Venalse summed up. “We can’t breach the tower walls or roof and we haven’t found a concealed entrance. Any ideas?”

Rakt looked around. “What was that old lady’s advice to Chrys? Something about the wind?”

“Something about seeing the wind at night, fortune favouring the three-legged dog and looking to the edge,” Kosohona said.

“Well, we can’t see the wind and we don’t have a dog, but we do have an edge,” Grymwer observed. He went on “The tower does not look very spacious. It could well have an underground extension.”

They looked at the smooth grass sloping down to the cliff edge. “I’ve done some climbing,” Rakt said. “If we can rig something to belay too, I’ll go over the side and have a look.”

It took five minutes to hammer spikes into the stones at the tower base and tie off to them. Rakt passed the rope over his body and backed over the edge. He came back only minutes later, a broad grin on his face.

“There are openings not far down, under an overhang, quite wide, partly covered by creepers. They are some way along to the right. If we shift the belay point to, let’s see, just about there, we’ll be right over them.”

With a way forward, the party moved quickly. Rakt shifted ropes to a convenient boulder, knotted a cradle and attached a signalling line. The others checked gear while settling tactics. Then Aitonala settled herself in the cradle and backed over. As Rakt had advised, the cliff sloped inward after a few lengths, and she dangled free over the forest below. When level with the row of arched openings Rakt had spied, she jerked on the signal line, then swung herself back and forward until, after a couple of tries, she was able to hook a heel over the balustrade and draw herself forward. The space within was, thankfully, empty. She had never felt more vulnerable than when hanging there, completely helpless should she be seen. It was the work of a moment to attach another line and signal for the next to descend.

Aitonala looked around. The open room stretched back to a wall with a single door. A quick listen told her nothing and, while the spy-hole at eye-level made her uncomfortable, there was nothing to be done about it. She returned to the balustrade to haul Venalse in. He took up station at the door while the others followed – first Doryid, then Kosohona, Grymwer and finally Rakt. A quick whispered conference, then Venalse tried the door. It was locked. Grymwer came forward, spoke twisted syllables, drew his hands across the door. There was the sound of metal sliding on metal and the door eased back. A quick peek, a hand-signal, and Venalse slipped through.The corridor beyond gave on to a cell area. From one cage a creature with the head of an ape and the body of an underman gibbered as Venalse entered, then gave a few sad hoots. The other cells held huge hounds, one lying there inanimate, the other lifting green glowing eyes to the incomers. It gave a soft growl, paced forward, then turned away again. Venalse watched a moment, then went on to the next door. As he reached for the handle Grymwer put a hand on his shoulder.

“Magician, remember?” Grymwer whispered. Venalse nodded and moved back. Grymwer again shaped the ether with murmured Words, and the Invisible Defence shimmered into place. He eased the door open, to look into a lounge area. Several comfortable chairs, a small round dining table in a corner, a rather fine rug and a man looking up, startled, from a littered desk. Surprised or not, the man was evidently a magician. His hands were twisting even as he rose, to send a red streak of malevolence across the room. Grymwer’s Defence turned blue and rang as it met the blow and then he was charging forward, halberd levelled, the others spilling into the room behind. The magician hurled a chair at Venalse, tripping him, and bolted from the room.

* * * *

The manacles were broad and padded on the inside, but quite secure about Chrys’ limbs. She did not find the concern for her comfort soothing. There was nothing to do but alternate between hanging from the wall, relaxed as far as possible, and stand upright. She had thought a great deal, yet no solution had presented itself. She was chained and without access to magic. A noise brought her alert. Was Salko returning? There was a sharp discordant ringing tone as of a cracked bell, a crash, a cry and the sound of running steps. Salko raced into the room, jacket flapping, and across to the dog. He leapt on but was barely above the floor when a javelin flashed across Chrys’ vision and transfixed the magician through the head. He toppled sideways, dead before he hit the floor, and the dog sank slowly back.

Kosohona came in. “Good cast, eh?” She surveyed Chrys. “If he was going to give you a tattoo, can I say that that pattern does not suit you at all.”

“Just let me loose, so I can kick his dead head in.”

Others spilled into the room, weapons raised, then relaxed as they took in the scene. Venalse came over, hugged Chrys briefly and set about releasing her. Her first move was to go over and plant a foot on Salko’s face. “I told you Rai are dedicated to vengeance, but you didn’t listen.”

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They looked around. “Well,” said Venalse “let’s see what we have won.”

They strolled back to the lounge area after Chrys had dressed, to meet Rakt coming the other way. His helmet was off, his hair mussed and a large smile adorned his face.

“Where have you been?”

“When we came through I covered the other exit. Saw something so went to look. Turned out to be a lady in an ape-suit, and her sister. Quite friendly, they were. They went off down the cliff with a bag, said something about life at sea.”

“That would be Yuli and Juin,” said Chrys. “I expect the next you hear of her will be as Red Yuli, Terror of the Corillion Coast. Those weren’t suits, by the way.”

Rakt shrugged. “Thought they looked pretty realistic. Felt real too.”

* * * *

That evening they looked at each other around the lounge room. Salko’s wine cupboard had been that of a connoisseur, while the pantry and kitchen had afforded a welcome relief from trail food. Venalse set his glass on the side-table with a precise click.

“If we can get most of what we’ve got here back to Dtlag, then we’ll have done well. But we have some decisions to make. What do we do with the dwarf? And the pony-person? Who is this Stephni the magician was writing to? Most of all, have we inherited a dwarvish lawsuit?”

Aitonala spoke up. “We did a bit on dealing with dwarves. If he acknowledges, in writing, that we are not responsible for his captivity or for any harm to him, we can let him go. Even better if he acknowledges that we freed him, because then his clan-mother may feel obligated to pay us.”

Venalse added “She probably will, as it’s clear from the notes that Chrys and he were to be the first two human-dwarf composites.”

Kosohona went on. “The pony-person’s name is Tumne. He’s a Brahnak, but says he can’t go back. They’d kill him as a freak. He’s pretty depressed.”

“I would be too.” Doryid said, not unsympathetically. “What’s this about a lawsuit, Venalse?”

“I found this letter from some dwarvish builders called Dughin Harach and Associates. Salko had a contract with them to build this place. They were in dispute over the details, including,” he grinned, “bars on the cliff windows. They want another 850 gold roses to complete the work. They seem pretty tetchy – 280 of the gold is an addition under the contract for racial abuse – he called them short-arsed grasping moles, among other things. Anyway, they want payment by the end of next month. I’m pretty sure if we are here then, they’d regard us as Salko’s heirs. There’s a receipt for a withdrawal of that much and more from the Shipwrights’ Bank in Mer Ammery, but what we’ve found doesn’t come near that.”

“I don’t suppose the Shipwrights’ Bank would regard us as Salko’s heirs?” asked Doryid. He looked around. “Thought not.”

“The one thing my mother always said was never go to law or war against a dwarf,” Chrys remarked. “Well, she said a lot more than that, but mostly about the importance of good contraception.”

“I had a quick look in the tower,” Kosohona said. “There’s two storerooms need going through, and I could not find a way to open the top. We may have to take everything out the cliff window.”

“I’m not finished sorting out the potions,” added Aitonala. “And I want to look over the alchemy setup. Do you know,” she went on enthusiastically, “we have a triple coil essentialiser and a reverse-flow concentrating tube with coupled dilutant attenuator. Between that and Salko’s recipe book, I could turn out some really serious stuff.”

“Fine,” Venalse said, “but we can’t move it and we can’t stay without being sued to death by dwarves. What have we got that we can use now?”

Aitonala sighed regretfully. “Oh well, I’ve found enough Instant Death to give a quick end to the poor ape-underman things. They are quite mad. Chrys says the blob just wants to end it, so I’ll dose that too. I’ll pack the other stuff.”

“What do we do with the bodies?” asked Doryid.

“We have a lot of Universal Solvent. I expect Salko kept a supply on hand to deal with failures, and maybe successes too.” Aitonala grimaced.

“I need more time with Salko’s spell-book,” put in Grymwer. I’ve nearly doubled my call on the ether, and there are some spells there we can really use.”

“I would like to look through his spells too, so long as it’s not the ones on applied anatomical magic,” added Chrys “Also, I want to know how long before my ether-sense returns. I’ve about doubled my call too, but I’m shut out entirely while this poxy potion lasts. Also, it feels really weird and uncomfortable, like being deaf or having numb fingers.”

“I can tell you that,” Aitonala said. “It usually lasts five days, according to the recipe. I’ve heard of it before – the guard use it to when they have to keep accused magicians in prison. There's a counter-potion, but it takes a long time to make.”

“Great. I’m on remand and, if you guys had not turned up, I’d be shorter and have some entirely unwanted bits,” remarked Chrys.

In the end they decided two more days would be enough. Chrys wanted no more to do with Salko’s experiment chamber, so retired to what had clearly been the ape-ladies’ room. There she thumbed through their collection of cheap romance novels (“Fedor blushed as the pirate queen ran hot eyes over his strapping body...”) before falling asleep.