in a book," he chuckled.

"Just learn to bind them then," she winked. "Until then, I suggest you invest in a good filing system."

"Thanks," he said dryly.

Kyven put the two devices on the shelf behind his desk, and he felt like he was getting somewhere. Clover was right that the device would be extremely handy, it would let the Mask send along any information they gathered that may be useful. Clover had already told them that Kyven was here to gather information directly from the Loremasters, something the Masked had never attempted, but they didn't know who he was. That was for both of their protection. Just as elements of the Masked were basically independent, linked only by the Shaman, Clover was isolating both of them from each other. Operation Auction was the first major event that had caused the elements of the Masked to work together. Oh, elements of the Masked did communicate with each other, but it was always very distant, and the elements never saw each other face to face. That, too, was for their protection. Each cell worked alone with only minimal assistance from the Shaman of the territory, and up until now, their only real function and purpose was to try to save Arcans from slavery, and keep an eye on things as best they could with their limited resources and small numbers in each cell. The Avannar cell of the Masked was one of the largest, but it wasn't any more special than the others. It was a very small little cell trying to survive in the capitol city of its greatest enemy, so it always moved very carefully. From what Clover told him, they had a few friends among the workers in the Loremasters' headquarters from whom they got a little low-level information. They would be very useful to Kyven because they already had some contacts. It was up to him to take that information, and what he gleaned on his own, and put it together to get a full view of what their enemies were up to.

That would begin in a few days, as soon as he was nice and situated here, and after Operation Auction began. That day was tomorrow. Tomorrow, agents all over Noraam would start buying any Arcan they could get their hands on, and then they would be moved into the wilderness. And while they were doing that, Toby would be virtually clearing Alamar out of its Arcans. He just hoped that Toby had a good system for moving them out, since it was such a long way from Alamar to Haven.

His first foray into the Loremasters would serve no purpose other than to learn his way around their building. He seriously doubted that he'd find any floor plans anywhere, so he needed to learn the layout of their building. He wanted to find the council chambers of their rulers, the offices of those in power, learn where everything was without actually trying to enter the areas. He wanted to be able to walk their halls with a blindfold, and know the first names of every rat that hid in their walls. He figured that an intimate knowledge of their building would both allow him to gather information and be his ally if he were ever caught or discovered. And it would also test their defenses. He wanted to know the first night if they could detect him in any way, so he'd know from the outset just how he was going to do what he was sent here to do.

He created an illusion of the building before the desk, then crossed his arms and pondered it. He had no doubt that there were different layers of protection in the building. There would be virtually no real safeguards in places where there was nothing important, but the closer he got to the center of their power, the more protection he would encounter. More guards and alchemical devices would no doubt be present once he penetrated into deeper parts of the building, where those who held power did their work and had their meetings. He wouldn't test those defenses quite yet, he just wanted to learn his way around their headquarters so he'd know where to look when he did start testing those defenses.

He was fully aware that there might be a moment in the future when his life might depend on how well he knew that building.

Clover started, then laughed. "Dear spirits, my friend, that is quite good," she said as he studied the building of glass and iron, with its stone towers at each corner.

"It's what I trained a half a year to do," he said absently. How did they have the building divided? Were those towers where the important things done? Where did the council members that ran the Loremasters keep their offices? Would their library hold any information that the Shaman and Haven could use? How many offices would he have to search? How much information could he pick up just prowling the halls, hidden from their view? Where would he have to go in order to find the most important information, about what the Loremasters have planned and what they knew about the Arcans and possibly about Haven?

The Loreguard might be a good source. Any military orders had to come down to them, so keeping an eye on Loreguard deployment might give him some insight.

"Planning?"

"Thinking," he answered, scratching his muzzle. "I have to learn my way around first, then I can start digging. I need to learn the layout of the place, and the names and faces of anyone with anything even resembling power or authority in there. And in the Loreguard barracks too, and maybe even in the city."

"In this city, the Loremasters are the authority."

"I know, but not everyone in power in the city has an office in that building."

"True. You've really thought about this."

"More than you'd think," he answered, his tail slashing the air behind him. "I've thought about quite a few things since we started from Haven. The man I bought this building from, Shario, he's a criminal, and I'll bet he knows what's going on in this city. I thought maybe I could get some information out of him."

"Most likely," she agreed. "But you'll have to move carefully."

"I know. You can't trust a criminal, but I have my foot in the door with him. He wants me to cut crystals under the table for him, it's part of our agreement that had him sell me the building. I can use that to see if he can't sell me some information."

Clover chuckled. "You've grown up so quickly," she teased.

"Thanks," he said archly, then he sighed. "I wonder how Umbra and Danna are, and how Toby's doing."

"I'm sure Umbra is fine, being babied by Firetail, and Danna is up to her ears in building an army from scratch. Toby should be preparing to start his task, tomorrow if I'm not mistaken. The council and Firetail, no doubt, sit every day worrying about what they've begun and where it may lead, but they know that it was the best thing to do."

"It was the only thing," Kyven said, a bit darkly. "I don't believe we'll avoid it, Clover. The idea to buy the Arcans was brilliant and will minimize the casualties when the humans retaliate against the captive Arcans, but I think no matter how hard the council tries, they're not going to prevent a war."

"Why do you believe that?"

"Because they can only control one side," he answered. "They can't control the humans, and it's the humans that will press the war. No matter how benevolent or harmless they want to look, it just comes down to the fact that the humans will never accept the idea of the Arcans being separate from humanity. They'll either fight to return them to slavery, or they'll fight to prevent the Arcans from achieving an equal status, or they'll fight just because they won't allow a society so different. There are many reasons, but they all point to the same thing."

"If you expect war, why are you here to prevent one?"

"I'm not here to prevent a war, I'm here to make sure the Arcans have the upper hand when it starts," he answered. "If I can help by tipping them off to everything the Loremasters are doing, and maybe assassinate a few Loremasters to disrupt their planning, then that helps." He looked at her. "I'm a human, Clover, but I don't agree with what my people are doing. And when it comes down to a war, I'll be on the other side from my own race. I just hope I'm not the only one. I'm not sure how the Masked are going to react when they realize there's war. We can only hope that they stay with us."

"Well, I'm a little more optimistic than you," she said with a smile. "My hope is that the humans see the futility in trying to engage us in war while we sit in our northern lands, where there are so few days warm enough to march a human army to engage us, and have to do it across so much empty land. I hope they see how futile it would be to war with us, since we have no interest in them or their lands, and there is so much land here that we never need bump into each other."

"Humans don't think that way, I'm sorry to say," he sighed. "They'll see the Arcans as a threat, no matter how harmless they try to look. Hell, they'll see that as nothing but a trick to make humans think they're harmless. The Loremasters will never allow a second power to exist in Noraam, and besides that, they'd never permit Arcans to have their own society. To them, Arcans are animals, slaves, created by our ancestors to serve us. They'll never give that up."

"So you think there is nothing but war in our future."

"I know it," he said grimly. "I can hope for peace, but I know it's not going to happen. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Isn't that wisdom?"

"It is indeed," she agreed.

"Kyven! Clover! Dinner!" Patches called from the stairs.

"Something more important just came up," Clover grinned, and Kyven could only chuckle and dismiss his illusion of the building.

"Our mistress calls, we'd better go up or she'll punish us," Kyven noted, which made Clover laugh.

Patches' meals were unusual, at least to the human in Kyven. Since they ate their meat raw, her cooking focused on the many ways one could cook and prepare vegetables, fruits, grains, cheese, breads, and also pastries, pies, and cakes. She did occasionally cook meat, but only in the course of preparing a dish that also contained cheese or vegetables, like meat pies or stew. She always had enough meat for them, but also prepared at least three vegetable dishes and a bread to go with it, and also had a dessert of some kind for them. Patches preferred vegetables to meat, and Kyven and Clover both were raised on an omnivorous diet, so the vegetables were mainly for them. But Tweak and Lightfoot were willing to try the dishes Patches cooked, and found, to their delight, that vegetables and fruits could indeed taste good. But Patches really shined in her desserts. Kyven loved her baking, and she always had a small pie or cake for them to enjoy after dinner… and she could be ruthless in the dispensation of that dessert. On the days when Tweak was more annoying than usual, the piece she gave him was pitifully small, just a taste of what the others were allowed to enjoy in big, eye-catching slices. The little panda controlled them through that dinner table, for she was the one that fed them.

He kept thinking about things after dinner, as Patches and Tweak read the books he put before them, Clover was playing with a lute she'd bought–he had no idea she could play–and Lightfoot simply lurked in the room, quiet and ready for anything. He arranged things in his mind, organized them, and set himself a schedule of things over the next couple of weeks, the main issue being his first clandestine infiltration of the Loremasters' headquarters in four days.

Four days. On Sunday, the day when the least number of people would be in that building, he was going to invade it and learn his way around, find the offices of the important people, and test their defenses to understand how easy or hard it would be to move around in there. After he had the layout of their building memorized, he'd start digging, gathering intelligence. In the meantime, he had to start going out after he closed the shop. He needed to find the people Danna had talked about, start making friends, start practicing the guile and deceit required.

It amazed him sometimes, how easy it was for him to lie now. He could lie on the spot, and lie like a champion. He could make up a lie instantly, and keep it fully in mind to reinforce it if needs be, not forgetting what he said. It was such a change from the honest upbringing he'd had under Holm. He wondered if it was the influence of the spirit that had made him so good at it, or if it was just a natural talent that had long been suppressed by his straight-laced guardian. He lied almost every day, and he lied so naturally that it was second nature to him now.

Guile and deceit.

He'd put that to the test very soon, both in his making tentative contact with the people that Danna said might be amenable to passing information and his digging through the Loremasters' building, since he'd be moving through it under an illusion. For the people he'd grill for information, he'd have to use guile to get into their good graces, then use guile and deception both to tease information out of them. When it came to moving through the Loremasters' headquarters, he'd need everything he could manage to talk his way past the roving guards and explain why he was where he was and make it sound believable. He honestly had no idea how he was going to do it, but something told him that, when faced with that situation, he'd know what to do. Guile and deceit were in his blood, they were a fundamental part of him. He would know what to do.

He was sure of it.


They thought he was being a little silly, but he didn't care what they thought.

He spent almost all morning practicing eating.

There were some fundamental differences between himself and the illusion he projected, and it had everything to do with his muzzle. The way he ate and drank as an Arcan was vastly different from how a human did it, because of the maw and the human's lips. Where he used a fork to basically lay the food in his maw as an Arcan, it was pushed into the mouth as a human. Where he had to kind of seal up his muzzle using his chops and pour liquid in through his front teeth then push it back to his throat with his tongue, a human kind of sucked the liquid in through his lips, or could pour it in, but the fact that their mouths didn't go all the way around a muzzle was a major advantage. What he had to learn was how to eat and drink as an Arcan and not have it cause a fatal problem, like liquid disappearing before it actually touched his lips. Eating, that wasn't much of a problem. He just had to push the fork almost to the back of his maw to make it match up with the illusion, then use his tongue to trap the food and pull the fork out while his illusion closed its mouth over the fork. But as time went by, he realized that it just wasn't going to be possible to make drinking look believable. There was just too much of a discrepancy between illusion and reality to allow it to look like he was drinking naturally.

For that, he resorted to another solution. If he couldn't do it in reality, then he'd do it by illusion. An illusion of the drink covering the real drink would allow him to drink what was really there but hide it under that illusion, then have the illusion drink in a believable manner. He just had to create an illusion of the mug or tankard or goblet and then attach it to his human illusion when he grabbed it, then just go through the motions. He could drink for real under the illusion, then release the illusion when the container was empty–it might not be easy to constantly judge how much liquid was left in the container, since he couldn't see it himself while it was covered by an illusion. He realized after he worked that out that he could do that for eating too, to reduce the chance he choked himself on the fork, just cover the food with an illusion of itself and eat normally, using an illusion to cover the fact.

By lunchtime, he was already so full he could barely move, but he didn't get much respite. Veraad came back over that day with another crystal for him to cut, a single red crystal that was about eight points, a larger crystal than before. It had an irregular bump on it, which would make it an interesting challenge to cut, and Kyven realized that Veraad was foregoing some of the tentative feeling out and was going to see just how good Kyven was. "This one may take a little while," Kyven told him as he held it up to the light. "Irregular, and it's got a nasty internal flaw in it I'll have to work around."

"Well, if that right there is any indication, you can do it," Veraad said, pointing at the irregular crystal in his case. "My dealer slipped that one in on me, I may as well try to get some use out of it."

"I can cut it to match any other eight point," Kyven said confidently. "And you need to have a long talk with your crystal merchant. He never should have bought this as an eight point. This is a split four point, I could cut this in almost perfect halves with that flaw."

"He's a man I don't deal with often, and I doubt I'll deal with him much at all after today. But, can you do it as an eight?"

"I can," he said confidently. "I don't think you'll get it back until tomorrow, though."

"That's fine. How much extra do you want for such a hard job?"

"Nothing," he said simply. "Consider this proof you can trust me," Kyven grinned.

"I trust you enough to bring it to you," Veraad smiled.

"I appreciate that," Kyven said. "Let me get you your bond, and I'll get to work on this after I finish lunch."

It was a challenging crystal, but not that challenging. Kyven had Patches and Tweak with him as he pointed out the flaw, explained how to cut it, that it would be a freestyle cut following no basic pattern since it was so irregularly shaped, then cut it with quick, sure, steady hands. It took him about two hours to cut the crystal, and finished with a crystal that was still eight points and worked around the large internal flaw. He let his apprentices study it, since it was going back to Veraad in the morning, told them which books to study next, then he went up to his room and got ready to go out and start making some contacts. Clover came up and leaned on the doorframe as he got ready by changing into clothes more appropriate for the kind of activity he was about to undertake. He wore a long-sleeved doublet and sturdy leather trousers that covered as much of his fur as possible, to minimize the chance that someone touched his fur and doubted his illusion.

He knew that he could cover the fur with the illusion by instilling enough substance into the illusion, but he hadn't quite figured out that trick fully yet. His first illusion, the crystal, was nothing but an illusion, but it had apparent weight to him because he had created it with a sense that it had weight… and that made the illusion actually feel like it weighed something in his hand. He needed to start working on making his fur feel like human skin, but he wasn't entirely sure quite yet how to make the feel, so he'd not quite mastered that trick quite yet. It was the first touches of the fox's instruction to him, that if he believed an illusion enough himself, he could cause others to believe as well. He had not yet managed to make it seem believable to himself when he tried it, and so his lack of faith in his illusion made it unable to fool anyone when it came to disguising his fur as an illusory sense of the feel of human skin. That was the keystone of any illusion, that he believe in what he had done himself. Visual and auditory illusions were easy to believe in, since he could actively see and hear them, and others would see and hear the same thing. But tactile illusions were based on touch, and that was quite different, because not everyone may feel something the same way. Olfactory and taste illusions were even harder, because of personal taste. Trying to create an illusion of turnips that someone actually tried to eat would be hard for him because he hated the way they tasted, so any illusory taste of a turnip would be flavored by that dislike and make it taste bad to everyone, even those who liked turnips. It was a limitation in illusion, and one he hoped he wouldn't have to try until he was much more adept at the subtleties and art of illusion. He was good at what he knew so far, but in other aspects, he had a very long way to go.

"Going out?" Clover asked as she came up to the door and leaned against it as he changed clothes.

"Yeah, I'm going to go to that tavern Danna told me about and see if I can't start making some contacts with the people she suggested," he answered, stepping out of his knee-length half-pants and pulling out a pair of full-length trousers. He hated how they pinched at his knee and ankle, but he had to cover as much fur as he could. Those pants, the doublet, and a light summer cloak would handle it well enough, since the cloak had a cowl and that material bunched up around his neck insulated that fur from contact. "I also need to start studying the city, so I'm going to walk around for a couple of hours before I head for the tavern. I need to know every side street and alley in the entire city like the back of my hand. Have our friends sent us anything yet?"

"Only a message asking if we had our device set up, which I answered," she told him. "Outside of that, no." She leaned against the doorframe and tilted her head slightly.

"What?"

"When are you getting back?"

"I'm not sure. I hope I'm not out all night, but I need to start worming my way into some people's good graces. That may take a while, and buying quite a few drinks for people. I'll be stopping over at a crystal merchant to sell a few crystals, since I also need to go to the bank and open a separate account just for this shop, and pay back the money we borrowed from the other shop to outfit this one. I don't want Timble to have a heart attack when he visits the bank and finds all that money gone."

"Come back tonight, if you don't mind."

Why?"

She gave him a steady look.

Kyven chuckled. "Go bother Tweak."

"Tweak's too young and excitable," she complained. "He climbs on me and tries to give me friction burn," she said with a face, which made Kyven laugh. "He's not half as enjoyable as you are."

"Teach him. That's a skill too, just like anything else. If you don't teach him, he'll never learn."

"I guess I could, if Patches wouldn't stop corrupting him," she sighed. "She lets him act that way, and then he acts that way all the time."

"Talk to her."

"I guess I need to, though I hate to interfere," she mused.

"I've noticed you've been a lot more frisky than usual," Kyven teased lightly as he pulled on his trousers and reached for his simple belt.

"I know, it's not like me," she admitted. "Maybe Umbra got me thinking of having children of my own, maybe it's having a good friend that satisfies me always on hand, I don't know. I'm sure you don't mind," she winked.

"Men never mind unless they're sick or dead," he told her, which made her giggle.

"Isn't that the spirits' own truth," she agreed. "Has Lightfoot come to talk to you yet?"

"About what?"

"She wants to go out at night," she answered. "This is terribly isolating for her. She has nothing to do, Kyv. The children are learning cutting, and this is a safe place, so she has almost nothing to do."

"Well, I'm not holding her here, but we have to keep a low profile. I can't have the Loreguard camping outside my front door because they suspect she's been out killing people."

"You shouldn't overlook Lightfoot's usefulness, at least in that regard," she said. "She's a stalker, Kyv, just like you. She's the most agile Arcan I've ever seen, and I'd bet she'll be as good a thief as they come, after she learns the tricks of it. You should think about using her in that manner."

"I will," he promised. "She might be a useful partner in crime for me. But, I can find a few things for her to do, not that I think of it."

"What?"

"Teaching the kids how to defend themselves, for one," he answered. "I'd like Patches and Tweak to at least have a basic understanding of it, and Lightfoot can teach them better than we can. We don't rely on Lightfoot's method."

"I think she'd do that," she said as he pulled on the doublet, settled it in place, then swung the cloak over his shoulders and pinned it closed in the front. "How do I look?" he asked as he reached for a pair of soft leather gloves whose fingertips had been punched out to make room for his claws. Those gloves were his answer to the fur problem. As long as he was very careful about his claws, the leather of the gloves hid the fur beneath them. Fortunately for him, his hooked claws didn't descent below the level of his fingers when he held his hand straight out. As long as he didn't flex his fingertips too much, he could apply his grip to things without touching them with his claws.

"Like you have too many clothes on," Clover grinned.

"You're biased."

"I've never pretended not to be," she retorted.

"Be biased over this," he said as he formed the image of a blond man with handsome features–looking not too much unlike Toby–in his mind, and then beckoned to the fox to make his image an illusion. His form shimmered, and it was replaced with a human-looking Kyven wearing the same clothes, but also wearing a pair of stout leather half-boots, the only illusory article of clothing on him. His feet, shaped like a fox's back paw, just could not fit in any pair of human boots.

"I don't know, I've sampled a few human men," she said with a wink. "A couple of them weren't bad."

"That's perverted."

"You're one to talk, Kyven."

Kyven chuckled. "I guess I'm just a perverted as you."

"It's not perverted, it's expanding your horizons."

"Sophistry," he grinned.

"Having sex with a dead animal is perverted. Having sex with a willing partner never is," she answered.

"Ewwww," Kyven said, shuddering involuntarily.

After doing his errands, and wasting enough time, Kyven went to the Two-Edged Sword, a very popular tavern with Loreguard soldiers. Kyven felt a little odd coming into a place like that, since they were all his enemies, but this was what guile and deceit were all about. He took a place at the bar and struck up an idle conversation with the barkeeper, a man that Danna said was named Berraro, and who knew just about everything that was going on in his neighborhood and in the Loreguard. Danna said he had to be approached just a little carefully, that he could be a bastard if he didn't like you, but he wasn't that hard to befriend as long as one was nice to him and didn't talk bad about Flaur, since he was Flauren. Kyven unleashed all the charm he could muster against the man without seeming pushy or invasive, being friendly and a little dishonest. Kyven identified himself as Dory to Berraro, a prospector who had had enough of the wilderness after finding enough crystals to give himself a nice summer vacation, and who also declared to be something of a fan of Arcan racing, which wasn't really followed in Avannar, there were no race tracks for anything but horses. It was linked to organized Arcan fighting, which was illegal in Avannar; but certainly not because the Loremasters cared about brutality to Arcans. Fighting rings and Arcans designated as fighting Arcans were illegal in Avannar because the Loreguard had had too many problems with drunkenness, fighting among bettors, and one instance four years ago when a fighting Arcan escaped from the pen and killed nineteen people before it was killed by the Loreguard. After that, public outcry against the lawlessness caused by the pens and having such dangerous Arcans within the city caused the fighting pens to be closed down, and the Loremasters bowed to their wishes and made it a law.

Of course, just because it was illegal, it didn't mean that one couldn't find an underground fighting pen or two in the city, or a few just outside the city in the villages south, where the official power of Avannar did not reach. But oddly enough, there were no underground Arcan racing tracks. Kyven figured that since horses were so big in Avannar, that was all the racing the people here needed, and racing Arcans was seen as a shadow of that more noble sport.

Over the course of the evening, Kyven bought enough ale and wine to make a Wolveran drunk, and pretended to be quite inebriated while in reality he was just barely buzzed. The excess was quietly making its way into the tankards and goblets of those sitting by him, who were getting at least three tankards of ale while paying for only one.

Ah, the trickery one could initiate when one's real hands were hidden invisibly by an illusion. He could easily disconnect his arms from his illusion, then pour his ale into another tankard while the illusory hand holding the tankard appeared to never move.

He made a couple of friends that night, and Berraro was only one of them. He made contact with another name on Danna's list, a Lieutenant in the Loreguard who was responsible for the south district of Old Avannar for the daywatch. He was a thin, wiry, tall man named Tabbet, already beginning to bald despite only being midway into his twenties, his thinning brown hair combed straight back from his face to hide his balding spot. Tabbet was a talkative, slightly insecure fellow that jumped on Kyven's offer of talk because he wasn't too well liked within the Loreguard. After talking with him for a while, Kyven found out why. He was a conniving, insecure man who boasted about his accomplishments to make himself seem more important than he really was, and Danna had suggested that if Kyven got into his good graces, he might be a virtual cesspool of information. Danna was dead-on right. After only about an hour of conversation with him, as he gently reinforced Tabbet's idea that he really was important and Kyven liked and respected him, Kyven heard about every little detail of Tabbet's entire day. Tabbet played up all the work he did that day and the men he ordered sent to the holding cells, for things like public drunkenness. He even boasted about a response of his men to arrest a thief, though he had nothing to do with it personally. Everything that happened in his district and was done by his men was spoken as if Tabbet himself had done those things. He was a man with a massive inferiority complex, and Kyven almost instinctively seemed to understand that and how to approach the man to make him talkative. By the time Kyven was ready to leave, he knew absolutely everything that had happened in the south district–which was where Kyven's own shop was–that day, and for the last few days.

By the time he left, pretending to be much more drunk than he really was, Kyven felt good in his work. He had made two contacts that night, had befriended Berraro and had twisted Tabbet around his fingers to the point where the man would tell him if he ever had lewd thoughts about his own sister.

He felt… odd. He remembered everything he said, almost word for word, and he knew he could easily go back to that tavern tomorrow and pretend to be Dory once again, picking up exactly where he left off. His cutter's meticulousness was bleeding through into his guile, making him very methodical.

He was going to kiss Danna repeatedly the next time he saw her. Her observations about the men and women she put on the list had been dead-on accurate, and it helped Kyven know exactly how to approach them to get into their good graces, and therefore subtly pump them for information. Danna had been so precise and detailed, so amazingly accurate with her observations, that it made it almost ridiculously easy. If the other people were as easy to beguile as Berraro and Tabbet, this was going to be a walk through the roses.

He returned home just a little tipsy, but feeling very, very hopeful. And, of course, Clover was feeling a little frisky.


"What are these for?" Tweak asked as Kyven handed him a trio of posts knives.

"These are for training, in two different ways," he answered. He'd dropped off the crystal for Veraad as soon as Veraad's shop opened, and since he had no work to do, he was concentrating on his apprentices. He had a little bit of a headache from the ale and wine he'd drank the night before, but it wasn't so bad that it was affecting him. His illusion was still quite stable and solid despite his minor inconvenience, as he handed Tweak three posts knives, one of the three sets that he'd bought the day before, just before he went to the Two-Edged Sword. He was hoping that someone was going to play posts there, but it turned out that Loreguard didn't like the game too well. Odds were, they got sick of throwing daggers in their weapons training, which Kyven assumed was part of it. "Cutting crystals requires hand-eye coordination, Tweak. So does this. Believe it or not, learning to play this game will make you a better cutter. It's why posts is a favorite among cutters, and you won't find a single one that doesn't own his own set of posts knives. I'm going to teach you the rules of posts, and you'll practice two hours a day, playing each other or just practicing. This will sharpen your hands, and also teach you something that may save your tails if you're ever attacked. Because it's well known that cutters play posts, many cutpurses are very wary of getting into a position where they have to run from someone who can plant a dagger between their shoulder blades before they can take ten steps."

Tweak laughed. "I bet. Okay, how do I do this?"

"First, let me explain the rules, then I'll show you how to throw the knives, then you can start practicing after I get behind the safety of my office door."

Patches started giggling, and it turned into helpless laughter when Tweak scowled at her.

Kyven explained the rules of the game to them as Lightfoot drifted closer and closer, to listen, often gesturing at the two posts boards he'd nailed up onto the wall that morning just after breakfast to point out the scoring rings. Then he helped each of them by showing them how to hold their knives to throw. "It's going to take a while before you get the hang of getting them to hit point first," he told them. "For right now, concentrate on hitting the postboard, even if your knives bounce off. Once you get the hang of hitting the board, then vary the snap of your wrist until your knives start hitting point first."

"Okay," Patches said with a nod. "Can I try now?"

"Go ahead."

Patches' first throw hit the board, but hit with the knife almost flat flush against it. It bounced to the wooden floor with a clatter, and Patches gave a sheepish giggle. "You said that'd happen," she said with a smile.

"It takes a little practice," Kyven told her. "Oh, Lightfoot," he called, then he held out a small leather sheath holding three posts knives, each in an individual pocket. "For you. You'll find these are very easy to hide, they're quiet, and they can be just as deadly as a pistol if you have good aim. Play posts with the kids and learn how to throw, or just throw at the other board when they're playing each other."

She gave him a calm look, then nodded gravely and accepted his gift.

"Did you learn the rules while listening?"

She nodded again.

"Alright, keep them from killing anyone with their knives. I'm going to go hide in my office," he announced, which made Patches giggle again. "And remember, do not play posts with the door to the lobby open. Humans can't see you practicing using any weapons. Did you install that bell on the door, Tweak?"

"Yes I did, Kyv," he answered.

"Good enough. If the bell goes off, stop practicing and one of you go see what the customer wants. I'm going to be in my office."

"Play me," Lightfoot said, pointing at the board.

"Me? Lightfoot, I grew up playing this game. I don't want to embarrass you while you're just learning."

"Watching you will help me," she told him, using more words at once that he'd heard out of her in the last week.

"Well, I guess I can. I was just going to enter our profits in the ledger, but that'll take all of five minutes, since we only have two days. Let me get my knives."

Kyven was a little rusty, but given he was the only one who could plant his knives consistently in the board, which was an alchemical device that repaired the holes created by the knives after they were pulled out, that made him a virtually guaranteed winner. He shook off the rust almost as fast as he got back into cutting trim, however, quickly adjusting to his new posts knives and getting back to where he could have given any posts player a serious run for his money. But he was surprised at the quick improvements of his three companions. Lightfoot got the trick of hitting the board point first quickly, after only about an hour, and by the end of the mandatory two hours of practice, every single throw was hitting the board and hitting it point first. She didn't have much aim quite yet, but that was amazing progress after just two hours, given that Patches and Tweak still couldn't sink two knives in a row in the board. Lightfoot truly was exceptionally agile, and that agility was letting her pick up throwing daggers at a fast rate.

"This feels so right," Kyven chuckled as he pulled his knives out of the board. "Posts is a tradition in almost any cutter's shop. We used to play any time we had ten spare minutes back in Holm's shop, when I was growing up. A set of personal posts knives was the first thing we saved up to buy," he said, remembering with a smile. "Of course, Holm bought us our own set of knives for our Yule present in our third year, but some of us bought hand-me-down knives from older apprentices to use until then, and we still bought our own sets, since a true posts player has his knives made custom just for him. Or her," he said, smiling at Patches. "I bought my first set when I was in my second year and used them until Holm gave me a brand new set for Yule. I bought my own set the next year, and a new set every year until my seventh year, when I was grown up enough to feel comfortable with the set I had. Saving for posts knives was all I really did with my money until I was that old, then I had something else to do with it."

"What is that?" Tweak asked.

"Visit the brothel in Atan," he answered with a light smile. "I spent more money there than I ever did on posts knives."

Tweak laughed, and Patches gave him a surprised look. "You used to go to brothels?"

"Any time I had enough chits to pay for it."

"I never thought you were the type."

"Patches, all men are that type, whether they admit it or not," Kyven chuckled. "I didn't become as interested in girls as I am now when I was changed. I was like that way before then. I made more money than any other apprentice in the shop since I was the Senior Apprentice, and most of it went to the Pink Petticoat."

"I don't mind," Lightfoot noted calmly, which made Kyven chuckle.

"There wasn't a girl in the whorehouse I couldn't identify in two seconds just by grabbing her butt," Kyven added, which made Tweak laugh and almost throw his knife through the storeroom door. "I was there at least once a week, and I bought time with the prostitutes in turns. I took to prospecting just to earn extra money so I could start saving to buy into Holm's shop and still visit the brothel."

"I'm surprised Clover didn't have to cure any diseases for you," Patches grinned.

"We had a few in the village, but the madam of the brothel kept a healing bell handy," he answered. "She stepped on that before her girls could spread anything."

"It's good to know I'm not the only horny male in this shop."

"Tweak, there's nothing hornier than a human teenage boy. I may be a little older and a lot different, but the lech that stares at the girls' butts after they go by is still in here," he said, tapping himself on the chest. "Of course, I can do something about it now," he added, reaching back and pinching Lightfoot's naked butt fondly, which made Tweak and Patches giggle.

"So can I," Lightfoot intoned, grabbing Kyven by the hand and dragging him towards the stairs, which made his apprentices erupt into gales of laughter.

Lightfoot was quite seriously "doing something about it" by the time Clover returned, having Kyven pinned to the bed and bouncing up and down on him quite energetically. "Why do I keep finding you two acting more and more like Tweak and Patches when I come home?" Clover asked lightly from the doorway as Lightfoot worked herself to a climax, then arched her back so severely that the top of her head nearly broke Kyven's muzzle. "I swear, Lightfoot, you're as bad as Tweak, always trying to hurry through something you should spend all day enjoying."

"She started it," Kyven said breathlessly, grabbing the cat by her lithe waist and holding her down as he joined her in climax.

"It looks like she finished it as well," Clover intoned. "It's certainly quite an interesting view, at any rate." Lightfoot responded by opening her legs even wider to give Clover all the view of their joining she wanted, which made Clover chuckle. Lightfoot had a strange sense of humor. "I have some news for you," Clover said as Kyven grabbed Lightfoot and pulled her down against him, then wrapped his arms around her, pawing her breasts and sliding a hand down to cup the crown of her pubic bone, his claws teasing the top of her labia. She reached behind him and tried to grab his hair, but he just playfully slapped her on her lower belly, just above the crown of her pubic bone, which made her give a single amused sound and relent. Lightfoot was a hair puller.

Kyven licked the side of Lightfoot's face languidly, then sighed in contentment as she fully relaxed against him. "What news?" he finally asked.

"The first two waves of Arcans have left Alamar," she told him. "So far, there seems to be no interest in them from the human authorities. From what I was told, Toby bought a large group of them, put them on a barge, and then shipped them off. The barge is going to ship them up the Snake River past the last human settlement at Redmark, then unload them at a camp Toby had set up on his way down that looks like a staging area, complete with a few humans in the Masked and a group of Arcans from Haven there to pose as slaves that will look like were already shipped there. The barge owners will only see the camp, they'll never know where the Arcans are going. From what I was told, he's also sent a large group of Arcans towards that camp on foot, being herded by real hunters and kennel hands who have no idea they're transporting Arcans to freedom. Toby has a Masked member with them posing as the buyer to make sure they don't harm the Arcans, but they have no idea they're helping us."

"Clever," Lightfoot intoned, stretching on top of Kyven in a very sensual manner.

"It does reinforce the idea that the Arcans are just being shipped to some new project, if Toby's using local hunters and kennelhands to herd the Arcans to that camp. As long as he never uses the same men who won't see that the Arcans they took there before aren't there anymore, I think it will work."

"How about from the mining villages?" Kyven asked, caressing Lightfoot's taut belly.

"There's not an Arcan left in the kennel in Atan," Clover answered. "Our agent there has ordered more Arcans through the kennel, so you'll see quite a few Arcans from here in Avannar shipped to Atan, if they're not on the way already. The same story's playing out up and down the border. Our agents are cleaning out the kennels, even trying to buy Arcans from the villagers and miners, and the larger cities should be shipping replacement Arcans to the border kennels after the kennelmasters send orders for them. It should take from a couple of weeks to about a month for anyone to take notice of what we're doing. That gives you plenty of time to get into a position to find out about it."

"I'm already working on it. I'm going to make contact with someone Danna told me was a low-level functionary inside the Loremasters headquarters today. I'll learn how things work inside that building from the functionary, and that will let me explore the building without sticking out like I have a hole in the seat of my trousers."

"You do," she noted with a smile. "Your tail goes through it. Now if you had a hole in the front of your trousers, you'd stick out quite a bit more in human company."

"Yeah yeah yeah," he grunted. "But the amount I stick out would depend entirely on how cute the girl I was looking at was."

Clover laughed. "Then I'd say that Lightfoot must be rather cute."

"Cuter than you," he teased, running his clawed hands up and down the cat's body quite deliberately.

"She has youthful charm and… exuberance. I, however, have the calm confident handsomeness of a mature woman. And I can work you all night where she can barely manage to last for ten minutes," Clover said slyly, which made Kyven laugh.

"But what a ten minutes it is," Kyven announced, grabbing both of Lightfoot's small breasts and kneading them, which made the cat purr in her throat. "Think you're up for another ten minutes, my exuberant, charming young girl?" he asked tauntingly, giving Clover a clever smile.

"Let's try for fifteen," she said simply, which made both Clover and Kyven laugh.


Again, Kyven relied on Danna's quite astute observations and understanding of the people she described to know exactly how to approach his target. The functionary which Danna described was an older man named Bevken, who had worked in the Loremasters as one of their employees for nearly thirty years. Bevken was an old, small, cadaverous, ugly little man who Danna remarked, quite casually, had a very unwholesome interest in little boys. He was a pederast, and to gain the man's favor, Kyven spent most of the day lurking in the taverns and tea houses which catered to people tolerant of the man's perverted appetites, which would give him some common ground to work with as he talked to the man.

This was a task which Kyven found disgusting and revolting, but he had little choice in the matter. To gain access to the Loremasters and be able to walk around in the building, he needed to understand how they worked inside, and the disgusting little man had information he needed. He fell back on his almost instinctual aptitude for guile and the illusion of a tall, very young-looking man of handsome features and brown hair which Bevken would find attractive, and thereby would be more inclined to be talkative.

Kyven made contact with him in an almost effeminately decorated tea house called the Pink Dragon, which catered to men who preferred other men.

It was the most unpleasant conversation he had ever had. He was forced to be accepting and enthusiastic about something that privately made him cringe, but he lied like a champion, and kept the sound of his distaste out of his voice.

It was dealing with Bevken that Kyven realized that there were other ways that this job could be difficult.

He spent almost three hours in the tavern talking to Bevken, who was, quite understandably, touchy and hard to urge into a friendship. He knew what he was, and knew how many saw him as disgusting, so that made him quite defensive. That was why Kyven had chosen to approach in the guise of someone that, while not sharing his views, shared a view that was considered abnormal as well. Kyven had spent the time preparing to take the guise of a man interested in other men, because he doubted he could have made himself believable to be a man interested in little boys. His guise's name was Verick, who was a wagoneer who had just moved to Avannar from Cheston because Chestonites took an extremely dim view of his personal tastes. Once his personal inclination became common knowledge, he lost his job and was forced to move. Avannar was a more tolerant city, so he had moved here just a few days ago, had already found a job, and had found the Pink Dragon to visit in the times he had leisure, a place that accepted his different inclination because it catered to men of similar inclination themselves. Kyven solidified the false identity as he talked, inventing an entire back-story for him basically on the spot, but one that was believable.

"I've never really worked with Arcans," Bevken noted as the waiter brought them each a glass of wine. "They're not allowed in the building where I work, and I've never been inclined to buy one to do my cleaning. I've always preferred hiring young pages for that," he said, his small eyes seeming to light up with a dreadful kind of eagerness.

"Driving a cage wagon isn't all that glamorous, friend Bevken," Kyven answered. "Most of the time the animals just sit there. Some of them can talk, but none of them are ever very much worth talking to. The few that seem smart enough to hold a conversation don't like to talk to strangers."

"Whyever not?"

"Because the last thing an Arcan ever wants to do is attract attention," Kyven said. "I'm a man who likes to avoid attention myself, so I could see it in the smart ones I drove in my wagon. Some people are rather mean to Arcans, so Arcans don't attract attention. I can sympathize with them in that regard."

"Amen. Maybe someday, people can accept others who are different without being judgmental or condemning."

"The world would be a happier place if they could," Kyven said, clinking his glass with Bevken's in a toast. "I'm not doing that now, though. I'm a freelance driver, working for whoever needs things moved. As soon as I have enough money saved up, I'll buy myself a wagon and team. Until then, I don't mind doing day labor. At least I feel safe here."

"Well, I might be able to find you some work here and there, my friend," Bevken said with a slight smile. "I'm an administrator in the Department of Municipal Stoneworks, and we're carting stone to work on streets, sewers, public buildings, and walls all the time. I'll go have a chat with some people I know in the Department of Workers and see if I can't get your name a little higher on the list of contracted day laborers they use when it's needed."

"That would be appreciated," Kyven said gratefully. "At least after I get back. I was hired to drive a cage wagon to some place called Atan out west, and I'm leaving in the morning. I'm not sure when I'll be back, I have no idea how far away it is."

"Probably ten days or so, depending on how long you stay in Atan. It's about four days to Atan if you're not in a hurry, and you'll be driving a wagon, so you won't be going very fast."

"That doesn't sound so bad. Hmm, departments? That sounds pretty complicated."

"The city's government is broken up into departments, which oversee different aspects of the operations of a city," Bevken told him. "The Loremasters run Avannar, but they basically allow us to do the running for them. Each department does its own work, works together where things overlap, and it frees up the Loremasters to worry about the bigger picture. I've worked for them for nearly thirty years."

"Surely you're joking, you can't be that old."

Bevken gave him a bright smile. "You're nice to say so, my friend," he chuckled.

"So you're a Loremaster?"

"No, no, I'm just a functionary," he replied. "I work for the Loremasters. There are no Loremasters in my department, our department head answers to a Loremaster that acts as the liaison between us and the Council of Advisors."

"Doesn't Avannar have a king?"

"It has a mayor," he corrected. "The Council of Advisors appoints one of their own to the post, and he only answers to the council."

"Sounds complicated."

Kyven gently guided their talk more and more towards Bevken's work, and was finally rewarded for his patience when Bevken explained how the departments worked. Despite his disgusting preferences, Bevken seemed an intelligent fellow, and Kyven could tell that the man had a keen understanding of both how things were supposed to work, and how they actually worked. The departments were semi-autonomous, and any time a group of people had that kind of authority, they abused it. Bevken slyly told him about all kinds of ways the workers in the city government skimmed off the top with schemes that enriched themselves at the expense of the city, and how the various departments jealously guarded their territory and were very reticent with each other. There were some individuals who were friends among the departments, but the departments themselves were highly competitive and were, the way Bevken explained it, at each other's throats in a political game of backstabbing and discrediting to get more prestige and a bigger yearly budget, which provided department managers more opportunities to steal.

That was very useful information.

But he got the real paydirt when Kyven asked him about the building, asking if it was all as pretty as the mezzanine was. "I went there to try to find work, and the entry hall is amazing, with all that glass," Kyven said. "Is the whole building like that?"

"I work in a dungeon," Bevken grunted. "Most of the department offices for city government are on the first two floors. Our department is in an interior office, so we have no windows at all. The Loremasters do their work up on the upper floors."

"Ah. I didn't think of that, I guess. It has, what, six floors?"

"Nine," he corrected. "Six floors up, three floors down."

"Down?"

He nodded. "They have storerooms and other things down there. The important people have their offices in the towers, and they're kinda poetic about it. Each tower holds the person responsible for things in that direction. Since there's little out there to the east and west, the one in the east tower is the foreign minister that deals with communications from Eusica, and the one in the west tower handles general matters that involve everyone in Noraam, kind of a minister dealing with the things that affect the kingdoms and city-states as a whole. As you can imagine, the higher up you work, the more important you are. Of course, they get to climb up all those stairs," Bevken chuckled.

"I'll take working on a wagon. It's not that bad, at least when it's not raining. You always have a view, and the climbing you do is in and out of your seat."

"It doesn't pay as much, though."

"I've never been one to worry all that much about money. As long as I have a good meal and a spot under a wagon or in the bed of a friend on the road, I'm happy."

"You should take on a partner as a partner, then you'd never sleep alone," Bevken said with a smile.

"When I can buy a wagon of my own, I just might," he answered. "If I can find someone who doesn't mind the life of a wagoneer."

"Maybe that's the life I should have chosen, that way I'd always be on the move," he said with an eager smile that only made Kyven shiver under his illusion to even consider what the man might be thinking.

"Sometimes it's nice to be on the move, but sometimes it's nice to have a roof over your head. Driving a wagon in the rain is never very fun."

"Winters must not be fun either."

"I don't mind them all that much. You just bundle up. It's summers I don't like. You can keep putting on clothes to stay warm, but there's only so many clothes you can take off to keep cool until you get arrested."

"Well, summers here shouldn't be half as bad as they are in Cheston. That's a fair clip to the south."

"I certainly hope not."

Kyven again let the conversation drift so it didn't seem like he was pushing it anywhere, then he edged it again back towards Bevken's work, feigning curiosity about how all those people managed to work in one building without stepping on each other's toes. "Oh, it's not that bad," he said. "We almost never see the Loremasters because they stay up on their floors, and they have their own personal stairwells that go up there without opening onto our floors. The only uniforms we ever see are the Loreguard when they make patrols of the corridors."

"That does sound like it's less of a problem," he nodded. "I guess they thought about things when they built the place."

He snorted. "No, they walled off those stairways to keep us off of them, and even walled off our single stairway so we can't go up to their floors," he grunted. "If we need to go see a Loremaster, we have to go down to the first floor, then back up using another stairway. We only have one stairway we can use, and it gets real crowded when we start and end work."

Kyven chuckled wryly. "And let me guess, there are more stairways that go up to their floors than to yours."

"Of course," he snorted. "Their reasoning for it was 'well, your people are only on one floor above the ground floor, you should only need one stairway'. What bullshit," he said with a indelicate grunt.

Kyven laughed. "Well, it's a twisted sort of logic until you actually try it in reality."

"Twisted is a good word for it."

Another critically useful piece of information.

They sat there until sunset talking about nothing in particular, and then Kyven looked at the filling tavern and then out the door and heard a rumble of thunder. "I think it's about time for me to head out, before I get soaked," he said, quickly standing up and then putting enough chits down to cover their drinks. "Thanks for a pleasant evening, my friend. It was nice to meet you."

"Same to you," he said, shaking Kyven's hand, which made Kyven's fur crawl at the thought of touching that man, even if his hand was in a glove.

"I meant to ask, why the gloves?" Bevken asked curiously.

"My left hand was burned in a fire when I was a kid," he answered. "I wear the glove to spare people the sight of it. And, well, I just wear the other one because it looks a little strange to be wearing only one glove."

"Well, that's a good reason," Bevken said. "It was a nice evening, friend. I hope you get back to your inn dry."

"Me too," he said, hurrying from the table and looking for all the world like a man trying to beat a storm home. In reality, he was quite pleased with the information he had gathered. Thanks to that disgusting Bevken, Kyven had a basic understanding of how the Loremasters building was organized. He knew that the first and second floors belonged to the city government. He knew that those stairs were isolated from the Loremasters above, sealing the second floor off from the other floors in a way. He knew that the more important people had their offices on the top floors, and that the really important people had their offices in the four towers that decorated each corner of the building. From the sound of it, the west tower, holding the Loremaster in charge of things that affected Noraam as a whole, was the tower that would be of most interest to him when he started digging to see what the Loremasters knew about what Haven was doing. Though he knew nothing of the defenses of the building–it would have been too suspicious to ask about such things–he now had a general knowledge of the building, and that would prove invaluable when he started snooping.

Tomorrow, he would investigate the building, again through guile. He was going to go to the tax office and inquire about another piece of property, but his real reason to be there would be to observe the guards on the first floor and get some basic information.

He discarded his illusion of Verick and returned to the illusion of his human self, as Kyven, in an isolated alley, and then hurried home. But when he arrived, he found he had a visitor, at least of sorts. He came in through the back door, and to his surprise, found Shario sitting quite comfortably at his workbench, his feet propped up and a posts knife twirling between his fingers. "I was wondering if you were ever coming home," he said in his Flauren accent.

"Where are my Arcans?"

"The little red one is cooking dinner, the others are upstairs. Your coyote is pretty clever, and the little two-toned cat isn't a bad posts player," he said with a grin, twirling his elegant moustache between two fingers. "She was gracious enough to give me a game or two while we waited for you to come home."

"I hope you won't spread that around. The Loreguard gets antsy if they hear someone's teaching an Arcan how to throw knives."

"Your secret is safe with me," he smiled. "Since we're business partners. And speaking of business, I have a little business for you." He reached into his doublet and pulled out a little silk cloth, set it on his workbench, and unfolded it. Inside was a small black crystal. "I've heard that you're a pretty good cutter, my friend. Veraad speaks quite highly of your work. I need your expertise. Can you cut this?"

Kyven came over and picked it up and surveyed it, holding it up to the light. "A three point black. It has a small fault off center, but I can work around that. I can cut it at three points," he said confidently. "Do you want the chips?"

"Of course I do," he said with an oily smile. "How long?"

"It's small. I can do it in about an hour."

"Then please, by all means, don't let me hold you back. I'll be back in an hour. Think you have room at your table for one more?"

"If you don't mind raw meat," Kyven told him. "Unlike most Arcan owners, I treat my Arcans as friends more than possessions. As I'm sure you've deduced after looking around. They got me to try raw meat, and I found it's actually not that bad."

"I'll try anything once," he said with a smile, putting his feet on the floor and standing up. "And yes, I did notice that," he added with a sly smile, no doubt thinking it gave him a hold over Kyven. "What kind of meat are we having?"

"Whatever my Arcan bought today," Kyven shrugged, sitting at his bench and turning on his lamp. "I send her out to do the errands, since she's clever enough. I'll have it ready for you by dinnertime."

"Good. I do hope your little red one is a good cook."

"I rather like her cooking."

"Excellent! I'll be back in an hour, then. Good luck with the crystal."

"I'll have it ready for you."

Shario sauntered back out into the lobby, and the bell on the door told him that the Flauren had left. Clover brought the young ones and Lightfoot back down almost as soon as he was out of the shop, a rueful look on her face.

"I thought I told you not to play around humans," he chided.

"He saw the boards," Lightfoot shrugged. "He knew we play."

"That man is very smart, and quite devious," Clover told him. "Very, very perceptive. He correctly realized that the Arcans play posts after just a single glance. After he asked about it, there was no reason to deny. We told him you taught us all to play posts because you love the game and have no apprentices to play against."

"Well, I doubt he'll say much, since he's a criminal. He can't do much, if he turns me in, I'll reveal that he's been bringing me black crystals to cut. At least now he thinks he has a little extra to hold over me, that I taught my Arcans how to play posts." He secured the crystal and put a lamp both over and under it. "Now give me a little space here. This is a rare crystal, and I can't mess this up."

It took Kyven only about forty minutes to cut the crystal, and it was done well. He had worked around its rather nasty internal flaw without reducing it under three points. The chips made from the cuts were carefully gathered up, even the dust, and were placed in a small leather pouch for Shario. The olive-skinned Flauren returned almost exactly one hour later, just as Patches finished cooking dinner, coming in through the front door and sauntering into the workshop as if he still owned the building. "How did it come out?" he asked without so much as a word of greeting.

Kyven took the crystal and handed it to the oily man. He took out a jeweler's glass and inspected the crystal, then laughed lightly and placed it in a small silk pouch he had in his pocket, then pocketed the pouch of chips with it after opening the leather pouch to see what was there. "I see our deal has turned out to be quite profitable for both sides. Well done, well done, master crystalcutter. Now, on to the more important matter. Dinner! Little red one, what have you cooked for us this night?" he called loudly.

Patches scurried out into the workshop. "Clover bought us a side of beef for our meat," she said in a reluctant, nervous voice. "I have made baked peppers, boiled corn, cheese-baked potatoes, beets and turnips stewed in wine sauce, and a mulberry pie for dessert."

"It sounds delightful, little one. What is your name?"

"P–Patches, Master," she said meekly.

"A pretty name for a pretty girl," he said with an earnest smile. "You have done the honor of cooking, allow me to do the honor of setting the table. It's a Flauren tradition."

Kyven and Tweak set up the table–they ate in the workshop–and Shario was true to his word, helping set the table. "It's a rare man that sits at the same table as Arcans," Shario noted as he set the table.

"I'm not a very normal man, Shario," Kyven said, which made the Flauren chuckle. "And we have too much on each other for you to make an issue of my quirks," he added, which made him laugh.

"True, true. Let's see how well your little red one cooks, my friend. Flaurens have a love affair with a good meal, you know."

Shario joined them at dinner, and he was not shy at all about trying raw meat. "A Flauren will try almost any food once," he said with a light smile as Clover cut a slice of beef for him. He cut a mouthful and placed it in his mouth and seemed to savor it a moment before chewing, and a smile played over his face. "Quite different from cooked meat. It's much more robust."

"That is why we like it," Clover told him as Patches picked up a plate.

"Wh–What vegetables do you want, Master?" she asked.

"No need to be afraid of me, my little chef," he smiled. "And I want them all! I delight in all foods. I want to try them all."

Patches put a little bit of each dish on the plate and passed it down to him, and Lightfoot quietly cut him a slice of the warm brown honey bread she'd made with the meal, right out of the oven. He took just one bite of each food and seemed to just hold it in his mouth for a long moment, then chewed it with deliberate slowness. Each new bite brought a smile to his face, and Patches, strangely, seemed to hang on the edge of her seat to see if he liked each dish. Each bite brought elegant complements, such as "such exquisite texture" and "your sauce truly makes the flavor of the beets explode." She all but beamed at him as he complemented each dish, and particularly seemed to enjoy the cheese-baked potatoes. "I may have to entertain the idea of making you an offer to buy this excellent Arcan from you, Master Kyven," Shario told him as he had Patches heap a large helping of potatoes onto his plate. "She's an amazing cook."

"I'm afraid she's not for sale, and never will be," Kyven answered.

"Wise, wise, you don't sell such a wonderful cook," he chuckled. "But I will certainly be stopping by for dinner again, my little Patches," he said, smiling at her. "Do you happen to know how to cook in the Flauren traditions?"

"I only know what I was taught, Master," she said in a shy voice.

"A pity. I'd love to try some chicken flaurentine or butter sautéed tuna with mint sauce prepared by your skilled hands."

"Well, Master Kyven can read, Master. Can these dish recipes be written? He can read it to me."

"An excellent idea!" he said, slapping his hand on the table. "I can easily have several recipes written down for you, and Kyven can help you learn them. If you don't mind, that is, Master Kyven."

"I think I can find the time," he said calmly.

"Very well, very well!" he said grandly. "Now, let's try that dessert you prepared for us."

Shario took one bite of the mulberry pie, and made a sound in his throat as he closed his eyes and waved his hand before his face. "Ohhhh, my! You astound me, little chef! This is the best mulberry pie I have ever eaten!"

"She's really a good baker," Tweak agreed, then coughed and added "uh, Master Shario."

"You should try her chocolate cake," Clover added. "It is quite good, Master Shario."

"My dear little chef, would it inconvenience you terribly to make me one? I'll pick it up from your shop tomorrow afternoon."

"Umm, I, uh, yes, I can make you one, Master Shario," she said, lowering her eyes.

"It's a deal, then!" he said, slapping his hand on the table again. "Now, let's enjoy this meal as a meal should be enjoyed. Savoring every bite!"

Shario was a criminal, but he had exquisite manners, Kyven saw. He did seem to truly enjoy the meal, and he lingered at the table with a glass of wine, swirling it wordlessly for long moments before sipping it down to the bottom. After his wine, he stood up and quite grandly told them that it would be his honor to clear the table, and he even helped Patches and Tweak do the dishes. He came out of the kitchen and sat at one of the workbenches, put his feet up on it, and lit a cigar. "Kyven, my friend, I'm seeing more and more that selling you this building was a good idea," he said in a content, almost satiated voice. "You made me a pretty chit by cutting my crystal, and you treat me to a wonderful dinner."

"You liked it that much?"

"A Flauren never jokes about food, my friend. That little Arcan of yours is an outstanding chef. Wherever did she learn?"

"She was taught by her parents. She was raised as a house servant, and her owners were well off before they died, and I bought her."

"Ah, well, that explains it. She's quite a smart little thing, isn't she? In fact, all your Arcans are quite intelligent," he noted. "And that coyote of yours is probably smarter than many men I know," he added with a sly smile.

"I prefer someone I can talk to, Shario," Kyven told him. "Dumb Arcans are easy to train, but they're lousy conversationalists."

"They're more than slaves to you, aren't they?" he asked directly.

"I'd be lying if I said no," he answered. "The coyote, Clover, she's one of my closer friends. My owning her is just a formality. My other Arcans are also more like friends to me than servants. They take care of me and keep the shop clean and provide me with company and conversation, and I take care of them by keeping us all fed and housed and treat them with kindness and respect."

"I understand, I understand," he nodded. "There is much more to many Arcans than what meets the eye, and I am not one to look down on your point of view. Why, I even employ a few in my business dealings myself."

"You train Arcans as thieves?"

Shario gave him an almost impish smile. "I see you've asked around about me," he laughed. "I must admit, I used to be engaged in less than legal activities in the past, but I've been slowly moving into the realm of being a respectable businessman."

"At least on paper," Kyven noted.

Shario laughed. "True, true. There's much more opportunity for profit as a merchant and businessman than there was as a burglar. Anyway, Arcans are very strong, and some of them are amazingly agile," he grinned. "That little cat of yours, I could train her to be something special. She moves like flowing water." He smiled at Kyven. "I've been around a while, my friend, and something tells me that you, too, are only a crystalcutter on paper, though you're quite good at it," he said. "There's a secret lurking behind that honest face, my friend. But I won't ask any questions. I have no care for what you do, as long as you're not trying to take over my territory."

"Why would I? We are only in a position to help each other, Shario," Kyven told him carefully. "I rather like my shop, and you can certainly use my skills from time to time. That was our deal, as I recall, and I intend to honor it."

"Certainly, as do I," he smiled.

"It works in my favor that you think more of me than what you see. I might be interested in buying some information from you from time to time, my friend, information an honest crystalcutter wouldn't think very important. Do you think you might be interested in such a deal?"

"Anything is for sale, my friend," Shario told him with a grand smile. "Anything. And I am a man who deals in a very wide array of merchandise."

"No matter what kind of merchandise? Even merchandise that might seem odd or dangerous?"

"That only means it's worth more," Shario told him. "I'm a simple man, my friend. Pay me, and you will get what you pay for. Since we're in a position to be, ah, inconvenient to each other, you can be sure that my merchandise will be good and offered at a reasonable price, and I will always be discreet. A man in my line of work won't be in business for long if he's not discreet. And if you keep feeding me your little chef's wonderful cooking, you'll find me to be more than just a business associate," he laughed. "I've always been eager for a good meal. It's a Flauren weakness," he added with a sly smile.

"I think we'll be able to work together, Master Shario," Kyven told him with a smile.

"I agree, I agree," Shario said, taking another puff of his cigar, and blowing a lazy ring of smoke into the air before him.

Chapter 19