webcrawl/APGTE/Book-6/tex/Ch-022.md.tex

\hypertarget{chapter-18-clout}{%
\section{Chapter 18: Clout}\label{chapter-18-clout}}

\begin{quote}
\emph{``You bargained for my soul, dear devil, and that is what you
received. Is it my fault you did not stipulate it was to be my original
one?''}

-- Dread Emperor Traitorous, trading the soul of a single gnat for
infernal enlightenment
\end{quote}

We shed the illusions like one would shed a cloak.

We'd get more use out of us being the Black Queen and the Archer right
now, though there was also an aspect here of knowing I should not press
my luck too much. I was a villain who'd just finished the first part of
her plan, securing the expected victory, which meant I was due a nasty
surprise if I kept going down the path. Best to shake off this story and
embrace another before the teeth of it could come around to bite me.
Gods forgive me, but tonight I would be following down the path Kairos
Theodosian had so brazenly blazed through while he lived: always
scheming, always at odds, so that very same thing that should be burying
you instead kept you alive. I did not miss the Tyrant of Helike himself,
for he'd been cruel and feckless and admirable only in his qualities
turned against others, but sometimes I did miss the times I associated
him with in my memory. The days where my foes had breathed and there had
been an end to them.

``So what are we doing now?'' Archer asked.

She'd caught up to me quickly enough, swift on the stride as she was,
and shrugged when I'd asked if she had any difficulty shaking off the
opposition. I would have given her good odds of pulling this off even
without Creation's favour blowing into our sails, so I was not
surprised. None of the Named I'd seen of the band of five so far were
made for the subtle side of things -- well, neither of the Procerans
anyways. I still knew distressingly little about the Maddened Keeper.

``When you asked me for the Harrowed Witch for your band,'' I said,
``you gave me two reasons. The first was that her stealth sorceries were
impressive. The other was-''

``Aspasie is good at calling up the dead to chat with,'' Indrani
finished. ``Which has been worth more than gold, Named being Named. So
who is it we're going to be chatting with?''

``The same man whose body we need to make disappear,'' I said. ``If the
Wicked Enchanter has been seen walking around but his corpse is still on
a slab, fingers will start being pointed.''

``We get my witch or your dead body first?'' Archer asked.

She was a practical woman, my Indrani, and I really did enjoy that. Not
the kind that would balk at either borrowing -- it wasn't stealing if
you were a queen, probably -- a dead body or calling on the spirits of
the dead for questioning. Much as I liked, say, Hanno I suspected he'd
not be up for a spot of corpse robbery without several serious questions
first being asked.

``The corpse,'' I mused. ``Quiet-like, yeah? The point is to get it to
the Harrowed Witch, so we'll avoid being seen bringing her there.''

If we showed up there with a known necromancer in tow we'd be giving
away the game. I cast a sideways look at Indrani.

``Her dead brother's still haunting her?'' I asked.

``Sure, but it's more nuisance than trouble,'' Archer shrugged. ``And
I'll answer the question you're building up to before you ask it, spare
us both some trouble. She can be trusted, Cat. She's not Woe, won't ever
be, but she knows who to close ranks with.''

It'd have to do. It wasn't like the villains we'd picked up since
declaring the Truce and the Terms were all black-hearted treacherous
devils, though admittedly we \emph{had} picked up a few of those. It was
just that, as a rule, they tended to be a lot less preoccupied with
other people's wellbeing than the White Knight's lot. Villains, I'd
learned, were not beyond loyalty. But they had the loyalty of wolves, to
the pack that bit and bled for them, while heroes instead had the
loyalty of knights: to oath and realm and Good. It didn't necessarily
make the champions of the Heavens pleasant people, but on the other hand
I couldn't deny that Hanno's side of the fence counted not a single
rapist or thrill-killer. There were days, when the likes of the Mirror
Knight's ingratitude and ignorance became \emph{so very grating}, that
it was tempting to forget things like that. Tempting to forget that
there was more to villains than the Woe and the Calamities, that the
banner I'd chosen to bear had flown tall over millennia of dark deeds.

I couldn't afford to close my eyes to that, going forward. Not if the
Truce and Terms were to one day be remembered as the prelude to the
Liesse Accords, as I so badly wanted them to be.

``I'll take you word on it,'' I said. ``We need to get a move on,
`Drani. There's a least one of that band that'll remember to go look for
the Enchanter's corpse as soon as nobody's in danger anymore.''

She snorted.

``Wouldn't count on that,'' she said.

I shook my head. Tempting as it was to take the Mirror Knight and his
ilk as all Light and no brains, it'd be mistake.

``Wind was out our back and the sun in their eyes in there,'' I reminded
her. ``We get in scrap with them again, and we'll get what Revenants
get. A third time and it'll be \emph{us} with the wind in our faces.''

``Won't make them any smarter,'' Indrani pointed out.

``We fought their two frontliners and ambushed the eyes,'' I said.
``\emph{Someone} serves as the thinking head of that band, we just
haven't run into them yet. Any cart's a bad cart if you take off half
the wheels.''

Hopefully Adjutant would be keeping whoever that was pointed in the
right direction, cleaning up behind any mistakes Indrani and I might
have made. Not that we'd be the ones having made the greater share of
mistakes in there. The two Procerans here, in particular, had proved
significantly easier to handle than I'd expected. It made a horrible
sort of sense, now that I thought about it, because though I heard about
things the Mirror Knight had done all the time I couldn't honestly
recall a single story where he'd been the \emph{leader}. He wasn't even
a band's second, most the time: he was the brawns to the Witch of the
Woods' magic, Hanno's vanguard or bait for the Silver Huntress. Was this
a blunder of our own making, I wondered? \emph{The man's an ignorant
ass, but has anyone actually tried to set him straight and teach him to
recognize what's going on around him?} It ought to have been his
responsibility to see to that, sure, for he was a grown man and few of
us had gotten to have our hands held through the process of gaining
power. But then was it not undeniably a blunder to let a hero with that
kind of power stew in a puddle of his own obtuseness, growing ever more
frustrated and wary?

Something to consider more in depth later, I decided. It would be
Hanno's failure more than mine, but I'd never spoken a word about it
either and that made for shared responsibility. Indrani and I had been
moving even as we talked and quickened our pace further as we fell into
silence, her longer stride letting her take the lead as she guided me
through the hallways of the Arsenal. I inquired as to our destination
and learned that after the Wicked Enchanter was butchered before half a
hundred people, his body had been taken away to the Depository. I'd been
a little surprise to hear that, considering that was the part of the
Arsenal where all the weapons and artefacts were kept in crates until
they could be shipped to the fronts: it was a storehouse, more or less.
But it was apparently a storehouse with some fairly secure sections, and
as one of the parts of this place where no Named resided it'd been
deemed as the least provocative of the places to stash a villain's dead
body.

``There's going to be guards,'' I said.

``Of course,'' Indrani agreed. ``But people aren't allowed in and it's a
sealed room.''

Meaning that if we went in and, after a few moments, popped back out
asking the guards where the Hells the body was there shouldn't be anyone
able to gainsay us. I could dump the corpse in the Night until we got it
to the Harrowed Witch, so we wouldn't essentially be blatantly lying
with a dead body strapped onto Archer's back. When we got there the
whole affair turned out to be, well, surprisingly straightforward. There
was a full line of guards by the door, Lycaonese by the looks of them,
and their commanding officer had the key to the wards. I was recognized,
even without my cloak, and when I requested entry they didn't even
bother to ask me why before accepting. Obviously I had the right, since
this was a dead villain and I'd been his representative under the Terms,
but I was somewhat surprised at how utterly indifferent the Lycaonese
were to the whole thing.

They key to the wards was a simple stone disk that unmade the sealing
enchantment on the steel-barded door when pressed into a slot above the
handle and it remained in there even as I opened it and slipped inside.
The tingle of other wards washed over me as I did -- probably a few to
prevent coming in by Arcadia and Twilight, and perhaps to prevent
summoning within -- but there was no other defence. The dead body was in
the back, on what was very clearly four wooden shipping crates covered
by a slab of steel, thought at least someone had placed a white shroud
over it. There was no corpse-stench in the bare stone room, which meant
the corpse had been preserved. By alchemy and not enchantment, I noted,
since the sharp tang of embalming fluid and something more like flowers
was lingering in the air. Good, the Night wouldn't disrupt anything when
I took the body then.

I checked it was the Enchanter under the shroud, sought Indrani's
confirmation it was the right man and received it with a nod, then I
seized Night a heartbeat later. The body sunk into the darkness I wove
under it, and I breathed in through my mouth as I began choosing my
words.

Time to raise a ruckus about the theft of the body I'd just stolen.

---

The damned song just wouldn't leave my head, I mused as I poured myself
a fresh finger of aragh and knocked it back.

\emph{``The henhouse stands unlatched}

\emph{All within, by the fox snatched.''}

A fresh change of clothes had done me some good, though that wasn't the
main reason I'd done it and ordered Indrani to do the same before
sending her out. Smoke had a particular scent to it, and not one easy to
hide. At least one Named was bound to notice if we kept wearing garments
smelling of a fire we weren't supposed to have been anywhere near. I
dressed formally, or at least what passed as formal for me: having a
soldier queen's reputation meant I could dispense with a lot of the
finery some other crowned heads might be stuck wearing. The heart of it
was a high-collared and long-sleeved tunic of dark green, bordered in
deep gold and going down to my calves. It was split all the way down to
my belly by more elaborate embroidery in the same golden colour, though
buttons kept it closed and close against me all the way up to the hollow
of my throat -- where the sole button I'd left unmade prevented the
tunic from digging into my skin.

A broader belt that I was used to in good leather was kept in a
complicated knot I'd taken me ages to learn how to make without Hakram's
help and ended in a long stripe going down to slightly below the hem of
my tunic. The buckles were gilded and a few patches as well though they
were inscribed with the Crown and Sword instead of simply polished,
lending the whole thing a rather ceremonial look. Trousers of the same
good cloth and colour ended in knee-high boots of fine make, which I'd
insisted have enough room for a knife to be slipped in. Up the sleeve of
my tunic, an old gift from Pickler I more rarely wore these days had
been made to serve a again: a complicated set of knots and leather
strings that could have a knife falling into my palm a beat later if I
flicked my wrist just right. With the Mantle of Woe on my back, my hair
pulled back into a long braid and a bare circlet of gold that sat high
on brow as my crown, for once I looked like a queen and not a soldier
with a looted crown.

There might be more truth to the second of these, in the end, but
appearances were too useful a tool to be discarded.

I'd abandoned my rooms not long after making use of them, preferring
instead to return to that same small parlour in the Alcazar I'd used to
entertain the Hunted Magician. The half-empty bottle of aragh from
earlier had been pining for me there, along with what looked like little
slices of bread with some sort of mousse on them. It smelled like meat
and spices and it tasted delicious, so I polished off a few while
waiting for Archer to return with the Harrowed Witch in tow. I was
careful with crumbs and stains, since I was not going to go through all
the trouble of dressing up regally only for the impression being ruined
by mousse on the corner of my lips. The song stayed with me, and as I
hummed absent-mindedly my brow rose: someone had knocked at my door.
That wasn't Indrani, who would not have bothered herself with courtesy
like knocking before entering a room in general, much less a room I was
in. I discreetly brushed off some crumbs from my cloak and gathered
myself on the sofa.

``Enter,'' I called out.

\emph{So here they go, once again,} I hummed under my breath\emph{.
Chasing a red tail into the glen.}

Adjutant was the first to step into the room, giving me a bow that told
me two things: this was a formal visit, and he did not trust whoever was
with him with even the light knowledge of our usual informality with
each other. Considering who it was I'd sent him out with, I could
understand why. The Mirror Knight entered behind him and I noted with
approval he'd been made to relegate his sword and shield before coming
into my presence. The staff of yew laid lightly on my shoulder was a
comforting weight, even though it was more a focus of my powers than a
weapon. Behind good ol' Christophe was not his perennial shadow the
Blade of Mercy, to my surprise, but instead a more familiar sight.

The Repentant Magister, Nephele Eliade, was the very painting of what
people thought of when talking of a Free Cities beauty. Though her face
was sharp in cast and her nose strong, pale grey eyes and luxurious long
dark hair would have made her worth a second look even if she'd not been
a supple and curvy woman. There was a highborn look to her, in the way
she stood and spoke, that'd made it easy to believe she had been born to
the highest reaches of the Magisterium of Stygia. The Eliade, I'd been
told, remained one of the most influential families in the city-state to
this day.

I'd first encountered Nephele in Hainaut, as in the early days of the
war against Keter she'd already been our foremost authority on the Dead
King's necromantic constructs. Even Akua had expressed admiration when
she'd read her work on ghouls, and the shade was rather stingier with
praise than Masego. In those days there'd not yet been an Arsenal, so
the Repentant Magister had moved wherever there was a need for her. Her
presence was always an easy sell, given that while she was not an
impressive combat mage she was an extremely talented healer and capable
of making artefacts that more than made up for her lacking offensive
spellcraft. I'd found her rather pleasant, and not only because she
usually wore tight velour dresses with dipping necklines. I would have
expected someone emerged heroic from the horrors of Stygia to be eager
to distance themselves from anything and anyone bearing Below's mark,
but she'd turned out to be almost serene about it.

That calm certainty, the knowledge of her place in the world, had been
damned attractive and I'd begun making polite inquiries about her
preferences -- flexible, thank the Gods -- to what I'd thought might
just be a receptive audience when she'd left Hainaut to help found the
Arsenal. Unfinished business, all in all, but not unpleasantly so. The
kind that might even be picked up should the situation allow. Now,
though, I had to consider her in an entirely different way. Already the
Hunted Magician had told me that Nephele was part of whatever the
Blessed Artificer was up to, only for her to be turning up \emph{here}
as well? I couldn't be sure she was part of the Mirror Knight's band of
five, not yet, but neither would be it an unwarranted assumption.
\emph{What is it you're actually up to, Nephele?} No third hero followed
the first two, which I found interesting. It meant there were still
three of them out there, out of my sight.

``Your Majesty,'' Hakram greeted me. ``If I may?''

``Proceed, Adjutant,'' I granted, leaning back into the sofa.

``I present Christophe of Pavanie, the Mirror Knight,'' the orc said,
``and Lady Nephele Eliade of Stygia, the Repentant Magister. They would
humbly request audience of you.''

The Mirror Knight looked like he'd swallowed a lemon, but he didn't
actually contradict Hakram. Huh, I'd not believed he had it in him.
Nephele's face was unreadable, not trace of our previous acquaintance
there to be found. I poured myself another splash of aragh. Was that a
bit of a sting I felt? \emph{We're never as charming as we think we are,
Catherine}, I reminded myself.

``Then be seated,'' I said. ``I expect this'll be interesting.''

``Thank you, Your Majesty,'' the Repentant Magister said, bowing
slightly.

Gods, that accent. Helikeans sounded like they were spitting out every
other word in Chantant, but the Stygian accent was like silk in the ear.
Didn't hurt that she had one of those smooth, throaty voices either. The
Mirror Knight offered a curt nod and seated himself briskly, the heroine
following suit more gracefully a moment later. Hakram stepped back,
standing behind the sofa they occupied and looming as only an orc of his
towering height could.

``There is a traitor in the Arsenal,'' the Mirror Knight gravely said.

My eyes moved to Adjutant, who nodded, then returned to the other two as
I cocked a brow.

``I take it you have evidence for such a claim,'' I said.

``Two Revenants were allowed past the wards,'' the hero said, ``which is
impossible without someone on this side letting them in.''

My eyes flicked to Nephele, who bowed her head.

``I believe they were not truly Revenants,'' the dark-haired heroine
evenly said, ``but instead masking their true identities through an
illusion. Which does not change the truth of what Christophe has said:
there is a traitor in the Arsenal, and likely more than one.''

Well now, wasn't that interesting? Not the revelation itself, as it was
a conclusion I'd been inching towards myself for some time -- the Bard
would need boots on the ground to pull off something like this, there
was only so much that could be done without willing hands -- but that
they'd bring it to me of all people. Nephele had allegedly been sniffing
around Quartered Seasons, which for someone with only cursory knowledge
of my intentions might very well look like an attempt at apotheosis, and
the Mirror Knight both disliked and distrusted me. I sipped at my aragh,
considering, and delicately set down the cup.

``I am surprised,'' I said, ``that a man who accused me of plotting
murder not a bell ago would now come to me with such tidings. Unless, of
course, you mean to accuse me.''

The Proceran hero grit his teeth and did not look away from my gaze,
dark green eyes matching my own.

``I see what you are, Black Queen,'' the Mirror Knight said, tone curt.
``You have fooled the White Knight and broken the Grey Pilgrim, but
\emph{I} \emph{see you}. Carrion Queen, heiress to a lord of the same:
you burrow into the heart and then claim the body for yourself. You
stole the armies of Praes, the Kingdom of Callow, the Tenth Crusade and
now you would do the same to the Grand Alliance itself. I will not let
you make yourself queen of the Chosen and Damned, Gods preserve me in
this.''

``But,'' Nephele mildly said.

``But,'' the Mirror Knight continued, tone reluctant, ``you are foe to
the Dead King and all his works. This I\ldots{} recognize.''

How kind of him. I was a little skeptical, though, considering that when
I'd been veiled as the Wicked Enchanter he'd accused `me' of having made
a pact with the Black Queen. Unless he'd been baiting a monologue?
Possible, though he didn't seem like the sort. As far as I knew most of
the foes he'd faced since becoming Named had been Revenants, and there
was very little subtlety required in dealing with those.

``All well and good,'' I said. ``But it doesn't tell me what brings you
\emph{here}.''

``We require your understanding, Queen Catherine, in dealing with these
troubles,'' the Repentant Magister said. ``We are aware that there
are\ldots{} tensions within the Arsenal, but the situation requires
investigation nonetheless.''

``You want my permission to run your own Chosen inquisition,'' I said.

My tone expressed \emph{exactly} what I thought of that without needing
to say anything more.

``You are on Proceran land,'' the Mirror Knight said through gritted
teeth.

``Do tell the First Prince that, preferably when I'm in the room,'' I
drily replied. ``I've never seen her blush in utter embarrassment
before.''

The Arsenal was not in Creation and had been made explicitly beyond
Proceran rule by multiple treaties besides. Actual laws here were a
complicated issue, with nations being responsible for the people they
provided and Named themselves falling largely under the Terms.

``We believe,'' Nephele said, ``that your second has already been a
target.''

My brow rose and I looked at Hakram before returning to her.

``I'm listening,'' I said.

``You have heard of the fire in the Miscellaneous Stacks?'' she asked.

``I have,'' I cautiously said. ``You are arguing that the Revenants were
responsible for this?''

``It was an assassination attempt on the Adjutant,'' the Mirror Knight
bluntly said. ``You sent him to question the Doddering Sage discreetly,
and it was seen as an opening. If my companions and I had not arrived in
time he'd be dead.''

\emph{Huh}. Well, Hakram clearly ought to be grateful at having his life
preserved in such a manner by upstanding ladies and gentlemen, I mused.

``That was the plot, Queen Catherine,'' the Repentant Magister quietly
said. ``Your second dead on the ground, and only heroes there among the
ashes. Someone is trying to set us against one another.''

She was very much correct about that but given that I was seated across
from two of the blades the Wandering Bard was currently swinging at me I
couldn't exactly come out and tell her as much. Still, this was a
pleasing turn. I seemed to have accidentally stumbled into the role of
authority figure these enterprising investigating rogues might somewhat
answer to, which was something I could work with.

``You'll understand,'' I said, ``that while I might believe you speak
the truth at least in part, I also have sworn responsibilities. Letting
Chosen run amok in the Arsenal and interrogate my lot without
supervision would be a gross failure of those oaths.''

Nephele was clever enough to see through that, but then she'd been
clever before entering this room: she would have known that their
request for my blessing to hunt as they wished had no chance of being
accepted without some alterations to what had been proposed.

``What if we had one of the Damned with us as well?'' the Mirror Knight
said. ``Someone you can trust.''

``You have a name for me, I take it?'' I asked, brow raised.

He looked back at Hakram. The same orc whose life he had `saved', who he
would have sent to save unconscious custodians and not been failed by.
That decision made itself, didn't it?

``The Adjutant is a good man,'' Christophe firmly said. ``It would not
be an injury to count him among our number.''

\emph{But we know, oh we know}, I almost hummed, \emph{that in the
woods, the fox is king}.

This would do, I decided. With Hakram following them and serving as my
voice I could count on them keeping out of my way while I expunged the
Bard's influence from this fortress one pawn at a time. With a little
luck, they might even actually unearth a \emph{real} conspiracy that I'd
missed.

``Where would you begin?'' I said, tacitly accepting.

The Repentant Magister released a long breath, though the Mirror Knight
only nodded as this was expected. His due. \emph{Dislike cannot dictate
policy}, I reminded myself, \emph{or I would have been at war with every
other Calernian nation within a year of my coronation}.

``The Hunted Magician has been seen going in and out of the Workshop at
odd hours,'' the Mirror Knight told me.

\emph{Because he's been carrying on two love affairs with heroines}, I
thought, \emph{the most impressive part of this being that he's yet to
lose a limb.} Mind you, if I was the Intercessor I'd consider the Hunted
Magician as a good in for the Arsenal: he had a enemy he'd probably do
next to anything to avoid being found by, and precious few scruples as a
person. If they wanted to dig there they had my blessing.

``It's start,'' I agreed. ``Come back to me when you've found something.
I might even have insights of my own to share, as I'm looking into a few
things as well.''

``It might be,'' Nephele softly said, ``that some of your own trusted
have not proved entirely deserving of that trust.''

Well now, that was something. A warning, if I read her right. And
considering she was one of the Arsenal regulars and there was only one
of the Woe who shared that state of affairs? She was warning me about
Hierophant. \emph{Quartered Seasons}, I decided. \emph{She's dug up
something about Quartered Seasons, and she's decided that Masego is
deceiving me somehow.} Or she was trying to sow dissent between myself
and Hierophant. Either way, it was a swing and a miss. Zeze honestly
didn't care enough about my approval to lie, it wasn't how his head
worked. He'd either go through with it anyway or decide it wasn't worth
the trouble, deception wouldn't be part of the recipe either way. That
the Repentant Magister had said that at all, though, was telling. Masego
was fairly open about his intention to one day reach apotheosis on his
own terms and Quartered Seasons might be seen as a way to that. The
Repentant Magister, and likely the Blessed Artificer as well, knew
enough about the project to misunderstand. That put the alleged blinding
of Masego by the Blessed Artificer in a rather more sinister light.

Someone had just shot up the list of problems I needed to handle.

``I am not,'' I said, ``in the habit of leaving stones unturned. Go, you
two. I'll speak with Adjutant a moment and send him after you.''

It got a nod from the Mirror Knight and a proper bow from Nephele,
though she also carefully studied my face as she moved. I do not know
what she found there, but she left looking satisfied. The doors was
barely closed and the courtesies done when I turned a steady gaze to
Hakram.

``Who's the fifth?'' I asked.

Mirror Knight, Blade of Mercy, Maddened Keeper and Repentant Magister.
That made four, which meant there was one left I'd not seen. I would
have bet the Exalted Poet, before Nephele's presence was revealed, but
now I had doubts. Bands of five were rarely so heavy on Gifted.

``The Vagrant Spear,'' Hakram replied.

Shit, Archer's second? That explained why she'd not heard armour, but we
were lucky we'd not run into her: she likely would have recognized
Indrani, glamour or not. Fuck, we actually gotten pretty lucky on that.
If I'd not acted to split the band of five, Archer would probably have
been outed. \emph{The first step never fails, huh?} I'd been so worried
about good eyes I'd missed the greater threat of simple familiarity. A
reminder the victory was rarely quite as triumphant as it felt when it
was happening.

``What's she after?'' I asked.

``I believe she is trying to keep the Red Axe alive,'' he said. ``And
was drawn in by the Mirror Knight's impassioned defence of her right to
break the Terms for a revenge killing.''

The Red Axe had travelled with Archer's band to come here, hadn't she?
And as I recalled, the Spear had almost begun a fight with the Hunted
Magician over the Enchanter's corpse. I'd need to ask Indrani about
this, looked like. The way that Adjutant had phrased his answer told me
both what I'd asked and his own opinion of the matter, which was rather
helpful of him given how little time we had. I'd need to cut him loose
soon else his new companions would ask questions, but I still had a bit
more.

``Mirror Knight,'' I said. ``Your opinion of him?''

``There is more him than I had anticipated,'' the orc gravelled.
``Genuinely unambitious, but he clearly sees himself as the flagbearer
of Proceran heroism with all that entails. And he's on the edge,
Catherine. Sometimes he snaps at the Blade of Mercy and the boy always
looks surprised, so it can't be habitual.''

I slowly nodded. That made the man even more dangerous, truth be told.
People did stupid and dangerous things when they felt they had no other
choice. I was glad I'd asked, since that would change how the Knight
would need to be handled: \emph{carefully}, in a word.

``On your end?'' Hakram asked.

``Going to ask the Wicked Enchanter some questions,'' I replied.
``Indrani should be here any moment.''

``Then I'll leave, they might be waiting for me outside,'' Hakram said.

And we would not want them to run into each other. I got up to clasp his
arm before sending him out, and when the door closed I closed my eyes
and breathed out. The song hadn't quite left me, I found as the hum left
my lips.

\emph{``Yes we know, oh we know}

\emph{That in the woods, the fox is king.''}