When they all gathered at the table the next morning, General Marcum was pale and worn, and he had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. As they were finishing the last bites of their meal and talking amiably, he rapped his knuckles on the table. “Something … something happened last night …” he trailed off before resuming. “Something happened that normally I would not share, but I feel I must for your own safety. I have no desire to cause you alarm, but you must understand the potential dangers we are facing. I received confidential information during the night. I would share it with you, but I expect none of you to speak of it.”

“Oh, dear, Marcum. If the king ordered you not to speak of it, perhaps you should not,” Adelina offered.

Marcum scowled. “The king gave no such order. He is not yet aware of this information. It is my prerogative to speak of it with whom I please.”

“Oh, my apologies, dear,” Adelina acquiesced.

“As I was saying, something occurred yesterday … something impossible. The Black Hall fell to the Raven.” The room was completely silent as every jaw dropped. Everyone had heard the rumors of the Black Hall. Bards sang the tales, authors designed fantastical thrillers around it and its inhabitants, and little boys wrapped black cloths around their faces and tumbled around with sticks in their hands playing Slips.

Tam was the first to work his mouth properly. “I thought the Black Hall was just a story.”

Marcum grumbled. “No, the Black Hall is very real. Every assassin in Ashai, and some outside of it, now owe fealty to the Raven.”

“He is taking over the entire Ashaiian underworld,” Jimson remarked. “No King of Thieves … King of the Underwold, more like.”

“I am curious, General,” Rezkin interjected. “How did you get your information?”

Marcum gripped the edge of the table and then sighed as he released his hold. “That is the second piece of information I need to tell you. A slip came to me last night while I was returning from the stable.” Even Rezkin was surprised. He had expressly ordered the slips to stay away from Marcum.

Lady Adelina gasped and swayed, and Captain Jimson reached out to steady the woman. “W-What did he want, Marcum?” the lady asked, her voice shaking.

“Be well, Ady, I am not dead. The slip did not bring dark tidings this time—the opposite, really. The Raven claims to have business with me, or so he told the Black Hall.”

“Do you?” Adelina interrupted.