As Rakt and Grymwer were staying with Ferdino, and Venalse accepted a dinner invitation after no more than polite demur, Chrysanthemum had the company of Doryid and Kosohona as well as Aitonala for the walk back into the city. It was a pleasant evening, and they ambled along chatting as they went.

“This is a tame landscape,” noted Doryid “not like our moors.”

“Or our forests,” chimed in Kosohona. “I dare say you never find a wild spirit here, or hear the cries of undermen hunting.”

“No,” Aitonala agreed. “The spirits and humans have woven together here over the centuries. My family has a cloth business in the city, and travel through the countryside on buying trips. They do not need guards or to carry Items of protection.”

“Speaking of Items,” Chrys said “I plan to see if I can find some useful spells in the morning, but I thought to visit Feriol’s tomorrow afternoon. It’s the only magic shop in Dtlag that carries the kind of things that might be useful on this trip.”

“We’ll join you,” Doryid said. “Do either of you know of a good alchemist? We should order a run of Fast Healing as soon as we can.”

Aitonala frowned “I thought that can have weird side-effects”.

“It can, but given the choice between dealing with odd hair or a stab in the gut, I’ll take the odd hair.”

“Fair enough. The Golden Toad is a reliable alchemist’s and it’s close to Feriol’s.”

Feriol’s was in the oldest section of Dtlag, a place of narrow streets illuminated by glowstones so old their light had faded to a pale green, of worn flagstones and treacherously deep gutters against the rainy season, of tall thin buildings of interlaced soft brick and dark timber. Here the more conservative gentry had their courtyard homes, the numerous guilds and Practice Associations their offices, old shrines were tucked in corners and discreet plaques directed to businesses established generations ago. Chrysanthemum led through a square where the light was always that of early morning, down an alley, past a small garden where shrieking children chased illusory animals, around a corner where a niche held a cast-iron raven that would croak directions if asked, to a quiet side-street. Feriol’s was indicated only by faded silver lettering above a modest shopfront.

The door swung open as Chrysanthemum’s foot touched the first step. Within, a polite young man bowed as they stepped onto the polished wooden floor.

“How may we serve you?”

“We would like to look at the uniques first, please. After that I will need some virgin daggers.”

“Certainly. The uniques are on the third floor – the red step will take you there. The daggers you will find at the back of the second floor – any blue step will take you to that floor. Would you like a guide-light?”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

Chrysanthemum led the way across the room, to where several sets of stone stairs faced a wall blank except for a mirror at eye height. A quick look assured her that no-one was descending the red stair, and two steps took her to the third floor. Kosohona paused to look the adjacent wall, where several windows showed views over sea, mountains, a strange city and a picturesque ruin. She arrived last, with a slightly awed look on her face.

“How long has Feriol’s been here? It’s like some tower where five generations of mad magicians have lived.”

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“I’ve no idea,” Chrysanthemum replied “Aitoni, do you know?”

“Umm, three hundred and, umm, seventeen years. It has the date in small lettering on the front.”

“Good to know you notice things. The uniques are this way.”

Feriol’s kept the unique Items in a separate room, hung on – in some cases, chained to – the wall or under glass in cabinets. Another polite young person was on hand to describe the displays.

Doryid was drawn to several swords on one wall, one enclosed in a glass box, while the others looked over the cabinets.

“This one here is a Collecting Sword,” explained the attendant. “It is of no great power now, but grows in effect as it kills each of the types whose glyphs are engraved here on the blade. As you can see, it has already taken a male warrior and” - she blushed slightly - “a pimp.”

“Leaving, hmm, eight types to go. Perhaps not. This longer sword is not a weapon of my order, but what of this blade behind glass?”

“That is a Singing Sword. It has an excellent voice, ranging from baritone to soprano, and a very wide repertoire: classic arias, folk-songs of many places, marching songs, shanties...”

“Does it cut better? No? Then I shall look in the cabinets.”

Doryid scanned the labels. “Feral Brassiere, Horn Shampoo, Happy Hat.. Who makes these things? My people craft practical Items.”

“Experimenters and old magicians with too much time,” Chrys explained. “The sort of person who wants chilled wine with their bath and, because they’re a magician, spends five years making a set of self-chilling glasses with matched levitating tray. Also, things often go a bit strange when you go beyond established Practices. Those Toffee Apples of Ferdino’s – they’ve been trying to get a reliable version of that for years. Sometimes you get one or two apples; more often you get a great sticky explosion. And, as well a surprising amount just circulates, as Items are built to last.

Can you tell me a bit about these?” she asked the attendant, gesturing at a short wide length of copper pipe and another, longer pipe.

“Certainly. This is a Rat Extractor. Place it over an opening, and it will draw rats to and through it. It attracts all kinds of rat – from the common black, red or brown rat to the Dravish winged rat or the greater cave rat. This longer pipe is a Camp Cooker, from the same maker. Place over a rabbit hole, or indeed the hole of any burrowing species, and the occupant is drawn in, killed, dressed, seasoned and cooked. All one need do is hold a plate at this end.”

“That one could save a lot of hunting, and I like wild rabbit. I see the price is 220 tulips – I’ll take it.”

“Certainly. You may collect it downstairs. It comes with an instruction sheet, but these hatches are for seasonings, and these slides dictate the cut and give a choice of rare, medium or well-done.”

“There are more things than rabbits down holes, you know,” commented Aitonala.

“I know, but life on the Rai steppe teaches you that most things taste okay if you add enough spice. Are we done here?”

“There are things I’d like, but the budget won’t stretch that far. Let’s look at the second floor,” Kosohona said, and no-one disagreed.

On the second floor Chrys picked out four slim knives, all warranted virgin steel, while Doryid bought a small box of Instant Fire. The next stop was the Golden Toad, an alchemist business that had been selling powders, potions and the socially-acceptable poisons for well over two centuries. Here Doryid ordered runs of Fast Healing and plain Healing on behalf of the party, and bought a tube of Stickfast for himself. A small restaurant around the corner provided a good dinner, and they parted for the night.

A meeting the next day was first spent comparing resources. This did not take long for, as Grymwer wryly noted, the party was not equipped to wrest the Ancestor Book from Maudil’s hands should the lady – if she could be found at all – prove recalcitrant. Rakt had paid his own visit to Feriol’s and acquired an Iron Bomb, which he was careful to keep in a small bag. As he said, turning an enemy’s armour and weapons to dust was an excellent move, but denuding oneself was both expensive and embarrassing. This would be useful in a difficult situation, as might the small bottle of Spirit Repellent held by Aitonala and the Toffee-Apples provided by Ferdino. It was harder to see how Chrys’ doses of Liquid Massage – an expensive present from her mother – could be applied to the mission. The same could be said of the one Item Doryid possessed - a pair of chaps inherited from his father which aided in walking. They had their skills and the tools of their professions – weapons, armour and spells. These would have to be enough.