The party above made things somewhat easier. Calliope had assumed that once they were within the manor she would be unable to use magic without giving herself away. Above her she could feel the workings of a half dozen mages, all at the small time level, probably entertaining guest or performing minor spells. So long as she didn’t get too fancy, she ought not attract any attention. That went doubly for any spells she had prepared earlier, needing only a trickle of magic to wake them. With a flick of her wrist she altered her clothing, turning her dusty but practical gear into a black silk evening gown with slitted leg and a plunging back that made it all the way to the bottom of her waist. Jewelry was a different mater, literally. Conjuring metal up out of the ether was an energy intensive and noisy business. Inspiration struck and she crossed to a brass wall sconce and removed the lantern that hung from it. Then she cut her thumb and pressed the bead of blood to the sconce. The brass began to move, shimmering and slithering and separating into strands which polished each other with a rasp as they dripped from the wall and onto Calliope’s arm. The strands of metal coiled up her arm, weaving the gleaming brass into intricate nets around her wrists and neck. There was no easy way to create stones but it would probably do.

 

“I don’t suppose you can wiggle your fingers and make mine fit any better can you?” Neil asked as he finished pulling on a doublet that was several sizes too big for him.

 

“I could try, but there is the off chance the spell would remember that you aren’t me and try to strangle you with your own hose,” she confessed. Neil shuddered slightly and plucked at his doublet.

 

“Not to worry, breathable is so in this year.”

 

They reached the party by ascending the winding stairs. It was audible long before it was visible, a muted cacophony of tinkling laughter, shifting feet and orchestral music. They emerged from the cellar onto a grand ballroom. The floor was set with interlocking squares of white and green marble and vast columns of the same material lined the walls. As with the cellar, tropical trees were growing, apparently out of the solid stone floor. Lush vegetation and tropical flowers gave the hall a strange cast. Glistening purple fruit hung from fern fronded plants and black and gold flowers seemed to follow the guests hungrily. There were perhaps a hundred people in attendance, all dressed in colorful silks and shimmering cloth of gold. Judging from their dress they were members of the Mageocricy and local nobles of the kind who were always willing to kow tow to them. An orchestra lined one wall, playing a dance that Calliope was not familiar with. She was no judge of music but she suspected it was a masterful performance. Wine, drink and drugs were all flowing freely, carried on platters by servants in orange and puce livery. Other forms of entertainment were also being enjoyed. Sheets of silk had been hung across the entrances to small bowers. It was sheer enough that the silhouettes of the couples, or larger groupings cavorting on the other side could be made out, even if the individual figures were anonymous. As Calliope watched a chained girl with a gag in her mouth was half led half dragged into one of the bowers by a haughty looking noble. Another staggered clear of the silks, long knife cuts running down her naked back and weeping blood. She took a few despairing steps towards the dance floor before a jowly woman, wrapped in a bloody sheet, stepped out and grabbed her dragging her back in. Worst of all was a grotesquely fat man leading a trio of slack featured women to a bower. The followed in perfect step. All three were dead, having been reanimated by one of the mages present. Judging by the ligature marks around their necks they had all been strangled, probably during the first course of this evening’s depravity. Calliope could very clearly hear the fat man giggling, an oddly girlish and grating sound, even across the noisy hall.

 

“Charm the paint of walls these people,” Calliope muttered loud enough for Neil to hear. She placed her hand in his and allowed him to gently lead her across the floor. She took a drink from one of the servers as she passed, though she didn’t drink from the fluted goblet of crimson liquid. A drunken man bumped into them and leered at Calliope but she ignored him completely, sweeping regally on.


The music changed to a waltz she did recognize and she guided Neil’s hand to her hip and the other to her bare back, turning slowly in the steps of the dance to take in the entirety of the ballroom jungle. She noticed for the first time that the ceiling had been replaced with a starscape that wasn’t familiar to her. Small lantern’s shaped to look like the moon in various stages of the lunar cycle floated twenty feet above them to illuminate the spectacle bright as day. She leaned close to Neil, whispering in his ear.

 

“The book will be in a library or strongbox,” she cooed, “it will be defended by physical and magical traps.” They swept passed another couple as the tempo increased. Neil seemed to have a good sense for the pattern even if he didn’t have the flawless execution of a noble scion.

“It’s bound in black leather and is about the size of a man’s palm,” she continued. It probably would have been wise to impart this information earlier, but she had not honestly expected that they would make it this far.