Bob stayed inside the Temple of Beauty to put Lady Firehair’s house in order. Varien flew astride The Arcetalos in a fiery arc over Waterdeep. Even at Highsun, the flames of the phoenix were visible, incandescent, carving contrails across the sky as the paladin shouted with unbridled joy. Hundreds of Waterdhavian jaws dropped open in unison at the sight. Siegfried looked over at Violance, who ethereally glided into this bedchamber. “Now, I hope I don’t have to offer you a sacrifice every time I raise you from the dead.” Violance looked down his nose at Siegfried. Are you saying that was my fault back there? Siegfried smiled at his nightmare. “We’ll get you some armour.” It had better look good, Violance said, tossing his mane. There was a firm, yet polite, knock at Siegfried’s door. “Ah, Cauldar, come in,” Siegfried said. Cauldar’s arms were crossed. “Didn’t hear you ring the front door, Siegfried.” “Yes, ah, I’m not used to ducking back home merely to change,” Siegfried said, indicating his formal attire. “Going somewhere?” Cauldar asked. “Yes, I happen to have tickets to the opera with a lady friend,” Siegfried said. “In a less-than-romatic capacity.” Cauldar’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Interesting,” he said, inspecting his fingernails. “So you will not be escorting the Lady Hawkwinter to the social event of the season?” “You mean The Fall of Tiamat tonight?” Siegfried asked. Cauldar nodded. “It’s the only thing worth seeing, Siegfried. I’m actually surprised that you managed to score tickets. Even Lady Lureena was hard-pressed to secure an invite.” “Well, Cauldar, you might have saved my bacon yet again,” Siegfried said to the majordomo. “What else am I here for, if not to save your bacon, young Master?” Cauldar said. His eyes flicked towards Siegfried’s open window. “You should also know that while you are being unusually discreet this afternoon, so are the City Watch who are keeping this house under surveillance.” Siegfried sighed. “They have. I am running out of things to hide lately.” “Well Siegfried, we all reach a point in our lives where we must stand unadorned and exposed as our own man,” Cauldar said. His eyes flicked to where Violance was half-in and half-out of the prime material plane. Cauldar’s eyebrow rose a fraction. “Young Master, recall that our stables are located in back of the house. You remember our conversations about hiding pets in your room when you were a boy?” “Cauldar, this is my colleague Violance,” Siegfried said, indicating his horse. “I have stolen him from Hell by the Right of Conquest.” Cauldar covered his reaction with a polite cough. “Charmed,” he said thinly. The skies above Waterdeep were by no means empty. There were griffon riders and messenger birds criss-crossing above the wards, to say nothing of the mundane pigeons, gulls, and occasional falcons that ruled the roosts of the city. We are attracting some attention , Arcetalos said to Varien. Several of the aforementioned griffon riders were now flying on an intercept course. “We don’t have time for this,” Varien said. “Let’s lose them!” He pointed to a dim but visible purple glow in a neighbourhood in the North Ward. “That’s our target.” Arcetalos cast a contemptuous glance over its pinioning wings at its pursuers and dropped into a steep dive, Varien holding on for dear life, as the phoenix turned into a hurtling fireball that dove meteor-like towards the cobblestone streets. At the last second, the phoenix pulled up and cruised just above the swaying drays and the network of flags and bunting that criss-crossed between the buildings on either side of the streets. There were shrieks of panic from adults and shrieks of delight from children as Arcetalos shot down alleyways and cul-de-sacs until it had lost the perplexed griffons and their riders. Executing a barrel roll, the phoenix deposited Varien on the rooftop of the Thann rowhouse on Suldown Street before alighting near the chimneys, the smoke rising from them mingling with its own radiant exhaust and providing camouflage. “I think I saw an open window,” Varien said, negotiating the steep shingled roof. “Can you take me down?” The Arcetalos nodded. Varien hopped astride as the phoenix hovered outside Siegfried’s window. There was a thudding sound on the roof of the rowhouse. Cauldar glanced upwards and sighed, his hand straying beneath his robe to either sound an alarm or draw a weapon, or both. His attention was drawn to a reddish glow outside the window. Varien stepped through the open window, while the flaming phoenix hovered outside. “Cauldar, you remember Varien,” Siegfried said without missing a beat. “Yes, I recall his last visit,” Cauldar said. Varien stepped forward to shake a proffered hand. “Mr. Aether, was it? I was just reminding my young charge that we do, in fact, have a small but well-appointed set of stables in our backyard where mounts can be boarded in comfort. Welcome back to Sweetsong House and we remain at your service.” Varien turned to regard the Arcetalos. “Would you mind? I think our host would appreciate it.” The Arcetalos nodded curtly and flapped its fiery wings, soaring over the house to land around back. “Violance, feel free to join the Arcetalos around back,” Siegfried said. “It’s important that you two get along.” Violance took a long look at Siegfried, then said Right. The nightmare turned ethereal and drifted through the floorboards on its way through the house. There was a muffled scream of alarm as the half-visible steed strode through Kowalski’s room, and the sound of a four-foot-tall stack of imported light novels from Kara-Tur fell over with a crash. Siegfried winced. “You are a disappointment to your generation,” he said to his brother under his breath. “So, Mr. Aether, will you be joining young Master Thann at the theatre tonight?” Cauldar asked, giving the paladin an appraising glance. “Siegfried?” Varien asked. “That’s the plan,” Siegfried said. “While I have you here, might I interest you in this copy of the infamous Book of Shadows ?” He pulled the volume from its spot on a crowded set of shelves near his writing desk. “Should I question why you would have such a thing?” Varien said, gingerly accepting the book and surveying its eerie bindings and cover. “Varien, your magic comes from a wonderful and blessed place,” Siegfried said, indicating the symbol of Sune emblazoned on the paladin’s shield. “Mine, on the other hand does not, and it would do me a great disservice were I not to attempt to understand the fell origins of my magic, lest I bring harm to someone unintentionally.” He opened the book to show Varien its contents. “Now, this particular edition of the Book of Shadows has been transliterated from its original tongue into Common, which renders impotent its dark magical secrets. But this will help you to understand the origins of necromancy, how necromancers think and how they operate. Know thy enemy.” Varien snapped the book shut. “I do understand all that, Siegfried. It’s just sometimes your tongue is a little too silver.” Cauldar was making a point of not listening to the conversation, nor acknowledging the presence of this dark tome in his charge’s care. “Listen, I read this story when I was 8 years old,” Siegfried said. “Just know Siegfried, I would be terribly disappointed if we ever did cross swords,” Varien said. “Why would we ever do such a thing?” Siegfried asked. “It would be such a waste of our talents!” “Exactly!” Varien said brightly, clapping Siegfried on the shoulder. “Varien, I’ve had to do a lot more to adapt to your way of doing things than you’ve had to adapt to my way of doing things,” Siegfried said. “Rightly so!” Varien replied. “Yet, there was that one time when I tried to use guile and the rest of you massacred an entire Gilded Eye patrol,” Siegfried said. “But that’s in the past.” Varien rolled his eyes. “So, this opera tonight will be a sort of fancy dress arrangement, yes?” Varien asked, looking down at his plate armour. “Quite,” Cauldar said pointedly. “Don’t worry Varien, my wardrobe is your wardrobe,” Siegfried said, waving his hand at a large walk-in closet stuffed with fancy clothes. Varien drew his mouth into a thin line. Cauldar looked appraisingly at Varien. “Once you’re out of your armour, I’m sure we can ensure that whatever you choose to wear with be properly fitted.” “We have staff for that,” Siegfried explained. Varien began to paw through the racks of clothing. “Nothing with lacy frills, I think.” “You won’t find frills here,” Siegfried said. “Frills are decidedly out this season,” Cauldar said. Varien pulled out something reserved and practical. In an instant a valet and tailor appeared, ready to assist Varien with his choice of garments. They wheeled in an ornate three-panel dressing mirror and set a stool before it. Varien relinquished his armour, which was taken away to be cleaned and polished. Siegfried selected a dark brown button-up shirt with matching trousers. “I don’t suppose one can pair a cravat with a scarf?” he asked. Cauldar shook his head. “Decidedly not this season, as the fashion houses have ruled that look out. One or the other, as it were. Your scarf is a signature bit of flair, yes.” Varien began flipping through one of the tomes that Siegfried had pulled out for him, Rudiments of the Shadow Weave , while Siegfried and his major-domo argued the finer points of tailoring as it applied to magical chainmail shirts. The book was a collection of a number of prose essays extolling the greatness of Shar, the goddess of darkness, with instructions on how to tap into the dark powers of the shadow weave. It also included the complete formulae for a number of shadow counterparts to common magical spells. Scribbles, notes, doodles and other marginalia, written by a younger Siegfried, filled the edges of the pages, often concerned with casting hexes. Varien began to speak the verbal components of one of the shadow spells in Abyssal, and Siegfried swiftly slammed the book closed on the paladin’s fingers. “That’s quite enough of that, Varien. Darkness is for me, not for you.” Varien winced and gave his fingers a quick shake, blowing on them. Siegfried turned to his major-domo. “Cauldar, have we received any post? My colleague Bob was expecting a delivery.” Cauldar cleared his throat. “Why yes, in fact some did come in. You’ll find a strongbox in the usual place.” “Excellent,” Siegfried said, heading off downstairs in search of said strongbox. He made his way to Cauldar’s office, the administrative and organizational hub of Sweetsong House, where the major-domo would prepare paperwork for Millio to sign, arrange receipt of deliveries, and deal with human resources issues that cropped up among the house staff. There on Cauldar’s massive mahogany desk sat a strongbox emblazoned with the sigil of Wolfram & Hart. He opened the box and took in the sight of carefully stacked coins, the famous gold dragons of Waterdeep, fitted into a series of velvet channels that prevented them from falling over. There was a cream-coloured packet of papers carefully tucked into the lid’s upper section secured by a strap of velvet. Siegfried withdrew the papers, scanning the Wolfram & Hart letterhead, and saw the requisite blank space in the middle of the page, where, with the right pair of magical spectacles, one could peruse an invoice showing the items and their conversion to fungible currency, less, of course, the lawyers’ percentage. Wolfram had added a visible handrwritten note to the bottom of the receipt in a disconcerting calligraphic flair reminiscent of infernal typography. “With our compliments and always a pleasure, Alphanse.” “They do good work,” Siegfried said. Siegfried closed up the strongbox and carried it upstairs to his bedroom, where the tailor was putting the finishing touches on Varien’s fitting. “Is the Lady Hawkwinter already attending tonight’s event, or should we offer an invitation?” Siegfried asked his major-domo as he placed the box of coins on his writing desk for Varien’s inspection. “Given the tenuous state of affairs between our two houses, it might be wise for you to extend the invitation so that she knows that you know that this is the type of social event that you and she should be seen at together,” Cauldar said. “Can we just give her Erwen’s ticket then?” Siegfried said. “I don’t think Erwen would want to sit through an opera.” “Oh, is that your small friend?” Cauldar asked. “That’s very presumptuous, Cauldar!” Siegfried said. “Sorry, young Master,” Cauldar said apologetically. “However, I do happen to work for a small man, and-” “No, no, it was presumptuous to declare Erwen a friend of mine,” Siegfried said. “He’s a right arsehole, but he’s less dangerous when he’s under our direct supervision.” “Well, I was going to say that I wasn’t sure if the bathing facilities at Sweetsong House would be able to get him up to the Lightsinger Theatre’s standards, but you didn’t hear that from me,” Cauldar said. “The Temple of Beauty is trying their best,” Siegfried said. “Well,” Cauldar replied, “If anyone can succeed in turning that sow’s ear into a silk purse, it is the Sunite bathing brigade at the Temple of Beauty. As it is, he is welcome to stay with us under my supervision, or be free to prowl the alleys of the city as he is wont to do.” Siegfried nodded and turned to Varien. “Well, since we are now increasingly flush with cash, perhaps I should introduce you to my favourite magic shop, Thort’s Findings. It’s no more than a block or two away from here, and well worth the trip. I’m friends with the proprietor, you know.” Varien nodded. Siegfried caught a knowing look from Cauldar. “Well, we’re friends because I give him money in exchange for goods and services, and the occasional ripping yarn or secret. It’s sort of his stock in trade.” Cauldar nodded. “Thort loves a good story connected to the discovery of any sort of artifact. He’s quite knowledgeable.” “Yes, I should start asking him about referral percentages,” Siegfried mused. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Young Master!” Cauldar chuckled. The curiosity shop known as Thort’s Findings was located in the centre of the block bounded by Hassantyr's Street, Tarsar's Street, Whaelgond Way, and Ussilbran Street, amid a stand of tall trees that fenced in the disembodied head of one of the famous Walking Statues of Waterdeep, the Swordmaiden. The centre of its jaw and mouth had been replaced by a door, giving the female statue’s face a bucktoothed appearance. The door led into the cramped, multileveled shop proper. “Mr. Thort!” Siegfried called out as he entered, the bell over the door ringing smartly. “We have items to sell, items to purchase, and items to talk about!” The wizened ex-adventurer who ran the shop hobbled around the front counter, leaning on his cane as he regarded Siegfried and Varien. “Ah, Siegfried, my boy! You’ve brought another potential customer with you this visit!” “Thort, this is my friend Varien Aether, Blessed Calamity of Sune, hoping to find armaments and tools in his blessed quest against all that is evil in the world,” Siegfried said by way of introduction. “That’s quite a mouthful, but of course welcome to my humble shop!” Thort said, bowing shakily. Varien looked around at the shop’s shelves, which were crammed tightly with items, trinkets, artifacts, and curiosities, each one of them with a tiny identification card in flowing script. Behind the crowded cashier’s desk at the front of the store with its shining brass clockwork cash register stood an imposing animated suit of armour, above which was a hand-lettered sign that read NO CREDIT. Thort sized Varien up and down. “When young Siegfried was here last, he was telling me all about the exploits of you and your companions, who I understand are becoming quite the delvers, and quite the thing about town.” “I suppose that’s true!” Varien replied. “Oh, are there rumours afoot?” Siegfried asked. “What’s being whispered about us, Thort?” “Oh, only the rumours that you yourself have planted in the populace, I’m sure,” Thort said diplomatically. “Through your exploits, that is.” Siegfried approached the front counter and pulled out the staff of soul binding , the axe of the bloodsworn, and the ghost cutlass of the captains. “Careful now, that cutlass is cursed,” He said as Thort’s eyes widened at the treasures arrayed before him. “If you attune to it, your soul goes into the cutlass when you die. There are a few poor souls occupying rooms in the cutlass now who would like to be freed if it’s at all possible.” Thort pulled out a pair of lily-white gloves and slipped them on, then grabbed a soft cloth and carefully wrapped it around the hilt of the cutlass. “And you’ll recall there was a bit of investigation I asked you to look into, and of course the properties of that strange orc mask.” Thort was gingerly picking up the cutlass. “I’ve heard of this. How did it come to be in your possession?” “The same way it comes to anyone’s possession, except maybe yours,” Siegfried said. “You might not be able to pay the iron price, but you can certainly pay the golden price.” “Tut tut, young Master Thann!” Thort straightened up with a noticeable popping sound coming from his joints. “There was a time when no iron price was too high for Undevvur Thort!” “Of course, of course,” Siegfried said placatingly. “I merely point out that you are in a position to acquire things at less of a personal risk these days.” That seemed to placate Thort. He chuckled. “You have such a way with words, Young Master Thann.” He looked at the jewel-encrusted handle. “I don’t suppose you’re currently affected by the curse of this weapon, are you?” “I was, for a moment, but my friend Varien here broke the curse,” Siegfried said. “He is quite adept at breaking attunement-based curses.” “Of course he is, just look at him!” Thort said, waving at Varien. “Well yes, I hear that the faces you see in the blade when it is extruded from the hilt are in fact those of the poor souls entrapped in the decrepit metal of the hilt. I’m sure they told you as much.” “Yes, they were very eager for me to not become one of their roommates,” Siegfried said. “In fact, the man I killed to take this weapon now resides inside it.” “Is he now?” Thort said with a chuckle. “You can ask him all about it if you’re so inclined,” Siegfried said. He leaned in close to the cutlass hilt. “Bitch,” he whispered to Captain Mange.