Patricia heard the cacophony of many armored figures walking down the hall, laughing and shouting. Probably some sort of post-Test rite, like the way she’d been pelted with ink by the other novices as she left the Master’s office after being invested as a Journeywoman. She hurried to finish changing. Luckily the long-sleeved dark blue dress she had worn last night to dinner was made of a layer of crinkly gauze that floated over an underdress of muslin sheeting in the same color. The gauze was embroidered all over with pastel butterflies, and she still had a pair of silver dragonfly earrings that Gorion had given her for a birthday present some years ago. Hastily she jammed the wires through the holes in her lobes (she hadn’t worn earrings in so long that they’d almost grown back together) and shoved her feet back into her flat velvet shoes. It was really amazing how much one could stuff underneath a monk’s robes, once you knew the secret.

She heard a low rap on the door. “Come in, Keldorn,” she called, and the knight stepped back within the room only a little ahead of the cresting wave of celebrants. They didn’t speak until the noise receded; Patricia spent the time folding her robe into the small cloth bag she’d used to smuggle in her other clothes, and trying to master her elation. The heavy wool took up much more space than the gauzy cotton, barely fitting into the container, and she thought that her joy was also about to burst the seams of her soul.

“What was that? A victory lap?” she inquired.

“Something of the sort, yes. Our young friend is being carried aloft to the horse trough in the stableyard, where he will be ceremoniously dunked. I expect he will come by here soon, dripping wet.”

“Well, I can’t stay, I’m afraid,” she said. “I have a rather important errand of my own to run.” She managed to make it sound careless, though in reality all she wanted to do was run singing and dancing through the halls. Oh, she could bear to wait until the evening now; in fact, a little extra delay would only sweeten the reunion. She had no qualms now about presenting Anomen with her gift, since she no longer feared that it would be a parting memento. She only needed to arrange the proper presentation, and she thought Ribald would probably have just what she wanted.

Patricia was passing the practice rooms when she heard more clanking, accompanied by a faint squishing sound. Swiftly she ducked down the next passage, though she suspected she had not been quite fast enough to elude detection. At least there seemed to be multiple treads; Anomen must not be alone. She wasn’t ready to face him on her own right now. Not until she had confirmation from Sir Ryan that their hopes could be realized. But no, now she heard only one set of feet behind her. The squishy ones.

Turning to face the inevitable, she saw Anomen bearing down on her. Sir Ryan stood back at the intersection of the two hallways. On the whole, she preferred to have witnesses, so she forced herself to go forward to meet him.

He had removed his helm somewhere along the line, and his hair was still so damp that drops fell on his face at intervals. I’ll never manage to get through this without disgracing myself, she thought wildly. For a moment she was afraid that he was going to reach out and swing her around by the arms, he looked so elated. At once he burst into speech.

“A glorious day it is, my lady! I have achieved my dream, and I owe much of that to your assistance and counsel. I... I am most grateful to you for it.”

“I had nothing to do with it, Anomen,” she said repressively. She didn’t want this kind of demonstration, not here, not now! It wasn’t the right time! “You were proving yourself long before I came.”

He looked chilled. She needed to get him back to Sir Ryan, who was still standing in the hall. She wouldn’t be easy until she knew if the paladin was going to grant her request. Please, Anomen, stop, we need to settle whether or not we have a chance at staying together first!

Valiantly he tried again. “Perhaps so, my lady, but my doubts almost derailed me from my quest. You led me through that dark path, and I have you to thank for it, modest as you might be.”

“Er, how nice,” she said distractedly, “but weren’t you supposed to go and speak to Sir Ryan? Come, I have something to say to him myself.”

She was about to move on when he moved his arm to block her. “Tisha,” he said gently, “I have spoken to Sir Ryan Trawl already.”

She stared at him, and gnawed her bottom lip anxiously. “And?” she prompted.

His eyes lit. “He wishes me to lead an expedition to the far south. I will have my own soldiers under my command, can you imagine it! I was also told that they plan on giving me a squire or two, that I might teach my prowess to young initiates. That, and my own quarters within the Order building, as well!”

She closed her eyes tight, willing herself not to cry. It was too late. Sir Ryan had already made his decision, and Anomen sounded so happy that it would be wrong to even mourn his loss. Having weathered the storms, he had obviously found that he needed her no longer. Let him take his place within the Order, then. It was no more than she had expected to have happen this morning.

“I am pleased things have worked out so well for you,” she found herself saying. “I wish you all success in your journeys. Goodbye, then.”

“Tisha!” he said, and his voice was strangled. “Tisha, wait! I wanted to punish you a little for not coming to greet me, but---”

“You seemed… occupied,” she said faintly. “I didn’t want to be in the way… with Sir Ryan….” She couldn’t say any more, but she didn’t need to; his whole face suddenly rippled with understanding.

“Is that all!” he cried. “Well, then, milady, you did not let me finish. He also mentioned that my duties with the Order could be put aside for the moment so that I might continue my travels with you.”

Her heart leapt. Sir Ryan had actually ordered him to accompany her? What more could they have hoped for? She was staring like an idiot, she knew she was, but she was so happy she couldn’t even blink. Don’t cry now, you fool! You’ll only confuse him again! It seemed an eternity before she could compose herself enough to speak.

“Did he then!” Patricia exclaimed with heartfelt satisfaction. “Good, that saves me the trouble. Come, I must thank him.” She deliberately moved off quickly again. If she didn’t keep Anomen off balance, he might begin to say things that would keep her from ever getting her errands done… and she still had to try to explain about Cadril.

“Sir Ryan!” she called. “May I have a word with you?”

He bowed. “Why, of course, Lady Patricia. I hope you are pleased with the assignment I have given Sir Anomen?”

“It has eased my mind considerably,” she said with perfect honesty. “Particularly in light of the issue we discussed last night. May I take him into my confidence on the matter? He was present when you first broached the problem, and I think it only fair to inform him of the new developments, since he will hopefully be involved in the resolution.”

Sir Ryan rubbed his jaw. “Milady, I deplore deceit as much as you. I can understand your concerns. Yes… perhaps it would be better for you to explain the situation to Sir Anomen and Sir Keldorn, especially as your parents are already aware of my request. But the fewer who know, the better, as I am sure I need not caution you.”

“You need not fear that I shall spread it further,” she assured him. “It is certainly not something I would wish to be exposed to general notice.”

Anomen cleared his throat. “May I ask when you two are going to stop discussing whether to enlighten me, and go ahead and tell me?”

“Not now, milord,” she said firmly. “Walls have ears. You must wait until later. Now I must fly. Good day, milords!” She walked briskly away, uncertain whether supper was supposed to be a surprise for Anomen or not, but positive that she did not want him tagging along just now. Besides, she was supposed to be lunching with her parents and great-aunt. Oh, this was going to be a gala evening indeed! She only hoped that they might snatch a few minutes alone together, though of course Anomen would be the center of attention.

Patricia poked through the AdventureMart’s shelves for nearly an hour before she found what she was looking for. She’d wisely started her search about halfway back in the racks, reasoning that there wouldn’t be much demand for an empty box of this kind, so what she wanted was apt to have been sitting on a shelf for some time. She examined six or seven that didn’t meet her needs--- too short, too long, or just unattractive--- before spying the perfect container.

She brushed the thin coating of dust off with an old rag she’d thought to bring with her, revealing a cedar casket. She measured it against her arm to make sure it was the right length to hold Anomen’s present. Some artisan had taken advantage of one of the numerous natural knots in the cedar to carve an open eye into the center of the lid. Perfect for a priest of Helm. Now how did it open? Hmm, four latches, two on the long side across from the hinges and one on each of the two short ends. Someone had been very thorough indeed.

But what was that faint clinking? The box was so light she’d thought it was empty. She was startled to discover a small rack mounted inside the lid--- a rack snugly restraining ten empty glass vials, each one nestled into a small hollow in a canvas-covered padded lining. The bottom and sides of the box were unlined and unfinished; that was all to the good, as a light sanding would restore the cedar scent and prevent moths from attacking any fabric placed inside it. Two small racks for books were built into the short ends of the case, and one of them still held a slim volume. After carefully examining it for traps, she cautiously pulled the book out. It couldn’t be a spellbook, or Ribald would have removed it to keep in the cases up front, or else sold it to Lady Yuth upstairs. The leather cover was marked with Helm’s symbol, though. Oh! The box must once have been a Helmite cleric’s field medical kit, the vials intended to hold healing potions, and the book had to be a breviary. Now confident that she wouldn’t be incinerated by accidentally triggering explosive runes, she opened the book. Yes, a breviary indeed, a fine old one; she knew enough to tell that much. Trust a Watcher to be prepared, she thought to herself with a smile. I’ll just add a few extras, like some of our own stores of healing potions and some new linen bandages, and I can’t imagine a better container for Anomen’s gift.

She wound up paying ten gold for the box, which wasn’t bad at all; she’d expected Ribald to hold out a lot longer than he did. He had a reputation as a real hard-nose when it came to haggling; he’d have to be, to stay afloat for long in Athkatla. Since she was already in the area, next she stopped at the temple of Ilmater to check on Delon. The boy seemed happy enough, and she told him to be ready to leave sometime after noon the next day. She was waiting at the fountain for Delcia’s coach, which was supposed to meet her in time to carry her to lunch, when she spotted a form she hadn’t seen in days. Oh, dear. She couldn’t get out of the way, either; Isaea was headed straight for her.

Warily she watched the Roenall heir and his guards approach. Six altogether, and only one of her. She didn’t like the look on his face now any better than the one he’d worn at Nalia’s father’s funeral. Stay calm. Analyze the situation the way you’ve been taught. There are maybe four ways out, since you don’t mind a wetting, but all fairly risky. And you don’t want to lose the box if you can help it! Play for time until you can figure out what he wants, then stall more if need be, in hopes that the situation will change to your advantage. If the carriage comes and you can reach it, you should be home-free. He thought you were stupid at first; see if you can get him to make the same mistake again. Look pliant, amenable to persuasion.

She busied herself with tossing a few copper pieces one at a time into the fountain, pretending that she was unaware of Isaea’s approach. She smelled him a good fifteen feet away. Yechhh! What does he do, bathe in musk oil? How many weasels died to make his hair pomade? That perfume should qualify as a Stinking Cloud spell! She judged by the footsteps that they were nearly directly behind her now. She turned, and brought her hand up to her chest as if startled by his sudden appearance.

“Why, Lord Isaea Roenall, is it not?” she asked pleasantly, but with just a little hesitation, as if not quite sure.

“Aye, wench, Lord Isaea,” he responded mockingly. “A title I may say that I was born with, unlike yourself and your own pretensions.”

Good, news hasn’t leaked from Delcia’s household. I was afraid one of the servants would have found out and talked by now.

She looked at him innocently. “I’m sorry, did you say something? I was trying to figure out who makes your clothes. That is such a unique pattern on your waistcoat.” At least, I’m praying it is. If there are two such garments in existence, the world might explode.

He opened his thick lips, shut them, and stood for a moment bemused. At least three of the guards were having trouble keeping a straight face. She went on before he could recover, “And that’s such a well-fitted pair of hose.” She worked hard at imitating the same light emphasis on well-fitted that she remembered Imoen once using to devastating effect. “I have seen so many poorly-clad gentlemen in Amn! It’s just atrocious.” And you’re the worst. The hose fit well, but that’s a drawback when you shouldn’t be showing off those legs in the first place.

Patricia noted the faint swelling of pride that made Isaea square his shoulders the least bit. Good, but how long could she keep it up? “I am so sorry that I wasn’t listening when I should have been. I guess I’m just too easily distracted. What was it you were saying about pretensions?” Then she spotted it--- salvation was striding towards her out of the west. Instantly she waved in recognition, and as instantly the armored man halted his three fellows and crossed towards her. The guards turned warily as they heard the other’s approach.

“I see that Tymora has been kinder than I could have hoped,” Patricia said pleasantly to Sir Cadril. If I weren’t absolutely positive you’d take it the wrong way, I’d almost kiss you for this. “I’m sure you are acquainted with Lord Isaea Roenall, are you not?”

“Colonel Roenall and I have indeed met,” said Sir Cadril courteously, though his eyes remained on her. With an internal sigh, she advanced her hand ever so slightly, and he bent over and raised it to his lips with extreme formality, yet never once breaking eye contact. She fought to keep her own expression carefully neutral. It’s a small enough reward for extricating you from this sticky situation, she reminded herself.

“And what task has the Order set for you on this fine day?” she continued, pointedly ignoring Isaea and his lackeys. “I recognize Sir Waleis, Lady Tithonia, and Lady Irlana, but whither are you going?”

“Why, I am afraid that I must avow that we had no more exalted errand in mind than the pursuit of a chine of beef, milady. Sir Waleis and his party wished to know the way to the Mithrest, and I offered to direct them.” Cadril hesitated a moment, as if debating with himself. “You recall Squire Anomen? He underwent his Test this morning, and he is to meet the others there for lunch.”

“Ah, did he pass then?” Patricia asked casually.

“Aye, he did. And he and Waleis met somewhere or other, so Waleis and Sir Keldorn offered to stand him lunch.”

Definitely a surprise party tonight, then. There was the carriage! She was going to make it!

“If you have not yet partaken of your midday meal, Lady Patricia, would you care to accompany us as well?”

“To meet Anomen? Oh, thank you, no,” she said, wrinkling her nose ever so slightly. Isaea was still here drinking in their every word, and it was better if he thought that she and Anomen had parted ways. Misinformation could be valuable. “I am supposed to be lunching elsewhere. Ah, here is the carriage now. Please, do not allow me to detain you further. Unless--- unless you would care to come to lunch with me instead, Sir Cadril? Or do you feel the need to go with the others?” It would be extra insurance against any ploy of Isaea’s, and she was willing to make the sacrifice to obtain that. Besides, Anomen shouldn’t have to eat his victory lunch in the same room with Cadril!

The knight looked gratified. “Why, nothing would give me greater pleasure, Lady Patricia. As I said, I was rather tacked on to the party at the last moment, and no one else is expecting me.” He offered her his arm, and she took it as she rose from the wide ledge of the fountain edge.

“Good day, Lord Isaea,” she said politely to the sandbagged Colonel Roenall. “Perhaps you could share the name of your haberdasher with Sir Cadril here.”

Cadril handed her into the carriage, then went to take leave of the other knights.

Isaea glared at her, but finally moved on with his entourage, and Patricia took the moment’s grace to place her paper-wrapped box so it completely blocked the rest of the seat she was on, which would force Cadril onto the facing bench. Then she told the coachman to get to Delcia’s just as fast as he could. As they rolled off, Patricia swore to herself that she’d think twice about ever walking the city streets alone again.