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Faendra's blue eyes grew round. "A carriage?"

"I'm certainly not going to walk to Helmfast Hall! I've far too much work waiting to waste a half a day or more on this foolishness."

Faen's eyes misted at the grand image of an ornate conveyance, all gilded upswept ornamentations and tossing-headed matched horses… Oh, yes. "A carriage… I'm coming with you."

"As am I," Lark put in, her voice every bit as firm as Naoni's. "If you want no word of this to get back to your father, you must make sure no servant gossips. I know the man who keeps the Helmfast gate by day; his wife's a laundress, and they both serve tables at the Black Flagon of an evening, when they've need for extra coin. He's a decent sort, and our best chance of departing Helmfast Hall without rumor racing like wildfire behind us."

Naoni's unsmiling lips pressed together in a thin line as if to hold back an argument she knew she could not defend. When they opened, it was to tell Faendra, "Have Jivin hire a conveyance large enough to carry three in comfort."

"Of that," her sister replied with relish, "you can rest assured."

* * * * *

The carriage that rolled up to the Dyres' doors proved to be almost as large as Lark's rented room and far more comfortable. Its velvet seats were somewhat the worse for wear, but the padding was only slightly lumpy and the cloth had been brushed clean.

Faendra settled back into a corner with a deeply contented smile. "Life hands me far too few excuses to visit North Ward. 'Tis so beautiful; as I gawp at all the finery, I'll dream of living there someday!"

As they rolled through ever-widening streets, Lark had to agree with that judgment of North Ward, even if she didn't share Faendra's ambitions.

Here the city's wealthiest new-coin citizens traveled streets of cobbles so smooth the carriage seemed to glide. The glittering folk dwelt behind ornate iron gates, in grand homes fashioned from gleaming marble, white-stone, and fine woods. Stately trees shaded all, and the gardens surrounding the homes displayed flowing plants in frames of sculpted hedges, rather than the practical herbs and vegetables crowding the Dyre's tiny backyard plot.

Helmfast Hall was a grand affair, with a sweeping iron arch soaring above its gate. Flanking the arch stood two small fore-houses, of the same pale-gold stone as the mansion beyond. One was little more than a covered bridge, and in it stood a coach, liveried staff gentling the harnessed horses, awaiting Helmfast whims. The other was the gatehouse, and Lark was relieved to see the black-bearded man seated within was her friend from the Black Flagon.

As the carriage rumbled to a stop, Lark hastened out and down. "Good morn, Stroamyn."

"And to you." The guard glanced at the hired carriage. "You've not come to serve, not in that rolling ship. Are you a ladies' maid?"

"In a manner of speaking," Lark replied. "My mistresses wish to speak with Lord Korvaun. Know you one of the staff who can be trusted to carry that message to his master and no other?"

Stroamyn snorted. "In this house? You know grand folk can buy everything but discretion, yet by the luck-fall of Tymora's dice, it happens Lord Korvaun's not in residence."

"Can you tell me where he is?"

The guard gave her a considering look. "I'm not one to tell tales."

"Nor am I," Lark said firmly. "For that matter, I doubt anyone'll think to ask how I came by the information. Lord Korvaun carries so many magical trinkets he's probably come to think of them as commonplace. He'll no doubt assume my mistresses found him through a seeking spell or some such foolishness. His sort never think others can't drop coins as freely as they do."

Stroamyn nodded ruefully and tugged at the neck of his tabard, revealing a green tunic beneath. "One of Lord Korvaun's brothers asked me why I wear this several times a tenday, as if all men could cast coin away on ten tunics of every hue in a rainbow!"

Thus bonded by common disdain, they leaned heads together and talked. Stroamyn imparted the address of Lord