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“Now, this looks somewhat more hospitable,” Lord Rhadid observed upon passing through the door. There was a brief scrum behind him as those assembled clustered together to peek through, followed by a somewhat more exuberant one as everybody eagerly piled into the aperture. The gnomes wormed nimbly through the legs of the taller folk, which mostly consisted of the pushy Imperial soldiers, with Admestus and Eric still bringing up the rear.

The reason for the fervor was that past the doorway, they were back indoors, in architecture that made sense. It was a most impressive layout, in fact.

They emerged on a third-floor balcony which wrapped the entire way around a cathedral-sized chamber entirely lined with bookshelves. Before them yawned the great open space of Diristaan’s library itself, encircled by another balcony on its second level. The walls on all three floors were fully covered by laden shelves; even the banister between them and the drop ahead was a waist-high row of shelves packed with books. Directly in front of them, hovering unsupported above the center of the open space, was a chandelier which put off brilliant golden light. It was unconnected to the ceiling, a floating crystalline orb which glowed like a miniature sun, constrained by bands of rune-marked iron and slowly orbited by irregular chunks of crystal that caught and refracted its light, casting shifting patterns along the bookshelves.

“At last,” Eric breathed after an awed pause. “The library. The sanctum sanctorum! The very beating heart of Manor Dire. To think that I should live to see this…”

“Also, solid ground, with walls an’ everything,” Steinway added. “Not ta downplay the significance o’ this but I’m pretty excited about that part.”

“Sanctorum?” muttered one of Roscoe’s soldiers. “What language is that, even?”

“Truly a grand edifice,” said Lord Rhadid, “and a priceless experience for each of us to have the honor of observing it. Not that I doubt you, comrades, but please do remember the house’s rules and refrain from creating a disturbance, here. Many of these books are rumored to be unique and irreplaceable; a careless act could deprive the world of a treasure beyond reckoning.”

“As his Lordship says,” Lt. Roscoe added to her soldiers, turning her back on Rhadid. “Best behavior, men. I want a maximum of zero damage and antagonism inflicted upon the Manor so long as we’re trusted enough to be allowed in here. I’ll have to rely on you to display our good intentions through actions, since I didn’t grow up with an elocution tutor and am not prepared to extravagantly suck up.”

“Y’know, I’m starting to feel a real kinship with you, Jane,” Admestus said cheerily. “In that it’s really kinda unbelievable that nobody’s shot either of us yet.”

“Give it a week,” Sassafrass suggested.

“Professor,” said Rhadid, turning to Eric. He then paused, and tried again. “Professor Ahlstrom!”

“What?” Eric demanded, wrenching his attention away from a study of the floating chandelier, then blanched and swallowed heavily. “Oh! Oh, my humble apologies, my lord, I was—”

“A forgivable lapse, under the circumstances,” Rhadid assured him with a slight smile. “No harm done. I shall be glad to let you explore the inner chambers at your leisure; in fact, you are undoubtedly the best possible guide for our new associates, here. But first, can you direct us to the alchemy laboratory?”

“Oh, well,” Eric waffled, peering around with wide eyes. “It’s not as if I’ve seen the blueprints! Forgive me, m’lord, but not many have come to this central chamber and emerged, and of those who related their story, none bothered with specific directions. It was implied in multiple accounts that the library itself is a focal nexus of sorts. All of Diristaan’s personal chambers should connect to it directly. We shall simply have to explore these balconies and the various doorways that branch off them. I, ah, presume an alchemy lab will be immediately recognizable when it is found.”

“To me, it will be!” Admestus crowed. “C’mon, slowpokes, let’s meander!”

“Actually I should note that it would be advisable not to become too greedy for knowledge,” Eric cautioned. “Our group came here specifically for the lab and were allowed admittance to this area, so that should be permissible. Likewise for any of you who sought a particular goal; being granted access is tantamount to permission. The Manor will tend to punish any overly ambitious use of its facilities. This is the hardest thing of all for an academic like myself, but do endeavor to restrain your curiosity.”

“Aye, well, we ain’t lookin’ ta plumb the secrets o’ the universe,” said Billie, who had clambered up onto the lower bookcases to look down at the floor three stories below. “I reckon our more general sorta curiosity about the place won’t ruffle the ol’ girl’s feathers.”

“What,” Roscoe asked Rhadid, “exactly do you want with Diristaan’s alchemy set?”

“It is rumored that the Archmage possessed a tincture which could transform jumped-up serving girls who pried into their betters’ affairs into pumpkins,” he replied with a bland smile. “I find I have an imminent use for such a substance. Come along, Admestus.”

“Hey!” she barked as he strode past her. “I’m not finished with—”

“Easy now, lass,” Woodsworth cautioned. “Remember the rules o’ this silly contest. Best behavior, aye?”

“…thank you for the reminder,” she said grudgingly, still fondling her battlestaff and glaring at Rhadid’s retreating back. “Especially since we’re apparently in competition.”

“Aye, an you aren’t winnin’ it so far,” Billie said brightly. “Lookit us, bein’ good neighbors to one an’ all! C’mon, lads, let’s ‘ave us a gander at the surroundings. Care ta come with, Professor?”

“I’m afraid I may not be very good company; there is just so much to demand my attention!”

“No worries, it’s not like we’re after the Manor’s secrets in ‘ere. Followin’ the expert seems like the optimal route for sightseein’.”

“Orders, LT?” the sergeant prompted after both groups had retreated in different directions, leaving the soldiers alone. “Should we follow them?”

“That Daraspian snot is up to something,” Roscoe said softly. “Even more than most nobles, any Daraspian is always up to something. I don’t know what someone like that could possibly want from Manor Dire’s secret lab, but it’s not going to be anything good. Riker, Talvedegh, follow him at a distance and see if you can suss out his intentions. The rest of you, stick with me. We’ll try to stay within sight of the balcony’s edge so you two can find us at need. Move out, people.”

Their goal was on the second floor. Multiple doors branched off from the library on every level; Rhadid and Admestus poked their heads into those they passed in the search for the old Archmage’s alchemy lab. Along the rim of the third level they found a little reading room, the door to the observatory, and a dungeon-like chamber lined with complicated-looking equipment that was probably Diristaan’s enchanting laboratory—all treasures that would turn the heads of many of the world’s most powerful seekers of magic and knowledge, but the two men now on the hunt passed them by with barely a glance. Likewise the room they discovered which was piled almost waist-deep in gold coins, gems, and miscellaneous bits of precious metalwork.

“Well, that has ‘trap’ written just all over it,” Rafe observed, carefully easing the door back shut. “Y’know, I didn’t actually think anybody stored treasure that way. Wouldn’t you want some kind of organizational system so you can actually find things?”

“If one is maintaining an actual treasury, yes,” replied Rhadid. “That arrangement appeals to those who hoard riches for the simple pleasure of owning them. In other words, fools and dragons, of which Diristaan was neither. You are correct, that was a clear snare for the greedy. Come, Admestus, time waits for no one.”

They descended a spiraling staircase attached to one corner of the balcony and there, by luck or the Manor’s aim, found the alchemy lab behind the first door they encountered.

“Oh, baby,” Admestus crooned, running back and forth along a row of tables laden with equipment, gently touching everything he saw. “Oh, yeah. Aw, man, I have always wanted one of these!”

“Focus, please,” Rhadid ordered. He planted himself in the center of the room, away from the equipment tables, shelves of books and scrolls, and glass-fronted cabinets full of reagents which looked as fresh as the day they had been stored five hundred years ago. “We came here for a reason. With what you’ll be paid for this work you can build your own lab just as replete.”

“Rafe never loses focus—oh, my gods, he has a copy of Vanimax’s Miscellany!” Admestus dashed across the room to seize a huge volume with a bejeweled cover.

“Rafe!” Rhadid barked.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s not all fun and games,” the alchemist replied, setting aside the Miscellany and opening another tome. “I gotta consult the books first thing, here. Not only is this one of the few places the potion you want can actually be brewed, Diristaan was one of the few who had the recipe on file. Handy, that! Between you and me I don’t fancy jotting down the formula and then tottering off to the Deep Wild to set up a field lab. Nah, Manor Dire should be plenty abstract enough for us to bend the rules a bit…”

Rhadid was studying a large portrait hanging opposite the door, depicting a bearded man whose long black hair was shot through with a few almost cosmetic streaks of silver. Archmage Diristaan in this picture looked barely past middle age, and gazed down upon his alchemy lab with a severe expression.

“My thanks for the use of your facilities, sir,” Rhadid said aloud, bowing in the direction of the portrait. “It is an honor as well as a great help. Admestus, you are the specialist, but if there is anything I can do to materially facilitate this process, say so.”

“Yeah, gets a bit maddening just standin’ around watching, eh?” Rafe said, looking up at him with a grin. “Actually, if you wanna help, you can start setting up the bottle. To bring any of this brew out of the house and have it still work it’ll have to be contained in a specially created vial made of the inherent substance of Manor Dire. Luckily I procured us a suitable bit of glass.”

He reached into one of the pouches on his belt and pulled out what appeared to be a perfectly ordinary shot glass, setting it down beside the open book through which he was presently leafing.

Rhadid narrowed his eyes nearly to slits. “Is that… Of course, the glass the servant offered. Rafe, you were warned to take nothing from the house!”

“First,” Admestus said distractedly, his focus on the book, “that’s a bit of glass, not a lootable treasure. Second, I didn’t take it, it was offered freely. Third, I haven’t removed it from the house. And when we do, it’ll be in a wholly different form, one intended for the purpose. I do know what I’m doing, y’Lordship. Over there in the corner, that big jobby on the stone base with what looks like a still on top? That’s an arcane bottle forge—vintage, but you gotta figure ol’ Diristaan didn’t keep equipment around that didn’t do exactly what it was supposed to. Set the glass on that copper plate there so it can be warming up, and I’ll finish forming the vial out of it while the potion’s bubbling here in a bit.”

Rhadid hesitated, studying him, which Admestus appeared not to notice with his nose buried in Diristaan’s old alchemy recipes. He was doubtless not accustomed to being ordered about by his own employees, but he had offered, and the entire point of this expedition had been to get Admestus Rafe into this lab to do what needed to be done. Without comment, he picked up the glass and carried it over to the device indicated.

“Ha-HAH!” Rafe crowed suddenly, straightening up and jabbing his finger at the currently open page.

“You have it?” Rhadid whirled back to him, finally betraying eagerness.

“Oh, we are in business,” the alchemist said avidly. He cracked his knuckles and began rolling his sleeves up.

“And it will work? You are certain this is the potion we discussed?”

“Relax, Lord Bossman, I am all over this. We got one of the world’s greatest laboratories here, and I, let us not forget, am the Rafe himself! Let me loose in this joint and I will plug a stopper in death. Let’s get cookin’!”

They had not troubled to close the laboratory door. Just outside it, two Imperial soldiers eased back from the opening and exchanged a look and a nod. Then one took up a position out of sight next to the doorway while the other set off at a trot to find Lieutenant Roscoe.

The gnomes seemed to find Eric at least as interesting as the house, or at any rate, more entertaining. Billie offered some color commentary as the four of them trailed along in the dwarf’s wake, but for the most part they simply oohed and aahed on cue while he gushed about interesting features and watched with smiling amusement as he lost himself to the excitement of each new discovery.

“It is! It actually is!” the professor exclaimed, actually rushing back and forth in front of the object in question, which they had discovered in a long chamber which seemed to run behind one entire wall of the first floor, lined with an eclectic variety of objects either free-standing, attached to the walls, or displayed behind glass. Between a taxidermied creature that resembled a five-foot-tall bird with fangs and little clawed fingers emerging from the joint of its stubby wings and a suit of battle-scarred silver Avenic armor stood a nondescript, battered-looking cabinet on four legs. There was nothing atop it, suggesting that the thing itself was the display; it looked quite out of place in this hall of exotic trophies, but had agitated Eric more than anything else they had encountered.

“All right, no need ta keep us in suspense,” Billie prompted while he gently ran his thick hands over the edges of the cabinet. “What’ve ye found, then?”

“It’s a Vernis Vault,” Eric breathed. “Surely you’ve heard of them?”

“Aye, that I ‘ave,” Billie said, studying the cabinet with a newfound respect. “Blimey, that’s an ‘ell of a thing an’ no mistake. Though I guess it’s only sense that ol’ Diristaan’d have one a’ these squirreled away.”

“That’s just it!” the dwarf exclaimed. “There is no recorded indication that he did! You must understand, such connections are of the greatest importance in historical accounts. By linking great figures to the important events in which they were involved, the other personages of import they encountered, the rare treasures they possessed… Why, it is from this web of connections that history is made. Especially in periods from which the remaining accounts are fragmentary, and about people like Diristaan who resisted having their lives documented. But Diristaan, owning a Vernis Vault! I can say without boasting that I am among the foremost experts on this house and there has never been any written indication that one of the Vaults might be here! Why, this throws into question entire…”

He trailed off, taking a step back from the Vault and gazing at it in wonder. Then, following a pause, Eric knelt and reached for its latch.

“Hey, now,” Billie warned. “’ave a care, Professor. I realize yer excited but best not t’be pickin’ up things in the obvious treasure chamber. Especially the ones locked away.”

“Oh, good heavens, I know that,” Eric said absently, resting his hand on the latch. “The last thing I plan to do is try to remove anything. But…don’t you want to know?”

“Aye, I’m rather curious at that,” Woodsworth agreed. “What was so important to a chap like Diristaan that ‘e’d want a limitless supply of it, eh?”

Eric drew in a deep breath, making is barrel chest swell further, and as the gnomes all crowded around him to look, finally lifted the latch and swung the door open.

The Vault was empty.

“Of course,” the dwarf said solemnly after a moment’s silent staring. “Of course. What do you get the man who has everything? For someone like the Archmage…”

“Heh, it’s a bit of a letdown, though, innit?” Billie chuckled. “An’ ‘ere I half expected t’find the old boy kept his candy stash in it.”

“All those gadgets o’ yours ‘ave finally gone and irradiated yer brain,” Sassafrass accused, rolling her eyes. “Nobody would put candy in a Vernis Vault.”

“Some people just can’t take a joke,” Billie said to Eric as he gently shut the door again.

“I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m not in a very joking mood,” he rumbled. “All of this is the very fulfillment of a lifelong ambition, one I had never truly hoped to see realized, and each new thing I find is—”

He broke off, having straightened to find that the top of the Vault was no longer empty. Resting upon it, now, was a book.

Even more than the Vault, it looked like something that had no business in a trophy collection. The leather cover was scratched and ragged, its title simply scrawled in ink across a piece of thick vellum stitched to the cover in cruel defiance of every best practice in book-binding. The pages were uneven to the point that several seemed on the verge of falling out.

A light came on. There was a lantern hanging directly above the Vault, which they had not noted as it was dark when they’d come in. Now, a flame flickered to life within it, revealing an inner arrangement of mirrors and shaped shutters that caused it to shine a beam of light straight downward onto the bedraggled old book.

“Now that’s bait, that is,” Steinway said sagely.

“’ere now, what’s that henscratch?” Billie asked, pointing to the cover.

“It’s…Tanglic,” Eric whispered. “That is hand-written…”

“Well, obviously,” she snorted.

“It’s handwriting I know well,” he continued. “Few enough examples survive, but I have pored over them all for countless hours… That is Diristaan’s hand.”

They stared at the book in silence.

“Right,” said Steinway at last. “Bait. Who’s fer backin’ quietly away an—”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Billie held up a finger. “We are guests in here, remember? If th’very master o’ the house wants to tell us somethin’, I’m not gonna be the uncouth arse who turns a shoulder to ‘im. Professor, what’s that say, then?”

“It’s the title, I presume. It says The Book of Fates.”

“Bait,” Steinway insisted. “Ashner’s gloves, Billie—”

“You hush,” she ordered. “Honestly, man, pull yerself together. It ain’t even that yer wrong, that’s just advice fer another circumstance. This ain’t the Crawl an’ we’re not after loot; why the ‘ell would the ol’ boy wanna up an’ drop us down a spike pit when we’re bein’ such well-behaved guests? Professor, you’ve got the longest arms, care t’do the honors?”

Eric reached for the book, then hesitated. “If… I don’t disagree with you, Billie, but your friend also makes a good—”

“Oy vey,” Billie exclaimed. She had to leap upon and cling to the front of the Vault to reach across and flip the book’s cover open, but executed this maneuver without a hint of difficulty.

There was nothing written in the Book of Fates. The moment it was open, blue light surged up from its pages, as if its covers bound between them the view into some oracular pool. Accompanying the light came a voice—not from the book, but from the very air around them. It boomed through the room, through the halls and the library outside, resonating throughout the Manor. The voice of a man just beginning to grow scratchy with age, but still resonant and powerful, and now shimmering with an echoing quality as if to emphasize that it was not a sound made by a living throat.

“Once upon a time, there was an ambitious young man…”

“You’re certain that’s what he said?” Roscoe demanded. “A stopper in death?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the soldier reporting replied. “Riker and I both thought you’d want to know. He’s still there on guard.”

“Sounds too poetic to qualify as intelligence, LT,” her sergeant said in a skeptical tone. “Not to mention that alchemist obviously has multiple screws loose.”

“Yeah, agreed,” she murmured. “Still. An actual potion of immortality? That would be worth risking Manor Dire. If that actually is what Daraspian’s after, we don’t have cause to get on his case about it, though. There’s no law against trying to extend your lifespan.”

The entire squad jumped and spun to cover their surroundings with staves and wands when a voice suddenly thundered out of the very air and walls all around them. High above, the golden chandelier pulsed in time with its words.

“Once upon a time, there was an ambitious young man…who was born a hundred years too early. Later would come an era in which his fathomless hunger for power and prestige would be counted the greatest of virtues, but in his own time, it marked him a villain. Not least because he rose from the ranks of the darkest House of an Empire—a scion of what had once been a great legacy, now reduced to banditry and usury to scrape out a living. But this is not the tale of the fall of House Daraspian.

“Though born into wealth and privilege beyond the dreams of most men, from his earliest youth he stewed in resentment over his lot. Resentment at everything he felt owed, and yet denied. At the mages and witches of his day, gifted with a power of which he lacked the merest spark. At the greater Houses, with their storied histories and seemingly endless treasuries which his own family could only envy. At the elder members of his very House, for possessing rank above his own through no achievement save having, by pure coincidence, lived longer. At the woman upon the Silver Throne, for inheriting absolute rule and wielding it as a flail against the privileges of his own class. At the elves, for possessing by accident of biology the one thing he lacked, through which he could ultimately upend all the injustices he saw as having been piled upon him: endless time.

“Resentment filled him as if it were his very blood—but because he was an ambitious young man, he did not let it consume him, but turned it to fuel. While his relatives schemed and scuffled for dregs of power and handfuls of money, he devoted himself to study and training…and planning. Over time, he assembled a masterwork of strategy which would never be considered, much less taken seriously, by any of his peers, for the sheer scope of its ambition. The ambitious young man, you see, was content with nothing less than absolute dominion—over magic, over an Empire, over the world, over life itself. And so he laid his plans and began to put them into effect. Plans to suborn the powers of magic and those who wielded them to his own will. Plans to reduce those of his own House who would not bow to him. Plans to bring low the other Houses. Plans to topple an Empress, or her heirs, from a Throne. All these things he planned, and began to pursue. But the one thing he lacked was time. For a man can achieve all these things, with care and thoroughness, but not within the space of a man’s life.

“The last and most important thing the ambitious young man needed was freedom—from the passage of time, and from the consequences of failure. A solution to death itself, assurance that he would have the endless years needed to enact all his plans, and survive the assaults that would be thrown against him in response to them.

“This assurance he sought in my house, among my tools. The privilege he earned through guile, ambition, bloodshed, betrayal, and martial skill, all traits I respect. I choose not to deny him—nor to aid him against his first challenges. To me, this is but a story that livens the tedium of endless existence, and gives shape to the choices I will make. And I shall decide them based upon the outcome of this confrontation. This day, Rhadid Daraspian takes a fateful step into the future, which will lead either to his swift unmaking, or to his utter dominion.

“That is the secret. In the Book of Fates, there are only possibilities. It is not fate until it has happened. What will happen now? You who are guests in my home… Amuse me.”

The silence which followed was somehow louder than the voice had been.

It was finally broken by a click and then the low whine of arcane enchantment at work as Lt. Roscoe primed her battlestaff.

“But treason, now,” she said in a tone as satisfied as it was grim. “That, there’s a law against. Fall in.”

The finished potion was innocuous in appearance, compared to many of Rafe’s more exotic brews: simply a thick liquid of a deep, inky purple, without bubbles, steam, or anything to suggest it was a particularly aggressive affront against all laws of mortality and nature. It fit neatly in the thin glass vial produced by the bottle forge out of the Manor’s proffered shot glass. Admestus had held it aloft in reverence when the voice started booming through the chamber, preparatory to handing it over to the man who had commissioned it, and paid for this moment in both gold and blood.

By the time Diristaan’s recitation had ended, the alchemist had discreetly plugged a lead stopper into the vial. His patron, despite his earlier eagerness, had not reached out to take the potion, falling still as he listened to the story spelled out.

Then Rhadid turned to face the portrait, which was smiling at him. A moment ago it had not been.

“Now what petty satisfaction could you possibly have gained from that, old man?”

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“You must choose the fate of all here,” the specter instructed, causing several of those present to stiffen in alarm. “Decide now whether you will go forward, or go back.”

“None of us have come all this way to turn tail at the first warning,” Lord Rhadid retorted.

“First warning?” Eric muttered incredulously.

“Retreat now, and you will not be expelled from the Manor,” said the specter. “The master’s house remains open to guests. Go back the way you came, choose a different path, and you may continue to explore these halls at your leisure. In the end, perhaps you will again come to the threshold of the innermost sanctum.”

Rhadid’s eyebrows lowered infinitesimally. “Perhaps?”

“Should you choose to go forward,” the guardian continued, “the way shall be opened for you, but know that you shall hold in your hand the destiny of the Manor itself, and all who are within.”

“This…ain’t the normal run o’ adventures in here, aye?” Billie said warily.

“Indeed, this is entirely without precedent,” Eric agreed. “If I may ask, what is it that makes the difference? Surely such a choice has never been placed before another visitor before.”

“These are interesting times. An unusual confluence of visitors has come to the master’s house: old friends, valued guests, would-be threats, agents of powers great and small. In their words and thoughts the master has seen portents of great things changing in the world beyond, things he deems it unwise to ignore.”

“I say,” Admestus breathed, “does that mean the old wizard himself is still—”

“Mr. Rafe,” Eric interrupted urgently, “whatever Manor Dire’s governing intelligence, it has never appreciated prying inquiries into its nature or business!”

“Curiosity is understandable, Admestus, but do please refrain from insulting our host, however indirectly,” Rhadid concurred, then turned back to the phantasmal figure. He hesitated, studying it; the specter wore robes of a style long associated with the wizards of old, and when it hadn’t shifted to resemble a skeleton or amorphous blur, clearly possessed an equally archetypal long beard. Right on the heels of Eric’s warning, though, would clearly have been a bad time to ask if they had the pleasure of addressing Archmage Diristaan himself, so the aristocrat shifted focus. “It is a heavy choice you lay before us, sir. I understand and respect the need to respond to changing events, but if I might ask, what have we done to earn this honor?”

“A suitable one has come,” the apparition said in its sepulchral voice. “The master has noted, among his visitors, a scion of long association with this house. One who has foreseen a great need, and come here of his own initiative to take action against the advance of fate. It is to this one among you that the question is direction—at this one’s feet is the choice laid. Know that if you press forward, it will be toward the end of this era. All wanderers in this house shall be called together, in competition to determine who shall have custody of this house’s future. Nor will the master yield easily to any passerby. If you choose the confrontation, you will be tested sorely, by every artifice of the Manor and against the ambitions of all who have come here.”

Rhadid half-turned to nod at Billie. “As we have previously established, Ms. Fallowstone, I have no ambition to take control of Manor Dire. I would, however, consider it a fair arrangement indeed to assist the Manor’s future custodians in earning that prerogative, so long as I was permitted to indulge my own smaller, very specific purpose here.”

“I’m beggin’ ya, just call me Billie,” she said with a sigh. “Can’t bloody stand havin’ that whole mouthful thrown around…”

“My apologies, Billie. I’ll make a note of it.”

She turned to her fellow gnomes. “What’d’ye think, lass an’ lads? This ‘ere’s pretty close to everything we coulda ‘oped, but I’m gettin’ a ‘too good t’be true’ vibe off the whole business.”

“A mite sudden, innit?” Sassafrass agreed. “Nothin’ makes me ears prickle like mysterious powers showin’ up ta offer me ‘eart’s desire outta the blue.”

“No reward without risk,” Woodsworth grunted. “You ain’t killed us yet, Billie, I’ll back yer call here.”

“It’s dicey, aye,” added Steinway. “Takin’ all the factors I can see, the deal appears worthwhile t’me.”

“Here’s our pitch,” Billie said, turning back to Rhadid. “Me kin an’ I mean ta preserve Manor Dire as it is, prickly spirit guardians an’ all. All we want is t’be able ta keep visitin’, explorin’ the dangers and earnin’ whatever reward the ‘ouse deems fair, an’ not ‘ave ta worry about the Empire or anybody else tellin’ us we can’t.”

“That would be a wonderful idea,” Eric said fervently. “My lord, this may be the last chance, ever, to preserve this historical treasure in something like its original state! If the gnomes—”

“You needn’t convince me, Professor,” said Lord Rhadid. “It appears to me that our purposes coincide rather neatly, Billie. If you are amenable to formalizing the agreement we previously discussed?” He bent his knees, reaching down to offer her a hand.

“The scion must make the choice,” the spectral custodian said patiently.

“Well, seems like all our ducks are in a row!” Admestus pushed forward, planting his fists on his hips and raising his chin. “Very well, spooky manservant! I, Rafe, do hereby choose: we press forward! Onward to glory!”

“Rafe,” Rhadid said in a tone of strained patience, in the act of shaking Billie’s hand, “this is not the time. My apologies, guardian. My alchemist is quite brilliant, but rather excessively eccentric. I choose to embrace the risk, with complete confidence in my allies and my skills. We shall earn your master’s favor, never fear.”

“The choice is made,” the specter agreed, already beginning to fade from view. “If you have chosen ill, may you not live to regret it.”

“Is it just me or was that a lot more ominous than it needed to be?” Admestus asked. The ghost was fully gone before he finished speaking.

“Eh, spirit guardians in ancient an’ terribly haunted places,” Billie said lightly, waving one hand in a dismissive gesture. “There’s a certain etiquette to it all, aye? Rythms an’ formalities t’be observed. Y’get used to it.”

“So, ah…” Eric looked around, then shrugged. “To exactly what forward are we meant to go? This still appears to be something of a dead—oh, there it is.”

Among the floating bits of detritus in the astral void before them were several fragments of a staircase; these now ceased their aimless twirling and drifted closer together, a few matching chunks manifesting out of the ether among them, to form the patchy remnants of a way forward. It was no more a full set of stairs than a skeleton was a person, but looked theoretically climbable by someone willing to hop several wide gaps over an infinite abyss, and not think too much about what was holding the remaining steps up. They continued to bob subtly as if floating in water.

“Well, that looks a right frolic an’ no mistake,” Billie said cheerfully. “Off we go, then, lads!”

“Hadn’t you better—augh!” Eric broke off and covered his eyes as the gnome got a running start and launched herself bodily into space.

“Aw, were you that worried about li’l ol’ me?” Billie cooed at him from the nearest chunk of steps, which had wobbled slightly at her landing but not fallen or drifted out of place. “Yer sweet, fer a dwarf. Looks solid enough, lads! Shall we?”

“Quite, there is clearly no profit in lingering here,” said Rhadid, nimbly hopping up beside her, whereupon the gnome gathered herself to spring to the next (and smaller) bit of architecture. “Take it steadily and don’t rush, everyone.”

Eric swallowed so loudly they could all hear it. “Oh, my giddy aunt… I suppose this is an awkward time to reveal that I’m not at my best with heights.”

“Nobody who’s ever talked with a dwarf before is surprised,” said Steinway.

“Also,” Admestus added innocently, “Does it really count as heights if there’s no bottom?”

Eric groaned and covered his eyes again.

“Admestus, you are wearing on my patience,” Rhadid stated. “That I can forgive, but refrain from making this any harder for your fellows. All right, let’s take it one step at a time. Remember, haste leads to mistakes. We can afford to—”

The groaning of masonry made him cut off, a sound very reminiscent of their earliest mishaps in the lower halls after Tamara had attacked the undead servant. It was clearly coming from the hall behind them rather than the precarious bits of stair they had to climb, which was slightly reassuring for about two seconds. Then, with a tremendous crunch, the most distant patch of corridor visible to them collapsed into fragments of wood and masonry and tumbled away, to reveal another dizzying void behind it where the ballroom should have been.

They wasted a moment gaping back at this before another explosive dissolution of the architecture occurred, shortening the hallway still further. Now what had previously seemed like a solid stretch of corridor terminating in the void was clearly just hanging in it, unsupported, and now the abyss at its other end was drawing steadily closer, one yard of collapsing floor at a time.

“Never mind,” Rhadid said quickly. “Make haste and try not to fall. Let’s clear some room for them, Billie.”

“Way ahead of ya,” she said, which was the literal truth; the gnome was already three fragments of staircase forward from him. Her companions bounded nimbly onto the lowest piece the moment Rhadid cleared it.

“Here, drink this,” Admestus ordered, pressing a vial of what appeared to be swirling clouds into Eric’s hands and momentarily distracting the dwarf from his panicked muttering.

“What in blazes—”

“Featherweight potion,” the alchemist explained. “No offense, but you don’t look too awfully nimble in a hopping-across-the-sky sense. Come on, down the hatch! Time’s a-wasting, and so’s the floor.”

Eric squeezed his eyes shut again, but plucked the stopper and threw the entire contents of the vial down his throat in one gulp.

“That’s the spirit!” Admestus cheered. “C’mon, now, you can do it!”

Leaping onto the floating fragments of masonry was very much like hopping onto an anchored buoy; they shifted and bobbed with the impact but did not move far enough out of place to risk throwing them off. Eric was indeed able to leap farther than his stubby legs and significant weight ordinarily allowed, though he fumbled the first landing, unfamiliar with his newfound lightness. He ended up face-first on the stairs, clutching them with both hands.

Admestus had consigned himself to the rear to encourage Eric forward, but at that leaped up right on top of him, and not a moment too soon; the last pieces of hallway on which they had been standing collapsed into the void right behind him. Now the entire group was stretched across several hovering fragments of wood and stone, surrounded by a gaping abyss of stars in all directions.

“Oy, you all right back there?” Billie called from up ahead. “I don’t recommend dithering! Best we keep a move on ‘fore the house decides t’give us another little poke in the bum!”

“We’re fine,” Admestus called back, waving. “Just a minor case of…dwarf. Come on, ol’ boy, I realize you’re out of your element but she’s right. No time to rest on our laurels.”

“I am quite certain no one here has received anything that could be described as a ‘laurel,’” Eric groaned, but he had already clambered unsteadily back to his feet and gathered himself for the next leap.

He impeded their pace significantly; the rest of the group consisted of gnomes, a half-elf, and a human in the prime of physical fitness, and as such were able to ascend the shattered stairs with good speed. A dwarf, even one dosed with featherweight potion, was simply not built for jumping and climbing. The group grew more stretched out, with Rhadid quickly reaching the front as he was the least inclined to wait, but even the nobleman did not press enough to leave Eric behind entirely. Admestus remained at the back to monitor his progress, and the gnomes shouted encouragement—and, in Billie’s case, threw a rope. Slow as the going was, it seemed that the Manor (or whatever term described this endless nothingness through which they now climbed) wasn’t inclined to nip at their heels as long as they kept moving.

“Any insight where this infernal climb is leading?” Eric asked plaintively, clutching a handy fragment of banister to steady himself while the stairs beneath him ceased rocking from his leap.

“Let’s see…” Admestus leaned past him to peer at the group ahead. “Uh, the short answer is ‘up.’”

“I was afraid of that.”

“House is keepin’ us in suspense,” Sassafrass said from the island just above and ahead of them. “She does that. I reckon our next steps’ll come to us in due time, pardon the pun.”

At that moment, a passing wooden door suddenly opened, revealing a cluster of Imperial soldiers herded together in it. Since the door was tilted at about a forty-five degree angle relative to the group on the stairs, the sight was somewhat disorienting, and not just for them.

“What in Omnu’s name is going on here?!” barked the lieutenant who had gotten short with them previously. Her eyes fell on Rhadid and narrowed to slits. “This is your doing.”

“I don’t know how you could possibly assume that, Lieutenant,” he replied across the emptiness with impressive calm.

“Happens to be true, though, isn’t it?” Admestus called.

“Coincidentally, yes, but there is no realistic way she could know it.”

“What the hell did you do?” shouted another of the soldiers. “The whole house is collapsing! Where in fuck’s name are we?”

“I’ve got half a mind to place the lot of you under arrest!” the lieutenant snarled.

“Oh?” Rhadid mockingly raised an eyebrow. “And how, in your mind, would that scenario play out?”

More pieces of floating architecture had been moving while they argued, and by that point a general shape had begun to form. Half a hallway had appeared in segments, jagged fragments of floorboard attached to sections of wall. It would make for a narrow, wall-hugging crossing with several gaps to jump, complicated by the fact that the broken corridor wound slightly back and forth where its pieces were separated, but it would be very doable in single-file. Disconcertingly, it arced upward at an angle that had it meet the same spot as the newly-formed top of their staircase, which put the two groups on a course to meet at one point with gravity orienting them in two different directions.

In fact, the lieutenant took the initiative in hopping from the floating doorway to the nearest piece of hall, which conveniently began with a wide spot to make landing easier, complete with an upright segment of wall against which she steadied herself before moving forward to make room for her troops. Both she and Rhadid had turned their attention to the place ahead of and above them where the fragmented stairs and broken corridor intersected.

Their destination was assembling itself right before their eyes. Pieces of wood had drifted into union like some crazy jigsaw puzzle to form a jagged but fairly regular area several yards square. More chunks of masonry were floating toward it, coalescing into a decorative stone edifice in the center of the floor. At the same time, visible to them due to the weird angle at which it intersected both their access routes, a stretch of wall folded up at the rear edge of the platform, with a heavy oaken door set in the middle of it.

The last bits of stone slotted into place, forming, of all things, a large decorative fountain. More confusingly still, as soon as it was complete it began to spray water, its basin rapidly filled by the playful streams it shot upward.

And then, from around the frame of the door behind it, a golden glow rose.

“Hey, guys!” Admestus called, pointing. “Nobody quote me on this, but I think that’s where we’re going!”

The last of the Imperial soldiers had landed on their access hall, and now they turned to stare across the yawning gap at the gnomes and remainder of Rhadid’s group strewn along the staircase.

The lieutenant ran a hand unconsciously along her battlestaff and shifted it halfway toward a firing position.

“Don’t even think about it!” Billie ordered, pointing at her. “And don’t you think about it either!” she added, turning her accusing finger on Rhadid, who had unholstered his wand.

“May I remind you, Billie,” he said patiently without taking his eyes off the soldiers, “that this group is very specifically in competition with you?”

“Aye, an’ I’m not a hundred percent averse ta shootin’ somebody into an infinite void o’ stars, but fer th’record I don’t consider ‘bein’ in competition’ a good enough reason, clear?”

“What the hell is all this about competition?” the officer demanded. “What did you do?!”

“For pity’s sake!” Eric bellowed. “There’s plenty of room! Can we all agree to discuss this after we reach something passing for solid ground?”

“The dwarf’s right, LT,” a man wearing a sergeant’s insignia added. “This is nuts enough without having a firefight on top of it.”

She let out her breath in an angry hiss through her teeth, but returned her gaze to Rhadid. “Fine. A truce?”

“Truce implies that we were on violent terms, Lieutenant,” he replied. “Unless you were planning some manner of unlawful assault, I see no reason we need to clarify that point.” With that, he turned and resumed climbing the fragmentary staircase, somewhat faster than before. The officer gritted her teeth, but set off along her own pathway without another word.

Both Rhadid and the lieutenant set an almost unwisely quick pace for the remainder of the trip to the platform. Their slightly bending corridor was an easier trek by far, but the group on the stairs had a significant head start. The more it looked like the two groups were going to reach their destination at about the same time, the faster each of them pushed their pace, until even the soldiers had stopped bothering trying to keep up. The nobleman and the officer arrived alongside the fountain within seconds of each other, whereupon she glared furiously at him with her weapon in hand and he ignored her, turning back to watch the rest of his party members catch up over the next few minutes.

Eric only wasn’t the last to arrive because Admestus kept at the back with him to make sure he didn’t fall, aided by a lifeline Billie had thrown them and some of his own alchemical work. Several of the gaps, including the last one, were enough to make the dwarf balk at jumping, featherweight potion or no. At these, Admestus tipped a solution from a jar he produced from his belt of holding into midair, where it formed into cute little puffy clouds which were not only solid, but squeaked disarmingly when stepped upon. Eric did not seem to find this as amusing as the half-elf did.

He picked up the pace, though, when the lower end of the staircase began to fall apart behind them.

And then they were all there at the fountain, eyes locked and with far too many weapons in hand.

“Explain,” the lieutenant grated. “Now.”

“Since it seems we are going to be traveling together,” Rhadid said politely, “perhaps a belated introduction—”

“I have had enough of your bullshit!” she barked, raising her staff to point right at his face from far too close at hand. “You know what’s going on here, and you’ve as much as admitted you did it. You either give me a solid explanation or I give you a dose of voltage!”

“Do you really think that would hold up at your court martial?” he asked in a mild tone.

“Oh, fer fuck’s sake, ye great knob, don’t goad somebody holdin’ a weapon on ye!” Billie exclaimed. “What is it with nobles an’ havin’ ta be th’big man in charge all the time?”

“That’s pretty much exactly what it is with nobles,” one of the soldiers said in a much more equable tone than his commanding officer’s. “That’s all they are, from top to bottom.”

“This isn’t Lord Rhadid’s fault,” Eric said, a little breathlessly. He had stumbled forward as far from the edge as he could get, to lean on the side of the fountain, but now straightened up and directed himself toward the soldiers. “We found ourselves in a position to…well, I think we created a sort of tipping point, but this is the Manor’s doing. Or Diristaan’s, maybe, it was rather vague. A spectral servant of the house told us the Manor doesn’t like what it’s been seeing of the outside world that visitors have brought here, and has decided to make a change.”

“What kind of change?” the lieutenant asked, her eyes still narrowed. She did, at least, shift her staff to point away from Rhadid.

“It was my impression that the house will make that determination based upon the outcome of whatever happens here,” Rhadid replied.

“Yeah, you mentioned a competition.”

“Basically,” said Billie, “it looks like Manor Dire’s decided to pick a side. Y’know, like your people an’ mine ‘ave been tryin’ ta get it to do fer years now, with no result.”

“Hnh,” she grunted. “Seems like I’d be better off having my men just shoot you all, then.”

“If that were the case, d’ye think I’d’ve stopped ‘is Lordship from zappin’ you one?” the gnome retorted, raising an eyebrow. “C’mon, lady, you ain’t been killed yet; that means you know how this house thinks. It’s never gonna be about brawls t’the death. Ye win the game based on ‘ow ye play it.”

“Intriguing,” Rhadid mused. “Yes, you do have a point, the Manor does seem to rather disapprove of needless violence, does it not? At least, that which it does not cause. Whatever test lies ahead, it is likely to demand careful patience rather than brute force. Imagine, a contest one wins not by eliminating one’s competitors, but by refusing to do so.”

She finally straightened up her battlestaff, resting its butt against the floor. “Then it follows the house’s whole gambit will be trying to set us against each other, and see who cracks first.”

“So,” said Billie, “we win this thing by all agreein’ up front not to go at each other like stray cats in a sack an’ whoever best sticks t’that gets the prize, aye?”

“I feel I should perhaps restate, for the sake of our new arrivals,” Rhadid added, “that my companions and I are not after the prize in question. We only wish to make a brief use of the alchemy laboratory.”

“What makes you think you’ll even get to see that?” the soldier demanded.

“The servant did indicate that this…uh, rather unsettling path was leading us to the innermost sanctum,” Eric offered. “The library, enchanting and alchemy labs, Diristaan’s personal ritual chamber… You know, the ultimate goal of many who have come to this Manor over the years. I had the impression his intention was to push all of us together at that spot to…see what unfolded.”

“Aye, point of order about that,” Billie chimed in. “Didn’t you say y’met Arachne Tellwyrn in here?”

One of the soldiers cursed.

“The servant did say he was gathering everyone,” Rhadid agreed, slowly panning his gaze around at the nothingness beyond their platform. Their approach paths had drifted away, leaving them no avenue of escape save the still-glowing door. “I don’t see her here, however. She may have already left the grounds; a person like this isn’t likely to be constrained by the designs of others.”

The lieutenant drew in a deep breath, then at last nodded curtly. “Roscoe. Lt. Jane Roscoe of her Majesty’s 8^th Corps.”

“A pleasure,” Rhadid said courteously. “Well! Shall we proceed, then?”

“We’ll scout through ahead of you,” Roscoe said, taking a step toward the door.

“Now hold on just a second!” Billie said imperiously. “Who said you get t’go first?”

“Perhaps I ought to take the vanguard,” Rhadid offered in a mild tone. “As the neutral party, here. You can each earn credit toward the house’s favor by not shooting me in the back.”

“Hey, yeah!” Admestus added brightly. “The way this’s all panned out, it seems like us and our noble are sorta the arbiters of this here contest! In fact, correct me if I’m wrong, guys, but didn’t the ghostly boy pretty specifically say that?”

The silence which fell was both tense and grim, which did not diminish his beaming smile in the slightest.

“Upon consideration,” Roscoe said tightly, “I think your Lordship is correct. After you.”

Rhadid gave her a smile which was only subtly mocking and, with no further ado, stepped forward and opened the door onto a blaze of light.

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