Kara crept silently along a marble hallway, laden with a very full bag.  The gilded cabinet had contained more than she’d imagined—folders of papers, and lots of small, breakable objects.  Kara suspected the lady didn’t want the fragile things broken, so she’d had to waste precious time wrapping them in the papers.  The bag was so big she had to drag it.  Happily, the floor was smooth marble and the bag slid easily and quietly along.  She would deal with the stairs later.

            She peered around the next corner and froze in place, seeing lamplight in the rotunda ahead.  Who would be here still reading at the dinner hour?  Kara left her bag and crept forward to scout.  Oh.  Him. 

            Djaren Blackfeather sat at a table in the center of the room, in a circle of lamplight and books.  He’d arranged the stacks of papers and volumes like towers around the table, pen pots serving as spires and ink wells as minarets.  His too-pretty face was intent over whatever he was reading, and his long white fingers flipped through the pages of an adjacent volume.  As always, Kara felt immediately annoyed with him.  One, he was in her way, two, he was effortlessly reading any of eight languages that Kara couldn’t spell a word of, and three . . . three, he was Djaren Blackfeather.  And then he looked up, into the dark shadows where she was standing, and his expression transformed into a look of joy.  “Kara!  You came!  I knew you would.” 

            Kara tried to swear, but found nothing to say that fit the situation without being horribly awkward.

            Djaren’s expression turned puzzled.  “I wasn’t expecting to see you in the library.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”  Kara left the heavy bag out of sight and stepped forward.

            “I’m sorry, that was stupid.  I’ve been putting my boots in my mouth all day.” Djaren looked pained.  He stood, dropping a volume on the floor.  “What I should have said is that I’m very happy to see you here.”

Kara didn’t answer.  She stared at the book he’d dropped.  “What’s that?”

Glaring up at her from an open page at Djaren’s feet was a sketch of the artifact she had recently thrown into a sewer.  Djaren blinked and looked down.  “Oh, that’s the seal of Kesh.”  He bent and retrieved the book, holding it out to her.  “Legend has it that it binds the powers of a demon god who once smote the earth.” 

Kara took a step away from the book, more grateful than ever that she had thrown the thing out.

“It’s important that it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands,” Djaren informed her. “We’re researching what to do if it should wake.”

“Yeah,” Kara said.  “So you’re still digging up trouble.”

Djaren grinned at her.  “I wish.  We can’t get into Narmos at all, much less under it.  So we’re all quite bored and safe.  You should come by the hotel.  The others would love to see you.”

“Maybe later.” 

“Is something wrong?” Djaren looked concerned.  “I’m just heading back.  Mother probably has dinner waiting.”

Food sounded wonderful, but Djaren was a walking door to nameless calamities and Kara had a sack of stolen archeology to deliver.

She tried to think of a way to put him down coldly, but couldn’t come up with anything very clever.  “I’ve got a place to be,” she fumbled.

Djaren gave her a questioning look. 

Kara glared at him. “I’m not here to play with you and your little friends.  Unlike you, I have a life.  Enjoy your books.”  She spun on her heel before Djaren could say anything, gathered her sack from behind the pillar and dragged it off toward a back exit.

On her way out the conservatory doors, Kara glimpsed a man’s face through one of the library windows.  It had a hooked nose and face powder, and was looking right at her.  Kara swore and ducked out of sight under the rose bushes.  By the time she managed to retreat into the maze of houses and alleys she was breathless, scratched, and in a foul mood.

            Ellea dropped the Pumphrey book onto the sitting room table, where the family was gathering to go down to dinner.  “Book of rubbish for you, Mother, from the lady with too much perfume.” 

Mother looked at the thing, and sighed.  “I’m so sorry, dears.”

“I want a cake.  Anna said I could have the lemon ones.”

“Very well,” Mother relented.  “One.  As long as you can eat your dinner after.”

Jon poked at the Pumphrey book with a finger.  His hand was no longer glowing.  “The book smells of perfume.”

“Come have a cake as well, Jon, or some tea,” Mother invited, pulling back a chair. 

Jon’s gaze moved to the door, where Djaren was just entering with a large stack of books in his arms.

“Hullo, all.  I brought these back for you, Jon.”  Djaren grinned around the books.  “I’m sorry to have been so long.  I got all caught up in trying to find the useful volumes.”

Jon’s face lit up. “Hurrah!  Now we can research.”

Mother laughed.  “I won’t stop you, but again I will insist you eat dinner first.  No matter how fascinating your research.  And, dears,” Mother’s face grew serious.  “If you are going to be reading about Narmos, you really oughtn’t read just before bed.”

“She thinks the bits about plagues, human sacrifices, and the depredations unleashed by demon gods will give us nightmares,” Djaren told Jon.

“Oh, that,” Jon said.

“Where are Anna and Tam?” Djaren asked.

“I’m right here,” Anna said, entering the room.  “Before the discussion of depredations, I distinctly heard something about tea.  And Tam is visiting the stables to see about a coach.”

“Tam doesn’t speak Germhacht, does he?” Djaren asked.

“I gather he’s just seeing if there is a coach in the stables.”

“There is,” Tam said, from the door.  “A right gaudy one.  They’ve some fine horses, though.  Well looked after.”  Tam stopped on the mat and stared down at his boots, which had acquired deposits of muck from the stables.

“Thank you, Tam, I’ll fetch you shoes.”  Anna grinned and slipped out.

“Would you like some tea as well?” Mother asked Tam.

“I would.”  Uncle Eabrey came in from his room, and looked down at the Pumphrey book.  “What is this?  And what is that smell?”

“It’s either Tam’s boots, or the gospel of the Pumphrites.”  Mother sighed.  “Having failed to storm the citadel, they are attempting to convert the children.”

Uncle Eabrey picked up the book and flipped through it.

“Don’t go losing your appetite for dinner,” Mother warned.

“I’m sorry about the boots,” Tam began.
            “The smell is certainly the book,” the Professor said.

“Don’t you worry, dear,” Mother told Tam. “We’ll get you gum boots. The most useful things Pumphrey’s ever been behind.”