I have two eyes, but am blind without three.

Edwin: 19 Flamerule, Evening

"Does he think we're bloody apprentices? Have the screws finally fallen so far from his decrepit old mind that he's forgotten trifling minor details such as, sending talented magicians to retrieve minor spell components is something like, shall we say, an utter waste of our talents? Has he somehow, in speciality-induced blindness, failed to bloody notice the utter uselessness of the divinational arts as cheap and unreliable tricks suitable barely for the carnival? Or is it simply approaching senility from a mind so porous in the first place as to be used as a substitute for sponge in spell components? An old fool!"

Edwin, invisible, found his feet stumbling over one of Cythandria's small wooden stools for reaching the highest of her shelves (to his chagrin, though he stood masculinely taller than she he had required the use of one himself for a bottle of onyx flakes placed above her charcoal dust). "Such ladylike language," he vented, hopping upon one leg against the aching pain in his ankle.

He had not expected the burning pain of the slap to his cheek that showed Cythandria was rather better than he at judging relative position whilst mutually invisible. "I am a lady by birth, Thayvian. Remember that."

Very touchy of her. Of course she was neither of Thay nor an Odesseiron and therefore could not compete with he; and she was a concubine at that, albeit of... A potential future deity, let it be said, attempting not to think more about the brutish man more than absolutely necessary. Edwin supposed that at the least she was educated, and when not invisible quite pleasant as aesthetic interest.

"Know my memory to be flawless as the remainder of my brilliant intellect. Practically eidetic in fact. (Cursed be those few with actual eidetic memory! What I possess is certainly more valuable than mere parroting.)"

"One of flawless memory would learn quietness to accompany invisibility," Cythandria retorted. "Give me your arm, Odesseiron; and follow as quietly as you can."

She held the sleeve of his robes, pulling him along as if it were a leash. (Perhaps it had been unwise of him to purchase such a flowing style. He had heard that in certain of Eltabbar's districts there were concubines who were paid to lead men around in such a way. If only malevolent events had not conspired to keep him from exploring such districts in further detail before his posting to the barbaric west.) "These are steps here, Odesseiron. They are approximately three inches high. Could you avoid tripping over them, perhaps?"

The gauntlets he wore had aided him to achieve nimbleness above even his previously dextrous abilities; it was simply a matter of getting accustomed to the invisibility she had cast on him. "Now, Cythandria, one of somewhat clever memory would learn quietness to accompany invisibility."

"I'll give that to you, Odesseiron," she said, her gold-bell voice faintly amused, "because you earn so few."

—

The Hall of Wonders was dark and quiet; Cythandria had sent the doppelganger she experimented upon during the previous day and night to ascertain the movements of the guard. 'Twas not sufficient a cause, apparently, to allow a doppelganger to take the place of one of the Hall's maintainers. She had researched and shared the plebeian spell to magically open locks, and ordered him to cast it softly upon the main door. For one agonising moment as he reached for the heavy door he imagined that he could not budge it, that it was too much for one mage (a silly conspiracy to make such as he seem weak!); but instead of requiring a spell for strength it slid eventually open at his will, and he paused at it to remain sentinel, prepared to cast against any simian who dared try his magic.

(He had seen Cythandria in the space of eight minutes summon her pair of giant ogres, cast five somewhat impressive fireballs at targets without a pause, followed by a conjuration of eight imps to clear away the damage and a flesh-to-stone incantation at one of the imps who dared tread on her robes. Her casting ability was...quite good, and in addition she had aptitude to study and modify spells to useful effect. And yet he had more experience of practical battles, even though he would tell neither her nor anyone the detail of them. She had been more than willing to give him the aggressive role in this affair...)

There was a creaking noise above, glass sliding on something; Edwin looked up and saw a small window loosed and blowing by the wind, circular of shape like illustrations in children's books of the portholes of boats, though he supposed eastern barbarians didn't often use glass on boats. (In any case the dirty business of a harbour was not regularly a place for an Odesseiron.) They ought to take better care of maintaining their buildings. He looked down at Cythandria, making her way to the object requested: lenses a subject for some divination, some gnome-made device that was exhibited here. He had met the man Winski Perorate and did not feel particularly inclined to cross him: a tall and cadaverous wizard who dressed in black like a necromancer particularly prone to invoking stereotype, although in fact he was merely a diviner, sardonic and dominating in conversation. (As for the actual necromancer—Semaj—the least that would be said would be better.) Cythandria treated Perorate with some degree of respect when in front of him, and he appeared to tolerate her above many others among the servants of Anchev, lurking in the corridors as a dark spirit haunting graves for lack of a better occupation in unlife. The night was quite warm compared to his home province of Surthay, but cool after his years in Eltabbar's academy and its sophisticated magical control of climate. Edwin drew his robes more closely about himself. He could hear nothing but Cythandria's cursory touching of the lock in preparation for her enspellment, no sound of guards patrolling. That infernal window was most irritating.

"Blast and bother!" someone—something—suddenly spoke in the darkness—startling Edwin's invisible form—a voice not loud by ordinary standards but high and easy to hear in the silence—shocking that anyone was there and Edwin prepared his fireball— "These locks have always given me trouble!" it lectured cheerfully. "Trouble they are!" Down near—down near the lantern-like device glowing with faint silver light, something...

Not a goblin? A small shadow; dangerous. "Go no further! I require an account of what you are!" he called, the bat guano and sulphur ready in his hands. The dangerous and deadly goblin poked up from the shadows...hair of a distinct shade of pink, still more vivid and tasteless than the apprentice Imo... Best not to think upon that unfortunate gang of bedraggled incompetents.

"Sufferin' snapdragons, I've been nabbed again!" yelped the voice, a halfling, a young halfling girl, who jumped back several feet from the shadows below the lamp's holder. "Wait...Yer not playing ghosts, are you? Or ventrilo...ventrilo-thingies. I saw some o' 'em at a carnival back home once, folks that made their voice sound's if it came from thin air or a dummy on their lap... Hey, you're not the guard, are you?"

"No we are not." Speaking was insufficient to end the spell covering him; had Edwin been visible, he would have given the child a magnificent and dignified look such as to cow her utterly into good behaviour.

"Well, gee! You scared the beejeebers outta me. You've a nice voice, haven't you? I bet you'd be really nice if'n I could see you." The girl grinned in his direction. "Are you a mage? You must be a mage if you can go invisible, right? I knew a mage once but he was pretty stuffy. You don't sound like that."

Her mannerisms seemed...strangely refreshing. "Of course I am a mage! (And the opportunity to meet this Red Wizard of Thay destined for future greatness is entirely your privilege.)" He waited for her admiration; but instead the halfling's attention had suddenly switched to Cythandria's form, which had just appeared out of thin air. Her robes first, followed by her hands bearing the small copper key she used for a spell component, and finally her bright hair and her pale face.

"Holy kitty cacophony! You'll scare someone half to death popping out o' the air like that one of these days!" the little thief said, melodramatically clutching her heart in surprise. "Gee, you were pretty quiet there," she added, looking up at Cythandria. "Are you a mage too? You must be pretty good on your feet to be so quiet. I bet if you wanted you could be a proper thief!"

Cythandria glared; rage flew to her face, making it suddenly ugly, a pair of livid red spots flaring on her cheeks. "Odesseiron!" she called in shrewish accusation to him—Edwin suddenly remembered idle words he had spoken whilst enchanting her, some approximate estimation of the hours that a wizard of his great capacity could make the casting last, just before she had made him invisible in return...

"My lady Cythandria," he said (best to use courtesies for an unfairly aggrieved member of the less rational sex), "it is plain that opportunity for completing the task assigned us yet remains. Shall we continue?"

"Say, are you adventurers?" the halfling said. "I've had lots of adventures! Well, I've had lots of times seeing the city at night and poking around all the interesting places that people lock up, all the fun shiny things there are to see. Are you on a Quest for the Farseer? I just came in to look at the Everlight, it's beautiful! And the locks on everything are pretty beautiful too, if you like locks, I mean. So the invisible mage with the nice voice is Odesseiron, and you're Cythandria?" she said. "My name's Alora. Leapin' lavender lizards, it's good to make new friends!"

"You waste my concentration and will be silent while I cast," Cythandria hissed with what dignity she could manage under the circumstances, and began speaking her words of the spell. She turned her back on Alora; and Edwin saw the girl stick out her tongue and make a face at her. Cythandria finished the spell, and reached a hand forward to open the glass case protecting the telescope. The lock did not budge.

Alora giggled. Edwin was starting to like her better each moment. "So you're a mage just like Odesseiron after all. Those locks have the triple-reverse-catch to 'em, of course!" she said. "Didn't 'cha come here not knowing even that?"

"We are not petty rogues," Cythandria said through her teeth, and produced another copper key from her component pouches. "I am a wizard—and it is true I have not often cast this spell, for there is very little that I must steal. May the guards capture you for your distraction, thief!"

"Heh, I s'pose I count," Alora said. "But stealing stuff doesn't mean we have to be bad, right? Mostly I'm just curious. Here, have you seen the Steam Dragon before, Odesseiron? Nibbling nutbunnies, when they switch it on in daylight you can't hardly tear your eyes away watchin' it go!"

Edwin looked down at it; a construction primarily mechanical instead of arcane. Intricate enough to satisfy even his mind for some brief moments of deduction, but he was little interested in what offered scarce benefit. "Fascinating. How was that attempt, Cythandria?"

She tapped it again, with much the same result as previously; and used further unladylike language, slamming the side of a foot clad in a delicate slipper into the side of the case.

"Tee-hee! That's what the triple-reverseit-catch does," Alora danced lightly on her feet. "Wouldja like me to show you how..."

"You unutterably foul little imp—" Cythandria raised a hand as if to slap her, but Alora was too nimble on her feet. "Brat. Get away from me, or I swear I'll strike you down by a lightning bolt from the heavens. Odesseiron! Down here," she commanded, smooth-voiced once more and shaking her magnificent head. "Renew my invisibility spell; I will enchant you to strength and us both to haste; then we shall smash the case and be out of here. Come."

He obeyed her, walking carefully down the stairs to the case; the halfling girl pouted, and even stamped her foot. "Y' can't get away with this, lady!"

"I believe I just did," Cythandria said temperamentally; Edwin felt his muscles expand to godlike strength. Then she began the cadences of the hasting spell. Obviously he listened to her, Edwin thought; duties for the Throne...

"Odesseiron's human like you, isn't he?" the thief said, a reasonably clever deduction; "I know what human women like you are like!"

Cythandria glared at her again. "Oh, go ahead and do enlighten me, halfl—; no, quarterling, a half in wit and a half in stature, multiplied by each other."

"Your sort thinks you can be all rude and mean and nasty all the time, and that's not very nice!" Alora said. Edwin's smile was invisible. "And it's just because you're too tall and too skinny and your hair looks like straw and you make yourself smell like dead flowers that'll probably get the guard on your trail and put paint on your lips that you think you can get away with being nasty to other people!" Edwin glanced carefully at Cythandria, thinking about that particular question of her rosepetal mouth. "But you've got curves in all the wrong places for a halfling matron! And your silly robes probably pinch in a lot of really painful places!"

It would be not sensible to snicker, Edwin thought; the halfling's rant continued to the temporarily halted Cythandria.

"Sure, humans'll be nice to you 'cause they might think you're pretty and a wizard and all that. But you're real nasty inside! And down here I can see all your skin pores. Gaping huge skin pores like something out of the Abyss! So there's no need to be rude and nasty with your stinky perfume and giant gaping skin pores, 'cause you're mean, mean, mean on the inside! I don't like you and your huge gaping skin pores!"

Cythandria's eyes were wide and green, her mouth opened slightly in shock. Edwin doubted she had heard such frank criticism in some time. She closed it, then opened it again. "One of the...best indignant rants I have heard in years," she said weakly. "Show us how to open that lock."

"Oh—" Pink sprung to Alora's cheeks. "I didn't mean to be really mean! But sure, I like making new friends. Where do you two wizards come from?" Small silver wires suddenly appeared between her hands, and she sprung to the lock like a mouse escaping pursuit, slipping her tools inside and moving them swiftly.

"We are...profitably employed," Cythandria said; her thick eyelashes lowered.

"Double good and done!" The thief stepped back from the lock. "Triple reverseit, you see it takes those fancy spells and turns them away through a bell slide in the lock. So I just reversed it again to get it back, so your silly magic spells should work now!" She giggled. "Cheating it is, but I've always thought magic was kind of fun! We used to have a gnome illusionist trader back home who'd do wonderful tricks with pink ribbons out of the air and juggling. Can you do that like him?"

"Not while I'm invisible myself," Edwin said. Illusion was a frivolous and undemanding school, and one that he spared little time for compared to his true art; likely the halfling girl considered hedgewizardry of eggs out of ears the height of a conjurer's art.

"One bypasses the non-detection wall with a somatic barrier," Cythandria said absently, "haven't you read Wightman's Lectures, thirteen-sixty-seven Nightal, Odesseiron? Never mind; of no importance right now." She cast her lockpicking spell for the third time, and the door of the glass box slowly slid open. Perhaps there was even a triumphant grin shared between her and Alora; Cythandria reached inside and took the Farseer.

In the night after invisibly escaping pursuit, the three of them dared to relax in the shadows of the Elfsong's northern eaves. Edwin mopped his sodden brow.

"(That was a little too close for comfort. I have no desire to rot in barbarian cells.)"

"Teehee! Pretty good takings," Alora said. "Are you going to get back your ogres, Cynthi? Cythandria?" she lengthened again after apparent reconsideration. "I wouldn't want the guard to get hurt 'cause of little old us, 'cause that would be just mean."

Cythandria clapped her hands together in arcane signal. "My pets are safe," she said, her voice rather caressing when she talked of those pair of beasts. "After all, there is no need for us to commit murder tonight," she added, irony her intent.

Alora giggled. "They're big pets! Are they really tame?"

Edwin answered: "Of course! Any conjurer worth his title has absolute control over any creature he summons. (Wait until I have the likes of Asmodeus emptying my bedpans.)"

"They're dear babies," Cythandria said, a maternally proud glint in her eyes. "Two of my greatest experiments. So nicely obedient. The one with the slightly larger nose is Ughh; the one with the darker facial bristles Arghh. Eleven-footers, both of them; ninety-ninth percentile of their species. For some reason their favourite meal is goblin feet, charcoal-roasted...Or halfling feet an acceptable substitute."

"Aww, friends we are now, and nice ones too!" Alora said, obliviously. "One for all and things like that. Want to do this again, like all the time? We could join up permanent! Fun for all, I just know it!"

Cythandria blinked twice. "Indeed," she said. "Perchance the Iron Throne could find a use for you."

—