The past is like a good torte: thick strata of everyday events interrupted at intervals by a thinner, richer layer of the extraordinary. Such is also the difference between hearty daily cooking and the dainty sweets and savories created for the feasts that mark births and deaths. Each has its place, and each would be less appreciated without the contrast of the other.

	--- Sister Patricia Contemplata, A History of Northern Cookery

“There,” said Lady Delcia triumphantly as Delaine read Cor’s reply out loud, “I told you he’d come. Cor might hate me, but he loved that precious girl to the core.”

“Poor Moirala,” Delaine said. “She and I weren’t close, we were too far apart in age and interests, but she seemed like a nice woman. She must’ve had more gumption that I would have expected, if she really did take the reins of the Delryn trade when Cor got hurt. Old Lord Gluckleham must have had a fit to see his daughter in a ‘man’s job’. He always was a misogynist.”

“Ah, I forgot you wouldn’t know. He might have, but he’d been gone two or three winters by then. Found at the end of a hunt, slumped over but still in his saddle. His heart had been bad for some time, but you couldn’t stop him from riding to hounds,” Delcia reminisced. “’Twas a pity he hadn’t managed his lands as well as his dogs. Even so, it was a tidy inheritance. We all thought he’d leave the estate to his only grandson Anomen, if not Moirala herself, but Gluckleham and Cor bickered constantly, so he left the lot to a distant cousin. A Corthala, if you please! They weren’t much for society, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen their son, though he’d be even older than Anomen.”

“I’d like to feel sorry for Lord Cor, but I can’t,” rumbled Winthrop. “I’ve tended bar long enough now to know it’s impossible for any drunkard to change if he won’t admit he can’t handle alcohol. The proud and hard-headed ones can’t face admitting they might be wrong about something. So, if you ladies will excuse me, I think I’ll absent myself from your meeting. No need to fear any trouble out of Cor with Beauregard around, and I have to take care of a few last details with Raelis Shai about the playhouse deed transfer.”

“All right, dear,” Delaine agreed, “but only if you bring that Haer’Dalis fellow back with you for dinner. I promised to trade a few songs with him before he returns to Sigil.”

Winthrop smiled. “Done, love, so long as you tune my guitar for me while I’m gone. I’ll even join in to help transcribe the music. He seemed to enjoy those Tom Petty songs in particular.”

Delaine chuckled. “Yes, I suspect ‘Free Fallin’’ is something of the story of that rogue’s life,” she agreed. “I’ll see you later then.”

“And mind you be prompt!” Delcia contributed. “Seven o’clock sharp.” She gave Delaine a sharp glance. “I don’t know what I’m coming to in my old age, letting wandering minstrels into the house like that. Look at what happened to you!”

“Oh, yes,” Delaine agreed solemnly as her husband left the room. “Just look! A man who’s stuck by me for more than a quarter-century and lies frequently that I’m still as pretty as ever, who’s never once thrown my barrenness in my teeth or hidden bad news from me on the grounds that I shouldn’t trouble my pretty head about it. What terrible treatment!”

“But you can’t deny that an innkeeper is nothing but a common tradesman, my dear,” chastised Delcia, “or that you’ve had to be very nice to peasants, when you were brought up to be a lady!”

“Oh, Aunt!” Delaine shook her head. “Even your brother was a tradesman when you come right down to it; the only difference is how much money Uncle made at it, or how much he started out with. Besides, the good thing about Candlekeep is that only the locals--- all of whom have some education, thanks to the monks--- and very well-heeled guests frequent the inn, thanks to the admission fees. It’s far more like running the Mithrest than the Copper Coronet. Who’s Lord Mith now, by the way? Jabukon still alive, or has his son inherited?”

Lady Caan chuffed at being outwitted, but there was a glint deep in her eye that hinted she was secretly pleased. “Lord Jabukon does not take a personal interest in the business, Delaine; he leaves the task of dealing with the customers to a manager.”

Delaine laughed. “Well, Aunt, if it makes you rest easier, we shall be doing the same for a while. The playhouse here shall be quite enough to occupy any idle moments of our time. Oh, don’t look so cross! The position of impresario has always conferred a certain measure of social standing, so your connection with Win won’t hurt you at all.” Her face fell. “Besides, we couldn’t think of leaving Athkatla until we know what’s happened to Imoen. We’ve found some traces that make us very uneasy indeed, for Patricia and Imoen both.”

Delcia pounced upon the mention of the other girl. “I think it’s about time you explained just who this Imoen is. Patricia said you raised them as sisters, but I know that can’t be, unless Gorion married again.”

“No,” her niece answered, “Gorion never did get over Delspeth. Better if he had, in my opinion. I thought retiring to Candlekeep was a mistake for him, but he wasn’t going to leave Patricia, and we couldn’t drag a baby about. If he had left her with us, we could have passed her off as our own then. Imoen’s neither Gorion’s nor mine.” Delaine hesitated for a moment, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully. “She’s the daughter of Win’s sister, Aunt, though even Tisha and Beauregard didn’t know that until Win and I came back to Athkatla. Imoen doesn’t know herself.”

Delcia looked startled. “What do you mean, Winthrop’s sister? You led me to believe that he and his cousin came here by accident and couldn’t return home, but you never said anything about a sister.”

“The story isn’t that difficult, Aunt. If you hadn’t always refused to let us speak of our travels before, you’d have known that the main reason Gorion and Win invested in a spelljamming ship in the first place was to look for another portal into their own world. We had just located one when Delspeth fell ill and we came back to Athkatla instead. After we lost her, we settled down at Candlekeep with the baby. Tisha was about a year and a half old when I saw Win and Gorion getting restless. The priests of Ilmater had warned that Patricia might be hurt if we tried to take her away from Toril. We didn’t dare risk her life, but I finally talked Gorion and Win into taking the ship out one last time. They went back to the portal to Earth, their world.”

“You wouldn’t be very interested in most of their adventures along the way, so I’ll confine myself to what happened afterwards. They brought Win’s little sister back with them, a nice girl called Naomi. She loved it here, and was fascinated by the magic her brother and cousin had learned to manipulate.”

“Hmmmph!” snorted Lady Caan. “Magic’s more trouble than it’s worth, if you ask me. Too much book-learning rots the mind, in my opinion.”

Delaine looked grave. “Naomi came to share your opinion, Aunt. She disappeared a scant few weeks after arriving at Candlekeep. We found a note in her room that said she’d run off with a man to find some adventure of her own. Even though she was only sixteen, it didn’t sound like her at all. Winthrop swore up and down that there was something fishy in the business, even though the guards on duty said Naomi had seemed quite happy when she left. It bothered us most because we had no idea who she’d left with; it so happened that the only guests we had in the Inn at the time were ones who’d often stayed there before, and they were all accounted for.”

“Gorion made it his mission to find her. He spent months tracking her down, only to realize at last that she had been no more than a day’s ride away the whole time. She was in the hands of the High Priest of Bhaal in the temple that is now the Friendly Arm Inn. He was a great mage as well as a priest, a legend of terror known as the Crimson Death.” Delaine’s hands tightened on the arms of her chair. “Win discovered that his true name was Hezrun Farrahd, Lord Saerk’s uncle.”

“Waukeen guard us!” Lady Caan gasped in shocked horror. “A Farrahd studying sorcery? I remember him! No wonder the family stopped speaking of that one! They were always so proud of their ancestors having helped stop that trouble with the mage school! What could this Naomi have been thinking of, running off with a man like that?”

“She wasn’t,” Delaine said softly. “She was charmed, Aunt. Why he selected her, we’ll never know, unless it was her sheer innocence and obvious ignorance of magic. He was very careful to do nothing that might destroy the enchantment. Naomi was kept in a small suite of rooms, surrounded by every luxury, and never allowed to see or hear anything of the dark rites of the temple. She was six months pregnant when they got her out, and nearly went mad when the spell broke and she realized what had been done to her.”

“I imagine so,” the old woman said indignantly. “Tell me, were they able to kill the wretch?”

Delaine sighed as she said, “Yes, but it cost the lives of some dear friends to do so. Winthrop never speaks of it, but I know the memory is still painful. I don’t blame Cor for hating the whole Farrahd family. I still hate the sound of the name myself.”

“We kept Naomi until she had her baby,” she continued, “but the birth seemed to make her worse. She wandered a lot, no matter how hard we tried to watch her. One night there was a full moon, and one of the guards on the battlements saw a pale figure wading out into the sea. Hull ran, but he was too late. Her body washed ashore next day. She hadn’t even named her daughter yet. Winthrop reversed Naomi and changed the A to E, and we brought Imoen up as our own.”

Delaine wept silently for a few minutes, then said, “We suspected that Hazrun was trying to pull the same trick as Minchin Steerforth did with Delspeth, but we had no way to know whether he had performed the ceremony yet or not. Naomi’s memory was patchy at best, and we didn’t want to make her worse by forcing her to recall her time at the temple. Imoen has never displayed any signs of taint, but with this Irenicus abusing her worse than Tisha, I fear he believes she, too, is a Bhaalspawn. What he wants with them we still do not know, but it can hardly be to their benefit.”

With an effort the bard dried her eyes and changed the subject. “I expect Master Beauregard will be here shortly, he’s always prompt.”

Lady Caan took the hint. “Aye, I must say his manners are quite correct. A pleasant gentleman, though perhaps a bit old for either of the girls. Nalia would never even think of accepting a man so much older than herself, though I daresay Patricia would be more sensible about it. I can say from my own experience that it need not be an unpleasant thing,” she added.

Delaine smiled. “Oh, I agree,” she said, “but I think Tisha has finally found the man she wants on her own. The problem will be convincing her to take advantage of the opportunity.”

The elderly lady’s face grew grim. “Delaine Delacroix, don’t you dare tell me that she’s going to throw herself away on some poor adventurer with no prospects or connections! I thought she had more sense than that! Oh, you may have gotten lucky yourself, but don’t tell me she’s in love with someone no one in Athkatla has heard of! She’s all the Rosehills have left!” She picked up her cane and waved it about in her passion. “I haven’t told her, but I was going to leave all her mother’s property to her.” Her eyes widened as another thought struck her. “For the gods’ sake, tell me he’s human at least, Delaine. I don’t think I could bear some dwarf in the family!”

Her niece laughed out loud. “Oh, Aunt Delcia, don’t look so grim. I’ll tell you this much: he’s been here to dinner.”

Lady Caan said thoughtfully, “Sir Cadril? Well, now, a decent family, that, and he quite evidently did admire her. Still, I make it a point never to trust a man who gets along so well with old biddies like myself. He enjoys gossip too much. No, Delaine,” she said, shaking her head, “I may be nearly blind, but I don’t think Delspeth’s girl liked him much. But there’s been no other young man in the house but---.”

Her rheumy blue eyes lit up. “Oh, I wanted Nalia to have young Sir Anomen, dear,” she said, “but now I remember how his voice changed every time he spoke to Patricia. Tsk! How could I have missed it? And you think she likes him too? Ah, that would be a fitting match for them both. You can’t have forgotten that our House was founded by Delmonica Rosehill, whose own mother was a Delryn? No, the last Delryn marrying the last Rosehill would be no bad thing at all. I’m glad you told me, my dear. I see very well how to get round Lord Cor now. Let this Beauregard have his say, but when it’s time, let me speak. Cor will dance to our tune and think it’s his own doing.”

The butler came to the door. “Master Beauregard to see you, my lady,” he said, ushering in the disguised dragon. “Shall I lay on the tea?”

“Yes, bring it up,” Delcia said. “Master Beauregard, how good of you to come. Are my great-nieces well? Not gone and gotten themselves hurt running around the countryside, have they?”

“Lady Nalia and Lady Patricia were in perfect health when I left them this morning,” Boo replied. “They are extremely busy in the Keep kitchen, and bade me invite you all to a fete tomorrow evening. It is apparently a date of some significance to Lady Patricia’s Order.”

“Of course, Win and I shall be there,” Delaine promised. “Can’t we tempt you to come as well, Aunt?”

“I suppose I might as well go and see what a hash those two are making of running the place,” Delcia said. “Now, Master Beauregard, are you certain of the facts of the case against Lord Saerk? If I know Lord Cor, if the affair doesn’t end in a duel, it will certainly go to the Council, and there must be irrefutable proof or he will be stripped of his noble status for laying false charges.”

“Do not worry, Lady Caan,” Beauregard assured her. “I have investigated the matter thoroughly and can produce documents to support the claims of malfeasance.”

They all heard someone stumping along the hallway, and in another moment the butler opened the door again. “Lord Cor Delryn, by appointment, Your Ladyship,” he said, as a shambling figure came through the doorway, followed a moment later by a footman pushing a laden tea cart.