You’re not paranoid if they really are out to get you.

	--- Anonymous

Lord Cor went to stand in front of Lady Delcia. He smelled strongly of camphor, cedar, hair tonic (his grizzled locks had been plastered into a greasy-looking helmet), but surprisingly not of whiskey. His skin showed evidence of a recent bath and shave and the odor of the moth preventatives indicated that the dark blue silk tunic he wore had been long stored away. Beauregard speculated that it had been carefully tended by Moira; he thought one or two of the seams had been mended with thread a shade different from the original. Cor certainly looked far better than he had two nights ago when the dragon had shadowed him to Delosar’s Inn. The man had been deep into his cups then, pounding his fist on the table as he ranted to his cronies about life’s treachery. He’d been an interesting study in human frailty, Beauregard thought to himself, but it was time to give Cor the answers he deserved. Another man might have become great through such trials, but Cor was too weak to overcome the obstacles placed before him.

“All right, Delcia, I’ve come. Who’re this lot you’ve got here?” Cor asked brusquely. “Some hired snitches you’ve bought to do your meddling? You never could keep your nose out of other people’s business.”

Beauregard saw Lady Caan’s hand tense on the knob of her cane, while Delaine merely gave an enigmatic smile and settled back in her chair. The younger woman had learned how to let such insults pass her by. He himself was also unmoved. Cor’s words were mere bravado to prop up his suffering ego; the man’s presence in this house was testimony to his desperation for answers.

“Lord Cor,” Delcia said in a voice that cut like a dagger made of ice, “might I suggest that it would behoove you not to insult my family to my face? Surely you recognize my niece, Lady Delaine Delacroix? I realize she has been away from Athkatla for some time, but unlike you, she bears the weight of her years quite lightly.” Boo saw the man flush as her words hit home.

“And this is Master Beauregard, one of Lord Winthrop’s associates,” she added, gesturing at the dragon. Cor turned bloodshot eyes in his direction. After studying him for some moments, Lord Delryn reluctantly gave him a cool nod. Boo chuckled inside as he returned the salute. Delcia’s methods might be heavy-handed, but among her own kind they certainly produced results.

The butler had silently withdrawn with the footman after positioning the tea cart between Delaine and Delcia’s chairs. The bard turned her head towards the cart and said, “Would you like me to pour, Aunt, or shall I pass the cakes?”

“Oh, pour by all means, dear, though I think you had better give Cor a dose from that brown pitcher instead.” Delcia smiled thinly as she said, “I understand he believes tea to be unfit for human consumption.”

Delaine shrugged, darting a quick glance at Beauregard before reaching for the vessel in question. Thus alerted, Boo watched closely as she filled a waiting tankard with the foamy brown liquid and passed it to Lord Cor. So far, nothing out of the ordinary. She was so quick that he almost missed the fluttering of her hands in a pattern he recognized as she let go of the cup. Spendelard’s Chaser, eh? Clever, that. Cor could drink to his heart’s content and yet be none the worse for it.

“Would you like tea or ale, Master Beauregard?” Delaine asked blandly.

“I shall content myself with tea, thank you, if you will sweeten it well for me.” Boo heard a faint snort from Cor, but ignored it. The dragon had drunk enough cheap ale the past few nights to float several towns, and for some reason it always gave him terrible indigestion.

Delaine poured another cup of tea for Delcia and then filled a tankard for herself, an act which earned her a look of surprise and grudging respect from Anomen’s father. He lifted his cup and drained it at a gulp, then silently held it out again. Delaine obligingly refilled it. When it was once more in his hand, Cor spoke in the belligerent tones that seemed to have become habit.

“All right, what gives, Delsy? Tell me how I can nail Saerk for taking away the last thing I had.”

Lady Caan waved to Boo. “I never promised you proof of Saerk’s complicity, Cor; I said I had information concerning poor Moira’s death. Master Beauregard can tell the tale best.”

The dragon cleared his throat. “Well, Lady Delcia, perhaps I had best begin farther back still.” He turned his gaze full upon Cor, meeting the man’s watery eyes steadily as he made a long-overdue confession.

“I regret to say that it was I who inadvertently set in motion the unfortunate series of events that have plagued you of recent years, Lord Cor.”

The man’s jaw went slack and his eyes glassed over with shock. Delcia let out one sharp exclamation of surprise, and even Delaine, who knew part of the story, looked startled.

“You!?!” Cor gasped, face purpling. He turned on Lady Caan. “Delsy! What is the meaning of this, dragging me here to be gloated over?”

Boo slapped a holding spell on Anomen’s father before he could give himself apoplexy or harm Delcia. Lord Delryn stood frozen in mid-step, one hand raised and extended threateningly. “Don’t worry, I have no wish to harm you,” Boo told him placatingly. “Rather the reverse, in fact. I owe you a great debt, though I was unaware of the obligation until my return to this city and encounter with your son.”

“Aye, it was through Anomen that I first learned of your House’s misfortunes, Lord Cor. Fifteen years ago I was in need of a disguise. In my haste I borrowed the face of a man who passed me in the street as the foundation of my own new appearance, little recking there would be any perilous consequence to you as a consequence of my subterfuge. Subsequent events have shown just how flawed that reasoning was.”

Delaine sat forward in her chair. “Cor, do you remember the whispers about the Ruby Rhodelia right before the Godswar? Afterwards, several groups of varying interests joined together for the common purpose of stamping out his nefarious network. My husband and I were among those who discovered that one of the Rhodelia’s chief bases of operation was located here in Athkatla. Master Beauregard volunteered to investigate the matter.”

“Unfortunately,” Boo added, “I was unaware that the visage of the head of House Delryn was well-known to employees of Saerk Farrahd. That explains certain unforeseen reactions to my discreet inquiries; I was fortunate to escape with my hide. Obviously they came to believe that you yourself were taking an unwelcome interest in their less reputable dealings. Lord Farrahd himself and several of his cohorts were able, through bribery or other chicanery, to escape the nets that caught the vast majority of the Ruby Rhodelia’s henchmen a few months later. I understand that you have been made the target of subtle yet persistent persecution ever since. There is no apology I can offer that can atone for your sufferings, but I can offer you an opportunity to have your revenge upon those who have victimized you.”

He held up a hand. “The spell of paralysis will last some five minutes longer, Lord Delryn. May I suggest that you spend the time overcoming your natural rage at my interference enough to give proper consideration to my proposal? Also,” he added, “we did promise you information about your daughter’s murder. Your son has done what you wished after all, Lord Cor. Moira’s murderers are dead at Sir Anomen’s hands, among others.”

For the remaining duration of the Hold spell the dragon described how Patricia and her friends had taken it upon themselves to investigate the mystery surrounding Moira’s demise. He was brutally honest with Cor, telling him that in his opinion, Anomen had proven himself far more worthy to lead the House than his father. That in spite of Cor’s abuse of his son, Anomen wanted nothing more than to restore himself in his father’s good graces. That Cor himself had a chance to recover his lost fortune, and thus his standing among the other nobles, if he had the nerve to make an open stand with them against their common enemy. Boo directed the full thrust of his great draconian mind to convincing Lord Delryn that no matter how afraid, now was the time to take the first step out of the world of pain he had helped create around himself. They needed Cor’s help badly.

As he ended his oration, he noted that Delaine and Delcia were scarcely breathing because they were watching Cor so intently. It was impossible to gauge the man’s reaction while paralyzed. Suddenly the uplifted leg came down, and Cor tumbled to the ground in a sloppy heap. He slowly pushed himself to a sitting position and gazed at the tankard he still held in his hand. With a creaking of bones he struggled to his feet and walked to the tea cart that still stood between the ladies. He paused there for a long moment. Boo saw the man’s knuckles whiten where he gripped the tankard’s handle.

Delcia’s voice cut unexpectedly across the tense silence. “I do pity you, Cor. Poor Moira and Moirala, catspaws in games they were never meant to understand, shuttlecocks at the mercy of Farrahd’s whims! All these years I’ve misjudged you! Of course you couldn’t be expected to defend them against something everyone kept assuring you wasn’t there. Old people like you and I, though, what more can we do? Come to the country with me tomorrow, Cor; I am glad to offer you a home for poor Moirala’s sake. Let us leave this impassioned righting of wrongs to the young people, and go end our days in calm and peace, glad to be beyond such foolishness.”

Cor dropped the tankard as he whirled on the elderly woman, rheumy eyes blazing. “Who are you calling old, woman? I’m scarce fifty! My arm’s still strong enough to wield a sword to defend my own name! I want none of your pity, Delsy, I want my revenge! Go to the country, indeed! Pfeh!” He turned to Boo, holding out his hand. “Sir, I’ll clinch the deal with you though it reek of red ink, rather than be deemed a coward by a blind old bat. And if it puts me back in the black, so much the better, and that’s the true book.”

Beauregard shook Cor’s hand. “Well then, come with me, and we’ll discuss the details.”

As they walked down the hall, the dragon’s sharp ears heard Delaine and Delcia choking back laughter.

“Ah, Delaine, the boy is the father of the man indeed!” chuckled Delcia. “He bought the same line he bought forty years ago. That man just can’t stand to be thought pathetic. He won’t touch a drop now out of sheer pride, for fear I might get wind of it.”

“And Beauregard will make certain he takes delivery as agreed,” added Delaine. “Now let’s hope we all live through it.”